#staying in their lane. living. thriving

[zeb-z]

green team winning by a whole 10% above the next team, all it took is them minding their damn business

[mndvx]

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (III)

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Hi, everyone!!! Here is another chapter! Break up is rough, angst is everywhere!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3954

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;   But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   There are a hundred places where I fear   To go,—so with his memory they brim.   And entering with relief some quiet place   Where never fell his foot or shone his face   I say, “There is no memory of him here!”   And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected poems, 1938

You woke up in an empty bed.

Your alarm rang, it was time to get up and go to work. There was no one else on the other side of the mattress, nobody else’s warmth beneath the sheets. There was still Frank’s scent everywhere though, but no item left on his bedside table. You got up, took a shower where his shampoo and bodywash had disappeared, his toothbrush and razor missing by the sink. None of his clothes were left, and the thought suddenly struck you that he couldn’t have packed all of his things in the hour he stayed the previous night. Where had he left anyway? He must have planned everything…

You were so overwhelmed with emotion that you weren’t even sure what you were feeling, in the end. Hurt, anger, loss, shock, denial… God, you couldn’t believe that this was truly happening…

You looked down at your left hand, and your engagement ring was still there, on your finger, where it belonged. None of this was real, it was a mistake, a dream, a prank even… but it couldn’t be real.

How could Frank be gone? And if he was… what on earth was this story of his about a woman he had just met, a woman he barely knew? He was ready to throw away the past six years for a stranger? Was that truly all you meant to him?

This was a mistake, clearly. Frank was making a mistake. Perhaps he was stressed with his job, maybe he was freaking out because of the wedding. Whatever it was, he would realise soon that he was acting on an impulse, out of all logic, and he would come back to his senses. He ought to…

… he ought to, because how could you live without him? You had forgotten how to do it.

Andrew sent a text to Samantha, as he did every morning. He was late, as per usual. He almost tripped on Elwood, while the dog was stretching in the middle of the hallway, rushing as he did to get his coat. He checked in his pockets.

Phone, yes.

Keys, yes.

Wallet, yes.

Glasses were upon his nose, he had his bag thrown over his shoulder with his laptop, a water bottle, a thermos and…

He rolled his eyes, cursed under his breath.

An empty thermos. That’s what he had forgotten to do this morning, prepare himself some coffee or tea. Never mind, Andrew would prepare something at work, he didn’t have the time.

Anyway, the list…

An empty thermos, the article he had brought from work last night, the book of poetry he was currently studying…

He pressed ‘send’ on the screen of his smartphone, spotting a spelling mistake before he could close the app, but he didn’t have time to correct it.

Good morning, love. Hopng for a good day for you. Are you planning on dropping by tonight?

… A notebook, a couple of pencils, a hair tie. Wait, did he have a hair tie? Yes, around his wrist, of course, bloody idiot…

He petted Elwood’s head, told him to be a good boy, and hurried outside.

During his drive, he thought about Samantha, wondered if her meetings had gone well the previous day. She hadn’t sent him a text to tell him she was safely home, but upon receiving no news and no answer to his calls, he had called her friend Jess, who had told him she was indeed home, safe and sound. She was probably just drunk and had gone to bed, forgetting to text him. As long as she was safe, Andrew didn’t really mind, but he had been worried about her. He made a mental note to remind her to text him the next time she went out.

He heaved a sigh, turning up the volume of the music, letting Duke Ellington and John Coltrane fill up the space around him. A sentimental mood started playing, he felt all his muscles relax as the saxophone sang.

His mind wandered with the airy notes, jumping from Sam, to work, to you. He was happy to see you today, to ask about your work at lunchtime. You would probably have thought about your classes during the evening, would have a lot of things to discuss over a salad or a sandwich at noon. He smiled at the thought as he parked his car at Trinity.

He checked the time on his watch before leaving his car. He was late, although he had no meeting nor class to give. But he had hoped to be in his office by nine o’clock, and it was almost nine thirty. Where did these thirty minutes go? God, he really was a terrible time-keeper…

He hurried through the university grounds, left empty by the summer, students enjoying a well-deserved rest. There was still a little bit of dew wetting the grass, making it shine with pearly specs of light. The sky was a mix of blue and cotton-white, as if it pondered for now on whether to give Dublin a sunny day or a rainy one. Andrew paid little attention to those details, hurrying towards his work, his head already busy with all he had to do. He stopped by the cafeteria before heading to his office to prepare himself some coffee, filling up his thermos. He took a sip of the too-warm beverage as he exited the room, walked down a corridor, burning his tongue a little in the process. He cursed under his breath at the feeling.

He heaved a sigh, hurried towards the staircase and climbed all the way up to your shared office, a smile back on his lips as he thought of seeing you. Maybe this day had not started in the best way, but you would greet him in just a moment with your usual enthusiasm, and it would make him feel happy again. He hurried down the corridor leading to the wooden door that sported both of your names, engraved in copper.

When he opened the door, you were there, indeed. You were focused on your computer screen, didn’t seem to notice that Andrew had come in. He smiled at you anyway.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted you with warmth, making you finally look up at him.

“Oh… morning, Andrew,” you gave him a polite smile, right before focusing on your screen again.

The gesture was tight-lipped, professional. He frowned at the sight, blinked a couple of times before finally putting his thermos down on his desk and his bag on the ground by the side of his desk.

“You’re alright this morning?” he asked, trying to hide that his question was genuine behind a neutral tone.

“Sure. You?”

“Yeah, yeah… all grand.”

You didn’t look up, merely stared at your screen. He noticed that your eyes were red, that you seemed tired. He wondered if anything wrong had happened for you to act so cold. But then again, you were colleagues, had been for less than a week. Perhaps you were always like that. Now that the excitement of the first days was over, maybe you were just falling back into your normal character, turning professional rather than friendly. And it was alright, of course. You were colleagues. As long as you would both get along fine together, you didn’t need to be anything more.

Still, Andrew couldn’t refrain the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

You remained quiet for the rest of the morning, and so did he. He was focused on his work, you were struggling to keep your eyes away from your phone, glancing regularly at the device propped on your desk, right by your side.

When it was finally time for lunch, Colm came knocking on the door of your office, without waiting for an invitation to come in.

“Well, hello, busy bees! Time to eat! I’m starved!” he proclaimed, making Andrew chuckle as he got up.

You didn’t move from your seat, merely granted Colm another one of your polite smiles.

“Erm… you’re eating with us, Y/N?” Andrew offered, putting on his jacket.

“Thanks for offering! But I’m really not hungry today.”

“You’re sick?” Colm asked, crossing his arms before his chest. “I know it’s your first week, but if you’re sick you can just go home. No need to act all brave and tough just to gain points towards… nobody, really.”

“No, no… it’s not that at all. I’m not sick, just… not hungry.”

“As you wish…” Colm shrugged, turning towards Andrew, who didn’t seem convinced by your explanation at all.

“Come on, Treebeard! I’m starving!”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andrew asked you, ignoring Colm for a moment.

But you nodded, the same neutral smile on your lips. You seemed sad, upset even.

“Sure, I’m alright.”

Andrew nodded, giving up. He was a mere colleague to you, after all. He wasn’t your friend, surely something was wrong but it was perfectly normal for you not to want to discuss it with him. Still, he forced himself to walk out of the room, guilt tugging at his heart.

Andrew ended up eating with several colleagues, and he had a nice time. He checked his phone, but Sam had not replied to his text yet. He started making assumptions, worrying about her all over again. He admonished himself for being such a worrier, for not being able to let go. She had had too much to drink, she was probably dealing with a hangover, nothing more, nothing to worry about… Besides, how hypocritical of him it would be to get angry because she wasn’t answering right away, when he was terrible at managing texts and emails himself. He too often forgot about a text he had left on read, being busy when he received it, only to remember to reply days later. He didn’t do that for Sam, though…

He walked back up the stairs with Colm and Ronan, who worked at the IT department and turned left instead of right to go back to his own office. A nice guy, commented Colm, they ought to hang out with him more often. Besides, it was always a good idea to have someone good with computers close by. The remark made Andrew chuckle, while he let Colm reach his own office. Andrew was alone again as he opened the wooden door of your shared working space.

He was quiet as the door slid open, and you weren’t. Over the noise of your own conversation you were having over the phone, you didn’t notice as Andrew was walking in, closing the door behind him. You were facing the window behind your desk.

“Frank… you can’t be serious about this.”

Frank. Andrew recognised the name. He was your partner. Perhaps the two of you had a row…

He was taking off his jacket already, but stopped before he would finish his movement. Perhaps he should just tiptoe out of the office. You didn’t seem to have noticed him, and this was clearly a personal conversation that he had no business hearing.

“What do you mean you’ve taken your decision?! Have you taken a minute to actually think?! We’ve spent six years together! Yes! No! Yes, you’re right, I’m not accepting your ‘decision’, because it makes no fucking sense! Look… just… let’s meet up tomorrow, and discuss things, okay? Are you chickening out because of the wedding?”

Andrew silently slid his jacket back on his shoulders, pulled his hair from under the collar, and slowly walked back towards the door.

“Frank, this is ridiculous… it makes no sense…”

Your voice broke, Andrew ached at the pain it was revealing.

“No, I don’t want to!”

Andrew had almost reached the door when the tiles under his feet cracked, and you spun around in a jolt. He gave you an apologetic smile, but remained frozen under your stare.

“Frank, I’ve got to go, babe. Just… please, think about what you’re doing, okay? And we need to discuss this properly, face to face.”

Your face fell, he saw that you were about to cry, before you pulled your phone away from your ear, stared at the screen with a blank stare.

“Y/N? You’re alright?” Andrew asked, staring at you, at how distressed you looked.

You blinked up at him, put your phone down on your desk. And then you shook your head, covered your mouth with your hand, and started crying. Or sobbing, rather. Andrew stared for a second with round eyes, not knowing what to do.

His first reaction was to hold you, and so he took a couple of steps towards you, but then he remembered that you were colleagues, that you barely knew each other, that it would be inappropriate for him to touch you in any way. So, he stopped abruptly, stared at you some more.

“Y/N?”

You stared at each other for a moment, while your sobbing got worse, and Andrew was thinking of what he should do. But then, you were the one to circle your desk, and basically let yourself fall into his arms. He caught you easily, held you in a tight hug.

“Hey… what’s going on? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” he asked, making his voice even softer than it usually was, rubbing soothingly your back.

You were shaking in his arms, holding on his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Frank is breaking…up… up with me,” you explained, your cries making you stutter, choking on your breathing.

Andrew clenched his jaw, held you a little tighter.

“God… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s just… out of nowhere… we’re engaged! He says… he says he’s met someone else… but he… he doesn’t know her! They met… like… just a few weeks ago… who does that?!”

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know…”

“What am I going to do now?”

He let you cry for a few more minutes, supporting your weight as your legs seemed too weak to fully carry you, rubbing soothing circles into your back, your head buried in his chest.

“Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Huh? You should go home, get some rest.”

But you shook your head, suddenly breaking free from his embrace.

“No, no… I need to work…”

“You’re not going to get anything done, anyway. It’s alright. Just… go home. Go home, and rest. You’ll come back on Monday morning, once you’ve sorted this out.”

You blinked up at him, dried your cheeks on your sleeves.

“I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to apologise. Just go home, get some rest. You’re upset, being here will do nothing to make you feel better. We don’t have classes yet, you can work at home if you want to.”

You nodded, but sat back at your computer all the same.

“I’ll leave early.”

“Alright.”

“It’s… It’s better if I don’t think about this, anyway.”

“I understand…”

“I… I’m sorry I hugged you like that…”

“No need to apologise. It’s fine. You’re upset, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry if I’m a little off today…”

“Y/N… I reckon that it’s normal for you to ‘be off’ today. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, in fact… I was about to walk out again, like… erm… but you heard me before I could…”

“You could have knocked.”

“It’s my office.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah, right… it’s okay…”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

But you shook your head.

“It’s better if I focus on something else. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with my personal life.”

He nodded, not saying anything else while he took off his jacket, threw it on the back of his chair and sat down behind his desk.

When he looked up at you, you were still crying, although you were doing so in silence, drying your eyes and cheeks quickly, in an attempt to hide it.

Andrew wanted to hold you again, until you would stop crying for real.

Elwood wasn’t supposed to climb on the couch, but Andrew had such a soft spot for his dog that this rule had been neglected for a long time. Instead, he let his dog lie by his side on the sofa while he watched tv, a beer in his hand, Elwood’s head lying on his laps in search for infinite scratches. And Andrew was happy to comply and offer all the petting his dog desired.

Stallone was suffering of post-traumatic stress on screen, hiding near a village after coming back from war with nothing, but Andrew wasn’t really paying attention to Rambo’s pain. Instead, he let his mind wander off to other places, to worries and lists of things to do. He thought of you, hoped that you would be fine, that you would sort things out with the man you loved. He thought about the article he needed to read the next day, the poems he wanted to select and discuss in his class about Yeats. He thought about the notebook that sat in his office at home, that had remained closed for the past few months, how he couldn’t find any reason to write these days, how he missed being able to produce poetry. It used to quieten his busy head for a while, he grieved for the easy cure, the temporary emotional relief creating provided for him. But then again, things were a little off with Sam these days. He could feel her drifting away sometimes, didn’t feel that they were as close as they used to. They would overcome it, of course, they always did. But what worried him most was that he didn’t know the reason behind it. Especially the past few weeks. She didn’t seem to make much efforts to be with him, to show interest in him. He wasn’t sure if it came from outside, may it be work or family, or if it came from inside their relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t paying enough attention, perhaps he had said something without realising it could be hurtful to her…

Anyway, they were drifting apart, and Andrew couldn’t write. He hadn’t written a single poem in two months, the longest time he had spent not writing at all since his teenage years. He felt kind of lost without that routine, the anchor it provided.

Sam had not answered to his texts today, he was worried. He knew she was alright, he had asked her friend again this afternoon, and Sam had been to work as per usual. It wasn’t like her to simply ghost him, though, that was new.

He would have been lying had he pretended that it didn’t make him angry. He didn’t reckon that he was being too much, crossing boundaries or anything of the kind by asking her to reply, when he just wanted to make sure she was alright. He clenched his jaw at the thought, tried not to let anger win, but he couldn’t help it. She was always complaining about his lack of communication skills, but she was pulling stunts like this? Andrew was far from perfect in that area, he knew it, he tried to make efforts about it, but he had never ghosted her for an entire day.

There was something wrong, and Andrew dreaded to find out what it could be.

Andrew jumped when he heard a knock on the door. Elwood felt his sudden rush of fear, barked in response.

“Shh, it’s alright, boy,” Andrew petted Elwood’s head before standing and walking to the door.

His eyes grew round in surprise as he found Sam on his doorstep.

“Babe? What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight…”

“I… I wanted to see you.”

His heart grew warm at her words, but he was still angry because of her silence. He let her in anyway.

“You’re alright? You didn’t answer me at all since yesterday morning,” Andrew said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry… I was just… busy…”

“What’s wrong? You seem upset?”

“Long day…”

She walked to the kitchen, paid no mind to Elwood as he watched her pass by, sniffed at her jeans, before heading back towards Andrew. The dog followed him around as he walked to the kitchen as well.

Andrew internally debated whether he should start a fight or not, about her silence, about the unanswered texts, about the fact that he was worried sick…

“How was your day, Andy?”

A simple question, Andrew was surprised to be stunned by it. It was a perfectly normal question, one he asked her every day, one she used to ask him. But then, he realised he was surprised because she had stopped asking about his day years ago…

“Erm… fine,” he answered, blinking at her, pushing his resentment to the side for a moment.

He looked at her fidgeting with his kettle, with a mug she had taken from the cabinet above her head. She seemed nervous, distressed even. Perhaps she was summoning up the courage to talk about whatever was bothering her. So, Andrew answered, instead of arguing.

“I… My day was fine. Got a lot of work done, ate with Colm and Ronan, which was nice. I’ve started narrowing down my list of poems I want to talk about for this new class about Yeats I’ll be teaching this year, made some historical research for it too. I’m worried about Y/N, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… her fiancé broke up with her last night. She’s devastated.”

He saw how Sam tensed at his words, turned her head slightly in his direction.

“Really?”

“Hmm… they had been together for several years, were engaged and everything. She was upset, like… really upset. I hope they can fix things, she seems to love him a lot. And apparently, it was very sudden too. Which only made things worse. She truly didn’t see it coming. God, can you imagine? Your long-time partner just… dropping a bomb on you like that? Without any warning? She didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know exactly what happened, but… something so unexpected like that….”

He saw Sam struggling to swallow, saw the fear and the hesitation in her eyes, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He walked over to her, folded his long arms around waist, pressing her back to his chest, kissed her head.

“Anyway, how are you? Are you okay, baby? Why didn’t you tell me you were home last night, I was worried sick…”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m a little off today.”

“Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

She hesitated, but then she shook her head, and he could tell that she was changing her answer, that she was hiding something from him.

“Just…” she stopped, stared at the empty mug in front of her. “Do you think that could happen to us?”

“What?”

“What happened to your colleague… do you think that could happen to us?”

Andrew’s heart started pounding, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t show the panic rising in his chest at the thought, he merely tightened protectively his hold on her instead.

“Of course, not. We’ve always been through every issue we’ve had, every row, every hard time. We’ll be fine, babe. We’re always fine.”

She didn’t relax per say, but Sam heaved a sigh, shook her head, turned in his arms to hug Andrew tight.

“You’re right. That’s silly…”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

But she shook her head, closing her eyes as she buried her face in his t-shirt.

“Nothing. Nothing important. I’m sorry I was so off today.”

“I love you, Sam.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to change her mind right before speaking. “I know, Andy. I know.”

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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[shhtickerbook]

Hi, I really like the Wonka movie and love the idea of Willy being a regressor. Could you do a scenario where he's at his shop but suddenly gets trigger and regresses?

Bittersweet

thank you so much for the request! Sorry it took a while.

Trigger warning for panic attacks, mild injury description and detailed descriptions of a trauma trigger

This fic takes place where all of the The Scrub crew are all aware of Willys regression, post movie. Also in my own AU, Their found family decide to remain close to eachother and stay in town to help with the new shop / factory.

At last the rebuilt shop had been restored, it had taken time , much longer than it had previously. For a while Wonka could hardly bare to look at it, seeing everything he worked so hard for so destroyed. But with the help of his friends and new family, they managed to restore it to her former glory. It was even improved beyond its previous, with the chocolate cherry blossom bearing a prismatic array of leaves and petals. It was somehow even more perfect than before.

Everything was going perfect that day, sales were inclining everyday. Abacus becoming chief financial advisor of the store, with the Money he had earned he was able to move both his Wife and Granddaughter to come live with him here. They were all thriving brilliantly with this new future to come.

Noodle was attending a grammar school now, but every day she would come racing to the store to help out. She was busy stocking the shelves of chocolate boxes, when she saw Willy strolling down the lane, cane swinging. Sometimes he just had to take it all in around him again, grinning at this dream he’d made come true.

“We’ve only got a few of the deluxe boxes on display Willy, they were pretty popular and they probably won’t last too long.”

Willy hopped over to take a look, the truffles in question had been increasingly popular. But it shouldn’t be a problem, he had a machine upstairs that was busy pumping out more. They had been closed for some refurbishment for a little while, but at last reopening to the public, and he couldn’t be more excited. Willy made sure to make some a quick patrol around the shop, checking in with each of his friends who were working in their own stations.

“Willy get a look at this! It’s done”

Piper called over in a sing song voice, she was busy tinkering away at a panel by the moat that surrounded the chocolate tree. Before there was just the small boat that mechanically spun around in a circuit, but this time Piper and Willy had put their heads together to something much more magic. With her mastery in plumbing, she turned a wheel until a pipe burst open into the moat. Wonkas finest melted chocolate streaming out, this time the boat needing no mechanism to cycle around. It was a perfect chocolate river spiralling around the tree, Willy whooping in excitement.

“It’s perfect!”

With clasped hands and a grin, before Piper put her arm around the chocolatier with a firm pat on the back. It was great timing too, the clock rang for 9:00am. Abacus checking his own pocket watch to be sure before calling out.

“Alright, any minute now we’re going to be open to the public again. And if my findings are correct I think it will be even busier than last time! Oh and noodle, Uniform?.”

He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow, noticeably lacking the blush pink outfit. Noodle just chuckling before holding up her bag, a flash of pink fabric poking out like a flag. It had been Willy who designed such garments, everyone at first was a little unsure with how… flamboyant they were. But they quickly warmed up to them, even Abacus.

Willy just couldn’t wait for the customers to arrive, sitting himself by the glass to peer through into the gallery gourmet. In the distance seeing a cloud or people making their way up. With a smile he stood up, adjusting his new scarf over his coat, before opening the front doors.

“Welcome one and all again to the renewed Wonkas chocolate!”

-

The new grand opening was going splendidly, the chocolate river canal proving to be quite the money maker too. Only a sovereign a ride, and it created quite a line for it that wound around the shop. Which meant those waiting in line had a perfect view of everything they had on sale.

Willy had the opportunity to unveil one of his newest creations too, the everlasting gobstopper. A hard candy In which never gets smaller, no matter how much and how long you sucked on it. (Lofty had been testing one for nearly a month now)

The prismatic coloured candy was stacked into a pyramid in its new display, Noodle working the station. They were making the most money they had ever had, but that didn’t matter much to Willy. What mattered to him was being able to share his joy and magic with those willing to indulge. And this time he didn’t have the chocolate cartel to worry about, his shop was bound to become the star of the Gallery Gourmet.

“Oi Mr Wonka!”

Willy was alerted by a boy tugging on his tail coat, turning to see a familiar face. It was the young shoe shine lad he had been stopped by multiple times on his first day here.

“Where are them swirly chocolate things? Me Mam loves them.”

Willy chuckled, surprised that the boy wasn’t trying to proposition him with a shoe shine or a brush of his coat. He already had chocolate smeared across his mouth, clearly been at the free samples.

“The chocolate truffles I think you’re referring to, are just over by the display over there young man. But try and save some for your Mother though”

Willy pointed his cane in the direction of the now dwindling boxes of truffles. The boy giving him a doff of his cap before turning on heel, Willy returning it with his own top hat. He decided to go check in with Abacus, he was just finishing up with a customer. The cashier ringing joyfully as he dropped coins inside, Abacus just couldn’t believe how much they were making.

“I’d say we’ve already made double of what he did last time Willy, especially with the new gobstoppers.”

Willy grinned, everything just felt so perfect. With the extra money, he planned to raise his friend’s wages. And although she wasn’t aware, Willy had begun to collect a fund. One for Noodle, he had already promised her a lifetime of chocolate. But with the girls smarts and potential, he wanted her to have most in life. The money was for her future, if she wanted to pursue any kind of career. She had done so much for her, he wanted to do the very same for her own future.

Before he could respond, a scream cut through their conversation. The sudden noise startling Willy, almost feeling his stomach drop into his shoes. Over on the other side of the store, a crowd had grown around a young boy. A boy who was red in the face, spluttering and choking. The exact boy that Willy had spoken to just moments ago.

Abacus immediately dropped what he was doing, racing over and pushing through the crowd. Willy knew he should follow, make sure the boy was alright. It was his store, the owner.

But he didn’t, he stood there completely catatonic.

No, no. Not again, it can't happen again.

In preparation for the new opening, Willy had obsessively checked and taste tested each product. So much so that he’d gone to bed with an exceptionally sore stomach. Everything was safe, he was sure everything was safe. Abacus, Lottie and Noodle were all kneeling by the young man, Before Abacus called out.

“Call for an ambulance-“

The shop itself was spinning, and it wasn’t just the chocolate canal ride. Willy was sure that the ground itself was falling away beneath him. An ambulance? Before it had just been multicoloured hair growth or green skin pigmentation, nothing life threatening. Nothing ever in need of any medical attention.

What had he done? It’s not as if the chocolate cartel could be involved like last time. It was his fault, it had to be his fault. He felt sick, face turned white as a sheet. He lost track of how long he’d been staring, but Noodle had noticed him through the crowd and immediately ran to her elder brother figure once the boy was being taken away.

“Willy? Willy!”

She tried to get his attention, but the chocolatiers eyes were fixed ahead. His lips were trembling with his head shaking, it was scaring her. She tried her best to reassure him, knowing what he’d be thinking.

“It’s okay, Willy you didn’t-“

He broke eye contact with the scene, looking down at her with his head shaking even more violently. His eyes flooded with tears as he began to step backwards, almost like a frightened animal.

“No, nono. Not again it can’t happen- won’t happen again”

He started mumbling out almost psychotically, flinching away from noodle when she tried to touch him. Both arms up with his hands and fingers flicking in panic. It was all his fault, that young boy might even die because he had done something wrong. He had no one to blame this time, what would mamma think?

He couldn’t hear anything around him anymore, it was just static. Everything was spinning and blurring, stumbling and tripping over things as he continued to backtrack. He needed to get away, he was a coward. A coward in which had probably killed or seriously injured a child with his stupid dreams.

Noodle tried again desperately to get his attention, waving a hand in his face. It was terrifying, he didn’t look like himself. He just continued to mutter and whimper to himself, his head shaking so hard that it may pop off his shoulders. She tried to hold onto his hand again but he recoiled away in disgust like she was diseased. No matter what she was saying, it wasn’t getting through.

“Willy! You’re scaring me, let me explain-“

But he wasn’t listening, holding his hands close up to his chest protectively. His cane clattering loudly to the ground, now without his mobility aid as he kept stepping back.

He needed to get away, now. Gasping for air, he stumbled backwards, feeling for the door into the backroom of the store. But he felt into midair instead, losing his balance and crashing into one of the shelves instead.

He yelped out in surprise, the back of his head hitting wood as a one of the glass jars wobbled from its shelving before crashing down over him. The further stimulation only worsening Willys condition. Noodle screamed and attempted to grab onto him before he fell, but couldn’t in time. Shards of glass and candy fell about him like snowflakes, But Wonka hardly noticed, far too panicked and overstimulated to care about any pain.

The commotion attracted even more attention in the shop, customers looking over to see the owner sitting in a pile of glass shards. As quickly as it happened, Willy somehow managed to get back to his feet, splintering his hands and arms with the glass in panic. In a rush he managed to pull open the back door and escape from everything. Behind him he could hear people calling his name, but unable to differentiate whether it was his friends or angry rioting customers. Noodle just stood there, not sure if she should follow. Deciding instead to enlist some support before attempting to talk with him like this.

Willy’s legs felt like jelly, so he didn’t make it very far. Falling into a heap on the floor, before gasping desperately for air. He couldn’t breathe properly, tears pouring down his face before he burst into sobs. Every single terrible outcome and scenario was racing around Wonkas brain. Did he not check the ingredients correctly? What if the boy wasn’t the only one in distress? They would for sure close down the store, maybe even arrest him. It was all his fault, it was happening all over again and there was nothing he could do about it.

-

Once the child was loaded into the ambulance, the employees of Wonkas Chocolate thought it best to close up shop for today. Abacus had spoken with the ambulance attendant, who had assured him that the boy was going to be alright. It was a huge relief to everybody, and although fellow customers seemed a little unsettled by the event, it was no where near like the angry mob from before. The only irritation coming from the announcement of their early closure. Both Abacus and Piper were guiding shoppers out the front door when Noodle approached both of them, looking extremely distressed.

“It’s Willy, he’s- he’s not okay”

-

Wonka was still so deep into a panic attack, so that when the door opened and his friends entered, he hardly noticed.

Noodle gasped at the sight of him, his cut up hands from the glass had begun to bleed horribly over his hands and arms, ruining his velvet jacket. The chocolatier was curled up into a ball, hyperventilating between cries.

Noodle couldn’t help but hold onto Pipers hand, she wasn’t good with blood. Benz squeezed her hand back reassuringly, they all too often forgot she was still a child herself. So Abacus approached first, kneeling in front of the panicked boy.

“Willy, it’s alright. It’s not what you think. The boy is going to be okay.”

But It didn’t seem like Abacus’ words were getting through, He had to physically take ahold of Willys hands before he would any pay attention, his bloodshot eyes snapping up. It hurt his heart to see him like this.

“He— is. Okay?”

Willy managed to choke out between gasps, Noodle pulled away from piper to sit on the floor too, a hand comfortingly on his knee as she looked with concern. Willy Wonka was the strongest person she’d ever met, seeing him like this, it was scary.

“Yeah Willy, he just had a peanut allergy-“

Willy blinked hard, shaking his head again.

“Bb-ut I mmade a sign- i forgot to put them up?”

He began to spiral yet again, he did remember creating such labels, as it was Noodles idea. He thought it terrible luck for those who had such afflictions. But he wanted to include everyone to enjoy his creations as much as he could. With plenty of his other treats being free from such ingredients. They were even placed on the other side of the store especially to reduce any cross contamination. Had he forgotten to properly label something?

“Seems the young chap just wasn’t paying too much attention, just grabbing at any free sample he could find. It’s not your fault.”

Abacus gently rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb, before sucking through his teeth at the state of them. Willy was struggling to process this new information, his body and brain had already accepted the fact that this was all his fault.

“You need to breath Willy, in and out”

Noodle demonstrated, breathing in and blowing gently out onto his hot teary face. Willy looked up, still taking in short shallow breaths. He attempted to follow her guide, but halfway fell back into the hyperventilation.

“It’s okay buddy, try again”

Piper had come to kneel down too, smiling sadly at the sorry sight of him. It was strange seeing such a positive character so distraught. It ended up taking quite few minutes for the breathing exercises to help, with Willy leaning against Abacus as he did his best to follow his friends instructions.

At last the hyperventilation had slowed but Willy was still shaking. Biting down hard on his lower lip, tears continuing to cascade down his cheeks silently. Clicking his tongue sympathetically, Abacus pat his shaking knee. It was clearly going to take a little while for Willy to accept that this wasn’t his fault.

“You’ve had a bit of a fright, haven’t you?”

He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed by his overreaction. But even with the reassurance that the boy would be alright, the anxiety was still lingering like little bugs racing up and down his skin. He was also beginning to feel that fuzzy sensation in his head again. It was like the scare had flipped a switch in his head, so he just nodded mournfully.

“Oh you poor lad”

Abacus tutted sympathetically, turning his attention to the injuries too. Gently lifting his arms to peer at them, surface wounds thankfully yet still very painful looking.

At least those could be easily fixed. Then turned to Piper with a knowing look, both of them having the same suspicion of his seemingly regressive headspace.

“We best get him upstairs to the flat, would you mind Benz?”

The woman nodded, before patting Noodle on the shoulder. Who was still staring at Willy with concern and anxiety.

“Hey noodle, how about you go help Larry and Lottie wrap up the store? We’ll take care of Willy”

Noodle wasn’t sure at first, looking back at her friend who was still in quite an upset state. but she was a little grateful for the opportunity. Seeing Willy so traumatised and bloody wasn’t an easy thing for a 13 year old to look at, especially when it was somebody she loved so much. So she quickly lunged forward to hug him tight, bearing in mind to be gentle around his arms. Even in the hug she could feel him shaking still, Willy only managing to weakly return it. When she stood up to leave she hesitated for a moment, watching as Abacus helped him onto his jittering legs.

“We’ll get him all sorted dear, you go help with the store..”

Abacus reassured her, Nodding after one more hesitant glance. She trusted them to look after Willy, they all cared for him so.

“Now then, let’s get you upstairs.”

Piper held the chocolatier up, watching how his legs were knocked kneed like a newborn fawn. Holding an arm over him to help him move on forward.

“Mmsorry”

Willy mumbled. Although he could sense the obvious regression taking its hold, he felt like such a silly burden. But when he they came up to his spiral staircase to his flat, he couldn’t help but moan. His stupid legs felt completely useless, almost like they were made from gummy candy.

“It’s okay buddy, but I don’t think these stairs are gonna be the smartest plan for you right now”

Before he could respond, he yelped as he was lifted up, then being settled on the plumbers hip. Seeing her grin mischievously as she held him steady. Willys face burning in surprise, but the action just made him feel even more fuzzy.

“How can someone who eats mainly chocolate be so little? He’s like a bird?”

Piper hushed over Willy to Abacus, who just chuckled at the comment.

“Little I think is definitely the correct adjective for right now, the poor boy's had such a fright"

There was a part of Willy that wanted to object to the accusation that he was feeling little, but even he knew they were likely right. He needed it terribly. And now that the adrenaline of everything was fading, he could truly feel the pain in his arms. Eyes widening in fear when taking actual sight of them, he didn’t like blood.

So he just squeezed his eyes shut right, pushing his head into pipers shoulder. The woman in question looking over at Abacus at the action, lips pursed at just how adorable this was. If it weren’t for such a bad situation, she would be skipping in joy. Why Willy had decided to implement such a fancy staircase (when he often needed his cane) was beyond them. Sometimes the chocolatier forgot about practicality, always wanting the extravaganza.

-

At last they made it upstairs to a landing, Abacus opening the mahogany door into Wonkas flat. The inside was extremely cosy, its interior inspired from his old canal boat home from when he was a child. A sloped curved ceiling with lots of warm colours and carved wooden decor. It was pretty simple and homey, the kitchenette and lounge taking up the room. A very large window looked down below to the gallery gourmet, with a small workshop set up against it, an ornate machine churning out singular chocolates. Then finally Willy’s bed up a few steps to an upper level of the room itself.

There was were two other doors on either side of the reasonably size room, one normal one leading to a bathroom. The other door abnormally small? Only around a metre in height. But that didn’t matter just now, the pair walking further inside before Piper settled Willy down on the couch.

“There we go, home and safe now.”

She comforted, hating how fragile and anxious he seemed. The presence of his home brought some comfort though, Willy reaching out to stroke the ribbed corduroy fabric of his lounge. Not before Abacus quickly lifted his hands away in alarm.

“Ah-ah! I’m sorry Willy but I will not have you smearing blood into that furniture”

He chastised only gently, the pale pink fabric being very easy to stain, and even harder to wash out.

“Wasn’t gonna..”

Willy mumbled, but his eyes did widen when he peered at his injured hands again. They were starting to really sting now, and he could catch the shiny glint of glass that was still imbedded.

“I should hope not, that chaise lounge just so happens to be one of my favourite pieces of decor in this accommodation”

A sharp pertinent voice cut through, not before Piper let out a yelp in surprise. Standing between them was a very small orange man, who just rolled his eyes at the reaction.

“Oh please Ms Benz, you have squealed many times at my presence. I’m tired of being revered like a mouse around a circus elephant”

The Oompa Loompa was holding an empty teacup in hand, he was only departing from his own room to tidy it away. Not expecting the flat to suddenly be busy with uninvited guests.

“Well if I’m the ‘circus elephant’ in that analogy, I’d be careful I don’t send you through that window with the kick of my boot.”

Piper threatened, stamping her foot in his direction. She wasn’t so keen on Lofty, his uptight attitude drove her up the wall. And she still hadn’t got used to his small presence, maybe it was because when he was a child she used to have nightmares and a very irrational fear of gnomes of all things.

Abacus himself also was a little surprised by the little orange man’s entrance, but was able to behave more tactfully than Piper. He’d only spoken with Lofty very little, the Oompa Loompa preferring much more to stay to himself with his job in the tasting department.

“Now would somebody care to explain what has happened here?”

Lofty came to the front to peer at Willy, grimacing at the sight of his injury. But he was even more curious about the strange manner that Wonka seemed to be in. Willy had tucked his knees to his chest as he anxiously flicked his fingers, he certainly wasn’t his usual overly positive and often irritating self.

“We had a bit of a situation in the shop, poor lad went into anaphylaxis. He’s going to be alright, but Willy here got quite the fright”

Lofty raised his eyebrows, it still didn’t quite explain the bloody arms though. But the possibility of that lounge being stained was his main concern.

“I’ll go fetch my first aid kit before he gets blood on anything else in here that I have the slightest attachment to.”

Lofty said with mild disgust before turning on heel to his room. Willy himself still looked pretty miserable, but more exhausted than anything. Piper just wanted to scoop the boy up into her lap and squeeze him tight, although she wasn’t sure if it would be appreciated right now. The group was then startled for a moment from a noise clearly coming from downstairs, a creaking metal noise.

“BENZ! WE TRIED TO TURN THE CHOCOLATE VALVE OFF BUT ITS NOW STUCK AT MAX PRESSURE”

A whiny yell came out clearly from a distressed Larry chucklesworth who had turned the chocolate river valve in the wrong direction, doubling its pressure as it pumped out melted chocolate.

“For Petes sake! I’m coming you idiot!.”

Piper sighed out in exasperation, pinching her brow. She had specifically told everybody not to touch it, she was still sorting out all the kinks. She did catch a small giggle coming from Willy though, happy to see at least it had made him smile.

“I better go sort out that mess downstairs, you be good for Abacus and that sunburnt gnome”

She leant down and gave him a peck on the cheek, wishing she could spend some more time with the little chocolatier. Turning Willys face bright pink, unable to hide a smile at the affection. As Piper turned to leave, she had to quickly jump at the arrival of Lofty yet again. Whom arms were filled with a leather first aid kit, rolling his eyes at the woman who quite nearly flattened him beneath her boots.

“If you could please move to the floor, I’m not risking anything with that lounge.”

Lofty demanded, Looking up at the two remaining men as best he could from behind the first aid case. Willy obeyed and slid down to the floor, sitting crosslegged. His head was feeling very fuzzy now, and he looked up at abacus with whine, wanting him to sit too.

“I think I’ll just sit here if you don’t mind Lad, I don’t think I could get back up from the floor if I sat down”

Abacus chuckled, perching instead on the couch. But still kept a comforting hand on his shoulder, gently massaging back and forth to soothe him. Lofty had been watching the interaction with a raised brow, something was certainly going on. So as he began to unpack some supplies, he bluntly questioned.

“Alright, if I could be informed of what’s going on right here, it would be very much appreciated. I’m quite positive this reaction is far beyond than a child choking on a peanut, especially with those injuries of which still nobody has explained how they came to be.”

He curtly asked, whilst pulling out some bandages, gentian violet and some tweezers for those glass shards. Abacus awkwardly cleared his throat, looking over at Willy whose face had darkened. Although the Oompa Loompa had been residing with him for a while now, his regression was something that he hadn’t yet disclosed with him. Although all his friends had been amazingly supportive and loving, it was still a very peculiar topic to try and explain. Lofty was already quite judgemental most of the time, what if he found this weird and gross?

Willy brought his knees up to his chest anxiously, staying silent in a panic. He didn’t want Lofty to hate him. But he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, Abacus smiling kindly.

“Would you like me to explain?”

He suggested, especially since it seemed the boy wasn’t feeling so verbal right now. Willy looked up and thought about it for a moment, before giving him a nod. He didn’t know how to put his words right for this. All the while Lofty has continued to observe the interaction, shoe tapping on the floor impatiently.

“Alright, i believe you should know regardless as you share a residency with Willy. Sometimes when he gets overwhelmed, Mr Wonka finds it a little hard to stay grown.”

Abacus carefully explained to the little orange man across from him, who frowned in confusion.

“Grown? I can’t see any sign of him shrinking in size, he looked to be the same height as before since I last checked.”

The Oompa Loompa positioned both hands into a viewfinder over the chocolatier, nope, still the same size. Abacus couldn’t help but laugh at the misunderstanding, wishing this could be easier to explain.

“No not in physical size, more like he feels a little younger. Where he needs a little extra care and support, like a child.”

At this point Willy wanted to sink through the floor, not daring to check the Oompa Loompas facial expression. Instead picking at the fabric of his slacks, the small bigger part of him wanted to end this conversation and say that Abacus was just talking utter nonsense, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. He was tired, all he wanted was for his arms to stop hurting and for someone to hold him for a while.

“So what you’re saying that Mr Wonka here regresses to infancy when unsettled?”

Lofty questioned the man, it was difficult to discern his tone. After all, most of the time when he spoke it sounded as if you had offended him in some way. But when he looked at the mannerisms and body language of Willy, he certainly seemed very different than usual.

“Well, when you put it bluntly. Yes you’re correct, but I hope that you won’t be too judgemental. This is something Mr Wonka cannot help, and we shouldn’t be cruel about it.”

Abacus’s voice began to become colder as he finished his sentence, it wasn’t something Willy was used to ever hearing, looking up in slight alarm. Abacus was staring down at the Oompa Loompa almost threateningly, daring him to respond. In response, Lofty snorted after a pause.

“Hm, very peculiar I must say, but I suppose he already acts rather immaturely most of the time regardless.”

Was all he said before completely moving on, returning to prepare the first aid equipment. Acting as if Abacus had just requested he pass the sugar over to him. Both Willy and Abacus were surprised by well, the lack of reaction.

“Now then, please take off that coat show me your arms. I need to know what I’m working with here”

Willy paused for a moment, still expecting some kind of response, insult or anything. But let Abacus carefully ease him out of the blood soaked jacket before displaying his arms outwards, with the Oompa Loompas only sign of disgust so far being directed at the injuries.

“Goodness you’ve made quite the mess of yourself haven’t you?”

Abacus nodded in agreement, before wincing when seeing the state of them properly in the light.

“Indeed, he took a bit of a tumble into one of the displays. One of our crystal chocolate jars paying the price.”

Lofty just sighed, typical Wonka behaviour. He’d never met a person so terminally clumsy sometimes and foolish.

“Of course he did, now I’m going to need you to stay very still. I’m going to remove these glass shards before they get infected.”

He held up the tweezers, Willy shrinking away in alarm at the metal instrument. He didn’t want it to hurt. But Abacus rubbed his back supportively, assuring him it would be fine. As promised, Lofty was impeccably careful as he removed each tiny shard from his arms and hands, his very small hands working in his favour for the task. Back in Loompa land he had a friend whom was the islands herbalist, so he only had some experience when it came to medicine.

He placed each glinting piece into a dish by the table, and once satisfied there was none remaining he reached for the little purple bottle.

“This is an antiseptic I assume?”

Lofty questioned the mathematician, handing the violet bottle up to him. The man pulled a face when reading the label, knowing from experience that this stung viciously.

“Alright, this may sting a little”

-

It did in fact sting quite a lot, as soon as Lofty applied the purple tonic. Willy yelping and flinching away. The pain had just begun to settle when they’d reached upstairs, but now it felt as if someone had set a match upon his skin. And with how sensitive he was already feeling, fresh tears began to spill over and he did his best to squirm away.

“Now i understand it hurts, but it will feel a lot worse later if you don’t allow me to finish Mr Wonka”

In the end Abacus ended up having to retreat from the couch, Willy positioning himself into his lap for security from the horrible anti-septic. He was perhaps feeling the smallest he ever had, and even with Lofty there he didn’t have the willpower to mask it. Eventually with enough comforting words and support from Abacus, Lofty had successfully painted either arm and hand with the bright purple medicine.

“See, we’re done now. There was no need for that silly nonsense”

Lofty chastised as he screwed the cap on the glass bottle again, but he still didn’t seem very fussed about the dramatic change in headspace. More irritated by what he deemed was a bit of an overreaction. Next reaching for the roll of bandages, but this time Willy was much more reproachful about offering his arms back over to the Oompa Loompa, scowling at him best he could.

“I don’t appreciate that expression directed at me, I was just going to wrap your arms up. Unless of course you would prefer Mr Crunch to do so?”

He spoke with crossed arms, but found the grumpy expression slightly entertaining. Especially with his forlorn tearstained face which worked against his attempt to be threatening.

“I could if you’d prefer, but that would mean i would need to tip you from my lap to do so.”

Abacus explaining his options, thanking heaven above regardless that the man was very light and he was only losing partial blood flow to his legs.

“But you are certainly not welcome in my own, I’ve been in danger of being crushed once too many times today.”

Willy thought about it for moment, finding the embrace around him far too comfortable to give up quite just yet. So reluctantly pointed at lofty rather rudely.

“He do it”

“Can Lofty do it please would be much politer thank you very much”

He corrected with a firm expression, but began to unroll the bandages regardless. Carefully he applied the bandage around each skinny arm, all the while Willy just back leant into Abacus throughout the process. He was so tired, all he wanted was to sleep. By the time Lofty was finished, the boy was practically half asleep.

“That’s you done now, very brave”

Willy dozily inspected his new bound arms, before letting out a big yawn. Even lofty finding it a little endearing, revealing out a small smile before quickly replacing it with his usual frown.

“I think we best get you tucked up for a little rest, shall we?”

Willy nodded, and reluctantly allowed Abacus to tip him off his lap so he could stand again. The poor gentleman groaned in pain as he stood up, he was certainly far too old for this.

“Mm-head hurts”

Wonka mumbled out, his skull feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton wool. Infact most of his body was starting to feel very sore and weak.

“Well no wonder it hurts with all that silly crying, but I give you permission to return to that lounge. Now that it’s no longer in danger of being stained by bodily fluids.”

Lofty said distastefully, motioning for Willy to get up and move. Kindly Abacus helping him up to his feet again, which was desperately needed as he had forgotten his cane downstairs in the store.

He practically collapsed back down onto the couch, sighing in relief to finally be lying down. His entire body felt as if it had been put through the laundry ringer at scrubbits. A few moments later he felt Abacus tuck a thick blanket around his frame, the one that had been stretched across his bed.

In his dozing state, he instinctively reached out for something. Face screwing up a little when realising it obviously wasn’t going to be there.

“What on earth are you looking for?”

Lofty questioned, clearly seeing the man feeling around in complete thin air.

“Chester”

Willy mumbled out , he was so tired but he still needed his companion, especially right now. Lofty’s slow blink was practically audible, shaking his head before turning to the mathematician who had busied himself with folding up the velvet jacket. Planning on taking it back personally to soak it out, even though he’d left the laundry business, it still stuck with him.

“Would you mind translating what on earth he is requesting?”

Abacus just smiled, remembering that name very clearly. So he just pointed up at the bed, knowing it would he the most likely location.

“Check underneath the pillow of Mr Wonkas bed.”

With a raised eyebrow and a lot of confusion, the Oompa Loompa reluctantly followed the direction. Only feeling more lost when lifting the pillow and finding the contents beneath.

“Is this some kind of rag?”

He held up a small knitted bird with an extended arm, its head lolling to the side rather unsettlingly. Willy spotted the item immediately though, lifting his own head up from the couch with a whine.

“Chester..”

Loftys confused frown remained, able to put together the clues that this amalgamation of wool must be “Chester” Mr Wonka did seem very concerned about it though, so he quickly handed it over to him. The little bird being clung close to his chest, with its misshapen beak poking out under his chin. It was all so ludicrous, it was just a silly inanimate object.

But he saw how the boy began to settle again at its presence. Eyes closing at last as his breathing became slower and deeper. For the first time since he’d seen the man that afternoon, he looked genuinely at peace. From behind him he heard the accountant approaching, who was holding two cups of tea, one being marginally smaller.

“Think we could both do with one”

Lofty accepted the offer, the pair sitting in the kitchenette. Both of them looking over at the now fast asleep chocolatier on the lounge. A comfortable silence between the two as they just took the time to wind down, the scene would probably look extremely strange to an any outsider if they happened to wander inside. Abacus smiled fondly as he noticed the knitted toucans wing being gently chewed on as Wonka slept.

“Thank you, for being understanding about this. This is a part of him that not many know or care to understand, but I believe it’s something very special to be trusted with”

He said to the Oompa Loompa, who had also been observing the chocolatiers behaviour. It was rather fascinating.

“But, I won’t hold it against you if this is a little too strange for you. This manner of coping is certainly unconventional”

He continued, wanting to assure him. He remembered that Noodle had been a little apprehensive about it all when he first explained the regression to her. And Willy had been extremely firm in the fact that he never wanted to be a burden to anybody or make them feel uncomfortable. Lofty stayed silent for a few moments, draining the cup of tea before answering.

“You are speaking with somebody who comes from a tropical island populated only by 2ft tall orange men. I think you would find good reason to label me as a hypocrite if i were to judge Mr Wonka negatively for this.”

He paused in his statement, looking over again at the boy with the smallest of a smile

“Is it a little peculiar? Definitely, but I suppose we all must learn to be open minded when it comes to things we don’t quite understand yet.

And on one hand, I may find it a little endearing too, at least he’s less irritating than usual, aside from all the tears.”

And with that, he turned again to the man across the table. Nonchalant as always.

“Anyways, how about you go hunting for some of those truffles. I’m sure Wonka always hides them out of my reach”

[brian-in-finance]

After the onslaught of criticism about her IFTA look, I thought of putting together some of Cait's quotes, a look into her character and what she's about.

“I respect and admire people who put work before fame, and life before work.”

"I think as women sometimes we can judge other women's journeys, actions a lot more harshly than we would if it was a man."

"I think there's something in the DNA of actors that we thrive on the lack of stability or regime. I relish the unpredictability of it in many ways."

The sexiest things about a man are, "Integrity, smarts and kindness".

"I just want to be happy in my life. I want to stay sane. I'm lucky that I have a job that I love. It's very important that your career can't be your only thing. So, I feel lucky that I've also found someone who makes me very happy. As long as I can keep those two things going well, then I'll be good."

"While 'Outlander' is a brilliant period show, Claire represents so many qualities of a 10th century modern-day woman: someone who is forging her own path, fighting for what she believes, and doing so with integrity."

"It's such a compliment when people say they can see 'thoughts' on your face. I started theater before modeling and the frustrated actress within me made work interesting by viewing a character or story in the head with interior monologues."

"Life is meant to be lived and not put on the back-burner for one day when you will have time. I love my job and I love work but it can’t be the be-all and end-all." 

“You have to fight to create the life that you want. I’ve been lucky and had a very varied and interesting career so far, but I’m always thinking about the next chapter.”

"I'm very young at heart but combined with a bit of an old soul. I have two sides of myself, one side is this cray-likes-to-party side, and then the other side likes-to-hibernate-and-keep-quiet-and-read. Those two sides constantly battle and that's why I'm crazy!"

"It was something I've been wanting for a while. There's sometimes fear about actors who become producers—that they're going to try to throw their weight around. For me, it's an expansion of growing within this industry. I like to problem solve. I like to look around at what every single person is doing, and [ask], how can we make things better?"

"Wrinkles equal time, equal life . . . trying to love them."

"SM brings out the very worst in people and makes us feel worse and worse about ourselves. So I'm trying to do, at least one day a week, hopefully 2 days a week, where I just step back and, I've been trying to do it recently and because I really felt like I needed to ... there's so much anger going on and there's so much "uhh" that it was making me feel just awful about everything."

"The modeling industry is completely what you make it. I've had a really great career but what some girls fail to understand is that it is a business like everything else. It's a job, not an opportunity for you and your friends to go away together a lot. You have to remember that the reason you're flying off to an exotic location is that you are there to deliver a job."

“The hardest part when I decided to move into acting was trusting I'd made the right decision.”

Thanks for the message, Anon. 😃 I’m happy to share the impressive list you’ve compiled of Caitríona’s quotes, and I hope people enjoy the walk down memory lane. As for the onslaught of criticism about her IFTA look…

One of the things you and I and everyone else are entitled to is an opinion. Some people liked her IFTA look, some did not. I sometimes post “fashion,” but have no expertise in that field, and I don’t necessarily like or dislike the garments or jewellery or footwear or accessories, or how they’re worn.

As for Standing Ground’s collections, unsupported breasts and nipples abound. I’d like to say it’s by design (wee pun), but I don’t know if it’s the designer’s intent in keeping with his natural scheme or if it’s the model’s choice to go braless. (If I were writing in DM, this is where I would say, “Blah blah blah.”)

What I do know, if I owned “the IFTA” dress and could wear it the way I chose, I would be wearing a bra. Everybody, every body, is different.

Most of the time, when I disagree with an opinion, I silently 🙄 or 🤦🏻‍♂️ or 🤯 or 🤬 or 😂, and scroll along my merry way. The odd time when I both 🤬 and chime in is when someone says it’s their opinion Caitríona is not married to Tony.

Literacy Ideas

Remember… opinion has caused more trouble on this little earth than plagues or earthquakes. — Voltaire

[saltygilmores]

Does Jess Mariano have ADHD or not? One neurodivergent's meager opinion, don't take anything I say too seriously.

I have seen some people (infrequently) try to armchair-diagnose Jess with ADHD. I was diagnosed around 7 years old in the early 90s with ADD, when ADD and ADHD were two separate diagnoses. I'm old? I realized, as an adult, that it was and still very much is common for women to go under-diagnosed well into adulthood, so for my school district to pick that out when I was in first grade shows they did at least one thing right, I guess? Or my ADD was so severe and blindingly obvious that it wasn't exactly difficult to notice. But I digress. What is my diagnosis? Take everything I say with a grain of salt. I'm only playing armchair therapist, as we like to do around these parts. I have no medical or mental health training and I can only speak from my own experience as someone with the condition. As we know, it's a spectrum, and it often presents differently for boys than it does for girls. With that out of the way, no, I don't think he has ADHD. A lot of people lean on the scene in Teach Me Tonight where he's not interested in Rory's tutoring. Or maybe that scene where he's bugging Lane for a pencil in class. (PLEASE, I needed to see more interaction at SHH!) So that's the Attention Deficit, but those two scenes really aren't enough to convince me. Some of other symptoms of ADHD (and certainly not all of them) and whether I think they may apply to him: Talking Excessively- No Fidgeting & Squirming-No Interrupting-No Restlessness-No Problems with Following Through On Set Tasks-No Mood swings- no impulsiveness- no Frequently loses items-no Disorganized- Maybe? (if we're going by his sometimes messy living quarters, but he also keeps a nicely organized dresser that Luke can snoop through) Forgetfulness-no Trouble Listening: Ehh? I don't think so. He just doesn't like listening to people who are transparent as a piece of plastic wrap with their bullshit (cough, lorelai) Trouble following rules: Yes, but see above A tendency to hyper-focus on a task he enjoys but he will become easily distracted if a task bores him: Maybe Problems with time management/lateness-nope Daydreams frequently- Yes, and getting lost in his books (wouldn't you do the same to cope if you were him though, let's be honest) Errrr, come to think of it, Lorelai might want to get checked out. Jess was highly intelligent and too smart for his own good. He loved reading and learning about subjects that actually interested him. Homework, tests, and studying likely bored him unless it was a subject or a specific topic he enjoyed and he felt this kind of work was beneath him. This is quite typical of those diagnosed with ADHD. He would be one of those kids (and I would know) whom the teachers describe as "Bright student, but he needs to apply himself/ not meeting his potential" I think he would have enjoyed the more rigorous academics of Chilton and the structure of a school like that could have helped him stay on the right path. It couldn't have been worse than Stars Hollow High, which failed him miserably. However I think that ultimately a place like Chilton would have felt too stuffy and restricting for him and he would be miserable being surrounded by all the rich snobby kids. Despite some road blocks, Rory survived and thrived being the "poor" transfer student, but it would have been much more uncomfortable for Jess (even with Rory being his classmate and having at least one person in the school he could lean on). Rory, at least in high school, is a lot more agreeable, docile, focused, and beholden to authority, has an involved parent and a stable home life. (I have a couple of weak theories about how he would get into Chilton and how he could even afford it, but they're really a stretch and unrealistic)

Imagine your troubled alcoholic mother dumped you on a bus to live in a weird town in another state, where you live with an uncle you barely know in an apartment above a diner where you have no privacy and said relative makes you work day and night in his diner and gloats about how he pays you in acorns, he steals your car, his most frequent customers don’t tip you, and that's on top of working a second job, there's this crazy random lady who is always getting up in your face about everything and she throws eggs at your car, the town holds an emergency meeting because you stole some spare change and drew on a sidewalk with chalk, you’re in a new school in a new state and this 6’4 diseased human pine tree named Dean Forrester tries to pick fights with you in alleways and probably tries to nail you with dodgeballs in gym class. Your dad left you when you were born and your Mom was a teenage mother who was deeply neglectful at best and abusive at worst and barely cares that you exist. Starting fom a young age you experience a revolving door of Mom's Boyfriends and Husbands, one of whom apparently died (and TJ was probably one of the best ones of the bunch, god help us all) who may or may not have been abusive to you and/or your mother. Would you be able to focus on school after all of that? He didn’t even skip school purely because he hated going or to play hookie and get into trouble, he was skipping school to work a job. If this wasn't a (barely) PG show he could have turned to drugs or alcohol (or real crime) to cope. (Oh, and all the stress of his relationship with Rory PLUS dealing with Luke, Lorelai, and Dean getting involved in that shizz too. You're not even allowed to experience the slightest grain of joy, like kissing your girlfriend without your relative breaking down the door and hauling you in for a talk on sexual impropriety. (also, your uncle thinks you're a drug dealer and an underage prostitute) There's also a lot more we still don't know about his childhood, he could have moved frequently with Liz, he could have spent time in foster homes. His education could have been interrupted on a frequent basis. He likely had a number of teachers who let him fall through the cracks or didn't believe in him or thought he was nothing but trouble wouldn't amount to anything and he lost trust in the educational system. He doesn't seem to be able to make friends in Stars Hollow (despite his declarations that he's playing sports "with the guys", lol) .It's canon that Liz drank while she was pregnant with him, which could have affected him neurologically.

His turbulent childhood likely caused him to act out at school before he arrived in The Hollow. His school district could have just slapped an ADHD label on him for his behavior. With that, I can’t imagine Liz putting in any effort into reading his report cards, noticing his grades were plummeting, seeking a diagnosis for him, taking him to counseling, trying to obtain any resources to help him, going to any parent teacher conferences, or even opening mail the school sent home. If he ever was diagnosed with a condition ike ADHD he surely had very weak supports.

I just think there are just too many external factors muddying the waters and many things that were not explored enough. I see someone who is very troubled emotionally but I don’t see many specific signs of ADHD, if any. I am much more convinced he has some social anxiety and most certainly some underlying depression and other emotional issues which are too heavy for me to try and armchair-diagnose, and I hope he will have sought some therapy once he was able to. By how much he seems to have grown by season 6, I think he did go to therapy. This concludes my diagnosis of The Boy.

[seafoamreadings]

week of september 10th, 2023

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: in many ways the week is peaceful and calm for you, but there is definitely activity in your daily routines of one sort or another and it's up to you to make that fruitful for yourself.

taurus: you get a lot of 5th house virgoan activity all week but also some pings to your own sign. it's a romantic period! which is great news for venusians like you. while there are some heavy influences about, mostly it is a time for you to have fun and do whatever you're inspired to do - which means don't just live in obligation mode all week.

gemini: mercury direct broadly means good things for you. this week might be chaotic, but you thrive in chaos, you know its value. then as the orbit stabilizes again, your mind clears up, your mental clumsiness disappears, and broken electronics may mysteriously seem to fix themselves.

cancerians: for this new moon, to work its magic most effectively in your favor, bond with your community. siblings, cousins, neighbors. start or contribute to a community garden, lend someone a cup of sugar, things of this nature. being a helpful person attracts helpful people. you will need them some day, as you know.

leo: you're asked at this time, perhaps only implicitly, to make your home and keep your finances in good order. don't get stingy with money, but use it effectively to make a good life for yourself and the people you live with.

virgo: a new moon occurs in your sign AND mercury goes direct there this week. plus, ceres (the 'modern' ruler of virgo in my system) heads for scorpio after a fairly long stay in libra. you are put in an "older sibling" type of role, although this can also apply to coworkers, friends, or your role as a steward of nature. use the new moon to set kindly intentions.

libra: you're hit with a 12th house/2nd house combo this week. your finances are richly blessed, and your soul is putting in serious work as you grow and develop. just be aware, with the new moon in virgo, a secret may be made. keep your promises and stay in your lane, but meanwhile watch out for hidden enemies or "frenemies."

scorpio: the new moon in virgo introduces you to a new friend or helpful acquaintance. be open to interactions with strangers that surprise and delight you. meanwhile ceres into your sign makes you fertile (literally and figuratively?) and luscious, which is great for this harvest season we are in. what delicious fruits are ripe for you now in your life?

sagittarius: you may be placed in the public eye this week in a way which you would prefer not to be. fortunately venus picking up speed helps you navigate gracefully. things that seem like blunders can be corrected, just keep a cool head and move forward as unflustered as you can.

capricorn: it's supportive earth vibe all week and no one appreciates support like earth signs such as yourself. you have prepared, you are ready, as soon as you note mercury direct it's time for you to move forward too. don't expect to go fast, but so expect to go with great strength.

aquarius: there are some signs this week that your financial situation improves by way of other people - an inheritance, a loan, etc. the downside is debt problems and perhaps tax troubles are also indicated. avoid anything shady.

pisces: upheaval in relationships is the name of your game all week. but don't be too discouraged, you know you like things to be interesting; at least you aren't bored. not all upheaval is bad, anyway.

[tixdixl]

Hi!!! I know we don’t talk much, but I was wondering if I could get Kingsley’s opinion on Lucero? Something about mask buddies LOL

Hello!!! It's great to hear from you! Thanks for the ask!

I think Kingsley would have mixed opinions on Lucero, especially from a superficial, surface level perspective. On the one hand, he seems about as dramatic and egotistical as you get, which is kind of expected from Pomefiore, but on the other hand, with him being secluded and oft to mind his own business, Kingsley would actually appreciate that. He'd prefer someone who knows where their lane is and when its appropriate to get involved over someone who is going to stick their nose where it doesn't belong.

Kingsley himself is often one to stay within his own lane and keep to himself. He spends the majority of his freshman year completely socially isolated. He also has a tendancy to only seek people out or engage with them if he has a reason or a purpose. So Lucero interacting with him would likely pique his interest and make him wonder why exactly he is needed, if it's not to just pick a fight or give a show of strength like many other students at NRC.

As an aside I LOVE the fact that we basically have an unintentional design swap going on here. I can't tell you how many times I get asked if Kingsley is an Erik expy because the skull only covers the one side of his face. And here you are with your Erik expy who wears a mask that covers the eyes entirely. I love it. I'm living for it, and I am thriving. I love Lucero a lot, so genuinely thank you so so much for the ask!!

[crownedinmarigolds]

The Stakebait Coterie! Khloe and her boys are out there saving the Atlanta Waterbloods or get Final Death'd trying! (I'll type it all beneath the cut because I know.. my handwriting)

The main characters of the Poisoned Peach - ATL by Night chronicle my beloved is running for me! Khloe is my character, and the boys are my unbeatably dope team.

Name: Khloe Mariah Osbourne

Born: 05/04/1993, Embraced: 2022 by a Ventrue, came out Thinblood, Physical Age: 29

Height: 5'5", Hair: Dark Brown, Eyes: Hazel, Gender: Miss (She/Her), Nationality: American

Likes: Coffee, True Crime, Tabletop RPGs, Being a Minx, Staying Busy

Dislikes: Disappointing Others, Being Unprepared, Not knowing what's up, Her body, Tiktok-Style Ads

A little history: Khloe grew up the only child of very normal people who nastily divorced when she graduated high school. An avid reader and over-thinker, Khloe has immersed herself in many fantasy worlds and strategy games to the point where she seems to think of everything. A people pleaser who has a lot of good acquaintances yet no friends, the lack of companionship was hard-felt when COVID rolled around and kept everyone inside. Had a few partners, though none lasted. One night after visiting her mother, she found herself on a backroad all alone, save for the oncoming headlights that may be straying in her lane. (Where the Poisoned Peach begins!)

Name: Kyle Johnson

Born: 2/3/1994, Embraced: 2020, Sire unknown, but came out Thinblood, Physical Age: 26

Height: 5’10", Hair: N/A, Eyes: Sexy-Boy Brown, Gender: More man than your man (He/Him), Nationality: American

Likes: Feeling needed and helping others, Parties, Drinking cocktails with stupid names, Reasonable reactions.

Dislikes: Being late, people that CAN help and just don't, the MINIONS, Improperly labelled content warnings.

History: His mom was a nurse, her mom was a nurse, and so on. His sisters didn’t want to carry on the tradition, so he decided to go into the medical field himself as an EMT. The stress of the job brought on early balding, but he thrived both on the clock and in the club. One night, he drank a few too many and he woke up in a dumpster the next night, completely clueless. The sunlight began to hurt, nothing sat right in his stomach. Everything was the same yet all so different, better and worse. He spiraled, confused and depressed, until the Dusk Angel found him and helped him come to terms with his new existence. Now Kyle proudly helps the Thinblood Revolution as a kind face to help ease the new blood in, just as he had been.

Name: Randolph "Ralph" Gaylord King III

Born: 10/09/1996, Embraced: 2021 by a Nosferatu, came out Thinblood, Physical Age: 25

Height: 6'5" (Even pre-Embrace, him just big), Hair: Brown (Has to shave the remnants every evening, used to be long and thick and in a man-bun), Eyes: Yellow-Orange (Brown pre-Embrace), Gender: BOI (He/Him), Nationality: American

Likes: Guns, Bad Jokes, Strategy Games, Annoying Christian, Being a right menace

Dislikes: Himself :(, Whiny people, Beer, Signs with sayings meant to be taken serious.

Some Background: Born in St. Louis Missouri, Ralph had a pretty standard lower middle class upbringing. He followed his father and older brother and joined the army when he turned 18 right out of high school. Years of prep and hard work paid off as he went through candidate courses, eventually making it into Special Forces. His career was short-lived however after losing his right foot on his first deployment. Depression and dead-end jobs seemed to be his future until as a joke he started posting thirst-traps on social media, but it got real when his follower count spiked and sponsors started making offers. He was thrown into the life of an Insta-Thot - specifically Fitness Inspo - ultimately landing him in a party in Atlanta, Georgia, where his soon to be sire, Bill - a jealous and spiteful Nosferatu - lurked. Ralph was alone as he stumbled to his hotel room, and Bill could contain his hate no longer. To him, Ralph deserved to be as ugly on the outside as Bill thought he had to be on the inside. Little did Bill know, he messed with the wrong guy.

(Not written due to lack of room, we clearly don't play favorites here...) Eventually found in the sewers by the Dusk Angel, Ralph now serves in the Thinblood revolution, using every skill he's acquired in order to get revenge against the Fullbloods.

Name: Christian Ottavio

Born: 01/16/1989, Embraced: 2017, Gangrel sire but came out Thinblood, Physical Age: A rough 28

Height: 6'1", Hair: Dark Brown, Eyes: Brown, Gender: The MAN (He/Him), Nationality: American

Likes: Beer, Relaxing nights spent inside, Napping, His truck

Dislikes: His family, Wearing tight jeans, Bro-Country music, Fullbloods

A bit of background: Born and bred in Georgia into a rich family with ideals he couldn't wrap his head around. Went into the workforce at a young age in an effort to escape them and be on his own. He's had to sleep in his truck many a night, but eventually got everything together enough to get a roof over his head. That was until some uppity lick decided to draft him into the army of the damned during the Atlanta Sabbat civil war. He was one of many forced to fight during the schism, and one of the few to come out "alive." Before his sire could take him behind the proverbial tool shed, Christian was saved by the Dusk Angel, and now is a proud Thinblood freedom fighter.

[cloisfics]

STAY

She was running...where exactly, she couldn't fathom, couldn't bring herself to care about the fact that she, being defenseless could potentially get murdered in cold blood, not when she felt that sensation of impending doom suffocating her, the terror running deep in her veins, her heart pounding.

Lois Lane was not one to shy away from danger. It was what excited her, chaos was what she was used to thriving on, it was what defined her life- what made it worth living for. But this was different - of course it was - she could feel it..the last thread of hope -slipping away from her clutch, the flashing lights from the battlefield nearly blinding her. She found her breath coming in pants, her eyes tearing up, limbs shaking..her entire world crumbling down into pieces, right in front of her eyes- and yet, she was totally and utterly helpless to do anything about it. Her frantic eyes had found the read and blue mass lying in the corner, right next to that terrifying beast- most disturbingly, motionless.

" Clark!"

Lois was so horror struck for a moment that she could only stay rooted to the spot, praying that her bloody mind was playing stupid tricks one her. This couldn't be real. She wouldn't allow it...

She finally willed enough strength to move to him, dizzy and feverish, for the first time-petrified of the unknown, of what awaited her. She managed to turn him around onto her lap, shaking hands immediately finding the face she loved so much. His skin was so frigid, and clammy. He had never felt so cold before. The soundless scream erupted from her throat of it's own accord...

Like a bucket of ice-cold water had been splashed on her, Lois jerked awake. She felt her forehead, feeling sick, her heart pounding loudly against her ribcage. She instinctively reached out next to her, and was further anguished on discovering the cold side of the bed. Slowly, she took in the familiar surroundings- the comfy bed with the silk comforter she was tangled in, the walls coated in warm beige illuminated from the table lamp, the cozy decor, the tall mahogany cupboard and the frigid bay windows against which snow was falling, heavily.

No. She kept telling herself. It was just the usual nightmare- her worst memory, in fact- the one which took pleasure in constantly haunting her..and yet- it had been so real, she could feel her throat constricting, her chest tightening. Her restless mind began conjuring up such bone-chilling imagery she couldn't manage to shut out.

She ran her hands through her hair, trying to pull herself together somehow and failing miserably. He would be here, he had to be here, or was he?

Tired of her internal debate, she decided to put an end to the dilemma; she was even more frustrated to find out the amount of effort it took to sit upright against the headboard, and that was when she was suddenly alerted to the wound on her left shoulder, the pain so tangible she was forced to recollect the unpleasant scenario she had found herself in before the bullet had brushed past her skin.

As if on cue, the door opened- and there stood Clark- in his casual flannel, looking quite worn out with dark circles quite visible under his eyes- he never got dark circles, he was Superman for God's sake- but alive. Miraculously, right in front of her. Unharmed.

The fatigue weakening her body, and her wobbling legs which threatened to give way beneath her, forgotten- all of a sudden, she collapsed straight into him, wrapping her petite frame against his muscular torso, arms wrapping around him as tight as she could muster.

"Lois!" He breathed into her hair.

She felt his steady heartbeat, as she buried herself deeper into him, letting his scent wrap around her- healing her. She once again reminded herself of how much her life revolved around him, and him alone.

"Honey.." he gently peeled back away from her, concern pooling in his mesmerizing blues, as he took in the sight of her, hand trailing down her cheek.

"Hey.." she managed weakly, instinctively melting into his touch.

"Is everything..."

"I'm fine.." she assured him, and herself, arms circling his neck, leaning her forehead agaist his, "Just a bad dream.."

He held her close, kissing her forehead as he murmured, "You scared the hell out of me.."

She knew they had to talk it through. She sensed apprehension, fear and worry- all in that one simple sentence, and felt the guilt creeping up her veins, already. But not right now. It had to wait.

"Clark..."

"I know." He whispered, delicately stroking an arm down her back, perfectly aware of her need for comfort.

"Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere, Lo!"

[nancypullen]

Fitness or Fatness

Ugh. I'm healthy, at least on paper. I'm in my 60's and don't require any meds to stay alive. I am a shining example of good luck and good genetics. It's certainly not because I am dedicated to fitness or diet. I mean, I try. I just don't try very hard. I eat healthy, but i am also a fan of tasty snacks. I walk for exercise, but not like I should.

Unfortunately, I am at an age where I really need to make some choices that will keep me healthy and mobile for a long time. Odds are that I'll get quite old (the women in my family live forever) and I want to be able to do the things I like. That's pretty much just gardening and shopping, I'm not trying to run marathons or anything, but still. Having said all of that, the mister and I drove over to Centreville today to check out the new YMCA. It's a big, beautiful facility that offers everything from water aerobics to kickboxing. There are plans in place for an outdoor pool as well. We toured the various sections, talked to the sweetest young woman about membership, and I think we're going to give it a whirl. After my ankle surgery a few years ago I used to water jog in the pool of our nearest rec center. It was such great exercise and so easy on my joints, a doctor recommended therapy. At the Y I'd be able to participate in water aerobics or just take an open lane and water jog. Not gonna' lie, the water aerobics appeal to me because the women in those classes are usually such fun. Potential friends? Back in Tennessee it was sure a fun group. now all I have to do is blow the dust off my swimsuits and see if I can still shove everything into place. I may need counseling afterward. The YMCA in Centerville is about 17 miles from our house - mostly through cornfields. This was a nice surprise during the drive. Sunflowers!

Aren't they beautiful? So cheerful. I hesitate to say that my gardens are trying to rally. I still have the world's healthiest tomato plant that has never produced fruit, but everything else is blooming and looking pretty (finally!). My pumpkin plants are thriving and I'm cautiously optimistic. I've just cursed myself, haven't I? At this point I'd sell my soul for one pretty pumpkin for the grandgirl to pick. Crossing my fingers. That's all my news for this Tuesday evening. Not much happens around here. We're on our sofas, watching the U.S. women's gymnastics team dominate at the Olympics. They're flying through the air and flipping and twisting, powered by sculpted muscle. I'm in my stretchy pants saying, "I think she stepped out on that landing..." Yep, might be time for me to get to the Y and build a little muscle myself. But first, a cookie... I hope you're doing something good for yourself. You deserve it, and you'll be glad you did. No one ever said they regretted making healthy choices. Taking care of your body doesn't mean worrying about pant size or numbers on a scale - it's about feeling good, moving well, and being strong. That's priceless. I don't need to have a snatched waist, I need to be able to hike to the Sacre Coeur in Paris. I don't need to be a size 2, I need to be able to run for a train with my bag. Living the life I want has nothing to do with my figure and everything to do with my health. Take this advice from an old crone, younger ladies - focus on what you want to do and not how you want to look. We live in a society determined to convince us that no matter how we look it is never quite good enough, so just ignore that. Sure, slap on your lipstick and a cute outfit, but anchor all of that with how you feel. All the makeup in the world can't compete with the glow of good health. I'll be honest, I haven't felt great since we moved here. Two years of feeling unwell, or just...not like myself. I blamed covid, I blamed menopause, I researched all sorts of supplements, I did everything except take care of myself. It shows. The good news is that it's not too late. I got sweaty on the treadmill this morning and felt better all day long. It truly is that simple, all we have to do is start. Sending out so much love tonight, I hope you feel it. Take care of yourself. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[tidecorals]

introduction: logan hill

you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { logan hill } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { she } is ? they kind of look like { maia mitchell } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { twenty seven } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { two years }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { tai frasier } from { cluelesss }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { shorefit gym } as a { pilates instructor }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { the blabber mouth } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { air-headed } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { sociable } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { three bedroom } apartment beside me over in { mango bay }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME. logan hill.

DATE OF BIRTH. april 4th 1997.

AGE. twenty seven.

GENDER. cis female.

SEXUALITY. bisexual, heavily female / nb leaning.

PLACE OF BIRTH. greeneville, tennessee.

HOMETOWN. charleston, south carolina.

RESIDENCE. mango bay, apartment 7d.

ZODIAC SIGN. aries sun, pisces moon, cancer rising.

HAIR COLOUR. dark brown with a reddish tint from previous dye.

EYE COLOUR. dark brown.

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES. a fit, toned build. various tattoos and piercings. warm, expressive almond eyes. some sun-kissed freckles across her nose.

STYLE. laid-back, casual. comfort over everything, yet remains stylish. but is often seen in over-the-top and sometimes crude slogan t-shirts a few sizes too big for her. she'll wear them over gym clothes or bikinis most of the time.

POSITIVE TRAITS. adventurous, energetic, caring, genuine

NEGATIVE TRAITS. impulsive, overbearing, avoidant, inconsistent

AESTHETICS. her visual aesthetic is the perfect blend of carefree coastal vibes and bohemian chic, with an emphasis on comfort, natural beauty, and a touch of playful whimsy. her look is effortlessly cool, reflecting her adventurous, free-spirited nature.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION. tai fraiser, penny lane, donna sheridan

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Greeneville, Tennesse while her parents visited family, and raised in the heart of Charleston, Logan Hill grew up with the sweet, syrupy charm of the South. Known for her once-broad accent and infectious enthusiasm, Logan has always been a bit of a wild card. The kind of girl who'd be the first to dive off the pier, she's lived her life with a sense of adventure that often left her parents scratching their heads.

During her high school years, Logan was the epitome of popularity. The charming, friendly girl next door, she quickly became the darling of her community. A star cheerleader, she was the life of every pep rally and the center of attention at every game. Her infectious energy and natural charisma made her a magnet for friendships, and she thrived in the spotlight. However, as much as she loved cheerleading and the social scene that came with it, Logan struggled to maintain focus and drive in her academic pursuits. Schoolwork never held her interest, and her grades began to slip. Despite the warnings from teachers and concerned looks from her parents, Logan couldn’t seem to muster the motivation to keep up. Her carefree attitude, once an asset, became a liability as her lack of focus caught up with her.

As her grades plummeted, so did her ability to stay on the cheerleading squad. The loss of her place on the team marked a turning point in her high school experience. Without cheerleading, Logan’s social circle began to shrink. The friends who once flocked to her side drifted away, leaving her to navigate the rest of high school with a much smaller support system. The transition from popular cheerleader to outsider was a harsh lesson, but it also sparked the independent streak that would define her later years.

From a young age, Logan found solace in the water. Whether swimming in the local lakes or spending hours at the beach, she was always happiest when surrounded by the natural world. Her love for the outdoors translated into a passion for physical health, leading her to embrace a lifestyle centered around fitness, herbal teas, and an endless supply of fresh fruit. Despite her dedication to health, Logan’s laid-back attitude and love for a good time meant she was also an immense stoner, always seeking a balance between her adventurous spirit and her need to unwind. She discovered this habit in high school and has found comfort in it since.

Logan’s path into adulthood was anything but conventional. After high school, Logan's struggles with focus continued. She bounced from one college degree to another, never quite finding her footing or a subject that truly captivated her. She dropped out for the last time following yet another disagreement with her parents. It wasn't long before she packed up her life and moved from place to place, eventually settling in Palmview. Though her relationship with her parents became strained after her move, time and distance healed the rift, allowing them to find amicable ground—though they still don’t always see eye to eye.

In Palmview, Logan found her niche. She finally began to carve out a life that felt true to herself. She started hosting fitness sessions at a local gym, quickly earning a reputation for her energetic and slightly chaotic teaching style which earned her a loyal following. Though she dabbles in various forms of exercise, her true love is Pilates, which she practices with a mix of discipline and creativity.

Logan is a chronic oversharer, known for running her mouth a bit too much and letting you in on all the details of her life—whether you asked for them or not. While her thoughts are always on display, her feelings are often more elusive, making her an enigma to those who try to get close. Some might find her refreshing; others might find her annoying, but there's no denying that Logan is unapologetically herself.

Despite her candid nature, Logan’s social life is full of contradictions. She’s the type who might flirt with anyone who catches her eye, including your girlfriend, but it’s all in good fun—or so she claims. Her oversized shirts, emblazoned with ridiculous slogans, are a staple of her wardrobe, as is her mischievous grin. Logan now lives with two roommates in a cozy three bed apartment in Palmview. Their home is a revolving door of friends, laughter, and late-night adventures.

Though she���s settled into a routine, there’s still an unpredictable spark in Logan’s life, making every day an adventure. Whether she's leading a Pilates class, concocting a new herbal tea blend, or diving headfirst into her next impulsive decision, Logan Hill is a force to be reckoned with—a Southern belle with a twist.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

to be added, this post made me almost cry <3

[anisaanisa]

11 Fan-types, Bob the Builder Style

A list no one wanted or asked for. Which one(s) are you?

1. The Excavator: The ravenous, the feral, the fandom crunchers. They consume any type of content that holds their special little guys, gals and thems, and they'll let everyone know about it sans tagging system. Fics, art, edits, zines, it doesn't matter; they'll reblog it all right then and there, queues and dashboards be damned.

2. The Front Loader: These fans keep tags and conversations (the lifeblood of any fandom) alive. They love filing, archiving, rec lists and compilations, and they keep your characters rotating on the rotisserie through meticulous reposting, recommendations, tag tracking and scheduling. For them, love is stored in the posterity.

3. The Front and Backhoe Loader: The Double threat joy. These fans make and consume fanworks in turn, creating an ecosystem of fan-to-creator-to-fan perpetual sustainability. The characters are written in their will, their queue is set to run out in the year 2029, and their WIP folder will leak periodically, making them the catch-all-fan.

4. The Flat Bed Truck: The enigma. These fans are whatever they feel like on that day; they'll drop Luvre-worthy fanart once a decade. They'll write a 300K fic on a whim and never write a word again. They'll disappear for 5 years before resurfacing and jiving like no time has passed. They're Schrodinger's fans.

5. The Dump Truck: These fans carry large volumes of content - but mostly their own. They pull up and unload their bed of materials before promptly driving off to the next site. Unlike The Front Loader, these fans tend to simultaneously vague-post about lacking a sense of 'community', 'engagement' or 'interaction', creating an internet 3.0 ouroboros.

6. The Fork Lift: The quiet fans, the ones who have always been here but didn't want or care for you to know it. They've got their lanes to stay in, and they flit around the multi-fandom racks, but they'll turn up to support their faves from yonder year no matter what.

7. The Bulldozer: The fandom Colin Robinsons. They force-feed the things they create, apply their squiks/triggers to the things you create, and delight in Discourse™ - but usually from the shadows. Typically in the form of a BNF, a True Bulldozer is often confused with their Fandom Darling counterpart, and outwardly thrives regardless of intent or perception.

8. The Concrete Mixer: The hotbed of inspiration, the avatar that's solidified in your mind. These fans spark joy for their mutuals, live for reblog chains, and always have hc's and hot takes to keep the fandom buzzing. They'll revive old posts, they'll find new blood, they’ll surf tags in your stead and they'll do the most to make sure you're never without a shower thought concerning your favourite fictional fellas.

9. The Cherry Picker: They know what they like, they know what they want, and there isn't a damn thing anyone can/will or should do to change it. They create for self-indulgence, they love 1 of your 20 fics with all their heart, but the others just aren't for them. They pick and choose and tailor their experience to the max, and their blocked tag list is longer than your arm.

10. The Crane: Fans that have seen it all. They were there when it was written, and they watch from above and lift those up from the trenches with their creations/citations/motivations. Not to be confused with their sister, the "Fandom Godmother", The Crane never seeks and can only be sought.

11. The Road Roller: The unicorn, the Fandom Darling who is actually a darling. They create, consume, and delight in their interests, they've perfected their craft, and they'll bowl you over with their magic, but they're humble about it because all they're looking for is a smooth ride. Everyone knows and - rightfully - adores the Road Roller.

Working together, they get the job done.

[merwinspeaks]

Dear You,

They say when you’re driving that the most dangerous spot on the road is your blind spot. It’s the part of the road that you can’t see, but you must pay attention to at all times. If you’re not careful, a collision is almost sure to happen. Most cars today have blind spot detectors installed in them. This takes away all the guess work so that you can focus solely on the path ahead. Unfortunately, I never had that luxury. That’s exactly where you came from. You were speeding along in the lane next to me right outside the corner of my peripheral vision. I never saw you coming.

There’s a funny thing that happens afterwards. You don’t seem to feel any pain at all. That’s because adrenaline is deployed into your system. It acts as a temporary guardian angel that shields you from the pain long enough to escape the wreckage. When the pain does come, it’s a sober reminder of what has happened to you. I fell in love with you by accident, but I stayed there on purpose. I was surrounded by the fire, smoke and debris that used to be my heart. Still, you nursed me back to health when I was broken. You stayed and never faulted me even though I was the one that wasn’t looking where he was going.

We spent nights together that now seem like dreams. We spent countless nights together just felt right somehow. We traded stories of the lives we lived before we crashed into each other. After the nights ended, we would end up on the phone competing with each other to see who would be the first one to fall asleep. Through all of the conversation, the words I wanted to say to you remained caged in my mouth like animals in a zoo; fearing that they would never be able to live and thrive in the wild. Imagine my surprise when it was you who said, “I love you” first. In that moment, my mind became filled with infinite possibilities, and all had had you in them. In that moment, reciprocity didn’t seem like some figment of my overactive imagination. It felt like something tangible that I could hold onto easier than just hope.

Before I knew it, I was helpless. I leapt off the edge without making sure that my bungee cord was secure. That’s when I realized that the scary part of falling is not the falling itself. It’s what happens when there is no one there to catch you. I remember hearing “I love you” so vividly and I was so caught up in the moment that I never heard the “but…”. I don’t believe it was ever said, but it should’ve been felt. I’d been down this road plenty of times before so I should have known what kind of love I was getting myself into. Love takes many different forms. Though we both said the word, we were still speaking in different languages. I mistranslated yours. I can’t blame you. I should have gotten on the back of the ambulance. I should have been transported to a facility that knew how to heal my wounds better than I. I chose to stay at the scene of the accident with no insurance and no way to cover the damages. This is how you become emotionally bankrupt. By investing your life’s savings in things that don’t ever yield a return. You are so starved for something that you’re willing to eat whatever scraps you find. That’s exactly what I was. I was a stray dog that never had a home so I would always return to the same place that left the best leftovers. Even though it wasn’t the meal I deserved, it kept me full long enough until the hunger pangs returned.

Over the course of the accident, I never once thought to think of the pain you had incurred. Not only was our love different, but we were also different. I am a stray dog and you; you are a dove. As soon as your wings healed, it was time for you to fly. I couldn’t keep you on the ground with me. It was never where you belonged. I had to learn very quickly the acts of humility, chivalry, and letting go. I watched you spread your wings, defy gravity and fly away. I watched as long as I could until you were out of sight, and I was now staring at an endless sky. Where you are now, I pray it’s where you belong. I hope you’ve built a nest in the highest tree, and you watch out for people who aren’t watching their blind spots. When you say, “I love you” I now will know the place it comes from. I will respond and it will be with the same fervor, but without the same selfishness. Love never is and never has been selfish. I know that now. It takes delight in knowing that you are happy, no matter what that happiness looks like. I’m back on the road now. I’m driving slower now and I’ll make sure to check all areas before I decide to change lanes. Godspeed.

With All the Love I Have Left,

Me.

[wizardshark]

Thriving, beating the shit out of you, staying in my lane, live laugh fight love ❤️