#the kitchen was in a quiz we had to do and i tried to select the nice option but it said the correct opinion was 'it looks dated and dark'

[sgt-celestial]

this free online interior design course was the last place i expected to meet my sworn nemesis but i stand corrected apparently

[chrollohearttags]

Oh my god can we please get musician!eren and y/n doing that couples quiz thing that I think GQ(???) does🥹

yesss! I’ve been dying to write this 🥹😭 I actually went and watched the Teyana/Iman one and it was exactly what I’d imagine theirs to be like!

there were only a few media outlets that EJ trusted to let interview him. He was very selective and picky in who he’d allow to shove a camera and microphone in his face because they tended to be huge liars..fabricating details when he chose to omit them. However, when he was approached by GQ and asked to partake in the Couples Quiz with his sweetheart (y/n) (l/n)..on Valentines Day nonetheless, he couldn’t possibly turn it down. Whether it was his own competitive nature or the fact that he was so hopelessly in love with his lady, he was sure to ace every question. So here you guys were…setting face to face in two recliners; your legs draped across his thighs as if you were right at home. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N)..” “And I’m Eren Jaeger..” your voices eventually joining in unison with smiles on your faces. “And this is the GQ Couples Quiz.” The internet show where famous unions test their knowledge of one another. One thing that could be noted was the stark difference in his demeanor from previous sit downs. He actually looked happy to be here. Maybe that was all thanks to his lovely sidekick. The cameras rolling and aimed adjacent at you as got comfortable. In your hand, you brandished a stack of off white index cards, each one containing a question about yourself that he was expected to answer. Raising the pile to your face with a smirk, (y/n) ogled him, furrowing your eyebrows without a word before Eren would burst into laughter.

“Bro, why are you staring at me like that?” Which eventually cause you to start cackling, long before the game began. “Nothing, nothing..I’m just ready to see how much you know about me. Are you ready?”You guys were the best of friends before it blossomed into the beautiful marriage that everyone saw today..he hadn’t paid much attention to detail with anybody but that changed once you came along. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he’d lean up in his seat and prepare. “I’ve been ready. I’m ‘bout to set the record. Just wait.” He looked so excited and thrilled. But the true test would come when you pulled out the first card. “Alright, that’s a big claim, y’all. Let’s see if he just running his mouth. First question—“ pretending to lick your fingertips as you pulled the piece of paper. “What’s my favorite food to cook for you?” This was a no brainer. Something you thoroughly enjoyed and made for him all the time.. “That’s easy, gumbo and rice.” Smiling in pure joy, you’d nod your head. “Ding ding. That’s right. It’s my speciality.” He’d then interject with a little story about how it came to be.

“And she knew what she was doing, let me tell y’all! I’m not originally from the south so I had never tried it and one night, she was staying with me and we were a little.. ‘intoxicated.’” Doing sir quotes as to not tell the world that y’all were higher than two Georgia pines. Making you laugh as he told the story. And she was like ‘you hungry?’ And I’m like ‘hell yeah, lemme order something.’ She gets up from the couch like ‘nah bae, I got it. Imma go make us something.” Becoming more bashful every time he recounted the event but also cracking up because he was so dramatic about it. “I swear he ain’t gone ever let me forget this shit..” “Oh, I ain’t even got to the best part. So it’s like an hour later, I’m still high as shit and something is smelling good, like I’m talking out of a restaurant. I go in the kitchen, it’s a big ass silver pot on the stove, ain’t even know I owned something like that. And she’s like, ‘you want some gumbo?’ I’m thinking..I ain’t never seen somebody get high and go make an entire pot of gumbo. But slide me like two bowls..I ate it and almost cried, it was so good.” It was a recipe your granny had taught you and now, you made it for him all the time! Nonetheless, the interview would continue and you’d shoot off a barrage of questions; ranging from stuff about favorite colors, types of shoes you were down to your favorite candy. He got every last one of them right, even remembering small details he hadn’t. His eyes never came off of you once and there was so much laughter between you two, like a regular everyday conversation.

he’d tell stories about your tattoos and what they meant (even the one of his initials on your pantyline), why your favorite tv show meant so much to you, about your nickname ‘Princess’, and even your favorite hype song. “I promise you guys are never going to guess what her favorite song is to get hype to..I don’t believe it as I’m saying the shit now but..we were out driving one day and she’s in the passenger, controlling the music. I’m like ‘I love my baby but she better not turn on nothing crazy. So I’m riding along and I hear Tee Grizzly, you know..First Day Out. I’m nodding my head and I look over…and she’s rapping the entire song like it’s hers!” The dramatization from him made it even funnier because there was so much about you that he had no clue that made him fall deeper in love. From your funny quirks to the cute things you did. By this time, you had doubled over, covering your face. “Adlibs and all, I couldn’t believe it but I was like ‘..yeah, imma marry this girl. She raw as hell. Like it can’t be anybody else.”

which made you get all giddy and excited. “I told y’all, he really my homie. We like this.” Twisting your fingers around to intersect. The questions would continue on and he of course would ace each one with flying colors. The two of you would even exchange your special handshake on ones where he got the bonuses right. That’s when it neared the last question, which was another no brainer. “Last one, last one..who’s my celebrity crush?” Which made your big softie (and jealous hearted) husband furrow his brows into an obvious pout as if the answer wasn’t clear as day. “Your crush? You never— “you know, there is this one dude. He’s real tall..got long hair, from North Jersey, bunch of tattoos, real cute. Pretty smile and he raps real good. Can sing too..what’s his name?” making him smack his lips and roll his eyes all in one at your joke. Once he caught on, he’d lean up yet again and smush your face into a bunch of kisses. “I think his name is Eren or something like that. Tell him come hit my line if he sees this..” unable to get the words out before you started laughing uncontrollably. “You play too much, for real.” All in all, this was such a fun experience and when it was time to tally his score, you’d hold out your palm so they could generate the number on screen: a perfect 40 out of 40! He’d then hop out of his seat, raising his arms up his designer lettermen’s jacket as if he had just scored the winning point to a ball game. “What’d I say? Told y’all..”

even though he’d probably be bragging about this forever, it felt good to have someone who knew you better than yourself.

[iguana-eyanna]

Hey I was wondering if you do requests? If you do could you do a Gil x reader where she’s Betty’s tutor in science and he swears he’s never seen her (but they go to the same school) and he is so smitten. Also some sibling antics between the Rizzo siblings like in the show haha! I also LOVE your writing!

Omg yes!!! Love this concept. Here’s a little one shot I thought of.

T🪽Birds request: Meeting… Again (Gil)

"Ma! I got the groceries!" Gil said out loud as he kicked his boots off at the doorway.

Gil's mom comes at the door, smiling at her eldest as he came to pick up groceries for their family.

"Gil, I told you i'd get them after Betty's tutor session is done." she lightly scolded him as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Nah, it's not a problem. I dropped the guys off and had some time on my plate. Where is dear sister of mine?"

He asks, wanting to make fun of Betty as she failed her last science quiz at school.

"She's in the kitchen with her tutor. Don't interrupt, please." She said before making her way in their house. Once gone, Gil runs for the kitchen and starts his antics.

He was about to announce his presence till he saw you and Betty sitting at the table while you were pointing at the book.

"-and that's how you use the scientific method." You said, dropping your pencil as you pointed out the page with it.

Betty brightened up as she looks back at you.

"It's so easy to understand now! When Mr. Winslow explains it, my brain turns to mush."

"Yeah, I had Mr. Winslow when I was your grade. I thought he was from the planet Mars." You joke as both of you laugh.

"You had him too?" Gil asked out loud.

You and Betty look at him as you didn't realize he was in the room.

"Get away, Gil. I'm trying to study." Betty said sharply.

"Hey, I'm not the one failing science right now. I'm just trying to get to know this beautiful and smart lady in front of me who unfortunately had to take that old man's class." Gil said, offering his hand towards you.

You lightly scoff as you look at Gil.

"Well, we both took his class together at Betty's grade. Or have you forgotten that we've been going to the same schools since junior high?" You ask, slightly teasing him.

Gil's face falls and his sister tries to silence her giggles. One thing about you is that you're not afraid to say what's on your mind.

He thought that was so cool.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend." He said, trying to chuckle it off as he straightened up.

Your features become softer as you give him a sympathetic look.

"It's alright. We're not really in the same classes now. I don't usually stand out for fun people like you, Gil." You said, making him feel more at ease.

Gil pretended to ponder, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Hmm, maybe I just have a selective memory. But I'm definitely not forgetting you anytime soon."

You two silently stare at each other, smiling until Betty interrupted, waving her arm to grab your attention.

"Hello? I didn't realize this tutor session turned into a date." She slightly yells out loud.

You and Gil break out of your trance as you cough in embarrassment.

"Sorry. Let's focus on chapter 5." You said, staring down at the book. Gil waves a small goodbye as he leaves you both alone and heads to his room, not knowing you were looking at him leave.

He slumps on his bed and looks up at the ceiling, sighing contently as all he could do was think of your smile.

That’s when he realized you got him twirled around his finger.

And he’s more than okay with that.

[sandcobangevent]

the case of the mysterious test

by Badger and @alecs-potatofarm

The thing about being friends with Sherlock is that you can’t really keep anything from him. Most of the time that doesn’t bother me. I’m an open book, me. Besides, he’s my best friend. There are very few things I wouldn’t tell him. But it’s exactly because he’s my best friend that this one particular thing was off limits. At least until I worked out what, if anything, I was going to do about my feelings for him. But, despite my best efforts, he figured out I was hiding something anyway.

When we first started living together I’d only ever had relationships with women. Of course, I watched The Mummy and thought Brendan Fraser was fit. But didn’t everyone? I thought Sherlock, with his dimples and stuff, was just another one of those people everybody could agree on. 

The longer we lived together the more I started to wonder whether it might be more than just a passing attraction. The fact I didn’t move out as soon as I opened our freezer to grab some Phish Food and found nothing but an empty tub was proof of…something. I just didn’t know what exactly. So I turned to the old reliable—the internet.

I posted on Reddit about mostly liking women but having some pretty confusing feelings for this one guy who’s my best mate. I don’t live under a rock, I know what bisexuality is. I just didn’t necessarily think that word applied to me. Some of the forums were more useful than others, but none of them gave me concrete answers. 

One user replied with a link that read ‘Am I Gay? Quiz’ so I decided to click on it. Even though, obviously, an online quiz couldn’t tell me one way or the other if I was in love with Sherlock I thought the questions might at least point me in the right direction. 

The first question was difficult. Have you ever had feelings for a same-gender close friend? If I knew that I wouldn’t have been taking the quiz in the first place. The second question was easier. Have you ever kissed someone or wanted to kiss someone of the same gender? I thought about the way Sherlock pouted when he was thinking about a particularly tricky part of a case and selected ‘I haven’t done it, but I want to try it’.

The rest of the questions asked me about my dating history, my friends, and how I’d feel if somebody assumed I was gay. I fudged the last answer because it asked me about my ‘For You Page’ but didn’t give me an option to say ‘I’m too old for TikTok’ then I hit submit. Instead of giving me a result right away it asked for my phone number. I should have just closed the tab and satisfied my curiosity elsewhere rather than handing over my personal data but…I didn’t.

————————————-

An hour later I was pacing around the kitchen waiting for a pan full of water to boil for some tomato penne pasta when my phone went off. The screen lit up, my phone vibrating on the table. Sherlock glanced down at it before I had a chance to move it out of view. 

“Your test results are here,” he read aloud. “What test results?”

I tried to play it cool while I moved toward him,  grabbed my phone and shoved it in my pocket. “It’s nothing important, mate. Just a silly Buzzfeed quiz. Me and Maz wanted to know what…uh…pasta shape we were.”

“You wanted to know…what pasta shape you are?”

“Yeah. She says she’s ravioli but I personally think she’s more of a fusilli. I’m lasagne, obviously. Sturdy. Dependable. Comforting.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You know…”

I made some vague gestures, trying to capture Mariana’s vibe through arm movements. I probably looked as ridiculous as I felt. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched into an involuntary smile. 

“I really don’t.”

“It’s…” I pushed my hair back from my face. “It’s nothing. Like I said, just a silly Buzzfeed quiz.”

Sherlock looked me up and down, examining me with those piercing blue eyes of his while drumming his long fingers on the table. “If it’s so silly why do you feel the need to lie to me about it?”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

“Your breathing is heavier. You’re shifting your body weight from one foot to another and, perhaps most importantly, you looked at the bag of penne pasta on the side over there before you told me what the topic of the quiz was.”

I should have known that Sherlock would notice. After all, our podcast wouldn’t exist without him being remarkably observant. It hit me pretty quickly that a certain amount of honesty was the best policy. 

“I’m not lying it’s just…personal. Alright? I don’t really want to get into it just yet.”

“What kind of test result would be so personal you wouldn’t want to tell me but also so informal that you’d receive the results by text?”

“You tell me, mate.” 

“Mmm, I have some theories but nothing immediately comes to mind. I like this. The case of the mysterious test results.”

With that, Sherlock left the kitchen. I sat down on one of the dining table chairs and slumped over with a groan, holding my face in my hands. I knew that if I did decide to tell Sherlock how I felt that it would require a lot of sensitivity. This was so far from how I wanted him to find out. I thought about my options, weighing up the benefits of coming clean versus coming up with a more convincing excuse for the text.

There was one thing I knew I had to do for sure, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and deleted the text without clicking on the link. I didn’t need the results of a mostly arbitrary and completely made up quiz to tell me how I felt about Sherlock. The way my heart pounded in my chest as I tried to calm my breathing and top my body from shaking was all the proof I needed. 

[lapix000]

Digital Communities and Fandom around reality TV shows

Hey everyone. Before we dive into our main topic of the week, I would like to ask a simple question to you, the reader.

What is your favourite reality TV show?

How do you feel about this show?

Why do you love watching this reality TV show?

Did you ever interact with the community surrounding this reality TV show?

I am going to confess to you, that I am not a TV guy. In fact, I don't even watch any reality TV show at all! 

Except one......

The only time I knew and watched any shows related to a reality TV show is one of my favourite shows of all time......more on that later.

You get the picture right? That's right, for today's topic, I will be diving into the topic of "Digital Communities and Fandom" surrounding the reality TV show.

Let's start off with the definition of a reality TV show.

Reality television is a hybrid genre combining fly-on-the-wall documentaries, quiz shows, and popularity contests which involves television broadcasts supported by internet content such as webpages and streamed media in which selected members of the public spend time together in the same location. (Chandler & Munday 2011)

Some examples of Reality TV Shows include Catfish, Pawn Stars, The Great British Bake Off and American Idol.

(Reader's Digest 2024)

As highlighted by the definition of Reality Television, the genre's main attraction involves documentaries of unscripted real-life situations, often starring unfamiliar people rather than celebrities. However, the authenticity of reality television is rather......questionable. Critics contend that reality television broadcasts misrepresent reality in both implicit and deceptive ways.

This week, I will be focusing on the connections between reality TV shows and the public sphere in the digital landscape.

So..... what is a public sphere?

In short, public sphere is an unrestricted place for individuals to come together as public to share their knowledge, or even make political change. Typically, the public sphere demands unrestricted access to knowledge, equal and protected participation, and the lack of institutional power (Norealyna 2024).

Throughout this week's lecture, I became aware that the public sphere also had a deep connection on reality TV shows and the digital communities besides politics, micro-celebrities etc.

The best case study related to this topic is chef Gordon Ramsay's reality TV show "Kitchen Nightmares". My favourite reality TV show of all time.

(IMDb n.d.)

Not to be confused with Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, the original version from UK. I am talking about the American adaptation of Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares.

Here's a quick synopsis of Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmare.

The show is about chef Gordon Ramsay goes on the road to assist struggling restaurants across the United States in hopes of turning things around.

Kitchen Nightmare was originally a UK show as "Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmare" in 2004 before its eventual adaptation in the US and first aired in 2007. Since then, the show would later spawn multiple seasons until 2014. In 2023, the show was revived by FOX and premiered on September 25th after nine years (Cobb 2023).

The most exciting part about this show is the dramatic tension between Gordon Ramsay and restaurant owners, empathetic characters and the success or fail life stories after heeding Gordon Ramsay's guidance.

I remembered there is a scene on the episode "Mill Bill Bistro" where Gordon Ramsay criticizes the owner's cooking after he tried his dishes which caused a heated argument between him and the restaurant owner.

There is no doubt that Kitchen Nightmares garnered a massive fanbase across the globe. In fact, Kitchen Nightmare Season 8 had garnered a mean viewership of 1.5 million as of 2024 (Riddell 2024).

Moreover, the ease of access and convenience of social media convinces me that Kitchen Nightmare is one of the prime examples of how reality TV shows created a public sphere, or as we call it digital space, for its fanbase to engage with each other through social media platforms.

For example, audiences can discuss, critique and criticize while watching the clip or a whole episode uploaded by the official Kitchen Nightmare's social media team in the comments section.

Another example would be Redditors, users of Reddit, post screenshots of their favourite moments or engage discussion on specific episodes.

There is also a dedicated Fandom page for the fans of the show to add articles and extra contexts such as what happened after Gordon Ramsay's visit for each episodes of Kitchen Nightmares.

Besides interaction between audiences, fans of Kitchen Nightmares created memes for certain scenes in some episodes of the show due to it's relatability with the audience. This demonstrates that memes emphasize how meme language provides a sense of connection among internet users; it also allows users to express their opinions on certain subjects or to heighten their obsession with renowned individuals (Petrova et al. 2024, pp.2).

To illustrate, here is an example of how fans create memes based on a certain scene in the show.

This is one of the scenes that was embraced by the community due to its relatability......

......and here are some of the examples of how fans make memes based on either another meme or in a different scenario.

I love how Kitchen Nightmare's social media team even acknowledged the meme culture about Kitchen Nightmares through its fandom and has fully embraced it by publishing videos with informal and funny titles and video thumbnails......

......and they even make memes related to the show or Gordon Ramsay under the "Community" tab on their YouTube Channel.

Back to the main topic, the examples shown above illustrate how the meme culture plays a huge role in the Kitchen Nightmare's community. While memes about Gordon Ramsay aren't new, the relationship between the community and the official channel demonstrates the show's ongoing popularity and meme potential (Inizian 2021).

In conclusion, Kitchen Nightmare highlights the close relationship between the reality TV show and digital communities in the social media space. In essence, the show also highlights how reality TV can create a sense of community among viewers who share enjoyment in watching the show.

If you are in a hunt for another reality TV show into your bucket list, be sure to check out Kitchen Nightmares!

Feel free to share your thoughts by commenting on this post!

Reference

Chandler, D & Munday, R 2011, ‘Reality Television’, A Dictionary of Media and Communication, Oxford University Press, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/acref/9780199568758.001.0001/acref-9780199568758-e-2250?rskey=tR1Va9&result=1>.

Cobb, K 2023, ‘“The Masked Singer,” “Kitchen Nightmares” and “Krapopolis” Lead Fox’s 2023 Fall Schedule’, TheWrap, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.thewrap.com/fox-2023-fall-schedule/>.

IMDb n.d., ‘Kitchen Nightmares’, IMDb, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0983514/>.

Inizian, S 2021, ‘Hungry for More: The Enduring Appeal of Kitchen Nightmares’, Arcadia, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.byarcadia.org/post/hungry-for-more-the-enduring-appeal-of-kitchen-nightmares>.

Norealyna Misman, 2024, ‘MDA20009 Week 5 Reality Tv Case Study’, MDA20009 Digital Communities, Learning materials via Canvas, Swinburne University of Technology, 18 April, viewed 15 May 2024,

Petrova, Y, D Rudoy, A Olshevskaya & N Ugrekhelidze 2021, ‘Meme language, its impact on digital culture and collective thinking’, (eds), E3S Web of Conferences, vol. 273, pp. 2.

Reader's Digest 2024, ‘29 Best Reality TV Shows of All Time’, Reader’s Digest, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.rd.com/list/reality-tv-shows/>.

Riddell, A 2024, ‘Kitchen Nightmares Vs Next Level Chef: Which Gordon Ramsay Show Gets Better Ratings?’, Yahoo Life, viewed 16 May 2024, <https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/kitchen-nightmares-vs-next-level-161524767.html?guccounter=1#:~:text=%22Kitchen%20Nightmares%22%20Season%208%20had>.

[excelsi-or]

your type (pt. 2)

Hello friends! I’ve been working on my comic and applying for jobs and doing research, so I haven’t had much time to write. 

I hope you guys enjoy this series. As I’m writing it, it’s different from the two I’ve written before. Hope you’re all well~~

BIPOC rec: I’m recommending a variety show and drama that I’ve watched the last two weeks. I finished Busted! and The Uncanny Counter and I’m recommending Kim Sejeong’s EP Plant. 

LOL yes, the theme is Kim Sejeong. After watching her on Busted!, I really became a fan of her energy and her charm. I thoroughly admire her. Enjoy her work like I do!

w.c. 1.6k (enjoy the snarky conversation)

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3

The next morning, Jihyo steps into the apartment looking dishevelled but happy. The sight of her roommate in the kitchen catches her off guard. “Why are you up so early? You went home late.”

“You’re back early,” she comments, scrolling through her phone.

“I wanted to get home before you got up, which obviously wasn’t early enough.” Jihyo goes into her bedroom to drop off her things and change. “You didn’t say why you were up so early?” she calls.

“Jihoon is taking me to breakfast apparently,” she calls back.

“What?” Jihyo steps out of her bedroom and moves to the doorway of the kitchen in her bra and jeans. “Who’staking you to breakfast?”

“Jihoon.”

Jihyo’s eyebrows furrow. “You know who he is, right?”

She sips her tea with a nod. “Well aware.”

“So why are you going to breakfast with him?”

She shrugs. “He asked. It’s not like it’s going to be anything and I’m not going to pass up breakfast.”

“Lee Jihoon only talks to a very select number of people: his twelve friends, plus or minus a few in his classes, and girls that he’s trying to get into his bed.”

“And you know I don’t do that anymore,” she huffs. “He asked me to breakfast. I said 9 AM in the lobby.” She shrugs as she sips her tea. “If he’s not there, then it’s whatever. I’ll bring back coffee and croissants.”

Jihyo shakes her head in disbelief as she goes back to the bedroom to finish changing. “Lee Jihoon is untouchable. You must be some special breed!”

She laughs and downs the rest of her tea. She slips into her sneakers and throws on a coat. Her plan is to sit in the chairs in the lobby, wait until 9, and then head back upstairs. When she steps off the elevator, she finds Lee Jihoon leaning against the stairs’ handrail with his phone in hand.

She pushes the door open. “Morning.”

Jihoon looks over at her. “Ready?”

She hesitates, but nods, letting the door shut behind her. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They start walking, and once again, it’s silent. She wonders if he’ll break it. Since they didn’t decide on an actual breakfast place and she doesn’t want to break the silence first, she leads him to her favourite breakfast spot. She smiles at a few of the storeowners who are just opening up.

“Some new books have just come in. I think you’ll like them,” the bookshop owner calls to her.

“I promise I’ll come in after my exams.”

“Study hard!” the woman calls before ducking into her store.

They walk into the restaurant and the host smiles when he sees her. “Hey, noona. How are you?”

“Tired, but good,” she says with a smile. “For 2?”

Taeyong collects two menus, glances at the man over her shoulder, reorders his face from surprised to neutral, and leads them to a table by the window. “Can I start you with anything?”

His question is directed at Jihoon. Jihoon looks to her and she holds his gaze. When he doesn’t say anything, she looks up to Taeyong. “Black coffee.”

“And your iced chai,” Taeyong adds. He walks away, still scribbling in his notebook.

She flips through her menu, debating trying something new despite knowing that she’ll just get the same thing in the end.

“You just don’t talk much?” Jihoon asks.

“I talk plenty,” she answers, dropping her menu. “You just don’t seem to have anything to say to me.”

“Other people usually start the conversation.”

“You’re the one who asked me to breakfast.” She looks over when Taeyong returns with their drinks. “Thank you.”

“Do you need a few more minutes with menu?”

She looks to Jihoon.

Jihoon doesn’t meet his eye. “Yes, please.”

She and Taeyong share a small smile before he nods and walks away to serve another table.

“I’ve never seen you around,” Jihoon starts.

“I’m graduating next winter.”

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow. “So am I. Did you transfer in?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I guess we just don’t run in the same circles.” She toys with the corner of the menu.

“I guess I only just met your friends a few weeks ago when Cheol started inviting them over.” He skims through the menu. “You not that close or just choose not to come?”

“Choose not to come.” She traces the grain in the tabletop.

Jihoon frowns slightly at the short answers. She seems to sense him staring and her eyes lift. “You have a boyfriend?”

“If I did, I definitely wouldn’t be sitting across this table from you.”

“So… is this a date?”

She shrugs. “Is it?”

“I’ve noticed you’re nicer to everyone else than me.”

A small smile grows on her face. “I didn’t realize that you noticed.”

“So, you’re doing it on purpose.”

“You’re not really giving me much to vibe off of, you do realize that, right?”

Jihoon’s eyes stop moving over the menu, as he thinks about that statement. “Most people just talk to fill all the silences. Or go on their phone until they can think of something to say.”

“Who are these people?” she asks.

“Other girls I’ve taken on dates. New people I meet.”

“Ever think that maybe they were intimidated or were seeking out your attention already?”

“You could have not met me for breakfast.”

“I’m currently unresponsive, not evil,” she snorts, a grin on her face.

Taeyong returns to the table. “Do we know what we want?”

“Yes, I’m ready.” Jihoon fires off his order and looks to her expectantly. She simply turns to Taeyong and her smile broadens.

He nods. “Your usual. Got it.” The man collects the menus and walks away.

“How often do you come here?” Jihoon asks. He sips his coffee. “And how did you know I like my coffee black?”

“Since I moved in with Jihyo in first year. And I didn’t. I figured if you hated black coffee, you would’ve said so.”

Jihoon hums, sipping his coffee again. “So, you’re not seeking out my attention, you don’t want to hang out with my friends. You still haven’t answered why you bothered to meet me for breakfast when you could have said no if you were so uninterested.”

“I’m intrigued.” She fiddles with the utensils. “I’m not opposed to dating. I’m just not actively seeking anything out.”

“You have a lot of exes then?”

“You’re gonna ask that during our first conversation? Wow.” She chuckles and cups her water between her hands. “No. I have one.”

“One of the guys that you’re meeting later?”

“Yeah, actually.” She sips her chai and looks out the window, watching a group of high school girls laughing together.

When she doesn’t come right out with anything to ask him, Jihoon tries a different approach. “So, what do you want to know about me?”

“I don’t know yet.” She tips her head. “How much are you willing to share?”

“I’m an open book.”

This causes her to laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jihoon readjusts himself in his seat and leans forward on his elbows, his coffee between his hands.

She studies him a moment before matching his posture. “What draws you to a woman? What makes you pick her out of a crowd and go ‘she’s the one today’?”

“Today?”

She smirks. “I’ve heard your reputation even if you haven’t heard mine.”

“I’ve met people who have dated your friends. They like the chase; are you the same?”

“Not anymore.” She sips her drink, not taking her eyes off him. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What makes me pick out a woman in a crowd? Honestly?”

She nods once.

“How she looks. Her ass.” Jihoon shrugs. Since it seems she only asks if she wants to know the answers, he figures he might as well be blunt. “It’s superficial and crude, but it gets the job done.”

“Normally that would be a real turn off.” Her brow lifts. “But I’m not typically known for my ass.” She points her fork at him. “Don’t talk about my ass.”

He smirks. “I didn’t pick you because of your ass.”

“I know.” She rests her cheek in her palm. “You picked me out because I beat you at Stress last night.”

Jihoon tries not to react, but he wonders how she knows.

“You were surprised I beat you,” she says. “I’m taking it that you don’t like to lose or aren’t used to losing.”

“Music department’s competitive. I don’t think a lot of people understand that.”

“Every degree is competitive. Everyone wants to be the best student. I don’t get how that translates to cards.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to be the best student?”

She laughs. “I’m kinda over trying to be the best. I just want to be done.”

“What degree are you in?”

Conversation starts to flow a bit easier after the initial icebreaker questions. Hers aren’t icebreakers; they are definitely personal deep dives. Jihoon finds, though, that he doesn’t mind answering them. They make it through their meal and wind up talking for an hour afterwards. The only reason that they get up is because she wants to study for her chemistry quiz before going to lunch with Yoongi and Jungkook.

Jihoon walks her back to her apartment and waits at the bottom of the steps until she opens the lobby door.

“I still don’t get your number?” Jihoon calls.

She looks over her shoulder and shakes her head. “Phone numbers promise future dates.” She gives him a once over and smirks. “And I don’t trust your promises. Thanks for a great breakfast, Jihoon.”

Jihoon can’t help but chuckle at that. “Will you at least come the next time Cheol invites your friends over?”

She lifts her chin and tips her head both ways. “I had fun.” She smiles at him and ducks into her building.

pt. 3

[goldandbluesmiles]

Comfort

Summary: Just a series of shots of fathers and kids comforting each other. Written for flufftober2020.

Ao3

The rest of my batfam flufftober2020

The night had been long, and Bruce was ready to throw off his suit, head up and sleep forever.

The plan went entirely out of the window when he saw someone move out of the corner of his eye. He was ready to scold Tim, because who else would it be, for once again working late but then the figure came into view.

It was Jason. He was standing in the middle of the cave, gun in his right and facing the batmobile's tracks. One of his sides was to the entrance, and the other one was towards the tunnel exit. He was still wearing domino, and his still figure was giving Bruce a bad feeling.

"Jason," he called out.

No response.

He tried again, but once again, Jason didn't answer. Just stood there with a rigid posture, absolutely unmoving.

The feeling of wrongness increased.

Slowly, he made his way to his second son, doing good to stay out of the guns range at first. When it became obvious that Jason wasn't going to raise his arm, he moved in front of him.

"Jason," he whispered.

Jason tilted his head, it was a small movement, but it was enough for Bruce.

"Can I take the gun from you, Jason?"

Trembling a little, Jason's hand came up, and Bruce took it, stashing away in his utility belt. He then touched Jason's hand. When Jason didn't pull away, he took the hand and squeezed it.

"Hey, Jay," he murmured, "I'm going to take your domino off, okay?"

Bruce brought his other hand up and gently peeled away the mask, revealing unique blue-green eyes filled with fear and distress.

Bringing his hand up slowly, Bruce cupped Jason's cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb.

It seemed to break the boy of his reverie, and he stumbled forward. His arms came around Bruce, shaking badly. Bruce put his arms around Jason, holding him with all his might.

"Jason? Jay? What wrong, baby?"

"I-I-" Jason's words came out as stutter, "Wa-wanted-be sa-safe"

Safe.

Jason had wanted to be safe. And he had come to the cave. The question was, why not the manor- no Bruce knew why not the manor. The cave had maximum security, and unlike the manor, could only let in a select list of people.

"Okay," he told Jason, "You're safe now, okay?"

Jason let out a whimper and sagged even more. Bruce grunted but easily held up his weight.

"I need to know, Jaylad. Was someone following you?"

Jason tensed, "No. Just a feeling,"

Bruce ran a soothing hand down the boy's back.

Just one of those nights then.

"You know what?" said Bruce, "We can go upstairs and make tea. I can't make it that well, especially like Alfred's, but I know he taught you. You can give m direction, yeah?"

Jason nodded into his shoulder, "Yeah,"

"Good, let's go,"

Bruce quickly had them both change and then led Jason upstairs. The two of them made tea and sat down on the couch. Jason ended up falling asleep there. Bruce didn't have the heart to move Jason, so he fell asleep there too.

In the morning, Jason didn't say anything, but later someone brought him a thermos of Alfred's personal blend of tea at work.

Bruce smiled for the rest of the day.

xxx

Bruce couldn't sleep, so he had decided to read for a bit. Instead of staying in his room, he had come down to the den.

He was reading on the couch when he felt someone plop down beside him. Considering he hadn't heard them, it could only be one person.

"Hello, Cassandra,"

The girl smiled softly and curled up close to him, "Hi,"

"You, okay?"

"Couldn't sleep,"

"Oh?"

"Bad day. Bad night,"

"Ah," said Bruce, "Would you like me to read to you?"

Cassandra nodded.

Bruce nodded and starting reading out loud. He read until his daughter fell asleep, breathing softly at his side.

xxx

Dick was having a bad day. It wasn't even that something had happened. For all intents and purposes, the day had been good. He had been off patrol the night before, had woken up to a sunny Saturday morning, had smiled through a book discussion with Damian, but something in his bones just wasn't making him feel good.

In the evening, he ended up trudging up to Bruce's study. The man was sitting on the sofa, papers spread out in front of him on the coffee table. Dick came and sat beside him and poked him.

"Hey, Dick," he said, briefly looking up.

Dick nudged him with a shoulder, "Give me a hug?"

Bruce's brow furrowed, and he put the papers down, turning to look him over. Dick know what he was looking for. When he had been a kid, instances like this were a lot more common, but as he had grown, he only asked for hugs when the situation was dire.

"You okay, Chum?" the other man asked softly.

"Just a hug," said Dick

Bruce smiled and carefully slipped his arms around Dick. He then pulled him close until he plastered to the man's chest.

Dick's body instantly went lax, a small sigh escaping him.

"Everything okay, Chum?"

"Just a weird day," he told him.

"Okay," murmured Bruce, "Anything I can do?"

"This is fine," said Dick, "Thank you,"

"Anytime, Chum," murmured Bruce, "I love you,"

"Love you too, B,"

xxx

Alfred heard a shout as he passed by Bruce's room. Without hesitating, he opened the room and stepped inside. He found the man feverish and sweaty, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

The old butler stepped into the bathroom, filled a small bucket with water and grabbed a towel. Sitting down beside the man, he considered a son, and he started to hum an old lullaby as he tried to get the fever down.

Eventually, the fever started to go down, and Bruce opened his eyes, though they were still, and he still seemed to be far away from the true perception of his surroundings.

"Bruce?" asked Alfred, "Are you with me?"

Bruce let out a groan, "Dad,"

Alfred's heart squeezed painfully. Even after all these years, Bruce would call out to a dead man, and it never seized to hurt Alfred's soul. He wished he could take the pain away from him.

"It's alright, Bruce," he murmured, gently pushing his fingers through Bruce's hair, "It's alright,"

"Alfie. Dad,"

Oh

Oh

This time when Alfred's heart gave a painful thud, it was for an entirely different reason.

"I'm right, my boy," he said, "I'm right here,"

Alfred stayed seated by his son's bed until the buttery light of morning flitted through the window.

xxx

When Duke startled awake in the dark hours of the morning, he didn't remember the nightmare that had caused it, just that it had left his heart racing.

Making a quick decision, he threw off his covers and jumped out of bed. He made his way down to the kitchen to get some water. Maybe he could revise some of his notes later cause there was no way he was getting back to bed after this.

Duke expected the kitchen to be empty at that time, so he was surprised to find Bruce sitting at the island, nursing a cup of tea, completely dressed in his suit.

"Hey," he said

"Hi, Duke," he said, "Very early start to the day?"

"Not really," he said, "And if anyone's starting early, it's you. Where are you going at...5:00 in the morning?"

"Big meeting," said Bruce, patting the stool beside his, "Wanted to mentally prepare,"

"You need to prepare?" said Duke, bring his water over.

"Everyone needs to prepare," said Bruce with a smile, "Even me,"

"Huh," said Duke, "I feel better about sweating through my presentations,"

Bruce laughed, "So what are you doing up?"

Duke sighed, "I had a nightmare, I think,"

Bruce looked worried, "Anything in particular?"

"Nah," said Duke, "Just woke up feeling antsy. I think I'm still a little freak out about the test today,"

"Anything I can do to help?" asked Bruce

Duke thought about it.

"How much od you know about the Rwandan genocide?"

Bruce smiled, "You in luck,"

"Quiz me?"

"Alright then," said Bruce, "Tell me of the three groups in...?"

They stayed like that with Bruce quizzing him until Alfred came down and reminded the man of his meeting. After. Bruce bolted out of there but not before leaving a quick kiss on uke's forehead.

Duke shook his head as he watched the man run.

xxx

It was Friday evening, and Dick had plans with Bruce to work on a struggling case together. They were going to grab some snacks, head down to the cave and put a few hours in before the family dinner.

Bruce met him in the study, and they both headed through the clock together. Their plan, however, went out the window as soon as they heard the sound of somebody hitting the punching bag. Hard.

There was only one bat other than them in the manor at the moment.

"I thought he took online lessons with his tutor at this time," said Dick

"He does," said Bruce, frowning as his youngest came into view.

Damian was covered in sweat, indicating that he had been there for a while. His muscles were rigid, and his eyes seemed to be far away. Dick wasn't sure he ever heard them.

"Damian," called out Bruce as they got closer.

Damian flinched and whirled around, only relaxing a little once he saw them. He still looked too wound up for Dick's taste.

"We were about to do some stretches," said Dick, "Would you like to join us?"

He could feel Bruce's eyes on him, but the man didn't say anything. Damian hesitated but eventually nodded.

Dick ran to the cabinet and grabbed some mats. They laid them down with Damian in the middle, and Bruce started to lead them through various stretches, the way he had done for them when they had begun training.

Five minutes into their session, Damian started to shake. Then came the sot sniffles, and a few moments later, Damian was sinking to the ground with tears running down his cheeks.

Bruce instantly pulled him in his arms and sat down cross-legged with Damian in his lap. Dick copied his position and sat, so his knees were touching Bruce's. He took Damian's and help between his own two.

"Dami," he asked softly, "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he hiccupped, "I'm sorry- I."

"Hey," whispered Bruce, pressing a kiss to his hair, "It's okay. You're okay. We just want to know what's going on?"

"I don't know," whispered Damian, "I don't know! I just-everything- Not I-"

"Shh," said Dick, running and through Dami's hair, "It's okay if you can't explain,"

"Would you like to stay here for a while?" said Bruce

"Yes, please," said Damian, hiding his in Bruce's chest. Bruce readjusted his position and held out an arm towards Dick. Dick smiled and moved, so he was holding Damian within the circle of Bruce's arms.

They both held their beloved little boy until his sobs subsided.

xxx

Tim was supposed to be in bed.

And yet, here he was, sitting in the cave and typing away at the computer. Bruce wondered how long he would have stayed if Bruce hadn't come down on a whim.

"Timmy?"

Tim looked up and nodded, instantly going back to his work.

Bruce sighed, "Tim, it's two in the morning. You're supposed to be asleep,"

"I just have to figure this put," he muttered

"You can figure it out tomorrow, Tim," said Bruce, "You need to sleep,"

"But I was supposed to finish this today," he said hurriedly, "I have other things to do tomorrow and leaving this is going to throw off my schedule,"

"Tim," he said gently, stepping closer to his son, "I'm sure you're schedule can we tweaked a bit, Kiddo,"

"No," said Tim, shaking his head, "No it can't! It's the perfect schedule,"

"Tim-"

"Just leave me alone!" he shouted, "I need to finish this!"

Bruce stared at his son wide-eyed, realizing exactly how wound up Tim was. Tim himself seemed to have realized what he was doing and lowered his head in shame.

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered, "But I need to finish this,"

Bruce knelt in front of his boy, "Timmy, you don't need to be perfect. Nobody can be perfect all the time. Nobody expects you to be perfect all the time,"

Time swallowed.

"I expect me to be perfect," said Tim, "I have to be perfect,|

The admission broke Bruce's heart as did the realization that the only reason his son was admitting this was his severe sleep deprivation.

"Oh, Timmy," he whispered, pulling the boy in a hug.

Tim sniffled and hugged Bruce back, "I'm sorry,"

"Not sweetheart," he said, "It's okay,"

Tim didn't say anything in response.

Gently, Bruce pulled away enough to be able to look at the boy's face.

"Here's what we're gonna do," said Bruce, "We're gonna go to sleep. Tomorrow, whenever you wake up, we're going to take a day off, go to the park, take some pictures and just have a relaxing day. How does that sound?"

"But the work-"

"Does not come before your health," he said firmly

Finally, Timmy nodded, "Okay,"

"Good," said Bruce, "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

"Can I stay with you?"

Bruce smiled and gave Tim's head a kiss.

"Of course,"

xxx

Dick was exhausted. From the way Bruce was dragging his feet, he was too.

They had finally put a rest to their smuggling case and Dick was ready to collapse into bed and-

Damian was in the cave.

Dick sighed. He loved the boy very very much. But he was becoming a demanding teen, a side effect of being in an emotionally and physically dangerous situation his childhood. And while everyone in the family, especially Bruce and Dick, had no problem dealing with him, he was just too exhausted.

Still, Dick put on a smile and called out to Damian.

"Hey, Dami! What are you doing up?"

"I brought you tea," said Damian.

And sure enough, there was tea sitting at one of the desks.

"Well, thank you, Damian," said Bruce, starting to take off his gear.

"And I was thinking I could sort through your reports and notes while you change and drink," said Damian, blushing a little and avoiding eye contact.

Dick met Bruce's eyes and raised an eyebrow.

Was Damian trying to take care of them?

Bruce shrugged and smiled at his youngest, "That's very kind of you, Damian. Thank you,"

Damian nodded and went to the bat computer, bringing up their most recent documents. Once both men had changed, they sat down at the med bay where e Damia insisted on patching them up. The wounds weren't so bad, so they let him.

Afterwards, as they sipped their tea, he kept trying to discreetly check on them, reheating their tea, bringing them snacks and cleaning their things.

Eventually, Bruce sent Damian upstairs, citing his bedtime.

"Adorable, isn't he?" said Dick

"Oh, definitely," said Bruce, "Reminds me of another very helpful little boy,"

Dick smiled so wide that it hurt. He had never felt happier.

xxx

Bruce was annoyed.

The patrol from last night had ended with a twisted ankle, which in itself was not a bad injury. However, Alfred had used it as an excuse to have him rest on his bed and without seeing any way out, Bruce had done just that.

What he hadn't realized at the time was that Alfred had taken away all his tablets and reports, making sure that he wasn't working at all and property resting.

So now, here was sitting alone in bed, bored and annoyed out of his mind.

He was still bemoaning his situation when there was a soft knock on his door.

Cassandra.

"Come in," he called out

Cassandra opened the door and came in followed by his menagerie of children. Jason was holding a stack of pizzas, Tim had his laptop and Duke and Dick were wheeling in their projector. Barbara came in holding drinks and Stephanie seemed to be having a hand-slap fight with Damian.

"What are you guys doing here?" asked Bruce

"Keeping you company," said Tim, "And entertaining you,"

"Yeah, Pops," said Jason, "We know ya. You're probably climbing out of your skin by now,"

Bruce snorted but didn't deny it.

"So B," said Barbara, "What do you wanna watch?"

"What are my options?" asked Bruce

"Please tell Grayson, no more Disney," said Damian, "I can't stand those things anymore,"

"It's cause they make him feel emotions," crowed Stephanie

"Shut up, Brown," growled Damian

"Damian," Dick warned

Damian huffed but refrained from saying anything else.

"So?" said Dick, "What it will be, Bruce?"

"Let's watch Ghostbusters," Bruce, "Any objections?"

There were none so Tim started to set it up. Once it was done they all quickly sat down around him. Damian took his right and Jason took his left. Stephanie and Cassandra curled up at the foot of the bed and Barbare wheeled closer to them. Tim plopped and Duke plopped down at Jason's side while Dick contorted himself around Damian. After some grumbling, Damian took it in stride.

They passed around the food as the movie started playing and everyone settled in to watch.

Within ten minutes, Bruce's day had gone from miserable to spectacular.

xxx

Alfred rarely indulged in alcohol. But occasionally, when his charges were away, he would grab a bottle of expensive scotch and pour himself a glass, maybe even two.

Today was one such day or night he should say. Alfred had long stopped having regular nightmares from his early life but occasionally one slipped through. Pair that with a much empty manor and Alfred had found himself picking up the bottle.

Bruce was the only one in the place and there wasn't any chance of him stumbling to Alfred's private rooms at this time.

At least that's was what he thought.

He was still nursing his first one when the room to the drawing-room slowly opened, revealing Bruce at the door dressed in his nightclothes.

For a second, Alfred flashed back to a little boy coming to see him so he could chase away the nightmares.

Brushing the memories away, he tried to put the bottle away quickly but Bruce was quicker.

He smiled as he came, slower, covering one of Alfred's hands.

"I'm not a little boy anymore, you know," said Bruce, voice soft, "You don't have to do that,"

If Alfred was a different man, he would have cried. Instead, being who he was, he faintly nodded and made room was the other man.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Alfred," said Bruce.

"Why did you?" said Alfred, "You hardly come in here, especially without knocking,"

Bruce smiled a little sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck, "Uh...I just...You know, had a feeling,"

Alfred raised his eyebrows. Interesting.

"What exactly am I interrupting?" asked Bruce

"Just an old man's rough night," said Alfred, gently swirling the scotch but then putting it down.

"Would you like me to leave?"

The proper British gentleman and father inside him said yea. He was the man's butler, his problems were not Bruces's. He was the man's father too, or at least he thought of himself that way, Bruce shouldn't have to see him down like this.

But another, tired part wouldn't mind the company.

He must have stayed quiet too long because Bruce gently smiled and put his arm around his shoulders.

"You know what," said Bruce, "I'm going to read you, Shakespeare,"

"Oh?" said Alfred as Bruce pulled up the plays on his phone.

"King Lear alright with you?"

Alfred smiled, "Just fine, my boy,"

Bruce read him the whole play of King Lear until he started to doze off. Afterwards, he gently kissed his cheek and bid him a good night. The old butler went to sleep feeling content and relaxed.

In the morning he woke up to find a table filled with breakfast and surrounded by his family. The menu had been prepared by Jason and Stephanie apparently and they had all made their way to the manor just for it.

Alfred didn't think he could love his family more.

[cardandpixel]

RocketBook Flip - a rare review and it’s not a game!

Before I go any further, I feel I must point out that I don’t have any financial connection to RocketBook whatsoever – this isn’t a piece that was requested or courted by RocketBook or affiliates and I’m not receiving any reward or sponsorship either in product or direct payment for this article. I just like the damn thing and love it when an innovative piece of tech (in this case quite low key) just works. Hi I’m Paul, and I have a bit of a problem with notebooks – A4 lined, sketch, reporters, Black & Reds (ohhhh the sheer number of B&Rs), goofy ones, serious work ones, battered ones, pristine ‘for best only’ ones – and they all fill at an alarming rate. I make notes on everything. Working as a sound engineer and designer, there’s always mix notes, soundscape plots, ideas, VO notes and scripts, SFX ideas etc etc. At home it’s a very different story – it’s much worse. Game notes; blog notes; hurriedly scribbled quiz questions spurred by watching another episode of Mental Floss’ 500 facts about cheese; RPG notes and story ideas; my own script writing; world building; sketches; other creative ideas; song/music notes and ideas; and that’s before we get to to-do lists; and the dreaded ‘things I must remember’. So my journal life is many, varied and plenty. The usual issue is… ‘what frakking journal did I put that amazing idea in????’, and that’s way before we get to the utter horror that is possibly losing a whole journal or forgetting to bring one home from work. I’m 53, I forget more than I recall, and journals help bring some semblance of order to a massively chaotic and fertile brain. What I’ve needed for a long time is some way of organising all this info or centralising it in some way. Sure I’ve looked at apps – I used Things, Evernote, Notes, and One Note for years, and they are really, really good, but they relied on either having a charged device exactly when I need it (yeah – me too) or net access, which for a new-ish theatre, is surprisingly a bit of an issue at work. And the most important part – I actually enjoy the physical act of handwriting long-hand. I still write actual physical letters to people, it’s adorable and a bit creepy in this age, but I call it charming and leave it at that. Handwriting, for me, allows me time to think and process in a way that typing just doesn’t. Handwriting is slower, I rarely cross anything out, and so I always have the whole of the thought. So what I’ve ideally wanted for years, was a reliable way of organising all my notes and storing them electronically so I have access even without the actual journal, with OCR so they’re editable, and still being a tactile handwritten experience. I’m naturally a sceptic (I actually subscribe to Fortean Times – yeah – I card carry!) and so online ads and particularly FaceAche ads are a field day for critical thinking triggers. I don’t think I’ve ever received from Wish, exactly what I ordered from Wish. And so when an ad from RocketBook constantly kept popping up on my timeline a few weeks ago, I was naturally “it’ll never work” But their website looked legit enough – they had a dedicated UK shop, it was relatively steep to buy in but not so wild that if it didn’t work I wouldn’t be crying too much about the money wasted, and at the end of the day it was a 10th the price of a ReMarkable 2 which is actually what I thought would solve my problem. I’m furloughed at the mo and though I could argue the case for £300+ notebook (test me, I could), I just couldn’t justify it now. And RocketBook had a good summer intro offer. I ordered on the Wednesday, and the impressively glitzy and graphic-design-playbook poly package was dropped on my doorstep just 2 days later by my cheery postie who yelled up the drive “Package for ya, looks very exciting!!!!” I like that our postal service is still invested in the hopes and dreams of their customers. It was exciting. All the instructions for getting started with my new Teal RocketBook A4 Flip were right there before you even open it. The main body houses the pad and a cleaning cloth, and a clever little side pocket houses the supplied Pilot Frixion pen.

RocketBooks come in several models, all configured slightly differently. I have the Flip which is a top spiral-bound softback pad with 21 double sided ‘pages’ giving 42 pages in total. The Flip has lined paper one side, and dot paper on the reverse (great for D&D maps, impromptu tables, mixer channel plots etc)

DELIVERY & FIRST IMPRESSIONS The pads are nicely made, with sturdy covers (available in some really nice colours too) and a solid, thick plastic ring binding. Initially, The RocketBook does feel a bit odd. Its ‘pages’ are actually a synthetic polyester blend and feel quite shiny to the touch. The sort of surface you just instantly feel is not going to be great for ink! Each page is edge-to-edge lined or dotted with a heavy black border. At the bottom is a prominent QR code used for scanning and some very feint icons. These 7 icons are the key to the ease of use of the RocketBook series. But more later.

THE APP

The pads work with a companion app, that is absolutely free and available for Apple & Android. In fact, RB even do downloadable printable pages so you can try the whole system absolutely free before you buy – I didn’t, I just bought one, y’know. The app allows you to set up your destination locations, your preferences and does the actual scanning. Just one quick note, I have the app on both my phone and iPad and had to set-up the app the same for both, there appears to be no way of swapping preference settings between devices, though I can see why this may be intentional.

Currently, the RocketBook allows you to choose from the following locations to send files to: GoogleDrive, box, EverNote, DropBox, slack, OneNote, iCloud, OneDrive as well as simply to an email (or multiple) addresses and iMessage. Impressively, these are not fixed either, so you could choose your 7 destinations to be 7 email addresses of team members. These 7 locations are the icons at the bottom of each page. To select a destination for your file, you just make a mark in that icon box (tick, circle, something unsavoury) and that page will be sent to whichever you select. This makes the system very flexible indeed as not every page is necessarily sent to every destination. You always decide every time you fill a page. Change your mind on a second revision? No problem, add or change icons at any time and re-upload.

There’s a really handy table on the inside front cover for you to note what icon sends what where. This is also wipeable, so can be changed anytime.

I have mine set by default to:

Rocket > main email address (either as PDF, JPG, OCR embedded or as separate txt file)

Diamond > GoogleDrive (you can specify exactly what folder too)

Apple > iMessage

Bell > OneNote

That actually still leaves me 3 spare: shamrock; star; and horseshoe.

The app took me maybe 20mins to set-up, that included decision time for destinations and setting up a few target folders. It also included a few ‘test firings’. I didn’t get everything right first time and a few things didn’t send, but crucially, a tiny bit of digging revealed very simple troubleshooting (including the aforementioned issue with no sync’ing of phone and iPad), and all in I was finding the files in all the right destinations within about 30 mins. The website, FAQs and community are immensely helpful with any other issues as well. I had a tiny issue with OneNote seeming to take ages to sync, but I think that’s an issue with my OneNote settings, everything else was almost instantaneous. You can also handily set the app to auto-send as soon as it scans, or allow for manual review.

CLEAN UP ON AISLE ROCKETPAD The main reason I wanted to look at the RocketBook was the issue of reusability. My journal shenanigans are by no means the biggest ecological disaster on the planet, but if we are to believe Tesco (who probably issue as many receipts at our local Tesco Express in a day as journals I’ve ever used), every little helps. If I could find an ecologically better solution, I should at least take a look. The RocketPads work by partnering with Pilot pens called Frixion. The really clever bit is RB’s paper technology and how it works with the Frixion ink. At present, the pads only work with the Frixion pens – except the RB Colour which works with Crayola’s dry-erase crayons. When you write on the ‘paper’ with a Frixion pen, it remains wet for a few seconds and then dries pretty quickly. There’s no smudging whatsoever in transit, which is pretty cool. From then on, it may as well be permanent, until you have transmitted your page and decide you don’t want the text anymore.  To wipe the page clean, you can dampen the supplied cloth and just wipe the surface clean, it’s weird but it works! But then damp cloth in your bag? So I use kitchen roll to dampen, then wipe dry with theirs. Others even have an adorably kitsch spray bottle in their kit. RB reckon if you are not going to use the pad for a few months, to clean the pages as the ink can get trickier to shift after a long time, but for day-to-day use, I’ve tried writing and wiping well over 20x and the page hasn’t become discoloured or tarnished at all. The only pad different in the range is the Wave which cleans by microwaving! Do NOT do this with any of the others, bad things will happen. The ink doesn’t take scrubbing or any time to come up, I clean my pages in about 10-15s. The page can feel a little tacky when it’s damp, but leave a minute or so and the page will be back to normal. RB do say that odd things can happen if the book is left near a heatsource or in a hot car, vis-à-vis, the ink can completely disappear horrifyingly enough. They say that putting the pen or the pad in the freezer for a little while will actually restore the ink, but I’ve not tried it yet so can’t confirm or deny how that goes. Handy for spies in hot countries though, so there’s another target market. If you are always going to send your pages to the same places, then don’t erase the marked icons, and the page is ready for new notes straight away, otherwise, scrub them too.

I CAN’T READ YOUR WRITING – ARE YOU A DOCTOR? Initially, the RB pads send their files as scans of the pages in high contrast monochrome (colour is available) when you snap the page in the app (which auto-frames for you and takes maybe 10s to capture). The formats are either as images or PDF. If that had been it, I would have been quite happy, but the RB pads have another trick up their sleeve. Firstly, they have a function called ‘Smart Titles’ which allows you to name your files directly from the page by writing a filename between double hashtags ie ## this is my scrawl 24/8/20 ## and the file will pop up in your destinations with the filename “this is my scrawl 24/08/20” – this is insanely handy – there’s no protocol except your own and the hashtags, and it makes your files super easy to search. You can even send groups of pages as a single PDF. But the notebooks go even further. They actually offer full searchable OCR which the app can be set to send embedded in the PDF or image, or more usefully, as a companion separate .txt file. Now, my handwriting isn’t the neatest, but it’s not bad so I was prepared for some editing to be necessary, but impressively again, the OCR was about 90-95% accurate. In a page of text it missed maybe 3 or 4 words and even those not badly. This is all considering their full OCR is still only in beta! It gets confused with diagrams on the page, but that’s to be expected.

Text Generated by OCR: ## Blog post och test Aug 2020 ## This is a little demonstration of the OCR capabilities of the Rocket Book pads and app. I've told the lovely people that the hit rate is about 90-95% so please dant let me down here flip pad. Hopefully the file name will also prove another point further up in the section and not make me look like some charlatan or snake-oil salesman.Hope you enjoyed this demonstrahen, now go away and leave me to write the next great novella.Bye!

HOW MUCH? On average, I pay anywhere from £4-8 for a decent A4 notebook/journal, so at £30-37 (dependent on model), the RocketBook pads are not a whim purchase. That said, I get through a lot of journals in a year, and given that I would expect to easily get 2-3 years out of a RocketBook pad, then I’ve saved money. Will it replace all my notebooks? No. You need to be thinking of carrying this round as a kit: pad, Frixion pen (at least 2), and cloth.  RB do a series of portfolio sleeves for the pads but it does push the price up a bit still, but for a rep, engineer or salesperson, this still makes sense. They’re less bulky than a normal A4 pad too. What I would say is Tesco and Sainsbury’s currently stock Frixion pens and at much better prices than buying them from RB directly, I just paid £3 for 3 pens on offer at Tesco compared to £10 from RB. You get one pen with the pad, but you’re going to want more soon, so stock up next time you’re shopping for truffle oil crisps. If you use whiteboards a lot, RB also have you covered. Instead of the pad, £16 will get you a 4 pack of ‘beacons’ – little self-adhesive triangles that effectively do the same thing as the QR code in the pad. You don’t have the icon options obviously, but if you’re looking to distribute quick meeting or group notes, this would be a boon. CONCLUSION Considering this was a fairly speculative purchase on my part, my early experiences with the RocketBook Flip have been really impressive. The flexibility, the ability to store every page in a different location if you really wanted to make it fantastic for organising my notes, which can save me hours of finding the right ^^$&^$&$ notebook in the first place, then scouring that for the one paragraph I was looking for etc etc. The searchable text facility, in-app history for re-sending etc and last but no way least, functional handwriting OCR, makes the RocketBook not only novel, but actually useable! Would I buy another? As a second notebook – yes. I look forward to seeing what the actual longevity of the product is once I come off furlough and start cramming my day bag with all my junk and a notepad again, but yes, I’d probably just have one at home, and one for work, but make the last 5 mins of each day, scanning and sending work notes so I have them with me wherever. Impressively, the RocketBook Flip just works and it works well. ‘Er Across The Table has already sold several folk at her work on the idea and she doesn’t even have one herself yet! I love it. It’s taking a little adjusting to, but it’s all good. The most important thing though is the writing experience, and I have to say, the combination of the Frixion pen/ink and the polymer technology of the Flip, again, just works. It’s smooth, doesn’t skip or smudge for me (I know some right to left users and left handers have reported some issues) and feels great to write on. If anything I have to slow down a bit as the contact is so smooth that your writing can get a bit ahead of you! RocketBook have produced a cracker of a product. It might not seem like much, but if practical working journals are your thing (ie not create and keep things) then I can highly recommend the RocketBook series.

[gdxnicky]

Whalien Part 2

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Word Count: 1892

It has been two days since you confessed your love to your best friend Namjoon. He has hardly come out of the guest room, at least when you aren't in your room. At this point you wonder if he is avoiding you or if you are avoiding him. You aren't sure if you are ready to hear if he accepts your feelings and you aren't sure if he is ready to tell you how he feels. You have been a nervous wreck but too scared to approach him. All of a sudden there is a knock on your bedroom door. You look over at the clock 530pm. You think that it is probably time to get some food. You haven't eaten since your confession and you don't know if Namjoon has either. You stand up and walk to your door. You open it to find a single pink carnation, your favorite flower from a song your grandfather used to sing you, and a note.

'Dinner will be served in one hour. Be dressed in your very best. Oh, and make yourself look like a girl.' Signed by Namjoon.

You giggle at the look like a girl comment. That is how he tells you to put on makeup and a dress. You think to yourself that you have an hour to get ready. You run into the bathroom attached to your room and shower as fast as you possibly can, then hop out getting undergarments on to do your hair and make up. You do your makeup to the best of your ability and send a snapchat to your cousin to double check that it looks alright. She tells you it is great. After you curl your hair, leaving it down and doing loose tundrels that flow over your shoulders and back. Then taking a few bobby pins to pin your hair back slightly out of your face. You walk over to your closet and grab a cute strapless black lace cocktail dress that has a sash right beneath your chest that is silk. You step back and take a look in the mirror after you grab a necklace and earrings from your jewlery box. Both of them being pieces that Namjoon has given to you over the years for your birthday and Christmas.

It is now 630pm. You take a deep breath before walking out of your room. The sound of your heels clink on the hardwood floor. You look toward the kitchen and there he is. He has his back to you at the moment but you can tell he made sure he looked nice as well. His dyed blonde hair fixated just right. The food he has prepared smells amazing but you still get a slight hint of his cologne.

He turns around to see you and he looks so handsome. He is wearing a black suit with a black tie and a white shirt. He opted to wear contacts instead of his glasses. You feel the butterflies in your stomach to dance. He may have been your best friend and your crush but this is the first time you have truly seen him as a man.

"Wow Joonie. You look... wow." You struggle to find the right word.

"Studly, handsome, amazing...?" He questions back.

"Yes, yes all of those and then some." You reply, blushing ever so slightly before you notice him giving you elevator eyes, checking you up and down.

"Y/n you look phenomenal. Feminine, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous." He compliments as you blush even more and smile. "I am almost ready. Just a few more finishing touches." He tells you as he turns on some music then walks to the table to light some candles. You are in shock. You have never seen this side of Namjoon but always was curious when he would talk about things he would do for his exes. He turns back around and grabs a lovely bouquet of flowers and hands them to you.

"These are for you."

"Aww Joon. Thank you." You reply as a smile grows from ear to ear. You take them and smell them. They smell subtle but beautiful.

He walks over to the table and pulls out a chair for you and motions for you to sit. You walk over and take your place. He then moves to his side and sits. He had made a wonderful meal. A small side salad for the beginning and the main course was a pasta dish because he knows how much you enjoy Italian cuisine. You two sit in silence while you eat because you are too nervous to talk about the other day. You don't want to bring it up and ruin the moment. You just sit and wait. You focus on the music in the background and the songs are all your favorite love songs. When the song 'One Word' by Elliot Yamin comes on you can't help but blurt out how much you love that song. He stands up and walks over to you.

"May I?" He asks as he extends his hand. You place yours in his and stand up. He leads you away from the table slightly and pulls you in. A hand on your waist while the other holds your hand. You place your free hand on his shoulder. The two of you being to dance around while he sings selective parts of the song.

'One word

Is all I need to say exactly how I feel

One word

A single word that's from the heart and keeps it real

One word

And, baby, I know this one fits you to a tee

One word

All I can say is "amazing"'

He pulls you in tightly. Moving his hand from your waist to the small of your back. Your hand slides down to his chest. You instinctively you rest your head on him, listening to the soothing lub dub of his heart, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath, breathing in the scent of him. You realize there is no coming back from this whether he accepts your confession or not, you love this man and always will. You get lost in the moment don't even realize the song has changed. He hasn't offered to let you go at all and continues to dance. That's when you notice the most random thing. His heartbeat and yours are in sync, beating simulataneously. You are brought back to reality when the second song ends and he begins to pull away.

"Y/n, I know I shouldn't have waited to tell you about how the other day made me feel." He says holding your hands in his. "I was not expecting that at all. I never had any inclination that you felt that way toward me. I didn't know what to say or how to approach it. The past two days I have spent so much time thinking and talking to the guys. Apparently I am oblivious because they all suspected your feelings for me. I asked them for advice on what to do and what to say. They all agreed that I should just say it..." He pauses and you can see the conflict on his face, like he doesn't know how to word what he wants to say.

"Joonie" you say as you reach up and hold his cheek. "You don't have to accept my feelings, I won't be upset, if that is what you are struggling with." Trying your best to reassure him and believe your own words because you can feel the ache in your chest.

"That is not it. I hear your song just like you hear mine. I have tried to fight back these feelings since I first met you but I knew my life was going to be crazy busy with tours and music so I didn't want to drag you along and not be what you need. I love you Y/n. I always have and I always will. This is inevitable. This is our destiny." He says looking into your eyes. He moves his right hand to your cheek and holds onto you as he leans in for a kiss. A soft gentle peck. After a moment you break the kiss.

"Joonie, did you just use lyrics from DNA on me?" You ask quickly.

"Yes..." He responds hesitantly.

"Just checking." You grab both sides of his face and pull him down to you. Placing your lips onto his, this kiss not as gentle. You open the emotional dam that you have been withholding all this time. After quite sometime of kissing, he pulls back from you.

"So... Does that mean you accept?" He asks sounding nervous and sarcastic.

"Really Joon... Yes. Of course." You say smiling ear to ear. He grabs you and pulls you in for a tight hug.

"Did you want what I have for dessert or do you want to just skip to what I have planned for the night?" He questions. You look at him with a quizative look on your face.

"What did you have planned for the rest of the night?" You ask hesitantly.

"Kdrama and chill. Whatelse would I have planned?" He replies.

"I don't know but you said you asked the guys for advice. I wouldn't be surprised if they said something inappropriate."

"Touche" He says laughigly. "Oh they said I needed to send them pictures and tell them your answer."

"Why don't you take pictures and we can video call them together?" You propose.

"That's a great idea." He says. He quickly takes out his phone and snaps a dozen pictures of you, the flowers, and candles. You take your heels off and go sit on the couch. He walks over as his phone rings, waiting for the guys to answer.

"What did she say?!" Is how they answered the phone. Namjoon just laughs.

You lean over and say "Yes, of course."

"Noona, what happened? What did Hyung end up deciding to do?" Jimin inquires. He looks like a kid who is about to see Santa, all sorts of excited. You take the phone from Namjoon and describe the whole thing to him while the other guys listen.

"Wait, Noona, did he give you a peck on the lips or was it a kiss? Because there is a difference." Jungkook interjects.

"Well he gave me a peck and I gave him a kiss." I said blushing and giggling as the guys say "aww" in unison.

"What do you have planned for the rest of the night?" Hobi asks.

"We are just going to hang out and watch a drama." Namjoon answers. Jin, Hobi, and Tae giving him a weird look like they were expecting more.

"Just let her love you" Yoongi sings in the background then Jimin joins followed by the rest of them.

"What is with you guys and using your lyrics in real life? Honestly." You question as you laugh at them.

"Okay we are hanging up now. Bye guys." Namjoon says hanging up on them and then putting his phone on silent.

The two of you agree to go to your rooms and get on comfy clothes before cuddling up on the couch with ice cream and kdramas. As you walk into your room you think to yourself 'this could not be any better'.

[rockofcalifa]

Night at the IKEA

words: 8.7k | genre: action/comedy | warnings: non-graphic violence

 He looks at his wrist, reads the time, and sighs.

 Grigoriy is not, typically, a watch-wearing kind of man. He's not wealthy (or stupid) enough yet to purchase a watch he actually enjoys, and even so, he fully acknowledges that his phone already performs that function. But on the days he works, on days like this, he likes to have an easy, clandestine way to count down the slow eight hours of his misery.

 Well. More like twelve, today. He's already worked his regular shift, but he's going to be stuck here until god-knows-when tonight...

"Stop sighing, Grisha."

 Grigoriy startles slightly at the voice of Konstantin entering the room behind him. His friend, carrying an armful of items, walks around to deposit his haul onto the desk between them, careful not to disrupt the small potted plants sitting on the edge. During his tenure as manager, Konstantin and his horticultural tendencies have worked wonders for the appeal of the inherently unappealing office workspace, turning it into the sort fresh and modern room an IKEA office should be.

 "You agreed, remember?" Konstantin says. He picks up a plain black umbrella from the top of the pile, turning it around in his hands before tossing it into the basket behind his desk. "I mean, I can still do it, if you don't want to."

 No way is Konstantin staying late tonight. He's had a busy week and he deserves to rest. "No, no, I'm still doing it. I want the money. That doesn't mean I'm looking forward to being here all night, though."

 A red and white baseball cap joins the umbrella in the basket. Konstantin then selects an Iron Man pencil case, unzipping it to look through the contents for a phone number or address, but only finding some cheap pens and a black USB flash drive. "Sure, but don't act so cranky you scare this kid away, Grisha. I really need more hands on deck right now, and she seems like a good find."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 A pair of bifocal reading glasses. A baby's pink pacifier clip. A stainless-steel water bottle. Sunglasses. Grigoriy watches with disinterest as Konstantin goes through the rest of the day's lost-and-found items.

 "I'll have dinner waiting for you when you get home," Konstantin offers, turning to shut down his laptop and disconnect it from his dual-monitor setup.

 "As long as I don't also come home to a burning kitchen."

 "Grisha. Do you think so poorly of me?" Konstantin pouts, barely holding back a smile. Cute. "I wasn't going to make it myself, obviously."

 "Ah, okay. I understand." Grigoriy stands, Konstantin shoulders his laptop bag, and they exit the office. "Thank you, Kostya, I appreciate it."

 Konstantin grins.

 The IKEA warehouse always feels a little eerie at night. A little too vast, a little too vacant. Grigoriy and Konstantin are usually the last to leave at the end of the day, so he ought to be used to it by now, but he still feels the need to look behind himself, giving the huge shelves a critical, non-trusting look.

 They approach the main entrance, and Konstantin unlocks the sliding door with one of the keys on his lanyard. "You'll remember to lock up after me, right? And when you leave?" Konstantin says, handing the blue and yellow lanyard to Grigoriy.

 "I will."

 The doors slide open, revealing a figure standing nearby, a person dressed in all black who hurriedly looks up from her phone at the sudden movement, eyes wide.

 "Hi, Yevgenia Zakharovna," says Konstantin. "I'm glad you could make it out here tonight; I know it's kind of strange timing."

 "Konstantin Afansievich! Absolutely! I'm glad I could be here!" Yevgenia squeaks, and Grigoriy tries not to chuckle. Konstantin often has this effect on people, but this one seems a bit more dazzled than most.

 "This is my friend, Grigoriy Savelievich. He's going to be training you tonight."

 "Hey," Grigoriy greets, sticking out his hand.

 "It's nice to meet you, Grigoriy Savelievich." Yevgenia walks over to greet him, giving Grigoriy a strong, warm handshake and the full effect of her unfortunately attractive, albeit shy, smile. "Thank you for training me. I know you must be very busy."

 "Oh yeah, no problem," Grigoriy says.

 "Just call me if you guys run into any issues, okay?" Konstantin makes no move to actually leave, and Grigoriy sighs.

 "Go home, Kostya, we'll be fine." He nudges Konstantin across the threshold of the door and reaches for the sliding pane to close it manually. "Bye."

 Konstantin waves. Grigoriy locks the door.

 "Let's go up, shall we?" Grigoriy motions towards the unmoving escalators, and Yevgenia follows him, twisting her hands in her oversized sweatshirt sleeves.

 "So, IKEA, huh," Grigoriy says. Yevgenia gives a little nod. "What made you apply here? Did you just move into town?"

 "Mm, no, I've lived here for a few years," Yevgenia replies. "I work at, um, my friend's business. Part time. But I wanted to earn some more money, so..."

 "Cool, that's cool. Well, you've chosen a pretty good place to earn some extra bucks." They arrive at the second floor, and Grigoriy turns towards the furniture showrooms. "Tonight I'm going to show you around, tell you about some of our policies and procedures, let you in on all the dark IKEA secrets..." That manages to draw a laugh out of Yevgenia. "And then you'll get more specific training when you come to work. Sound good?"

 "Yes, Grigoriy Savelievich."

 They're standing by the first mockup living room, and Yevgenia is looking around, taking in everything with interest. "You have been to an IKEA before, right? To shop?" Yevgenia nods. "So you know how to use these to navigate around the showroom?" Grigoriy points to the blue and white sign hanging above them.

 "Sure. The numbers are for the different zones, and the lines show what's connected to what and what shortcuts there are, right?"

 "Exactly." Grigoriy gives a reassuring smile. "You're already an expert. We'll just quickly run through and I'll point out some things. I'm guessing Konstantin will have you working downstairs in warehouse and loading, because that's where we're short right now, but I want to make sure you know how to help people up here, just in case you have to."

 "All right," Yevgenia says, ever-agreeable, and they start walking. "What's your job, Grigoriy Savelievich?"

 "I'm a kitchen design consultant - well, that makes it sound classier than it really is. I help clueless people pick out the right sized countertops to match their tile, basically."

 "You must have helped a lot of people," Yevgenia says politely.

 "I guess. It's not the worst starving-artist job, by far. Much better than waiting tables."

 Yevgenia perks up and stumbles against the side of a floral-print BRÅTHULT. "Artist? Are you an artist, Grigoriy Savelievich?"

 Grigoriy scratches the back of his head, embarrassed that he'd somehow brought it up. "Ah, not really. I don't have any formal training, but I write music in my spare time.  I guess you could call it a hobby..."

 Yevgenia bounces back and forth on her feet, hands clasped earnestly in front of her. "No, Grigoriy Savelievich, just because you don't have training doesn't mean it can't be serious! I'm the same way, with film! I mean - " Yevgenia breaks off, self-consciousness catching up with her as well. "Well, it's not like I have the time or money to do that much, but, you know..."

 "I get it," Grigoriy says. "Hey, we have struggling artist solidarity. It's good."

 "It's good," Yevgenia repeats, smiling.

 "Speaking of, uh, whatever we were talking about, this is where I'm usually working," Grigoriy says as they walk into the kitchen showroom. "Let me show you how to use one of these kiosks."

 The exchange seems to have pulled Yevgenia out of her shell a little, because she talks more, laughs more, and even cracks a few jokes as Grigoriy shows her the employee equipment and walks her through the bedroom, storage, and children's sections of the showroom. Grigoriy is starting to understand what about this kid had Konstantin so enthused. Yevgenia is chill, her personality non-abrasive, the type who will probably work well with others. But she's also so attentive, listening to Grigoriy well and even asking questions of her own.

 "So, that's all the furniture, right?" Exiting the seasonal collections, they end up on the same landing by the escalators.

 "Yeah," Grigoriy answers. "And that's it for this floor. We'll go downstairs to see the decor and warehouse and stuff."

 "But..." Yevgenia looks to the huge, unlit open space of tables and chairs to their left. "We aren't going over there?"

 "I dunno, it's just the restaurant. I'm not sure there's anything interesting for us to see over there."

 " Grigoriy Savelievich, I heard food from IKEA is famous. You're not going to show me? What if someone asks me questions about it?"

 "Well -"

 ONE's eyes get even bigger and she tilts her head to the side. Fuck.

 "Okay, yes, we'll go over there." The extra minutes they'll spend wandering around the cafeteria and the kitchen are worth it for the pleased smile that breaks out across Yevgenia’s face. She and Grigoriy wade through the moonlit sea of tables, walking towards the back.

 Grigoriy doesn't stop, though, pushing through a set of doors going into the kitchen. He's only ever been back here with Konstantin, but he hasn't ever been told not to come back here, either. Still, he's not the most familiar with the layout, and he squints around until he finds the light switch.

 "Yevgenia Zakharovna, would you try to find where they keep the plates?"

 "Plates?" Yevgenia stares at him. "What are we doing? Is this some kind of quiz?"

 Grigoriy chuckles. "No quiz. We're going to eat meatballs. You said you were worried about customers asking you questions about IKEA's famous foods, right?"

 "Holy shit!" Yevgenia exclaims before catching herself and slapping a hand over her mouth, which just makes Grigoriy laugh even more. " Grigoriy Savelievich, you're my favorite person!"

 "Congratulations, you passed the quiz. I'll meet you at the walk-in fridge over there." Grigoriy points to a big stainless-steel door.

 "Aye-aye, captain!" Yevgenia jumps to look for plates, and Grigoriy goes to where he thinks he remembers the serving spoons are.

 It's a bit ridiculous that he's going to such lengths for the new employee he'd just met less than an hour ago. It'll easily add another half hour to the training time tonight, and Grigoriy already has dinner waiting for him at home (if Konstantin is to be trusted or believed). They'll have to wash all these dishes once they're done with them, too. But Grigoriy can't deny the lingering gratification of being called Yevgenia’s 'favorite person' a minute ago, nor can he deny that he and Yevgenia, for the past forty-five minutes, have been seriously vibing.

 He walks into the chill of the fridge and starts peeking at the contents of the various plastic-wrapped metal trays of leftovers on the shelves. The meatballs are, luckily, not hard to find. Yevgenia walks in shortly with two plates in hand.

 "You're not vegetarian, are you?" Grigoriy asks.

 "Nuh-uh. Gimme your meatiest of meatballs."

 "All right, meatiest meatballs, coming right up." Grigoriy opens the plastic wrap a bit in order to scoop a portion of meatballs for both of them, Yevgenia holding the plates steady.

 "Why does this remind me of that one scene in Spirited Away?" Yevgenia suddenly remarks. "You know, when the parents turn into pigs?"

 "That reminds you of this??" Grigoriy says incredulously. "There's literally no correlation. If this is any scene in Spirited Away it's when Haku gives Chihiro food from the spirit world so she doesn't fade away or whatever."

 "Aww, Grigoriy Savelievich, look, we're speaking the same cultural language!" Yevgenia beams.

 "Yeah, whatever." Grigoriy pushes the tray back to its spot and takes one of the plates from Yevgenia’s hand. "Now we just need to - wait - " He pauses and stares as Yevgenia takes a cold, dry meatball with her free hand and puts it in her mouth. "Seriously? We need to add sauce to these. And heat them up."

 Chewing, Yevgenia shrugs.

 Grigoriy laughs through his nose. "It's just that we're trying to give you the customer experience here... but, whatever floats your boat?"

 "I'm just hungry. Sorry, I didn't mean to offend the flavor gods."

 "Guy Fieri is going to come after you and kill you, so watch out," Grigoriy says, grabbing a jug of 'meatball gravy' and leaving the fridge.

 "I don't believe it. Guy Fieri would never hurt anybody."

 "Yeah, that's what he wants you to believe. You're buying into the propaganda." Grigoriy glances around and puts his plate down on the counter. "Ahh, we need some utensils. I'll grab them from outside."

 Without looking back, he pushes the kitchen doors aside and stalks singlemindedly over to the silverware station at the end of the buffet. A few seconds later he hears quick footsteps trailing after him.

 “Grigoriy Savelievich – in Flavortown they don’t call it ‘propaganda.’ It’s the ‘information menu.’”

 “And instead of Big Brother watching you, it’s –“ Grigoriy freezes at the faint sound of something crashing. “Did you hear that?”

 Yevgenia nods once, frowning, and tiptoes to stand next to Grigoriy. “It sounded like something shattering,” she murmurs. “Downstairs.”

 “Yeah. It did.”

 They stare at each other. Grigoriy is sure Yevgenia’s mind is racing as fast as his is. The sound is probably nothing. Stuff falls over sometimes. They sell plenty of ceramics and glassware – maybe a whole shelf became unstable, and they’re going to spend the rest of their night sweeping up shards of FÄRGRIK.

 That – or, there’s an intruder. Grigoriy has never dealt with that before, and he’s not quite sure what he’s going to do in that case. Especially since he has a new employee with him whose safety he feels responsible for right now.

 “It’s probably nothing,” Grigoriy whispers, reassuring himself. “Let’s check it out.”

 “Mm.” Yevgenia’s serious gaze is fixed on the brightly lit landing outside of the cafeteria. Grigoriy takes it as assent. He walks, slowly, cautiously, towards the light, straining his ears to hear anything other than Yevgenia’s quiet footsteps behind him. He hears nothing, feeling more relieved with every step forward.

 He’s just started down the stairs to the first-floor showrooms when he hears it.

 Laughter.

 Yevgenia’s hand lands on his shoulder as if to stop him, but he’s already frozen. Fuck. There really is somebody in here.

 “Dude, Jens, stop. Somebody’s going to hear,” says a deep voice. From the sound of it this person is not that far away, probably just a few meters from the bottom of the stairs.

 “With that spectacular fucking entrance of yours, there’s no way they haven’t heard us already,” retorts a second guy, maybe Jens. “I just think this situation is funny.”

 Grigoriy reaches a cold hand into his pocket and takes out his phone. He’s not panicking, he’s still thinking clearly enough, and he needs to act quickly before something worse happens and he freaks out. He needs to call the police before anything else. He needs to get himself and Yevgenia out of here, and then he needs to call Konstantin.

 “Just stay quiet and keep looking,” the first guy says.

 He unlocks his phone and opens to his keypad.

 “Cheer up, Sten, we just –“ Jens breaks off his sentence at the sound Grigoriy’s phone makes clattering down the stairs.

 “What - fuck - I can’t fucking believe you -“ Grigoriy hisses, whirling his glare around to Yevgenia on the step above him, who’s just wrenched the phone from Grigoriy’s hand and tossed it away. Like Yevgenia is trying to keep him from calling anybody. Yevgenia shakes her head emphatically, eyes wide and lips pressed tight.

 “Yevgenia Zakharovna?” Jens calls, tauntingly, still out of sight. “Is that you? We know you’re here, your car is in the parking lot…”

 “Do you know these people?” Yevgenia shakes her head just as frantically as before at Grigoriy’s whispered accusation.

 Grigoriy looks back down the stairs just in time to see two men come around the corner. He notes their fashionable all-black outfits right before seeing that both of them are carrying pistols.

 He gasps. Yevgenia’s fingers dig into his shoulder.

 “Hey, Genya, fancy seeing you here,” Jens says with a smirk. “I’m sure you know what we’re here for, so if you could just tell us where to find it, that would be a huge help.”

 Grigoriy focuses on breathing steadily.

 “I mean, it’s not like we expect you to help us, but it sure would make our lives easier. It’d make your life easier, too,” Sten adds.

 “Yeah, I’m not telling you shit,” Yevgenia says, her voice right behind Grigoriy’s ear. There’s a clicking sound, and Yevgenia’s arm extends beside Grigoriy, and fuck, Yevgenia is armed, too. “You guys should get out of here while you still can.”

 Yevgenia fires two shots into the air, vaguely above the other men’s heads, and Grigoriy flinches but lets himself be pulled up the last stairs and into the showroom.

 Right. They need to get out of here, and to do that they need to shake Sten and Jens, who he can hear coming up the stairs. They need to hide.

 “This way,” Grigoriy mutters, running in front of Yevgenia, a specific area in mind. They dash through the living rooms and the storage, and then he veers sharp-left through the shortcut to the bedroom furniture. A cursory glance at the options is all he needs before he’s dropping to the dusty floor and crawling under a queen-sized KVALFJORD draped with a long, patterned RÖDTOPPA. He scoots to the far side, and Yevgenia slides in next to him, facing the room, holding her gun at the ready.

 And then, for a few seconds, they wait. Evidently, Sten and Jens failed to realize they’d taken the shortcut, because they run into the room from dining as opposed to storage. Grigoriy doesn’t even have the time to consider the possibility that they could be discovered before the two men are rushing into the kitchen showroom.

 They lie in silence for another minute, listening, before Yevgenia rolls onto her back and exhales.

 “Grigoriy Savelievich, I’m really sorry about that,” she says quietly. “I’m so –“

 “Call me Grisha,” Grigoriy interjects.

 “Hm?”

 “We just got chased through an IKEA by men with guns. I think we’ve reached that point.”

 It draws a small smile from Yevgenia that quickly disappears. “Okay, Grisha. I’m sorry this is happening tonight. It’s my fault.”

 “I appreciate the apology, but I’d prefer an explanation.”

 “Yeah,” Yevgenia sighs. “Let me call someone first. Then I’ll explain.”

 Grigoriy lay listening and watching as Yevgenia pulls up the recent calls on her phone, calls the number at the top of the list, and proceeds to have a short conversation.

 “Alyosha?… Yeah, I have a situation… Jens Angström and Sten Blomstedt are here. They broke in… Yeah, the IKEA… No, we’re fine, but I don’t know how to get them to leave… I don’t – no, that’s the problem. I don’t know where it is either… The garage? Okay, tell me when you get close… Okay. Yeah.”

 The call ends. Yevgenia turns to face Grigoriy.

 “Some backup is coming to help us with get rid of those guys,” Yevgenia says. “My boss and probably someone else. We just need to not get discovered before then.”

 “Okay… So, what are they here for? Jens and Sten? They’re looking for something?”

 “They’re looking for some information that I hid -” she gestures around. “- around here. I don’t know how they found out, but, well, they’re here now. But the problem is, I hid it in one of the desks in the showroom, but it’s not in there anymore. I don’t know where it went, but they think I know where it is.”

 “What was it? Some kind of file?”

 “It’s a flash drive. Encrypted. It has important information about some certain business stuff – “

 “From your other job? Your friend’s business?”

 Yevgenia nods.

 “Is this some sort of…” Grigoriy hesitates to bring it up. “Crime thing?”

 “Uhh. Yes,” Yevgenia admits. “The thing I called my friend’s business is definitely not a legitimate business. And those two guys are from a rival syndicate. The Swedes.”

 Syndicate. Grigoriy gulps. That sounds pretty serious.

 “First, I somehow let them find out what my plan was, and then I lost the thumb drive, and then I dragged you into this mess. So, basically, I’ve been doing a great fucking job proving myself on this assignment.”

 “Let’s focus on how to resolve the situation as harmlessly as possible,” Grigoriy advises. “The self-critical post-op can come after the fact.”

 “Okay, mister therapist.” Yevgenia glances at her phone. “They’re going to get here in a few minutes, and I said I’d meet them in the parking garage under the building. But we’ll have to be careful not to bump into the others.”

 “The quickest way is to go back down those front escalators and to the left. There’s another set of stairs that goes down to the parking garage, and since it’s in an open area – well, I don’t know if that’d be safer or not.”

 “It should be.” Yevgenia turns and raises the bedspread a bit to glance around the room. “I’ll go first. They aren’t targeting you, so you should be safe.”

 “Okay. Let’s go.”

 Yevgenia quietly rolls out from under the bed; Grigoriy extricates himself with a bit more noise. It’s all silent as they navigate through the showroom, Yevgenia creeping out ahead to survey the territory and Grigoriy coming along carefully behind. He’s feeling the suspense, sure, but now that there’s no apparent danger he can’t help but feel like he’s watching his own personal action movie. It’s kind of exciting. And Yevgenia makes for quite the dashing action hero, if one takes the whole criminal element out of it.

 They make it down to the garage without incident, avoiding glass shards from the window Sten and Jens had broken. “If they’re looking for a tiny little object, the first-floor showroom and the warehouse are probably the most time consuming to look through,” Grigoriy rationalizes.

 “That’s good, because I really don’t think it’s in either of those places,” Yevgenia answers. She identifies a strategic place to stand, somewhere next to a column they could hide behind but with a wide range of visibility. “And now, we wait. Or – I’m staying and waiting.” She shrugs. “Obviously you can do whatever you think is best.”

 “Right.” Grigoriy hasn’t considered that he could leave. Certainly it would be safer to do so, but what would Konstantin do? He certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the fate of his IKEA to some unsupervised gang members. If Grigoriy stays, he can give Yevgenia’s side an advantage that’ll surely resolve the situation with less damage to the store.

 “You aren’t going anywhere,” Yevgenia observes. “Is my company that enjoyable?”

 “Something like that.”

 “I’m flattered.” Yevgenia doesn’t look away from the entrance to the garage. “I thought you’d want nothing to do with me after you saw what I’m really here for.”

 “I’m more concerned than anything else.”’

 “Aren’t you afraid of me? I just shot at the ceiling of your IKEA.”

 “I don’t mean to condone crime or offend your sensibilities,” Grigoriy says. “But in retrospect that was kind of hot.”

 Yevgenia snorts. “In retrospect.”

 “Well, at that moment I was busy freaking out.”

 Yevgenia leans over, giggling. “That’s too cute.”

 It’s only a few moments before a car pulls into the garage. Grigoriy assumes this is the vehicle they are expecting, because Yevgenia waves at it, and it blinks its headlights.

 The car parks close to the store entrance, and they walk over to meet the two men who step out of it.

 “Guys!” Yevgenia calls, and she tugs on Grigoriy’s sleeve. “This is Grigoriy Savelievich. He works here and he’s been helping me. Grisha,” she continues. “This is Aleksei Fyodorovich, my boss, and Timofey Timurovich, my coworker.”

 “Nice to meet you, Grigoriy Savelievich,” Aleksei says. “Thanks for tolerating all this nonsense. I hope we haven’t caused you too much trouble.”

 “I’ve had an interesting night,” Grigoriy says. It’s not a lie.

 “Hey Grigoriy Savelievich,” Timofey acknowledges. “So, Genya, what exactly are we doing here?”

 “I just want to get the guys out of the building,” Yevgenia says. “Then I’ll quickly track down the thumb drive and get out of here.”

 “You think you can find it?” Aleksei asks.

 “Yeah, I know what I’m looking for. I bet it won’t take more than an hour.”

 “But – wait,” Grigoriy interjects. “Wouldn’t those guys just come back with more people?”

 Timofey gives him a weird look, but Aleksei nods like he made a valid point. “The key is that they think I know where it is,” Yevgenia answers. “They’ll probably assume that we’ll be gone with it by the time they get back.”

 “How does Grigoriy Savelievich factor into this?” Aleksei asks. “Is he going home?”

 “Uh, no, I don’t think so…” Yevgenia looks at Grigoriy expectantly.

 “I’m staying until the situation is resolved,” Grigoriy says. “My knowledge can give you the home field advantage, and the sooner you finish this and leave my store, the better.”

 “All right. I appreciate that attitude,” Aleksei says. “Genya, make sure he doesn’t die, okay?”

 They walk back into the store entrance, and Grigoriy dashes to the guard’s station nearby. The others watch as he pulls a view of all the store’s surveillance cameras, Yevgenia’s hand landing on his shoulder again as they crowd around. Two fuzzy figures are visible moving around one of the rooms.

 “That’s certainly handy,” Aleksei remarks.

 “They’re on this floor,” Grigoriy explains. “They’re in the ‘home organization’ section, probably looking in through all the storage units.”

 Aleksei hums in acknowledgement. “How do we get there?”

 “Well, there are three ways to get in and out of this room.” Grigoriy points at different views on the monitor to illustrate his point. “There’s a shortcut from the textiles section as well as the section before it, which is bathroom stuff, and the section after it, which is lighting.”

 “We can split up,” Aleksei says. “Let’s all take different exits to keep them from getting away. We’ll have to be quiet. Grigoriy can show us where to go, and then we’ll all take them by surprise and hopefully avoid too much of a confrontation. Okay?”

 “Okay,” Yevgenia replies. Timofey nods as well.

 Grigoriy cranes his neck to look back at Yevgenia. “I’d like to go pick up my phone from where you dropped it, though.”

 “Oh, right,” Yevgenia says sheepishly, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s my fault, so… yeah. I’ll cover any damage.”

 “I appreciate that.” Grigoriy catches a questioning look from Timofey and the frown Aleksei has directed at Yevgenia. “Don’t worry about it, it was just a little chaotic before you guys arrived. It’s no big deal.”

 “Okay,” Aleksei says, glancing between Yevgenia and Grigoriy before turning away. “If you say so. Let’s get going.”

 “Thank you, Grisha,” Yevgenia whispers once the other two are out of earshot. “I don’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

 Grigoriy just smiles before following the others.

 Luckily, his phone hasn’t incurred any apparent damage, having only fallen a couple of steps. He pockets it and returns to his companions at the bottom of the stairs, continuing past them to the entrance to the marketplace.

 They creep through tableware and the cooking implements. He’s tense, but not so focused on the task at hand that he doesn’t notice that the shelves are a bit of a mess. Sten and Jens have clearly swept through this area in search of the USB drive, not caring if they leave some chaos in their wake.

 It’ll be a bitch to clean everything up before tomorrow. He tries not to think about it too much.

 They enter the textile section. The shortcut is on the far side of the room, and Grigoriy can hear Sten and Jens shuffling about on the other side, which means that the reciprocal is true as well.

 Grigoriy doesn’t say a word; he just points at Aleksei and then points at the doorway next to the curtain samples. Aleksei nods and, gun drawn, walks to the entrance impressively silently. He nods to the other three, and they continue.

 “This is the lamest way I’ve spent a Thursday night in five years,” Sten remarks. Grigoriy, startled, gasps and freezes, but Yevgenia nudges him to keep walking to the next room.

 “Really?” Jens says. “What did you do last week?”

 “Last Thursday night I baked bread from scratch,” Sten says. “It was infinitely less lame than looking through stacks of fifty of, like, whatever the fuck this is.”

 Their voices fade as Grigoriy, Yevgenia, and Timofey walk into a second room of textiles, and then through the rugs.

 “I think those are file folder organizers,” Jens remarks.

 “They’re FJÄLLA, Jens. Obviously.”

 “Right, of course that’s what they are.”

 In the bathroom organization section, Grigoriy repeats what he did before, gesturing for Timofey to stand by the correct door, over next to the patterned towels. Grigoriy and Yevgenia creep through the shortcut to home decor.

 “I’ve finished with these, anyway,” Sten says.

 “Did you check thoroughly?”

 “Of course I did, Jens.”

 “I just can’t help but think it’s in this room,” Jens continues. “Since there are so many compartments.”

 “Right. Well, I’ll start on these over here.”

 Grigoriy and Yevgenia pass through the quietly ticking maze of clocks that is wall decor and finally arrive at lighting. The room is dark, all the sample light fixtures having been turned off for the day. Yevgenia points at the entrance to home organization and tilts her head questioningly. Grigoriy nods, then points to himself, silently asking if he should follow. Yevgenia points at the floor, telling him to wait here, before taking off towards the home organization room at a fast walk.

 Grigoriy can’t see what happens next. He stands in place, holding his breath, glancing between the way Yevgenia went and the way he’d run if he needed to escape, and listening.

 “Everybody freeze!” he hears Yevgenia bark. Jens yelps. Something falls to the floor with a muted thud.

 “Drop your weapons,” Aleksei commands. “I want to see them on the ground.”

 “Timofey Timurovich?” Sten says.

 “Sten Blomstedt,” Timofey answers. “Hurry up and cooperate, okay?”

 All Grigoriy hears for the next few moments are some quiet shuffling noises. It doesn’t sound bad, and he starts to breathe again.

 “Good,” Aleksei says. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Timofey Timurovich will collect your belongings, and Grigoriy Savelievich will show us the way out.”

 Grigoriy figures that this is his cue. He walks to the doorway and peeks into the room. Sten and Jens are standing in the center of the space, hands slightly raised, and Timofey is walking between them, picking up their guns from the ground.

 “We’ll walk you to the parking lot, and then you’re going to leave, okay?” Aleksei continues. “Surely you can find a more entertaining way to spend a Thursday night.”

 “I can think of several,” Sten replies.

 Aleksei and Yevgenia keep their guns trained on Sten and Jens as they move forward and start to guide them to the door where Grigoriy is waiting.

 “We’ll go out through the warehouse.” Grigoriy turns back into the lighting room and walks towards wall decor. “That’s the fastest way to get to the parking lot.”

 “We’re sorry for messing up your store, Grigoriy Savelievich,” Jens says. Grigoriy doesn’t respond. While he does appreciate that Jens understands the trouble they’ve caused, he’s not about to pardon it.

 “Well, we wouldn’t have ‘messed up the store’ if dear Yevgenia Zakharovna hadn’t been so stubborn,” Sten adds with a small smirk.

 “You broke a window to get in here,” Grigoriy points out, a bit annoyed by Sten’s attitude. “And it’s no one’s fault but your own. You could have stayed home and made more bread.”

 “Oh, come on,” says Sten. They’re stepping into the unsettling darkness of the warehouse. “We had to at least try to stop that information from getting out.”

 “Sure,” Aleksei says. “But – forgive me for asking – how did you two know about this?”

 “You know we can’t tell you about that,” Jens says, looking around at the shelving.

 “I swear the only people who knew I was coming here today were you and Tima,” says Yevgenia. “Like, I could be wrong, but I was pretty careful about it.”

 “So it could have been any one of the three of us who let something slip,” Aleksei reasons. “Tima, you don’t think you could have accidentally let some information slip, do you?”

 “Um. Me? No,” Timofey answers, trailing the group, looking uncomfortable holding three pistols awkwardly in his hands. Grigoriy is walking to the side, quietly observing. It seems to him like the conversation is high-stakes, but his companions are trying to approach the sensitive topic of leaking information rather casually.

 “I’m curious about how you know Sten Blomstedt here,” Aleksei says. It doesn’t sound like an accusation.

 “Oh…” Sten, frowning, turns to look as Timofey answers. “We’ve met before… personally. Not through work.”

 Grigoriy physically startles at the sound of a box being disturbed high on a shelf, to the right side in front of the group. He looks up, but it’s much too dark to make out the silhouettes of the items up above. He thinks, maybe, that he sees a brief flash of red light, but that’s probably the blink of a smoke detector –

 “Fuck, look out!” Yevgenia shouts, and she lunges towards Aleksei, who staggers as Yevgenia pulls him to the side. Grigoriy has just enough time to realize he doesn’t know what to do before a loud bang sounds and reverberates through the vastness of the warehouse. Grigoriy jumps, and he hears someone else yell, maybe Jens. There’s now a messy hole in the floor behind where Aleksei was just standing.

 “Alyosha, are you okay?” Yevgenia asks, eyes wide, gripping Aleksei’s jacket tightly with one hand.

 “I’m fine, Genya. It’s Lavro.” Aleksei recovers quickly from the surprise, raising his weapon to fire three times at the top of the shelf. “Cover Grisha and, everyone, keep moving.”

 Yevgenia rushes over to Grigoriy and grabs his shoulders, still looking a bit shocked. “Stay behind me, okay, Grisha? I won’t let you get hurt.”

 “I will,” Grigoriy assures him. “Now come on, let’s keep up.” Sten, Jens, Timofey, and Aleksei have moved ahead, using the mid-aisles displays as a bit of cover. Aleksei is still firing intermittently on the invisible enemy, who perhaps because of this hasn’t yet had the opportunity to return fire. Timofey looks conflicted, unable to help Aleksei while his hands are full.

 “Tima,” Grigoriy hears Sten say. “Now is the right time.”

 “Tima? What’s going on?” Aleksei asks, darting from behind one stack of boxes to another. He doesn’t look back, so he doesn’t see Timofey handing Sten and Jens’ guns back to them. A second shot from above hits the boxes Aleksei is hiding behind, and Grigoriy grasps the back of Yevgenia’s hoodie with both hands as they duck behind the closest stack next to Timofey’s.

 “They’re going to help us ward off Lavro,” Timofey calls.

 “Don’t!” Aleksei protests. “Shit, Timofey, did you already – now they’re –“

 “Stop worrying, boss man,” Jens says, returning fire on so-called Lavro. “We’re here to help.”

 “Who is Lavro?” Grigoriy whispers.

 “Lavro is a sniper who’s under one of Aleksei’s rivals within our syndicate.” Timofey moves to the next display, and Yevgenia, with Grigoriy still firmly attached, darts to occupy the vacated space. “They’ve tried to assassinate him a couple of times.”

 “Damn.” So. There are three armed, warring mafia factions engaging in a shootout in Grigoriy’s warehouse. Konstantin’s warehouse. Konstantin might have been able to find some clever way to resolve this situation, but Grigoriy is still glad he’s not here tonight. He recalls the conversation they had in Konstantin’s office not even two hours ago. He pictures Konstantin sorting through the day’s lost-and-found items, both of them blissfully ignorant of the criminal shenanigans planned for their poor, innocent IKEA.

 He sees Konstantin holding a black umbrella, a red and white baseball cap, and an Iron Man pencil case.

 He sees Konstantin unzip the pencil case.

 He sees the USB drive.

 “Genya!” He tugs hard on Yevgenia’s hoodie. “Fuck! Fuck, I know where it is.”

 “What?”

 Grigoriy bangs his head against Yevgenia’s back. “The fucking flash drive. I just remembered. I saw it right before you got here tonight. It’s back in the manager’s office.”

 “Where? Where’s the office?”

 “It’s back –“ Grigoriy lets go with one hand to point to the front of the warehouse. “It’s near the checkout. We can get there by going through the rest of the warehouse or by doubling back and going around.”

 “Let’s go around,” Yevgenia says. “The rest can hold their own against Lavro. He’s only going for Aleksei anyway, so he shouldn’t bother us… right?”

 “Yeah.” Grigoriy has lost track of the positions of the others; he looks up and sees that they’ve managed to move ahead by several aisles. “Let’s go.”

 They keep low to the ground and scurry back the way they came. Grigoriy feels safer as they increase their distance from the action. When they get out of the warehouse, he leads Yevgenia through the convoluted tangle of IKEA showroom space for the nth time that night.

 Back into the lobby, passing the stairs and cart escalator that lead down to the parking area; ducking low as they run through the lanes for checkout, so they won’t be seen by the five that are still engaged in the gunfight next door; past the little area they maintain for clearance or damage-discounted items; and, with the help of Konstantin’s set of keys, into Konstantin’s office down the ‘employees only’ hallway.

 “God, finally.” Grigoriy sighs and falls to his knees in front of the blessed box Konstantin’s desk. He sticks a hand in and rummages around a little before pulling the Iron Man pencil case out of the pile.

 “The whole thing is yours?” he asks, turning on his heels to face Yevgenia, and she nods and reaches out with one hand.

 A wave of sudden fear washes over Grigoriy. Because, yes, Konstantin has a high opinion of Yevgenia, and that has helped to influence Grigoriy’s trust of her thus far. But Yevgenia works for and with criminals, and that much, Grigoriy has no reason to trust. He wants to help Yevgenia, his new friend, but he really doesn’t want to be responsible for the harvesting of organs or the extortion of small business owners or whatever a crime syndicate does. He doesn’t want to help something bad.

 Grigoriy retracts his arm, pulling the pencil case to his chest.

 “I know you could take it from me if you wanted –“

 “I wouldn’t,” Yevgenia quickly interjects.

 “- but even so,” Grigoriy continues, gaze fixed on Yevgenia’s face for any sign of guilt or conniving. “Before I give this to you willingly I need you to tell me this information won’t be used to hurt people.”

 Yevgenia nods. “I get it, Grisha. But you can’t tell anyone about it, or you’ll put yourself in danger.”

 “Tell me.”

 “We collected a bunch of dirt on one of our most powerful enemies,” Yevgenia explains, maintaining Grigoriy’s eye contact, giving the perfect impression of honesty. “The big boss of Sten and Jens’ organization. And we were trying to pass it along to a journalist in a way where their identity would remain a secret.”

 Grigoriy tilts his head as he considers the story. It certainly seems plausible, but it’s also the perfect fib to get him to hand the thing over.

 “Please, Grisha, you can look at the files if you want. I swear it’s the truth.”

 “Fine, fine, fine.” Grigoriy all but throws the pencil case into Yevgenia’s hands. “If I find out you’re tricking me, I’ll be very disappointed, but for now, let’s just go.”

 “Thank you, Grisha.” Yevgenia cradles the pencil case like an ancient relic, removing the drive and pocketing it. Grigoriy stands and follows Yevgenia to the door. “I won’t let you down… Tima? What are you doing here?”

 Grigoriy steps into the hallway next to Yevgenia and sees Timofey standing a few steps ahead, one hand outstretched.

 “I hate to interrupt this touching heart-to-heart between new friends,” he says, “but I need the contents of that pencil case. Hand it over.”

 “What? Tima, no. It’s mine and I’ll hold onto it until we get back.”

 Grigoriy looks back and forth between the two coworkers. Yevgenia’s tone is carelessly friendly; doesn’t she feel the same trepidation Grigoriy does? Doesn’t she see the steely resolve in Timofey’s expression? She has to see it now, now that Timofey is extending his other arm too, the one with the gun in it.

 “It wasn’t a request,” Timofey says, harshly, like spitting out the words is painful.

 “Tima? Why are you pointing that thing at us?”

 “Give the thumb drive to me and you won’t have to find out.”

 Obviously, it’s a warning. Yevgenia just seems confused. “What are you talking about? You’d never shoot me; aren’t I your friend?”

 “Yes, we’re friends,” Timofey says, and he removes the safety. “But it’s not personal.”

 “It is personal,” Yevgenia insists.

 “I can’t believe this. Do you think so little of me?” Timofey says, and Grigoriy gulps, because now the issue does seem personal, like now Timofey has something to prove. “I’ll give you to the count of three. One.”

 “Genya,” Grigoriy croaks.

 “He won’t do it,” Yevgenia replies.

 “Two.”

 “He is going to, God, Yevgenia!” Grigoriy cries, desperate, because how does she not see it? How doesn’t she understand that in just a second she’s going to get hurt?

 If Yevgenia isn’t going to do anything to protect herself, then Grigoriy has to do it. He doesn’t give himself a moment to think about it; as Timofey counts ‘three’ he charges forward, dashing in front of Yevgenia, trying to reach Timofey at tackle him, disarm him, do something.

 “No!” Yevgenia shrieks, and after some loud noise and a confusing moment where Grigoriy doesn’t know what he’s seeing or what his body is doing – oh, he’s falling, he must be falling backwards – he’s caught and held up from behind, and it hurts, what the hell, he’s never felt pain exactly like this before. It’s all he can sense for an indeterminate amount of time, before his hearing and vision suddenly pop back into comprehension. Timofey is backing away, Yevgenia yelling at him to leave, her voice close to Grigoriy’s ears, too loud. But whatever she says gets Timofey to turn and run away, out of sight.

 “Grisha, Grisha, Grisha,” Yevgenia chants, voice quieter, more bearable. “Are you okay? Grisha?”

 “Fucking – hurts –“ Grigoriy rasps, and he yelps when Yevgenia’s arms tighten around him. “Christ!”

 “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” Yevgenia loosens her grip a little, lowering Grigoriy’s upper body a few inches to the ground. “It hurts because you got shot – which is my fault. I think he just got you in the shoulder but I need you to tell me if you feel like you’re dying for real or if it’s like it’s just your shoulder and that’s all.” Yevgenia speaks so frantically quickly that trying to follow her train of thought distracts Grigoriy from his pain for a moment, until Yevgenia’s question makes him turn his attention inward once again. He isn’t confident that he can differentiate between getting shot nonfatally and “dying for real,” but thankfully he feels more of the former than the latter.

 “Not dying,” Grigoriy replies.

 “Oh, thank God.” Yevgenia’s relieved head hangs over Grigoriy as her posture deflates a little. “I was so worried – but!” Yevgenia’s eyes snap back open and she sits up abruptly. Grigoriy wants to laugh but doesn’t because it would probably disturb his shoulder. “It’s still my fault that you’re hurt. As if I haven’t caused you enough hardship tonight already…”

 “I’m the one who jumped out in front of you,” Grigoriy points out, voice weaker than he’d like. “And Timofey’s the one who fired the gun.”

 “I didn’t believe he would do it,” Yevgenia says, looking off into space. “Stupidly. I trusted him, or mis-estimated him. Stupid. You had to jump in and save me.”

 “Whatever. Now it’s your turn to save me and get me out of here before I really do bleed to death.”

 “Right.” Yevgenia smooths her hand down the leg of her pants, seeming to come back to herself. “You’re right. But I’ll make this all up to you, one day, okay?”

 “I believe you.” Although, Grigoriy isn’t sure what kind of relationship or contact, if any, they’ll have after tonight is over. “So, to get out of here…”

 “I’d like to avoid the warehouse as much as possible,” Yevgenia says. “It’ll be dangerous out there.”

 “I agree. If you look at the end of the hall, you’ll see an emergency exit. See it?”

 Yevgenia twists around to look. “Yeah. But won’t it raise an alarm?”

 “You can turn it off with Konstantin’s keys. Take the lanyard over there and try the key with the blue tape on it. It should work.”

 “And leave you lying here?” Yevgenia looks down with concern. “What if someone else comes by?”

 “Just go do it.” Yevgenia nods and stands. There are dark patches of Grigoriy’s blood on her clothes.

 While she’s fiddling with the door, Grigoriy lies there, feeling bad. He feels bad for whoever’s going to have to clean up his blood from the floor, he feels bad that Konstantin will need to find some way to fix all of this damage, and of course he takes some time to feel bad for himself. If only he were training some normal, boring kid starting a new seasonal retail job at IKEA, they would have had their leftover meatballs, finished the tour, and gone home by now. He’d be eating takeout for dinner with Konstantin right now, not lying in partial agony, bleeding all over the floor, probably a long night of medical procedures still ahead of him.

 “I got it,” Yevgenia calls, walking back to Grigoriy. She crouches down and gently tucks the lanyard around Grigoriy’s neck. “Do you think you can walk?”

 “I can try.”

 Yevgenia positions herself in front of Grigoriy and holds out a hand for Grigoriy to grab, on his uninjured side. She pulls Grigoriy into a sitting position, and it’s excruciating. Yevgenia tries to lift him up to stand, but Grigoriy’s legs give out and he falls back down, panting and blinking tears out of his eyes.

 “I don’t think I can do it.”

 “It’s fine. I’ll carry you.” Yevgenia crouches back down to look him in the eye. “It’ll still hurt, okay? The other thing I can do is go get help and come back, but I don’t want to leave you alone, and it would take longer.”

 “Just carry me. I’ll be fine.”

 “Okay.” Yevgenia weaves one arm under Grigoriy’s knees and the other around his torso. “Hold on with your good arm. I’m sorry, this is going to hurt. I’ll lift you in three, two, one.”

 “Hhh – aahhhh.” Grigoriy groans through his teeth as he’s lifted into the air. Yevgenia doesn’t seem to struggle with his weight.

 “Sorry, I’m sorry, Grisha,” Yevgenia says as she shifts Grigoriy a bit in his arms, triggering another wave of pain. “I’m going to carry you down to the garage. Don’t pass out.”

 Grigoriy can’t bring himself to reply. His head flops against Yevgenia’s shoulder and as they walk, he focuses on breathing steadily. Underneath the metallic scent of blood, he can pick out the comforting laundry smell of Yevgenia’s hoodie. He concentrates on it, closing his eyes. He hears the emergency exit door open in front of them and then close behind them. He hears Yevgenia walking over gravel before reaching smooth pavement. He thinks he can hear gunfire being exchanged somewhere in the distance.

 “Are you still with me?” Yevgenia’s voice comes out shakily.

 “I am.” Maybe Yevgenia will feel reassured if he keeps his eyes open. “Genya – are you crying?” He’s not sure why he asks; Yevgenia’s eyes in the moonlight are very wet, her face a little wet too.

 “No… maybe. Maybe not.”

 “I don’t want you to cry. I’ll be okay. We’ll both be okay.”

 “I know,” Yevgenia replies. “I’m just so upset that this happened to you. And I hate that you’re in pain.”

 Grigoriy sighs and closes his eyes again. There’s not much he can do about all that.

 The gunshots get louder as they advance further into the garage. Eventually Grigoriy opens his eyes to assess what’s going on, and he sees a few busy, confusing human figures battling it out by the checkout escalators. Somebody – he thinks it’s Aleksei – has made a shield out of a rectangular section of oak tabletop (LANEBERG, his brain oh so helpfully supplies).

 Yevgenia runs up to a car – he recalls that it’s the one Aleksei and Timofey arrived in, parked close to the front – and she opens the door to the backseat using the hand that’s also supporting Grigoriy’s legs. She sets Grigoriy down so he’s lying across the seats, apologizing again for the movements that put stress on the injured shoulder. Then Yevgenia is hopping into the driver’s seat, starting the car, and – nothing.

 “Why aren’t we going?” Grigoriy asks from the back.

 “I need to get Alyosha.” Yevgenia watches intently out the window, monitoring the fight. “If Timofey betrayed us, then he’s alone fighting against maybe four guys. He could have gotten hurt.”

 It made sense, or was good, even, that Yevgenia would think of her boss and try to ensure his safety even with another guy bleeding all over the car. Grigoriy can’t help but feel a little impatient, nevertheless. “I think I saw him a second ago. He looked fine.”

 “Good,” Yevgenia replies. She rolls down is window a little, to yell ‘Alyosha!’ out of it. “He’s coming here now.”

 Sure enough, a few moments later, Aleksei jumps into the passenger’s seat, slamming the door behind himself. “Let’s go,” he says, and Yevgenia pulls out of the parking spot and races out of the garage. A last gunshot follows their trajectory and misses.

 “Grisha is with us,” Yevgenia says. “He got shot by Tima.”

 “Oh!” Aleksei turns in his seat, evidently surprised to see him. “Grigoriy Savelievich! I’m so sorry about that.”

 “Me too,” Grigoriy says. “Where are we going?”

 “We’re heading back to our base,” Aleksei explains. “I can get someone experienced there to patch you up. It’ll be faster and safer than visiting a hospital and waiting around with a bunch of sick people, but I will take you there if you insist.”

 “Whatever you think is best.” He’s too tired to feel trepidation over visiting their lair. “I need to call Kostya and let him know.”

 Aleksei squints. “Who?”

 “The IKEA manager,” Yevgenia supplies.

 “Yeah. He’s my roommate, and he’s waiting for me to get home.” Grigoriy wiggles his good hand into his pants pocket and pulls his phone out, unlocking it with one of his thumbs. Aleksei tugs it out of his hand and opens to the keypad.

 “What’s the number?” he asks. Grigoriy recites it.

 Konstantin picks up after only a few rings. “Grisha?” he asks, but his voice through speakerphone is jarring and Grigoriy doesn’t know what to say.

 “Kostya –“ he starts, and doesn’t continue.

 “Are you done with the training?” Konstantin asks cheerfully. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 “Well.” Grigoriy’s chuckle comes out as more of a cough. “It was pretty bad, actually.”

 “Aw, really?” Konstantin sighs. “That’s so depressing. Yevgenia Zakharovna and I hit it off really well. I was certain –“

 “No, no, Genya is great. She’s amazing,” Grigoriy says, making brief, slightly awkward eye contact with Yevgenia through the rear-view mirror. “We could have had a perfectly nice night at the IKEA. It’s just that – please don’t freak out – I got shot.”

 “You got WHAT?”

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 42

read chapter one 

read on ao3

The blinking cursor seems to be taunting him and Magnus doesn’t know how much more he can take before he throws the whole damned laptop off his balcony.

Dot had sent over his latest draft-- always so full of red pen-- but Magnus was ignoring the technicalities for the moment. September was officially in full swing and the next few weeks were dedicated to finishing the last hundred or so pages that would tie everything together. Magnus could pontificate all he wanted about how imperialism had fucked up so many colonies during WWI until he was blue in the face but none of it meant anything if he couldn’t also discuss the long ranging effects on the lands and people that were still being felt today in the twenty first century.

All things considered, his book was coming along swimmingly. Maybe the smoothest it’s ever gone, Magnus reflects with a wry grimace. But still, writing was never easy and he was wading through a mountain of information and condensing it for the everyday reader who didn’t have an academic interest in the topic, who probably just held an idle curiosity when they picked up his book from the history section of their local bookstore.

Deciding to take a break, Magnus stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs the glass of wine he’d been enjoying while staring at a paragraph discussing the similarities between Zimbabwe and India that seemed unaccountably wordy.

He leaves his office, draining the rest of the wine with a sigh. He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter and as he picks it up, he smiles at the text that’s waiting for him.

Hope you’re having a good evening, babe. I miss you:(

Setting his glass down, Magnus takes a minute to reply to Alec. He feels warmth in his veins and it’s a familiar sensation, even if it does seem absurd.

I figured that if I wasn’t going to be seeing your pretty face, I’d get some work done. My book is becoming a pain in my ass, Alexander.

I miss you too-- How’s recording coming along?

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Magnus goes to refill his glass with the pinot he’d had with dinner, thinking about the past few weeks as he does.

Both he and Alec were busy as hell and a little stressed with it. The fall semester had started and with it, Magnus’s workload had increased immeasurably. Summers were notoriously slow and so the fall was always completely ridiculous. Magnus was only teaching two classes this semester-- an intro to modern Europe and a senior thesis course that he taught each semester-- but as students flocked back to campus, the department was inundated with stressed freshmen and panicked seniors. He had a handful of students he was mentoring this year during their Masters or Doctoral programs and there were two new professors who needed shown around and settled in.

Add his writing-- the book and a lengthy article he was a contributing author on-- and Magnus was in his element, albeit a little more aware of just how much was on his plate than he’d been before.

He blames Alec for that.

Before, Magnus had been able to lose himself in academia and its rigors. He’d loved every second of it even if he did want to tear his hair out and dreamed of nothing so fondly as running away and opening a bar on some far flung Caribbean island.

He still loves it but he's only managed to see Alec once in almost a week, so busy that it felt like he was running around like his ass was on fire. Alec’s schedule didn't help anything either, as he’s also inordinately busy.

Magnus is faintly concerned that Alec hasn’t left the studio in days. Every time they talk, Alec is just leaving the recording booth or getting ready to lay down another set of vocals. The past few weeks, he’s been at the studio all hours, working late into the night. They’d spent a few nights together last week and Alec was a dervish, writing and listening to demos and running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

With a small smile, Magnus wonders that it’s a good thing Alec’s birthday is next weekend. They could both use a day or two to forget about work.

Ah, but who is he kidding. Magnus shakes his head a little, exasperated with himself. He loves this, too. They check in when they have a free moment and they’d grabbed a harried lunch off campus late yesterday afternoon. It’d been twenty minutes of them inhaling burgers and catching up before Magnus had ran off to meet with his strategic planning committee and Alec had hurried off to a photoshoot.

They’d both leaned in for a quick kiss, only for it to devolve into something entirely inappropriate and edging on desperate before they remembered themselves.

It’s nice, this. Magnus has never been in a relationship that was so easy before, even when both parties were consumed with other responsibilities. He’s had partners who’d broken things off because when Magnus was under deadline, when work consumed him and he lost himself in the daily tasks that accumulated so fast in his position, they couldn’t handle it and resentment swelled. They always wanted Magnus to pick them, to cast aside his work and that was something that Magnus would never do. The very thought was abhorrent.

With Alec, however, there’s mutual understanding and exasperated amusement. They steal little pockets of time when they can and sometimes it’s enough just to collapse into bed together and sleep wrapped around each other before dashing out of bed the next morning to face another day.

Magnus is just set to head back to his study and finish his self-imposed goal-- another thousand words before he can call it a night-- when his phone’s vibrating. It’s after nine, too late for anyone to be calling, really, but when he takes out his phone an instant grin lights up his face.

He answers with a quick swipe before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly, resolutely putting off work for a few more minutes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just missed your voice, is all,” Alec says gruffly as something plays in the background. Magnus can’t help but wonder if it’s something from his upcoming album, curiosity killing him while he tries not to ask.

“You just saw me yesterday,” he teases lightly as he settles into one of the chairs in the living room, turning his wine glass absently as he loses himself in a few minutes with Alec.

“Yeah, well, that’s not today, is it?”

Laughing a little Magnus just shakes his head, amused at them both.

The sun sets as they talk, shadows dancing at the edge of the room. Magnus doesn’t notice the time going by until he hears someone yell in Alec’s background.

His lips turn up, tired now that he’s had a little while to decompress with Alec. “Duty calls?”

Alec sighs heavily and Magnus can just imagine his boyfriend running a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Yeah, we want to finish this song before we call it a night. I’ll see you soon?”

Raising a brow as he thinks over his schedule, Magnus offers, “I’m free tomorrow night after eight? I have class until then but we could grab a late dinner?”

“Sounds great, babe-- You could spend the night at mine after?”

“You read my mind, darling. I’ll see you then,” Magnus agrees and then they’re ending the call with last minute goodbyes.

As he hangs up, Magnus plays over the last few minutes. There’d been an odd pause on Alec’s side of things before they’d ended the call and he briefly wonders what it was about before dismissing it.

Maybe he’d ask Alec about it later, he thinks with a shrug.

Looking down at his watch, Magnus groans and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. At the rate he’s going, he won’t be in bed until dawn.

Sighing, Magnus stands and resolutely heads back to his study.

His book won’t write itself, after all.

The September sunshine spills through his office window as Magnus grades quizzes from his Intro class. His windows are open and he can hear the sound of students milling about on campus, even from the fourth floor. It’s perfectly mundane and as Magnus marks yet another question wrong on this particular quiz, he’s perfectly content.

The radio is playing low from his laptop and the rest of his afternoon rolls out as he plans to finish grading sixty multiple choice quizzes and entering them into Blackboard before going downstairs for his senior seminar.

His attention fractures, though, as he hears Alec’s name from the radio DJ.

“Hey everybody, welcome to the top of the hour. This is Deluca from Q92 and we have a special treat in store for our listeners this afternoon. Everyone’s seen Alec Lightwood’s Instagram recently-- he’s been posting pictures and teasers from the studio and rumours have been circulating that he’s going to drop his next album soon without notice. While we can’t attest to that, we do have exclusive access to the next best thing. Here’s Lightwood’s brand new single, Feel Something, reportedly the title track for Album number seven.”

Deluca laughs before offering one last teaser. “I, for one, can’t help but think that Alec must be getting some inspiration from that new boyfriend of his, the professor.”

Abandoning his work, Magnus’s total focus is on the music that’s started and he listens with rapt attention. It’s a little different to Alec’s usual stuff but he’s immediately enamored over the muted tones, the thoughtful, almost meandering tempo before he’s swept up in the chorus.

The words wrap around him and he bites his lip, thoughts racing. His own heart aches at the emotion in Alec’s voice and it feels like he’s pleading, full of hope.

It’s strikingly similar to how Magnus has felt the past few months.

The song ends and Magnus turns the radio off, instead opening Spotify and searching for Alec’s profile. The single is already available and so Magnus selects it impatiently before clicking on the repeat button.

He listens to the song a handful of times, losing himself in the lyrics and music and what he hopes to God is the intention behind it before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a heavy breath.

He doesn’t know what it means-- if it means anything at all. Deciding to ask Alec about it tonight, Magnus puts all the questions out of his head as he turns back to the pile of quizzes that need handed back tomorrow.

He keeps the song playing in the background, relaxing in his chair and smiling faintly as he draws a red line over another wrong answer.

The smile is wiped from his face a couple of hours later as he picks up his mail from the department secretary and sees a letter from Otisville.

He can’t help the dread that starts gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he carelessly tosses the rest of the bundle onto his desk, holding the thin letter from Upstate New York with tense hands.

Sitting heavily into his chair, Magnus debates for several minutes before sighing and reaching for his letter opener. Sliding the single page out of its envelope, Magnus unfolds the piece of paper and starts reading against his better judgement.

My darling son,

It has been a while, hasn’t it? You didn’t come to my parole hearing a few months ago and I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had hoped to lay eyes on you again, for the first time in years.

How are you doing, Magnus? You don’t write, you don’t call. You certainly don’t visit. I sometimes feel like I don’t have a son at all but then I am swamped in memories of your childhood, before everything went so terribly wrong.

I listen avidly for any news from the outside. You’re a professor now, I hear, and an excellent one at that.

I’ve read all your books. They’re quite good even if I wasn’t overly interested in the topics discussed.

But your life is so much more than just your job, is it not?

I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re in a relationship now. But not with just anyone, isn’t that right? You managed to snag one Alec Lightwood and for that I couldn’t be more proud.

I’m impressed, Magnus, even if I am a little surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you but here you are, following in the old man’s footsteps.

I couldn’t be more proud.

Tell me, what are your plans? If I may, I’d like to offer a few tips, tricks of the trade I learned along the way that might help you.

Above all, it’s imperative that you act demure. Don’t always make the first move. It’s important that you not rush him-- or at least make Lightwood think that he’s in charge of the pace. That way, before he quite knows what’s hit him, you’ll have maneuvered him exactly where you want him.

However, I’d advise you to say I love you first, if you haven’t already. Emotions are weakness son, so pitifully human, and people fall for soft words and sentiment faster than you’d believe possible.

I can only imagine that you have grand plans for marriage and so I must add this final point: Marry him as soon as you can and do not-- absolutely do not-- sign any sort of prenup or legally binding document. While I’m sure Alec’s a nice enough boy, this is not a love match, after all, and you certainly have nothing to prove.

A year should be sufficient before filing for divorce. I have a few lawyers you can call when the time comes and they’ll squeeze Lightwood for every penny he’s worth.

The truth is, I’m hurt that you didn’t come to me with your plans. I am an expert, after all, and your father. I only hope that now that I’ve bridged the distance between us, you will not hesitate to reach out as well.

I’ve missed you, my darling boy. I’ve been an outsider looking into your life for far too long.

I look forward to your call-- or letter, or perhaps even a visit.

Otisville is only two hours from the city, after all.

Love,

Asmodeus

P.S. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that my sentence was commuted. I will be released in eight years, not the thirty plus I was originally saddled with. I’m very much looking forward to seeing the outside world again, and most importantly, my only son.

Magnus feels resentment and overwhelming bitterness rise in his throat at his father’s words, so cool and cold. Really, he wonders, what could he have expected. Asmodeus could smell an opportunity a mile away and he did so love keeping a thumb on the pulse of the outside world.

It’s just like his father to assume that Magnus couldn’t possibly have feelings for Alec, that he was just playing the long game.

And don’t get him started on the postscript. He’s angry at the panel who allowed Asmodeus’s sentence to be shortened. He’s angry at his father for slithering back into his life with a letter that’s as insidious as it is unwanted.

He’s angry at himself for wishing, even for a moment, that he could have his father back, that they could go back to the way things were before his world fell apart over a decade ago.

Angrily refolding the letter, Magnus shoves it back into the envelope before grabbing his folder for his evening class and dashing out the door.

He doesn’t have time for this, for his father’s vile nonsense.

He’s built quite a nice life without his help or presence and he has no plans to backtrack now.

Magnus lets himself be pulled into Alec’s apartment with a laugh. He finds himself pinned against the hastily shut door and looks up at Alec with amused eyes.

He feels better than he has since he read that damned letter earlier in the day, Alec warm and distracting and just what he needed to mostly throw off this bad mood that had clung to him since he checked his mail all those hours ago.

Dinner had been lovely as always with the two of them enjoying a leisurely meal in a Chinese restaurant that Magnus had been dying to try for months but whose wait list was a mile long.

He has to admit that Alec does have some lovely tricks up his sleeve.

Relaxing against the door, Magnus merely raises an expectant brow as Alec studies him without saying anything. He’s just set to ask if there’s something on his face when Alec speaks.

“What’s wrong,” his boyfriend asks, apropos of nothing.

Magnus’s tone is arch as he replies and he tries to ignore the undercurrent of defensiveness that clings to the words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Alec dryly explains, “That you were your usual charming self during dinner and I’d go so far as to say we both had a good time. However, I could tell something’s wrong and now I’m asking you about it.”

Breath catching as Alec brings a hand up and sweeps a thumb over his jaw, Magnus lets his eyes close as he feels Alec lean in before nosing along his cheek.

“I’d like to think that I’m getting to know you pretty well. I know when something is bothering you.”

Magnus sighs before opening his eyes just to see Alec considering him with a steady gaze, patient and open.

Swallowing hard against the words that don’t quite want to escape, he manages to smile just a little.

“And I thought that I was hiding it so well,” he mutters to himself before resting his hands on Alec’s back, bringing him a little closer.

Alec huffs out a laugh. “It took me until the appetizer was almost gone to realize,” he admits. “But once I did, it was pretty obvious that something was going on in that brain of yours.”

He doesn’t say anything else, lets Magnus take his time to fill the expectant silence and he has a moment to wonder if Alec wouldn’t have made a great soldier, ducking and weaving and lambasting through the most stalwart of defenses.

He’s grateful for Alec’s patience, even if he’s well aware that he’s not getting out of this without telling Alec the shit he had to deal with today.

“Well, I had nine students fail a quiz that was multiple choice and open book today,” he offers, smiling a little as Alec rolls his eyes.

“That does suck,” Alec agrees. “But that’s not all.”

“I put a dollar in a vending machine on campus this morning and it did that stupid thing vending machines do where you almost get your snack before it stops turning and it's some sort of sugar purgatory where you can just glare through the glass as though you can will your snack to fall down.”

Alec laughs but still shakes his head. “That’s still not it,” he insists softly.

Magnus glares at Alec with little heat as he finally relents. His hands sweep under Alec’s shirt to land on warm skin and it grounds him for a brief moment before he’s sighing and straightening from the door. Taking Alec’s hand in his, he doesn’t say anything as he guides them to the balcony that runs the length of Alec’s apartment. The two of them settle outside in the warm evening air and look out over the city, settling on a couch.

Magnus lays an arm over Alec’s shoulders and his boyfriend doesn’t hesitate before crowding a little closer and resting a hand on Magnus’s thigh.

It helps being outside, out of the silence that was growing a little oppressive. The background hum of a city that never sleeps helps ease some of his doubt.

He’s mostly over it, is mostly secure that Alec won’t run for the hills, that this won’t be the final straw and he’ll decide that Magnus really is too much effort.

But still, the unease is there, niggling just enough to ache.

Taking a breath, Magnus says, “I had a letter waiting for me in my mailbox this afternoon from Otisville Prison Upstate. From my father,” he tacks on at the end so that there’s no confusion about just why he’s in such a mood.

Alec doesn’t say anything for a minute and Magnus feels the thumb sweeping over his thigh like lead.

“And what did he have to say,” Alec asks.

Magnus looks up and tries to decipher Alec’s expression to no avail. There’s no judgement, no condemnation. Alec’s just studying him with warm curiosity, acting for all the world as though he has no worries.

Magnus laughs caustically. “He said a great many things, most of which I’m loathe to repeat. However, if I want this thing between us to work, I should probably be up front.”

Alec arches a brow before turning to look in front of him, over the landscape. It helps, not to be the total focus of Alec’s intense attention.

“He told me that I ought to snap you up so fast that it would make your head spin.” Shaking his head, he continues, “He told me not to do anything that would interfere in taking at least half your fortune and he assured me that he could connect me with a fabulous divorce lawyer after I put in my due time.”

“How long is our supposed marriage to last,” ALec asks idly.

Magnus scoffs. “A year.”

Looking over at Alec, Magnus is a little surprised to see him smiling as though amused.

“Darling?”

Laughing a little, Alec just offers a half assed shrug. “What?”

“You’re not upset,” he asks hesitantly.

It’s Alec’s turn to scoff as he nudges Magnus with his shoulder. “Of course I’m not upset. Why the hell would I be when we’ve established that your dad isn’t the best guy around. This seems pretty in keeping with his character, if we’re being honest.”

“Still,” Magnus can’t help but prod, unsure at the easy acceptance he reads in Alec’s eyes, in his posture. “I’d think most people would be angry, maybe a little hurt, at the idea that I’m nothing but a gold digger.”

Alec shrugs again. “I’d hope that we’ve established that I’m not most people by now and in any case, what your father says has nothing to do with you. You told me and it’s obviously bothering you. I hope you’re not feeling guilty or whatever the shit.”

Magnus opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Alec just watches him, amusement glinting in his eyes at the way he’d managed to confound him.

Finally, he gets out, “That’s-- that’s it. That’s all you have to say.”

Alec makes a show of thinking before nodding slowly. “Yup, seems about it. What else is there to say?”

Swallowing hard, Magnus offers, “And if I told you that the letter also mentioned that his sentence was commuted over the summer and instead of getting out in 2041, he’ll be released in 2025?”

Humming, Alec just says, “Then I’d say that we’ll deal with Asmodeus’s release whenever it happens. No use worrying about it until it slaps us in the face.”

Magnus laughs incredulously. “Yeah? I didn’t take you for the devil may care sort.”

“I’m not usually,” Alec replies dryly. “But we have, what? Eight years until his release now? That’s a long way away and it seems like an awful lot of effort to worry about something we have no control over.”

Alec pauses for a minute before continuing, “Whatever happens, whenever it happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Magnus’s lips quirk up in an approximation of a smile as he plays over Alec’s words. “Together,” he repeats, question in his tone.

“Yeah,” Alec says quietly. “We can deal with whatever happens when the time comes.”

Magnus knows that his voice is overwhelmingly fond, that it’s betraying his emotions as he softly replies, “Whatever you say, darling.”

The two of them relax in the fading light for awhile afterward. Magnus focuses on deep breathing, relaxing his tense shoulders. All around, that’d gone much better than he’d anticipated and he wonders that Alec seems so relaxed.

The two of them open a bottle of wine and bring it out to the balcony as twilight deepens. Magnus has just poured his second glass and is taking a sip with a quiet, contented sigh when Alec breaks the easy silence that’s fallen over them.

“We should go somewhere.”

Lowering his glass, Magnus looks over to see Alec studying him with something indefinable in his eyes.

“Did you have somewhere in mind, darling?”

“Maybe,” the blasted man says cryptically and Magnus grins as he relaxes into Alec’s side.

“Okay, then,” Magnus agrees. “Let’s go somewhere.”

It’s Alec’s turn to look surprised as he asks, “Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Magnus confirms. “We’ll have to look at our schedules but I love travelling and I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than travelling with you.”

“How’s this semester looking for you?”

Thinking, after a moment Magnus offers, “I have fall break this time next month? I have about a week off. We could make something happen then?”

“Sounds great,” Alec agrees with a private smile. He takes a sip of wine before turning his head and nosing along Magnus’s hair, ducking to place a kiss under his ear.

Magnus sinks into the warmth that envelopes him at Alec’s easy affection, lets it settle into his chest and chase away the lingering shadows from earlier.

He starts thinking about plans and where they might go, what they might do. It all seems terribly romantic, if he’s being honest with himself.

A few days away from everything is just what he needs. Distantly, he thinks wryly that he certainly has incentive to finish his book’s deadline now.

As his thoughts switch to another route, Magnus bites back the question that lands on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to put Alec on the defensive, after all, and Magnus has always prided himself on being an adept hand at picking up on context clues.

The answer is staring him right in the face, he reflects with a grin, looking down as he takes another lingering sip of wine.

Settling back, Magnus lets everything fall away except this quiet evening with Alec, the two of them taking a few minutes from their hectic, busy lives to enjoy each other.

It’s enough for now. It’s more than enough.

[isawthesights]

Movie Night

(Here it is. This is the most I’ve written in the last couple of months that was purely for fun. It was a struggle in the best possible way and made me fall in love with writing fan fiction again.)

Requested by @empress-with-the-crown: Jackson Wang + “You’re seriously like a man-child.”

Word count: 1.6k

Paring: Jackson Wang x (platonic) reader (kinda ot7 x platonic reader)

Warning: None :) 

When your best friend Jackson invited you over for a sleepover with the rest of his friends, you immediately said yes. You didn’t think much of it. Jackson and his friends, his brothers really, all had crazy schedules and it was rare that they were all free for a whole night. And after the week you had, between indecisive coworkers and accidentally studying the wrong material for a quiz, you needed the atmosphere that seemed to surround the guys wherever they went.

           You kicked the door to the guy’s dorm repeatedly until Bambam opened it, barely peaking his head out before realizing it was you, and hastily helping you inside. He was wearing that adorable red and black striped shirt with plain black basketball shorts and you could tell he had just showered from his still-damp hair and the smell of his body wash.

           “Yah! Y/N!” Bambam yelled. “Why didn’t you call before so we could help you carry this stuff?” Bam shook his head at you while reaching for one of the bags of food you brought and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. After slipping off your shoes by the door, the pair of you walked into the kitchen where Mark, Youngjae, and Jinyoung were all scattered munching or drinking something. Upon seeing you, they all shouted in greeting.

           “Y/N!!!” “AYEEE!!!” “FINALLY!!”

           You quickly set down the remaining bag of food you had in your hand on the island before being engulfed in a group hug and receiving loving smooches on your forehead from the trio.

           “We missed you,” whined Youngjae. You came around to drape yourself over his shoulders effectively giving him the attention he craved. You buried your chin into the juncture between his neck and shoulder as you sighed. He, along with his hyungs, looked freshly showered as well and Youngjae’s thin white shirt had begun to turn transparent around his neckline from the water still dripping off of his hair.

           “I missed you guys too,” you agreed. “Trust me. I need this sleepover to relax.” You moved around the kitchen and took the remaining stool at the island. Jinyoung immediately tilted his opened bag of chips toward you in offering and you grabbed a couple.

           “How come you never share with me then?” a voice came from behind you. Before you could turn around, big hands connected to lanky arms wrapped around your shoulders.

           “Because I don’t like you,” Jinyoung addressed the giant maknae. Behind you, Yugyeom huffed as Bam, Mark, and Youngjae either chuckled or rolled their eyes. You laughed and tapped Yugyeom’s arm before reaching back blindly with a chip and hoping you’d find his mouth. He made a noise of happiness before crunching loudly in your ear.

           “JB and Jack should be almost done with their showers,” Mark said before small conversations broke out between the guys. You met his eyes and smiled, indicating that you had heard him, before looking though a food bag for your favorite snack. When you pulled them out, Yugyeom let out a sound of disgust before unwrapping himself from you.

           “I don’t know how you can eat those noona,” Yug complained as you popped a banana chip in your mouth with a cheesy grin.

           “Aish,” you complained while trying to swat at him. “What’d I tell you about that ‘noona’ shit? Hm?” He just laughed at you getting onto him while having to look up. You can’t help it; the boy is tall. You quirked an eyebrow in mock annoyance before getting up and walking into the living room alone. Hmph. That’ll make him sweat, you thought. Just before you plopped down on the couch, you heard loud footsteps coming toward you.

           “Yah, y/n, I’m sorry,” Yugyeom whined and prevented you from sitting down. He took your hands in his and tried to make you look up at him. “I won’t do it anymore I promise.” You could tell he was pouting by how is words seemed smooched and that caused you to giggle, finally meeting his eyes.

           “Fine, fi-“ He cut you off by squeezing you tight and falling on top of you onto the couch. You allowed him to rest on you before you needed oxygen and began flapping your hands against him where they were trapped by his hips.

           “Yah! Gyeom! Get off her!” Jaebum’s booming voice bounced off the living room walls causing both of you to flinch and Yugyeom to jump off you and land on the floor. Once you regained your breath, you began laughing at how red Yug’s face was becoming, like an embarrassed child being scolded by his father. “Go help Jinyoung and Youngjae bring the food in here while Mark and Bam get the blankets.”

           Yugyeom immediately hops up and fast walks in the direction of the kitchen whispering under his breath about how you didn’t have to come help. As soon as Yug was out of sight, Jae turned to you and rest his forehead against your shoulder, having to bend down a bit.

           “These kids are going to be the death of me y/n,” he whined and snuggled his head into you some more. Your hands fingered his shirt-covered arms until you found his and you took them.

           “I think you’re doing an awesome job leader-nim,” you could feel his face heat at your words. You were the only one allowed to tease him like this and, if one of the boys were to catch you two, they’d be sorry to laugh at the two of you. He knew it amused you how riled up he got at the nickname so he said nothing of it. You wanted to make sure he understood the truth of your words. Jaebum was such a selfless person when it came to the rest of Got7 so much so that you had to remind him that, without him, they wouldn’t be where they are today. When he sighed in acknowledgement, you pressed a light kiss to his temple before the moment was interrupted by Mark and Bambam coming into the living room with the usual mountain of covers used for movie nights like this.

           Gradually, everyone gravitates toward their unintentional assigned seats for movie night and Mark taps your thigh and tells you it’s your turn to pick the movie. You grab your selection from the bag you brought only to find that said movie was already in the DVD player. You turn to Bam and wink without saying anything to anyone else and sit in your spot with some popcorn. As everyone except you two groan when Black Panther starts up, you realize that Jackson, your best friend who invited you here in the first place, has yet to make an appearance.

           As if sensing your inability to concentrate on the movie, Jaebum throws an arm around you lazily and pulls you a little closer.

           “He’s coming,” he reassures you. “He couldn’t stop talking about seeing you today during our schedule. What’s it been, two days, since you last hung out?”

           Before you can fully smash your open hand into JB’s teasing smile, your best friend finally emerges.

           “You fuckers started without me?” Jack stands in front of the TV effectively blocking the view. “And I told you to tell me when she got here!”

           He jokingly kicks at Bam and Yugyeom who are situated on the floor in front of the couch you and JB are currently cuddled on. Mark and Youngjae roll their eyes from the oversized chair they are sharing and grab some more popcorn. Jinyoung just sighs from his recliner and, when you make eye contact with him, he gives you a pleading look.

           “Yah, Jack,” you get his attention and his face lights up when he sees you. His face, however, falls again into a scowl when he sees the position you are in.

           “JB-hyung, you stole Y/N from me?!” Jack lets out a scandalized gasp. JB prods at him even further when he pulls you into his chest even more and plops his cheek on the top of your head and pouts.

           “Well you lost rock-paper-scissors for shower order, and you of all people know how much Y/N likes to cuddle,” JB smirks and Jackson opens his mouth to sass him back when you make grabby hands at him. His face melts into a loving look only ever directed towards you and he immediately falls into you. While he gets comfortable, cuddling into you like you are cuddling into JB, Bam starts the movie over again now that everyone is present and accounted for.

           “You’re seriously like a man-child,” you whisper to Jack as he tries to burrow his head further into your chest. He simply hums as you begin to thread your finger through his hair. You also notice how Jaebum runs a loving hand down Jackson’s back as far as he can reach.

           Taking a quick scan of the room, this is what you missed the most. There is so much love in the air; it’s palpable and envelops all of you as a family. You breathe out and all the stresses the week had brought you melt away.

You alternate feeding yourself, Jackson, and JB popcorn and catch yourself giggling when you notice Bam reciting the lines of the movie to himself. Youngjae was dozing off as he leaned against Mark who was fighting to keep his own eyes open. Your eyes met Jinyoung’s who had just taken a picture of you on the couch between the other two members. He covered his mouth, refusing to let his snicker escape, as you flipped him off behind Jackson’s back.

You refocused your attention back on the movie and truly felt relaxed.

“Did Bam bribe you to pick this movie?” Jack asked. Bam’s house slipper flew up and hit his head.

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

Other tags: @yugyyums @got7dreaming @got7writersnet @kpopfanfictrash @instakpop @yves-saintlaurtuan @taexual (I thought you guys might like this!)

[tommyoboe]

PARIS - PART ONE.

I have spent the last five minutes just reading the title over and over again.

Yes, I am in the French capital for five months of absolute chaos; beautiful adventures and hopefully to get better at the oboe. I don't even know where to start, but I suppose the beginning is as good a place as any.

The Eurostar is coming to a stop at the Gare du Nord on a Saturday evening; I am coming to terms with my new surroundings after spending the majority of the journey gazing at the open French countryside. I step off with my monstrously heavy suitcase awaiting a taxi driver to meet me, arranged by the lady I am staying with. I am waiting for over twenty minutes and then receive a call from the driver, in mostly French, with lots of information I do not understand.

After lots of shouting down the phone to me and some workings out on my end, I finally go outside to meet the driver, after being told they would be in the station holding up a banner with my name.

On arrival I am told I am to pay twenty euros, after being promised the ride would be free. That was a dent in my first memories of Paris.

This all sounds very spoilt and petty, I know, but the principal of trust is an important one to me. To be told one thing and then something completely different happens when you arrive, it's a bit of a slap in the face.

So day 1 was complete, face slapped, and as day 2 commenced I decided what better way to start the proceedings with a croissant and an espresso in the September sun? Unfortunately things were downhill from there.

I asked the lady I am staying with for supermarket recommendations, and after giving a couple I took the name of one and made my way into the bustling streets of Paris. I was instantly overwhelmed with the selection in this strange department store type place that was a supermarket but was also selling handbags? 74 euros later I decided this was not the place for me, annoyed that somewhere cheaper was not recommended.

The afternoon came and I was figuring out the kitchen. The plug sockets were tightly tucked away beside the fridge in a corner, where only a mouse could reach them. There I was, contorting my body into various shapes, trying to feed the plug of a kettle down the back of the kitchen counter to find one of these sockets, with obviously no luck. I gave up, realising after all that effort there was a plug socket at the other end of the counter. Coming back to the fridge a few hours later, the light was off. I had disconnected the fridge, and the worst part was that my 4 euro mushrooms had gone completely off.

I mean, maybe they were already off, but still, this was not a happy moment. I was being shouted at by the host and at this point I just wanted to bang my head against the wall.

It was a welcome relief to be out of the flat on the first Monday, at my new Conservatoire for the semester with other exchange students. All were welcoming and interesting to talk to, but hindering thoughts of the bad experiences so far and my honest desire to go home immediately clouded the whole day. I took much comfort in being able to curl up and watch my Monday night quiz shows that evening.

However, this came after an absolutely bizarre conversation where I found out boxes could not be delivered here; instead, everything had to fit into a tiny postbox with a key only my host has, not even the postman.

Like, WHAT?! WHY WOULD MY HOST NOT TELL ME THIS? CRAZY F****** S***.

Apparently, boxes cannot be sent here in France because of terrorism.

WHAT KIND OF HORSE S*** IS THAT?!

Sorry. That was what I wanted to say when I found out the news. I was visibly stressed but reassuring myself in my actual response, saying I will find a way to sort it.

I have sorted it. I found out from a friend who lives just outside of Paris that in fact, we are not living in Eritrea and boxes can be sent from overseas, so they have kindly let me send the box there for me to pick up.

I was so done that night.

And who would have thought a documentary on Osama Bin Laden the following night was the most comforting part of my day?

Things were not especially smooth in terms of enrolling at the Conservatoire. Rather, it was like a jigsaw with all the pieces dispersed across the whole building. I had to enrol separately with a separate person for each subject I wanted to take. Some of those people would not always be available when I needed them to be - one individual I had to go to three times before finding success.

Then there was my trip to the pharmacy where I spoke terrible French and had to have a customer translate my need to sign up to a doctor to the lady at the counter. I then headed to the doctor to see if I could register there in person. With no reception I knocked on the doctor's door to no response. After ringing the phone number on the door I reached a receptionist, with which in half English and half French I booked an appointment. Since then my prescriptions have been sorted. I am still waiting to hear back from my insurance company but the hardest part is certainly over.

My first clean out was a delightful one, throwing away some gone off jam and marmalade left by my host. Long story short, she has left and I am now with someone else. It is a dodgy situation that I did not know the full extent of before signing up to this, because apparently I was supposed to presume and it would have been rude to ask.

Er, sorry?

I promise not all has been bad. I enjoyed some wonderful sushi and chat with the other exchange students during the first week, bonding with others over dodgy neighbourhoods, Brexit and our desires to get on with the performing!

That Friday a couple of other students and I ventured to the Pompidou Centre for Contemporary Art to gaze upon some masterpieces from the last one hundred years. The collection was enormous, so we only completed half of it, but there were some real highlights, including works by Kandinsky, Miró and Picasso amongst many others.

Mackerel, croissant shaped biscuits and shit cider made up that evening for one. It was almost as sad as me watching the Last Night of the Proms alone from my apartment, with Land of Hope and Glory and Jerusalem blurring from my speaker. Anyone who knows me well knows I hate overt patriotism, especially in the forms of those pieces of music, but on this occasion the situation made me chuckle.

The last week, although still challenging, has been a smoother ride, with routine being established and lots achieved. I chatted to various musicians about coming together for projects, including with a contemporary tutor; a guitar student where we even tried out some music together, and a pianist who was not fluent in English. That was another interesting conversation, which somehow still led to positive results, with us booking in a rehearsal for this coming week and finding lots of repertoire!

Other highlights have been meeting the other oboists at the college over some drinks and crêpes in a cute café; going to the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower with some friends yesterday via the Seine and today gorging on the most amazing religieuse from an actual French patisserie. Iconic.

So yeah, I'm surviving. I'm here. I'm doing it. So much hilarity has ensued already, who knows what's yet to come?

Paris, I am in you.