#and they need to bring back home ec and shop

[systemdll23]

How to Choose Video Games Parents and Kids Love

Parents will tell you that the best video game is educational. It teaches small life lessons and strengthens hand eye coordination. And it keeps kids busy for around 30 minutes. However, children seem to think that educational abilities are far less important than speed, action and great moves. It's hard to believe there are games that meet both the needs of parents and children.

Parents should make time for their children to play video games. The problem with this method of choosing video games is that the game and money are already in the home. It is rare for open games to be returned and kids won't let go of their games without much arguing, complaining and upset. It is important to make an informed decision before bringing the games home.

How does a parent pick the right video game for their children? The back cover of a game may not contain enough information. However, the internet buzz can be so dense with insider lingo, it can be difficult to determine if the game is suitable, too violent or contains any content that might offend.

However, just because a game is popular or there are long lines outside stores waiting for it to go on sale does not necessarily mean that it has the type of game play that the parent would like to have in their home. There are five easy steps that parents and children can follow to pick the right video games. These steps are easy to follow, require little effort and are quite reliable.

1. Check out the ESRB Rating

Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB), developed a rating system for game content that ranks it according to its age. These ratings are: "EC", "E," E 10+," T," M," AO," and "RP."

An "EC" designation means that games are educational and enjoyable for both preschoolers and younger grade-schoolers. An "E" indicates that the games are suitable for all players. While preschoolers may need to learn more about how the game works, they don't have any objectionable content. Games rated "E10+" are for children older than 10. The game may contain mild language.

T-rated games are reserved for teenagers. Parents should be aware that violence, innuendo sexual, partial nudity and curse words are all part of the game. The "M" designation means mature games. These games are for people over 17 years old. Games marked "AO", or adult only, raise the bar. They are "M" squared. A rating of "RP" simply means that the rating is in progress. Parents should wait to buy the game until this rating is determined.

2. Check out the ESRB Content Descriptors

Preschoolers and grade-schoolers should not be grouped into age groups, but should be further distinguished by their maturity level. Parents will benefit from reading the ESRB content descriptions printed on the backs to video game packs. These descriptions list potentially objectionable content.

A listing of "blood", for example, indicates that the game is showing realistically rendered blood. These games may not be suitable for children who are sensitive to blood, regardless of their age.

3. Understanding the classifications when shopping for older children

Parents who have read the descriptions and braved the age-appropriate ratings may be confused by another classification: what kind of game play their children might expect.

Older children may enjoy "FPS" games (First Person Shooter), which put them in the action from a first-person perspective. This is different than watching the character doing the actions, as that's the case with "TPS" games (Third Person Shooter). Some games can also be classified based on the type of content, such as strategy or vehicle simulation games, sports, and puzzle games.

Strategy games can be more educational than shooter games. While puzzle games require strategic thinking, they don't offer many action moves that are appealing to teens.

4. Visit the Game Platform Manufacturer website

The website may be visited by parents to find out more about the device that will allow their children to play video games. This could be the website for PlayStation or GameCube, Nintendo, Xbox and many other sub-platforms. These companies post information about the video games they have made, their ratings and screen shots. Sometimes, the sites also include brief descriptions of the game, trailers and screen shots.

Even though it doesn't offer an in-depth and objective analysis of the game, this website is quite useful for getting a feel for the content and play without having to rely on a rating or the back of a pack or marketing efforts.

5. You can check with organizations that offer independent game evaluations

Many organizations offer help to parents, even though they aren't directly involved in the videogame industry. While some groups are focused on educational aspects, others focus more on reviewing the games from a faith-based perspective. Look for a group that suits your needs and read the reviews about games that you are interested in.

Entertainment Consumers Association is one of the most prominent groups. They offer insight into both the industry and the games. Parents looking for more information on the games they are interested in should visit these forums and websites. They can also learn from other parents who might be playing the same games.

These forums are interactive and parents can ask questions of other parents. If there is a concern about a specific game, this is where you can get more information.

[antonio-velardo]

Antonio Velardo shares: To Prepare Kids for the Future, Bring Back Shop and Home Ec by Pamela Paul

By Pamela Paul Students learn from physical as well as mental work. Plus, they need a break. Published: October 12, 2023 at 05:02AM from NYT Opinion https://ift.tt/lyVW6qz via IFTTT

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#antonio velardo #IFTTT #NYT

[bywandandsword]

Why is math so stupid? Once you start getting into algebra, nothing makes sense anymore and the rules are random. The only math class I enjoyed in school was geometry, cause shapes, but all the other advanced math subjects are just memorizing formulas using rules that are arbitrary and never explained

#Seriously #the second I didn't have to take classes involving math my grades got so much better #teaching people actual math skills they will need irl is one thing but algebra? Nah man making that mandatory is bullshit #schools need to stop having a hard on for ''respectable and logic based'' subjects that no one who doesn't go into that field will use #and they need to bring back home ec and shop #Sword speaks

[kuroos-world]

The Bookshop Keeper - Dabi mini series

Masterlist A/N: thank you for reading ! :) lmk if you want to be tagged !

Pt.1 EC Pt.3 Pt.4

Ever since your official introduction Dabi comes in more frequently. Often the two of you stay way past closing, discussing books you’re reading and theories you have about certain lines. Recently though you’d been reading lots of poetry, which you read aloud and Dabi listened intensely. Your voice was so soothing to him and he loved the way you annunciated your words. One night while you’re reading poetry, you sneak in some of your own. ‘Casually’ asking Dabi his thoughts on it, and when he realizes it was an original he’s elated. Demanding to read everything you’ve ever written, he’s so impressed and loves how intelligent and knowledgeable you are. Really though he’s just happy you trust him enough to read your innermost thoughts, and he learns so much about you through it. Pains you’ve hidden from others, topics that are important to you, how deeply you're capable of loving, and so much more. You become his escape from reality, and he was yours.

No matters what struggles you faced during the week, the two of you could always come to one another and relax. Whether it be reading in silence next to each other (which was Dabis favorite) , venting about the problem (mainly you) or distracting yourselves with talking about anything. He even stayed with you on long nights when you had to update your records or check inventory. Dabi became your most trusted friend, he knew practically everything about you, and even though he never talked about his personal life you felt like you really knew him too. But the closer you grew the more worried Dabi became. He feared his life with the LOV would catch up to him or worse you, he wanted to keep you as far away from that as possible.

“Dabi?” Your voice is so soft as you call out to him.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He asks from across the aisle. Tonight the two or you were unboxing and shelving a new edition of shojo manga, “Thanks for always keeping me company,” you’re smile is sweet and pure, Dabi chuckles, “anytime”

“I really like hanging out with you, mm, maybe though we can hangout outside the shop too?” Your tone is hopeful but you catch his gaze, Dabi stares at you with a blank face. He knows he has a mission coming up so he probably won’t be around for a while anyways “...or not” your voice falters but you smile at him to show you’re not upset. “Uh I mean I’d like to but I can’t for now” you nod and busy yourself with shelving the new books. He leaves soon after and you mentally kick yourself, ‘ he probably doesn’t want to or maybe he just doesn’t like being around me as much as I like being around him’ you lock up shop walking home quietly ‘only 2 blocks’ you tell yourself. You’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice the shadowy figure trailing behind you. He walks slowly mentally scolding himself for being so cold to you, but also for barely realizing you walk home alone every night. ‘I always stay late with you, dangerous and this idiot hasn’t even realized I’m following, ugh why don’t you ever say something?’ He thinks as he watches tensely as you walk into your apartment before walking away.

**********************

You haven’t seen Dabi in about two weeks, you were worried you overstepped your boundaries. You sigh feeling lonely as you close up shop for the night. There was a quiet knock on the back door, you opened up to see Dabi. He was breathing heavily, his turquoise eyes wild with adrenaline, he’s holding his side leaning into the frame. His whole demeanor had changed from the quiet pensive man you knew to a cocky bastard, he smirks looking down at you, “can I come in?” He asks his voice full of arrogance, but you side step anyways. The two of you walking towards your office, “what happened?” You sounded so worried it was almost enough to bring Dabi down from the high he currently felt, “don’t worry about it-,” he sighs and you feel a change in him once again as he sits scratching his neck awkwardly, “uh I just need to lay low for a few hours, can I stay here?” You nod, “course you can” you touch his side and he hisses, your eyebrows furrow and you reach out to him. He lets you, watching you tentatively, you pull up his shirt seeing his scars but also a giant bruise forming right under. You stare at him eyes full of worry and pain for him, “ ‘s okay hun, I’m fine, I just need to lay low,” He was so excited to see you after his mission he completely forgot he’d have to lie about where he’d been and why he needed to hide out. The main reason he came here was because he’d rather hide out in a place he could feel close to you. He sits back in your comfy chair, eyes even more tired than you’ve ever seen. “stay with me tonight,” you say the words before your brain can even process them, Dabi still laying back, opens one eye, peaking at you. Once he sees the pink in your cheeks and the seriousness in your eyes he nods. The two of you walk side by side avoiding the open roads or anything with too many lights and people. When you arrive at your apartment your heart is racing, Dabi walks in behind you, his mouth hung open in surprise at the wall of books you had, filled from top to bottom. “Um so it’s not much but this is the living room, the kitchen is there, the bathroom is on that side and my room is through here,” you point everything out to him and walk into the room with Dabi right behind you, he laughs when he sees another small bookshelf by your bed, “those are your favorite ones right?” He asks seeing how worn most of them are and noticing a few familiar titles, your face heats at his words, “yeah.. I like to have them close” the innocence in your voice drives Dabi mad, you’re too cute. “Anyways, you can stay in here and I’ll take the couch” you smile at him, “y/n” his tone is stern and his eyes meet yours, “I know you read a lot of romance so not to be cliche but, we’re adults we’re more than capable of sharing a bed,” you give him a sheepish look, and he laughs loudly, more than you’ve ever heard him laugh. “Dabiii, I knoww,” you huff and he laughs louder, a full belly laugh, Your heart skips a beat at the beautiful sound, and he teases you some more. His demeanor was no longer cocky but also not as pensive as usual, he seemed more in his element, more comfortable than in the shop. He looked like he belonged here, teasing your embarrassed state, and laying in bed next to you with a book in his hand.

You leave him laying in bed while you go shower, you come back changed and sleepy. You yawn as you crawl in next to Dabi, who was still reading. He turns his attention away from the book, “y/n” he waits to have your full attention before continuing, “I appreciate you letting me stay with you,” he smiles, so kindly at you, you return the smile, “anything for you” he smiles wider, “read to me” he whispers, his face inching closer to yours “okay” you respond whispering too. He hands you the book, you open your mouth to read but he stops you, “come here” he pulls you to him. He leans against the headboard and sits you between his legs, you lay back against his chest, looking up at him in the dim light. He smiles down at you, playing with your hair, “read hun,” and so you do. The two of you lay like that you reading and him listening playing with your hair, happy to be in the blissful world you create.

You continue to read until you can barely keep your eyes open, Dabi takes the book from your hands placing it to the side and turning the light off, as your body relaxes into his,

“Y/n, lovely as ever,

Kind as can be,

You’re so very clever,

Please always stay with me”

he laughs at his own sappiness, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head.

——————————————

Tag list:

@orenjineki @liitlesushi @icedtea-with-lemon16

@dabis-bitch @c0metar5on

#mha fanfiction #mha imagines #dabi headcanons #mha x reader #mha smut #mha dabi #mha fluff #dabi x y/n #dabi touya #yandere dabi #dabi smut #dabi imagine #dabi todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #dabi fluff #bnha fanfiction

[nuttyrabbit]

Giovanni Conti Bio

“Nutty, are you only going to show up to post about Archie Sonic and your OCs?” Yes, yes I am

Anyways, I decided to throw together a quick bio for Gambit’s dad because hey I figured his stuff out and I’m doing shit with him now.

Shoutouts to @pidgeonspen​ for doing his design for me.

Anyways, as always, everything’s under the readmore

Name: Giovanni Conti (Real name Brando Romilla)

Age: Approximately 50 years old

Height: 3'4"

Occupation: Auto mechanic/Conman

Location: Unknown, last confirmed sighting in Westopolis. Originally born in Lugaio, Spagonia.

Sexuality: Bisexual, though greatly prefers women to the point of denying any male attraction

Personality: Giovanni's personality is what one would expect from a seasoned conman: charismatic, self-serving, and conniving, the weasel finds success in his trade thanks to his natural talent in dealing with others. To his victims, Giovanni appears to be a charming, compassionate, smooth-talking individual who seems to go out of his way to help others in their time of need. But of course it's all a farce, a way to con unsuspecting victims out of their hard-earned cash. In reality, the man formerly known as Brando Romilla is the exact opposite. A selfish, grumpy, and temperamental weasel "behind the scenes", Giovanni finds himself unwilling to engage with the world around him outside of whatever con he's cooked up or to get out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into this time.

Giovanni's most defining personality trait however, isn't his sardonic attitude or his smoothtalking ways, but instead his paranoia.  Giovanni has spent the majority of his life on the run and it shows.  He often finds himself looking over his shoulder both figuratively and quite literally, hoping that his latest victim hasn't found out about him or that the law or the mafia or whoever he's crossed hasn't tracked him down to enact their revenge.  As such, Giovanni is extremely hesitant to give out his name unless absolutely necessary for the con, even going so far as to make up fake names in emergency situations, though the truth eventually comes out.  In addition, he trusts absolutely nobody and almost always looks for a way to backstab/escape any sort of partnership he's found himself on the receiving end of, willing or otherwise.

All of this being said, it isn't *all* bad for Giovanni personality-wise, for when the weasel finds something he actually likes, one can see a softer, more eager side of him come out. Despite his professed hatred of his previous job, Giovanni has a rather deep appreciation for the intricacies of vehicles and vehicle repairs, even going so far as to sneak into antique car shows to gawk at the new vehicles and reminisce about the "good old days" before it "got so complicated" in terms of technology. Oddly enough, he also loves vinyl.

Skills: Giovanni is of course, an incredibly skilled con-man, imploying a variety of cons and scams to trick people out of their money, ranging from simple "tourist trap" tricks such as "no change", "toll booth", and "free gift", to more complicated ones such as "flat tire" schemes and even reselling stolen/counterfeit items at a significantly marked up price.  His variety in terms of cons is helped by his ability to sell them thanks to his smooth-talking charismatic persona that he puts on during them.  As a result of his occupation he's also extremely adept at pointing out other cons/knowing when he's being duped.  Not only that, but he's even picked up some basic lockpicking/hotwiring and ID forging skills, though they aren't quite as honed as his other talents in the area.

Surprisingly enough, again despite his professed dislike of his childhood job, Giovanni is an incredibly skilled mechanic, being able to assess the issues with (mostly older) vehicles just from a few minutes of observation and testing alone and fixing it in record times. OF course he'll complain about how he's "too fuckin' old" for it, but he'll do a damn good job...and even enjoy himself somewhat.   He claims he would be unable to work on "new-fangled" vehicles such as Extreme Gear but if he were to get the chance, would find that he'd be a natural at it.

Likes: Antique vehicles, wine, the feeling when he pulls of a con, vinyl records, fresh pressed suits, rare steak, expensive cigars, older women, working on antique vehicles.

Dislikes: The law, organized crime outfits, his ex-wife, his kid, getting caught, prison, cheap beer, "new" technology, people who talk too much, his grandfather, working on vehicles (his relationship with auto repair is..complicated), staying in one place for too long.

Backstory: Brando Rombilla was born into anything but normalcy:  born to a pair of younger Spagonian lovers, the result of a tryst gone wrong, he was abandoned on the steps of his paternal grandfather, the widowed mechanic Angelo Rombilla, who would raise the weasel as his own.

Angelo was an old, stubborn, hardworking man who had spent his entire life toiling away as a mechanic, even coming to own his own shop...yet despite it all, he never quite had a lot to show for it, and Brando grew up in not quite poverty, but in...less than modest means

Despite this...unusual situation, Brando would, at least for a time, grow up as any other child would, going to school, making friends, and living as a normal Spagonian child would--at least until he hit the age of 12-13, where his father suddenly and inexplicably ground his childhood to a halt, pulling him out of school and telling him that he was going to be a "working man" from now on, that he'd have to help out at the shop and help put food at the table--and that is indeed what happened.

From then on, Brando found himself working at the modest repair shop, working the front desk, doing oil changes, and learning the ins and outs of auto repair--and he fucking hated it.

Not just because he'd been robbed of the experiences his peers were getting, but it served as a constant reminder of the (at least to him) pathetic conditions in which they lived and worked. In addition, it only served to exacerbate his sheer irritation at his father's stubbornness and near-perfectionist standards.

But over time, as he aged and saw his peers move on to bigger and better things, he realized something else: all this work, all this "good, honest, hard" work he'd been doing, that his grandfather had been doing, that he wanted him to inherit, it was getting them nowhere

The both of them spent years and years doing the same shit over and over, and they were no better off than when they'd started. They still lived like shit, ate like shit, and worked like dogs, and the idea of doing this his entire life revolted him.  Yet when he'd bring this up, he'd just get shouted down, beaten down, and told to get back to work. He loathed it all.

Then one day, around the time Giovanni hit 19--it all changed. In a moment of what his grandfather would call laziness and what Brando would later call ingenuity, he accidentally charged a customer for something they hadn't done--and with it, more money than he should've had.  It suddenly hit him, his way out, his way to actually do something about all of this. It started off slow, an overcharge here, a useless job done there, a job not done this way or that, even some front product sold off of lies.  Before Brando knew it, the shop was actually making money for once, and more than that, he was making money.  And the best part was, that for once, Angelo seemed like he didn't have a stick up his ass. He seemed...happy, over the moon really that things had begun to look up.  Things seemed to finally be getting better!

....until Angelo caught Brando in the act, after which the mother of all shouting matches ensued, of the grandson and grandfather screaming at each other about this and that, about everything--and saw Brando being thrown out of the shop, out of his grandfather's home--and out of his life

Out on his ass with only the money he'd pocketed and the clothes on his back to his name, Brando  by all rights should have been terrified about his future, livid about what had happened, but instead he found himself excited. Now that his grandpappy or his stupid shop wasn't a problem anymore, he could finally do something with himself, and he knew exactly what that'd be--putting to use the same bullshittery that'd gotten him here to begin with.

And so the young weasel found himself hopping all over Spagonia, honing his craft. Whether it be through  pinching wares from stores and selling them nearby at an outrageously hiked price,  snatching and selling bootleg items, or even using his mechanic skills to craft "wonder items" that were quite literally just old scrapyard junk,  Brando soon became quite adept at the art of the con.  However, with that adeptness came attention, and with that attention came the watchful eye of the law, which attempted to crack down on the weasel multiple times as he traveled about Spagonia.

Soon enough, his face and name were plastered on wanted signs, in local papers, and in time, he couldn't run any longer, finally being booked on fraud charges and placed in prison for ~ 3 years at the age of 22.   Upon getting out,  Brando realized that he couldn't exactly do his work here anymore, lest he get thrown back in for good.

But Soleanna wasn't exactly appealing either, especially since the SPD were notorious for cracking down on fraudsters.  He was at a loss at what to do, until he managed to catch a TV broadcast talking about Empire City and it hit him- EC would be the perfect place to disappear and get a fresh start.  It was big, it was far away, and it was full of suckers just waiting to be parted with their money Forging himself a new identity (quite literally) as "Giovanni Conti" , he smuggled himself on board a ship and soon found himself in Empire City, where he almost immediately got to work--and found the results to be not what he expected

While the toursts were complete suckers as expected, the residents were anything but, and he found himself on the run from the law once more--and in addition, the various criminal orgs that made their homes there and had no tolerance for being scammed.   Needless to say, the whole thing frustrated him, and with no other way to vent his frustrations, he turned to drinking, and with it, found himself at a small bar in downtown EC, drinking away his frustrations...and chatting up an equally frustrated, and rather attractive young woman. He didn't catch her last name, but certainly caught her first- Artemis

What should have just been a simple one night tryst suddenly got a lot more complicated once the young woman had tracked him down almost a week  later with some soul-crushing news: She was pregnant, and it was almost certainly by him.  To make matters worse, Artemis was an up and coming politician, someone in the running for the EC City Council, and she would be DAMNED if it came out that she got knocked up in a one night stand, that would ruin her career! Despite Giovanni's attempts at arguing otherwise, she also insisted on keeping the child, claiming that if word got out she got rid of it, it would ruin her career. Threatening to hand him over to authorities, she blackmailed him into sticking by her side for the following 9 months, appearing in front of the cameras as a pictureesque pair of parents-to-be, Artemis embracing the newfound attention and Giovanni absolutely loathing all the eyes on him, and not only that, but also moving in together to her (admittedly) lavish apartment.

This continued up on through the end of the pregnancy and into the birth of their son, who Artemis named "Tai", a (perhaps ironic) homage to an old Apotosian patron of Luck.  From then, things continued normally, well as least as normal as could be for the unwitting parents-to-be, up until the child was around a year old, when Artemis went on a sudden vacation.  Left alone with the child and feeling helplessly trapped, Giovanni contemplated making a break for it, perhaps faking his own death and figuring out the details later, when a hooded figure burst into the home and attempted to shoot both him and the child dead.  Through a near-miraculous stroke of luck though, the intruder's gun jammed, giving Giovanni the chance to brandish a knife and stab them in the jugular.  His heart pounding, his mind racing, Giovanni quickly put two and two together: someway, somehow, Artemis had tried to get the two of them whacked.  Quickly disposing of the body and without really thinking about it, Giovanni grabbed the child and made a break for it, bolting from the apartment and leaving Empire City under cover of darkness, trying to make sure he left no trace that he had left--or was even still alive.

Soon arriving in Westopolis, Giovanni and Tai found a small apartment to squat in for the time being. Quickly settling in, Giovanni quickly fell back into his old ways, and found the people of Westopolis far more vulnerable to his schemes than in EC. Still, the weasel wasn't happy. His "new start" that he'd hoped for had fallen apart before it'd even gotten the chance to get off the ground because of *her*, Artemis. Giovanni's frustration gnawed away at him--not helped by the tiny weasel at home, his little boy--the *mistake* that'd gotten him into this mess.   He often found himself verbally and physically taking out his frustrations on young Tai, even more so when it turned out the little brat wasn't even good enough to help him on cons.  He wished he could get rid of the little bastard once and for all, but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to kill him despite his best efforts.

Years went by, but nothing truly changed for the pair, until young Tai was 8 years old and Giovanni found himself on the bad end of a con gone wrong, having inadvertently found himself attempting to swindle an undercover cop.  Rushing back to the apartment he and Tai shared, he quickly grabbed whatever tools he could and attempted to disappear, leaving the young Tai behind for good.

Throwing himself out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire, Giovanni had managed to disappear and evade the cops---and run right into one of his "victims": "Downtown" Ebony Hare--a "made man" in the Carnades, one of the major local outfits--and someone who he'd given a shoddy brake job.  Ebony recognized the weasel almost immediately and motioned to off him for messing up his car, but after Giovanni pleaded for his life, Ebony spared him-- on the condition that he work off his "debts" to him and the Carnades.

Faced with either paying his dues or paying with his life, Giovanni made the obvious choice and ended up doing quite a few small jobs for Ebony over the course of the next decade and change (approx  13 years) not only fixing his car but also fixing the other vehicles in the outfit--and giving a disgustingly large portio nof the proceeds from his other "work" directly to Ebony.  Once again, Giovanni was trapped doing the very thing he'd been stuck doing since childhood and not only that, but also indebted to a mobster who had no intention of letting him go.  He desperately tried to find a way out, but it was to no avail--until a near miraculous stroke of "luck".

The Black Arms invasion decimated a significant portion of Mobius, especially Northamer, and no place found itself worse off than Westopolis. For most living there, it seemed like the end times as  the city burned around them. But for Giovanni, it was an opportunity to finally disappear--and never come back.

The invasion soon ended, the repairs soon begun, and the Carnades began to operate once more--but Giovanni was nowhere to be found. Despite a thorough search of the city, the weasel had just...vanished, presumably killed by the aliens or escaping to parts unknown after.  

Giovanni's current location is unknown and those who know of him believe him to be dead, but there have been some apparent sightings of the aged con-man.  Some say they've seen him on the outskirts of Sand Blast City, others say they've seen him working his trade with another individual down in the Southern Baronies, and some even say that he's still in Westopolis, working his craft, and sticking close to the headquarters of the East Side Pack, a noted rival of the Carnades.

#OC Refs and Bios #Sonic OC #OC Stuff #Sonic FC #Archie Sonic #Sonic #Sonic the Hedgehog #Giovanni Conti the Weasel #Gambit the Weasel

[lilnasxvevo]

Okay this is your masterpost for your basic don’t-know-nothing about different kinds of stuff you can make with yarn and thread and fabric and stuff--the snooty name for this is “the textile arts.”

I am making this post because I see a lot of people who confuse different kinds of stuff or just don’t know what they are and sometimes people get embarrassed that they don’t know and I don’t want anyone to be embarrassed. Home Ec classes got cut from the high school curriculum decades and decades ago so for young people today, unless you have a parent or grandparent who knows this stuff and has the time and desire to teach you about it, how the hell are you going to know this stuff?

Plus, I am hoping that maybe people will think one of these things looks cool and they will pick up a new hobby. Most of these things are super therapeutic in their own ways and they’re fun and I want more people to discover them. ALL of these things are going to have 80000 tutorials on YouTube and various places on the internet if you want to teach yourself, or if you’re having trouble then look for a yarn shop in your area (or even a weaver’s guild if you live somewhere weird like Minneapolis) and see if they offer a class in what you’re interested in or just see if anyone there would be willing to help you--sometimes yarn stores have a designated day where you can come in and ask for help on something you’re stuck on, because yarn people are nice like that.

First off, the basics, the ones you hear about the most often:

KNITTING

This is a thing where you use yarn to make stuff like scarves, hats, and mittens. It has TWO long needles and it looks like this:

It’s often confused with crochet but while they’re used for a lot of the same things, they’re not the same thing!

If you want to know how the mechanics of knitting works and how passing a bunch of loops back and forth on two sticks eventually makes a scarf, you can watch this video to get an idea of what it looks like and how it’s done. 

CROCHET

Crochet has only one tool called a crochet hook and crocheting looks like this:

Crochet is usually used for things that are more decorative or complex and basically for things that have holes in them on purpose. A lot of blankets made from yarn are going to be crocheted but this isn’t always the case. If you see toys and dolls made out of yarn, they’re almost always going to be crocheted. 

Knitting and crocheting have different strengths and weaknesses and things they’re good at making or less good at making. People usually bring up crocheting a pair of socks as something that you could do, theoretically, but those socks would be an absolute nightmare because of the texture of crochet

Here’s a video showing what crocheting looks like and how it’s done.

SEWING

This is the one where someone else already made the fabric (whew!) and you’re just attaching two pieces to each other. If your sibling rips their favorite sweater or a button falls off, sewing is the skill you would use to fix it. There’s hand-sewing and there’s machine sewing.

Hand sewing looks like this:

Super cheap, all you need is that sharp little needle and some thread and then whatever you’re sewing. This method is better for fixing tears and buttons that fell off or working on small areas--making something big like a dress is going to be dreadfully time-consuming with hand-sewing and you’re going to want to practice a lot first until you can make small and even stitches for something that big. I am not great at sewing, I can basically only fix tears and buttons and I can sew in a straight line and that’s it. Making clothing with sewing looks like a lot of math and I’m not about that, but maybe it’s easier than I think, idk.

Then we got yer basic sewing machine.

I am gonna be honest I’m a little scared of sewing machines but I think that’s just a me thing. Lots of people use them. If you’re interested in learning how to sew but you don’t have a sewing machine, it’s possible (maybe not probable) that a local public library has sewing machines you can use.

I think I am running out of room for photos to attach so I’m gonna end this segment for now.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Land Mammal | Feeding Habits Update #7

Hello! We are back for another Feeding Habits update, but this time we’re chatting chapter 8, aka Land Mammal.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline & excerpts under the cut because this one is a long one! If you missed previous updates or are new to the project, check out the novel intro page (which links all the updates) HERE!

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @if-one-of-us-falls @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @ev--writes , @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories , @august-iswriting, @berinswriting​​

Scene A:

After Harrison enters his apartment to find his ex Lonan hanging out in his kitchen in chapter six, he nopes to his room and tends to his German Shepherd puppy, June.

His mother, Suzanna interrupts him and attempts to explain that he can’t run away from his problems, and after the two argue, Harrison exits his room to find Lonan mopping up Harrison’s tracks of seawater from chapter six.

Scene B:

Harrison brings Lonan to a kiosk for canoe rentals and rents a canoe. Harrison sets up their journey whereas Lonan refuses to enter the water after subtly announcing a new fear of it. Instead, he collects beach stones from the sand. They have their first conversation in months where Harrison eggs Lonan on until he finally gets in the canoe. They set out on the water where Harrison questions Lonan regarding his relationship with Eliza (who he presumes he’s still in a relationship with) who is not there with him. Harrison accuses Lonan of murder and subsequently capsizes the canoe so they reunite underwater.

Scene C:

Harrison wakes up alone the next day on a hay bale, having stolen Lonan’s money (and shirt tea tea tea). We can assume he’s abandoned him and has travelled to the barn mentioned in chapter six. Here, he decides he needs an excuse for why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker and get a head start.

However, as he approaches the farmhouse, the door is opened for him by Sharleen Harvey, his boss’ wife. He bullshits his excuse for being there so early just as Sharleen leads him to the breakfast table where Lonan sits (lol). Everyone there knows Harrison is clearly lying.

Scene D:

Harrison eats pancakes on the porch with the Harveys’ dog when Lonan joins him.

Scene Ea:

We dive into what happened after Harrison capsized their canoe. Harrison gets a lil unhinged and things get a lil murdery oops. This leads to shenanigans!! That is all I will say!!!

Scene Eb:

A very short, poetic paragraph that collects details from sentences in scene Ea that follow a Blue [NOUN] structure.

Scene Ec:

A two-sentence nudge at the ~the shenanigans

Scene F:

Harrison notices Lonan wears the ring he and Harrison tracked Eliza down to retrieve, and questions him as to why he didn’t propose to her with it. He goes on a desperate rant on why they should’ve gotten married before Lonan insists it’s now time for him to bring him home. The end of this scene signals a very slight glimpse of Harrison finally humanizing Lonan after a chapter of demonizing him (and also Harrison’s failing mental state).

Scene Ga:

Harrison falls asleep on the car ride back to his apartment in the city and doesn’t wake up until a day later. In this time, Lonan has stayed with him. He eventually wakes up and immediately notices Lonan fiddling with the guardian angel pendant he gifted him. Harrison seems to finally realize the weight of Lonan’s humanity in this scene and allows himself to trust him once again to some extent.

Scene Gb:

A second poem paragraph that references the water shenanigans that occur in scene Ea

Can you tell I’ve been really into poetry lately the poet in me said hello!

Excerpts:

This is a ~tender excerpt that explains Harrison’s mindset!

Suzanna is prettier in bad light. The tungsten of his bedroom’s cheap lightbulb cratering her waterline so the smudge of kohl shifts, the zip of her crow’s feet, the shimmer on her cheeks, all the soft things about her. She holds a beach towel, cactus print. This new life a second try neither asked for but committed to, this move back to the east their thing. Window-shopping for kitchenware on Sundays, snatching samples of bratwurst and sauerkraut for each other at the market, sharing each other’s toothpicks, burning caramel popcorn and renting the wrong DVDs, inventing new takes on boeuf bourguinon, sending postcards to each other even though they share an address. Undeniably theirs. A life unappreciated, and yet what he says next is “Where’s Eliza?” instead of I don’t want this life to end. Harrison pets the dog.

The following is the entire scene of the boys’ first interaction in months. TW: homicide, religious content, suicide, nods to self-harm

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour timeslot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has the patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money to an animal sanctuary, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

“I’m not keeping the stones.”

“Then why search for them?”

Lonan sets the pile down. They clatter into the sand and toil into new holes, a sand cloud disguising them in the minute he rises, dusts himself off, limb by limb, and walks toward the canoe.

“Is it supposed to be avant garde?” Harrison asks as he gets closer. “The hair. So avant garde. So high fashion. Everyone wants you.” And then, “You’re scared of water now. The last time I knew you that’s where you wanted to be buried. It’s a good opportunity. Take the stones with you. Company that serves a purpose.”

Lonan hikes into the canoe. He takes a seat opposite Harrison and grips the paddle as if it’s a murder weapon ready to save him.

“She might be dead,” Lonan says. They push from the shore, and Lonan scores the water with the paddle until the kiosk shrinks. His hands jitter, unsteady, but takes them through the water. “She’s not with me.”

“Are those things related?” Harrison shifts closer to him, that haunted, lilac, hungry face, the edges of him he knows, he’s touched, the nose he’s nudged, the eyelids he’s dabbed, the ears he’s breathed into and out of, the mouth he’s spoken into and spoken out of. That hunted lilac hungry face, searching for a place where he can be sustenance, a place he knows, a place of comfort. The holes all closed. Those pores no longer constellations he’s memorized. That haunted lilac hungry face no longer his. “How did you do it?” Harrison asks. He stares at Lonan’s hands, the hands he should know, nailbeds he’s scored with his own, fingers he’s matched with his own, palms he’s stamped with his own. “Asphyxiation? Death by drowning. Death by land mammal.” He tries his wrist next, tendons flexing with the paddle, that expanse of skin a flute of ivory, those veins he should know, where they conjoin, where they branch like an oakwood. Those scars he knows the stories of—accidents, non-accidents, safety pins, lighters, cigarettes, ballpoint pens. Harrison could recite those stories a year ago and now they’ve dissolved, unmemories.

“It was an accident.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“I’m sorry.”

They’ve paddled so far from the kiosk, it’s like they’re on their own planet. A planet of only water. A planet uninhabitable, where land mammals sink and never come back up. Lonan’s eyes glisten with moonlight, and his waterline should be recognizable, dampening now, cattled with wet eyelashes, should be memorable, what it felt like to touch their ledge. All foreign. He’s foreign. So foreign. His anti-hair, anti-face, anti-hands, anti-wrists. He’s crying and immemorable. He’s crying and sorry.

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his waterline, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Tea:

The next time he is dry, he is lying on a bale of hay, wearing the wrong shirt, a hundred dollars richer. All of these things are related. The hay only because he paid for a cab with money he only has because of the shirt, five twenties easily slipped into the breast pocket when Lonan wasn’t looking. Twenty on the cab ride to Brooklyn, and now he’s face-first in a spool of hay that is better than sleeping in his own bed.

Harrison being chaotic and embarrassing lol:

A seagull on a ceiling beam gorges on a French fry. It eats with conviction, the fry lost in its throat before he even blinks. It flies through the hole in the roof as Harrison rises off the hay bale.

He did not announce his arrival to Theodore Harvey. In fact, he entered the property like it was his own, picked the barn’s lock with the edge of one of Lonan’s beachstones—he did keep one, in the pocket with his shirt, right behind the money—and slept without worrying what his mother would think. His third life is no longer necessary—it has already been disturbed. It is more efficient to deescalate than renew.

He decides he will not tell Harvey of his stay but lie and say he arrived at the farm early, 6AM, a good man trying to start his work early. Trying to impress. He’ll lie, say he tried picking up a tray of raspberry danishes from the bakery but it was too early for anyone to have opened. He’ll lie, apologize to Harvey’s wife Sharleen for showing up empty-handed. It’s rude to bring no offering.

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exits the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry Danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry Danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wife’s tale,” Harrison is saying as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

Lonan joining Harrison on the porch after the above:

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

TW: This gets a bit murder-y!

Suspended in water, Lonan was aquatic. Blue eyes turning into blue skin into blue lips into blue throat, chest, wrist. Shards of his sheared hair slung in sheathes of bubbles, his face blissfully marred by their movement. Blue collarbones, blue earlobe, blue shoulder blade, blue pinkie finger.

Harrison pulled him by the shirtsleeve before he could swim back to the surface, contorting them under the hex of the overturned boat. Him and the water a double team as they took Lonan by the shoulders and held him underwater, an insect stilled and ready to be inspected. Saltwater burned Harrison’s eyes as he stared, but that wasn’t a deterrent. If he only had a moment to look, he wanted it to be in stillness, in a place time unravels. Blue knuckles, blue abdomen, blue forearm, blue tibia.

When Harrison dragged them toward the six-inch gap between the water’s surface and the canoe’s dome, he held them both there, sheep and shepherd, slain and slaughterer. His hands cupped around his throat like butterfly wings, holding him there for safekeeping. Blue nose-bridge, blue sclera, blue cheekbone, blue teeth. He coughed water.

Iconic dialogue (TW: this is also a bit murder-y!):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

Harrison angst in its prime:

Harrison adjusted his grip around Lonan so one arm supported his torso and the other scored his jaw. His fingers pressed against the skin there so it paled, exploring along that blue skin, blue mouth. The facts were: Lonan was not there for him, or so he told Suzanna, and so he was a changed man, uncoupled, unromanced, a clean restart. They would get out of the water. Harrison would climb into the backseat of the car Lonan drove instead of the passenger’s side because he wouldn’t want to look at him, and they would return to the apartment and not speak again. Suzanna would intervene in the next morning, maybe get up early to make breakfast, French toast, or crepes, or single-serve omelettes, and they would look at each other and it would be easier to forgive Lonan for a decision Harrison made. Suzanna would say he shouldn’t feel rejected when he was the one doing the rejecting and apologize a few hours later, blame it on the side effects of her cough drops. So it would be fine. They would be friends, or whatever they were before Eliza, and Harrison would live his cyclical life with a new-old person who didn’t come searching for him. Glamorous.

This is scene Ec if you were wondering what that looked like:

After, in a wash of cattails, saltwater in their mouths. Their bodies keeling over the other’s like the matrix of a ribcage. Snowmelt turning them both blue.

I find this description v cute ok I need a Harrison flannel:

Lonan is on his fifth button. His skin crests from underneath the squares of orange and red. The fabric smelling dangerously of Harrison: cigarette smoke, cinnamon.

Harrison badgers Lonan about not marrying Eliza and then it gets PURE:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But Lonan only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

The following is from scene Ga:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

When he opens his eyes, Lonan is nuzzled against the windowpane, his arms folded over his chest. He wears only the corduroy jacket, the layers of blankets piled over Harrison’s arms in dense tufts, like the Pasteis de Nata he and Suzanna watch the bakers laminate at the local bakery.

The only valid thing about snow is that I can get these descriptions out of it:

The snow has levelled to a healthy four inches. In sunbeams, it griddles with light, fractals picking the windshield, Lonan’s eyes. And for a few minutes, this is it: the blanket life-ring, the sun coiled in the space between them. Suzanna makes apple cider in weather like this. Cinnamon to pair with the subtle remnants of winter, cloves to warm, turmeric and ginger to surprise. Inside the apartment, Harrison imagines her stirring a saucepot bobbing with fruit and rind, skinning oranges, lemons, turning the kitchen lights on, off, on, off, until her son comes home.

And to end this update, here is the final “poem-y” paragraph:

Land mammals in the water. Spitting bubbles and rims of wave. Their mouths caverns, limbs rattlesnaking, lungs inflating. Land mammals in the water. Coasts apart now re-seamed, kicking up sand, knocking teeth, touching spines. Land mammals in the water. Eyelashes drowning, mouth to mouth. Land mammals in the water, gaping at each other’s throats.

Thank you for reading! Hope y’all enjoyed this very chaotic chapter!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #feedinghabits #mothwork

[wellimaginethat]

Bruises: Chapter 2

SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON 5 FINALE OF CHICAGO MED!!!

Pairing: Crockett Marcel x (female) Reader

Word Count: 3121

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON 5 FINALE!!! This happened because of Chicago Med’s season finale. I got this idea and it just stuck. I couldn’t shake it so I had to write it. (I know I said it would be posted at 21:00/9PM central time but I was playing cards with my mom, sorry!)

Trigger Warning(s): MENTION OF CHILD’S DEATH (Dr. Marcel’s daughter, Harper), ABANDONMENT, divorce, CAR ACCIDENT, MENTION OF BLOOD (in later chapter), slight injury (in later chapters), hospital stay (in later chapters), bad medical knowledge because I’m not a doctor (yet, maybe someday, lol), Dr. Manning is a noisy brat (no hate, maybe a little shade, but no full on hate), DEPRESSION (in later chapters), mention of alcohol abuse, mentions of self harm (in later chapters)

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: This is probably, kinda, sorta AU because I’ve missed some of Chicago Med (the others too due to work) so I’m just going based off what I know and research (which has come up that we don’t know much about Marcel’s past, other than this shocking new tidbit). Also, the name is from the song Bruises by Lewis Capaldi, which is the song I was listening to while writing this

Y/N = Your Name

Y/EC = Your Eye Color

~ I've been told, I've been told to get you off my mind; But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind ~

You didn’t know what to expect. Whether you thought he would call you or not, which led to a lot of pacing back and forth in your hotel room. You actually hoped he would call, having decided that if anything, you would at least be able to bury the lingering feelings so you could officially move on.

You figured Crockett already moved on, and you didn’t blame him, you were the one that actually left.

Part of you wondered if you had stayed, if your marriage would have survived. If you would have been able to work it out, grieved Harper and moved forward together. You wondered if he would’ve stopped staying out so late, if he would’ve stopped avoiding you.

You then started to think of how nice it would have been if you guys could have worked it out and gone back to how things had been before everything happened, sure it wouldn’t have been exactly the same, but back to how loving you two had been towards each other.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you were startled when your phone started buzzing on the bed. You grabbed it to look at who was calling you and were greeted by a number you didn’t know, hoping it was your estranged husband, you slide the answer button across the screen and put the phone up to your ear.

Pausing to take a breath before you said anything, you prepared yourself for it to be him, but you were also ready for it to be a telemarketer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?” Once his voice came across the line, your chest tightened and you forgot how to breath. It almost felt like when you first started seeing each other, how you’d get all excited just by his voice. “Hello? Y/N?”

You cleared your throat. “Sorry, bad reception, you kept breaking out.” You lied, not wanting him to think you were the giant dork you were. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually call me.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to leave your number.” Came his response with a slight chuckle.

You smiled, glad that he didn’t seem upset right now.

“So do you actually want to talk or are we just going to make small talk again?” You could hear the apprehension in his voice.

“I want to talk. Like actually talk. I think the only way for us to fully move on and leave things in the past is for us to talk.” You responded, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in your throat.

He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Do you want to have this conversation over the phone or are you free to grab a cup of coffee?”

“I could get behind grabbing coffee.” You nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“Do you want to meet up tonight or tomorrow morning?” He asked after you told him the hotel you were staying at.

“What would work better for you?”

“I think I’d have more time tonight, I have to be at the hospital pretty early tomorrow.”

“Then tonight’s fine. Want me to meet you there?”

He paused. “Do you need a ride? Since your car…” He trailed off.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about my car being totaled. Great.” You sighed. “No, I can get a cab.”

“Cabs are expensive.”

“Really? I haven’t really noticed, they didn’t seem that bad.” You said offhandedly, then after you heard him sigh, you stopped. “If you want to give me a ride, you can pick me up at the Dayside Hotel.”

“I can be there in a half hour, I’d like to go home and change first.”

“Okie dokie.” You replied with a smile, then mentally kicked yourself. “I’ll see you then, I’ll meet you out front.”

You were pretty sure you heard him breath out a laugh, like he was trying to suppress it. “Alright, I’ll see you then.” And with that, he hung up.

You made sure the call was over before tossing your phone back onto the bed and falling forward on it, groaning. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You huffed to yourself, mentally kicking yourself for letting yourself daydream before the phone call, and for letting yourself get flustered by his voice. You knew you needed to get this over with and get out of Chicago and put some distance between the two of you before you got yourself hurt.

You pushed yourself off the bed and went into the bathroom to take a look at yourself, leaning towards the mirror to make sure your makeup was still decent, then you ran your hands through your hair. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard, but you didn’t want to look like you just rolled out of bed either.

After you were done getting ready, you still had twenty-eight minutes to kill before he was supposed to be there. You just then realized that you should have insisted on taking a cab, because you started to doubt that he’d want to give you a ride back after your talk.

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

He was there right on time, you started to walk towards his car as he drove into the hotel’s parking lot. As soon as you got to his car, you took a deep breath before opening the door to get in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He greeted you, waiting until you were in the car and buckled up before he pulled out of the parking lot. “How’re you feeling?” He asked

“Hmm?” You turned to look at him.

“How’re you feeling?” “Fine.” You assumed he meant because of the accident. “My head still kinda hurts and I’m still a little achy but I’m fine.”

“Good.” He nodded as he turned his full attention back to the street ahead of the car.

You nodded once before turning your attention away from him and directed it out of your window, wishing you would have just taken a cab, it wouldn’t have been so awkward. And it was going to be even more awkward if he did give you a ride back to the hotel.

Soon enough he was parking the car on the side of the street, you couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, practically throwing yourself out once it was in park.

He walked over to the meter and put a few quarters in. “I think I have some quarters.” You piped up, going to dig in your purse.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it.” He told you with a small smile, turning his attention away from you to finish what he was doing.

You nodded reluctantly and stood there a bit idly, waiting for him to finish so you could head in to the coffee shop and get this over with.

He walked over to you once he was done and motioned for the two of you to carry on up the sidewalk towards the coffee shop.

You began walking and he fell into step next to you, neither of you talking yet.

Once the two of you got to the coffee shop, he hurried a step ahead of you to open the door for you.

“Still the same gentleman you always were, I see.” You commented with a bit of a smile and he nodded to you, letting you walk in before following you into the coffee shop.

You headed over to the counter to order your coffee, and you made sure to have your card ready to swipe it before he could even think about trying to pay for the coffee.

“I would have gotten it.” He told you.

“And that’s why I made sure to be ready.” You smirked a bit.

“Y/N.” He sighed.

“Crockett.” You retorted in the same tone of voice.

You could see him slowly give up this silly argument and you felt a small sense of victory.

“Don’t look so smug, I’m just trying to keep you in a good mood so you don’t run out.” He told you under his breath as soon as the barista turned away.

You huffed as you frowned up at him, getting ready to throw a snide comment when you stopped yourself. “Well a victory is still a victory either way and I won this argument.” You tell him in a soft voice, meaning it as a joke.

He heard the slight humor in your voice and smiled down at you.

The minute his eyes met yours, your heart clenched and you had to turn away, facing back toward the front counter, waiting for your drinks.

Time seemed to slow down as you watched the barista make your drink and bring it over, she handed your drink over to you.

You took it and turned to Crockett. “I’m going to grab a table.” You just didn’t want to stand there next to him and pretend this isn’t awkward.

He nodded to you as he waited for his coffee.

You found a table near the wall, away from the others sitting in the coffee shop, and took a seat. He joined you within moments and took a seat across from you, you could feel his eyes on you but your eyes were trained on your drink.

“So are we going to talk or are we going to sit here in silence?” He asked after a few minutes of complete silence between the two of you.

Your Y/EC eyes met his brown ones, and you nodded. “Yeah, just trying to figure out where to start.” You breathed out. “I don’t know how to start.”

“The beginning would probably be a good start.” He commented, not taking his eyes away from yours. “I’ve asked you twice now why you left, and while you did answer me, you could probably elaborate on that.”

You sighed. “I don’t-” You stopped and ran a hand through your hair, looking away from him for a moment before looking back at him. “I don’t know how.” You tell him honestly. “I don’t know how to explain what was going through my head at that time. All I know is that I felt like you stopped caring about me. It felt like you shut down completely. Harper died and you cut me out.” You stopped yourself and looked out the big front window, willing yourself not to cry. Your eyes were filling with tears but you blinked them away, you didn’t want to draw attention to the two of you by crying.

“I never stopped caring about you.” He whispered out, his hand coming across the table to rest on top of yours.

You looked back at him. “It sure seemed like it.” You replied quietly. “You were never there. You left me at the hospital and then you were never home and it felt like you just...shut down.”

“I did.” He said quietly. “But I didn’t stop caring about you. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to grieve her and be there for you.”

“I wanted us to grieve her together. I was scared of losing you too. I was scared that one night you weren’t going to come back home.”

He stopped. So that was what you had meant, not that he was going to find someone else. “When you said that yesterday I assumed you meant that I’d find someone else.” He admitted quietly.

“Well I was afraid of that too.” You admitted just as quietly, a bit sheepishly in fact. You sighed. “It was always a fear. But I was more worried that something was going to happen to you, you were drinking every night and you were grieving on top of that, I was worried something bad was going to happen.”

He nodded to you before sighing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“And I’m sorry I left.” You told him honestly, your eyes meeting his. “But there’s not much we can do about it now, it’s in the past.”

He nodded. “But we can still talk about this.”

“Or maybe we can just leave it at that and move on.” You didn’t even realize you had said it until you saw his expression turn into a pained one, but he quickly masked it. You swallowed hard. “I think we owe it to ourselves to leave the past in the past and move on, to part ways on good terms and go our separate ways.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying your face before he finally spoke. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” You breathed out the lie with a definitive nod. “Yes, I think that’s what’s best.”

“But is that what you want?” He asked again.

You paused, it wasn’t what you wanted, but you weren’t going to go down that rabbit hole. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” You could see the change in his demeanor, he straightened up, slowly pulling his hand away from yours. “We can get some divorce papers drawn up and sign them, it shouldn’t be too difficult since we’ve already been separated for seven years and living separate lives.”

You cleared your throat and nodded. “All we’d have to do is sign the papers and then it’ll be over and we won’t have to worry about it anymore.” You gave a halfhearted shrug. “I, um, I’m gonna go.” You said quietly after a moment. “I’ll just get a cab back to the hotel.” You stood up.

“Y/N.” He stood up, only to be met with you holding a hand out to stop him, shaking your head.

“It’s fine.” You said quietly, heading towards the door. You were looking back as you walked out, seeing him sit back in his chair, and ended up running right into someone. You quickly turned to face them. “Oh my god I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay?” You asked the woman in front of you quickly, recognizing her as the female doctor that Crockett was talking to earlier, this must be a frequent coffee spot for the hospital staff, or maybe it was their place. You felt a twinge of pain at that thought but pushed it away.

The brunette smiled at you and waved it off. “It’s fine.” She assured you. “You’re Crockett Marcel’s wife, right?”

You cleared your throat. “Soon to be ex wife, yes.” You nodded to her, hating the sound of it.

“Oh.” She seemed shocked by that statement. “I thought the two of you were going to work it out.”

You tilted your head and raised a brow at her. “Why would you assume that?” You hoped that didn’t sound as rude as you feared it did.

“Well, he just...seemed like he wasn’t over you.” She said uneasily, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business.”

“It’s not.” You replied with a slight shrug. “But you two seem to be friends, so it’s okay.” You brushed it off. “What do you mean he seemed like he wasn’t over me?”

“Well when we were talking earlier, when he thought you left without saying anything, he was hurt.” She told you.

“Oh.” You barely spoke out as you looked around a bit, shocked by this new information and not sure what to do with it. “I’m sorry, I’m Y/N.” You offer out your hand to shake hers, which she does.

“Natalie.” She told you with a smile, releasing your hand.

“Well Natalie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry if I’m not more friendly, I’m just…”

“Going through a lot, obviously.” Her smiled turned warmer, almost knowingly.

You nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Well with everything that’s going on, plus the car accident you were in, I can imagine you might be a little frazzled.” Natalie commented with a slight shrug.

You nodded again. “Yeah…” You trailed off, a slight silence falling between the two of you and you were getting ready to make your exit.

“Again, I know this is none of my business, but if you still care about Crockett, I think you should talk to him. You guys might be able to work it out, if that’s what you want of course, because I’m pretty sure that’s what he wants.” It was obvious that she knew this was none of her business, and it was obvious that she was overstepping, but you couldn’t be mad because it was obvious that she was just trying to help.

You offered her a smile. “I’d love nothing more than to fix my marriage, but I don’t see that happening. There’s a lot of hurt there and I don’t think we’d be able to move past it.” That was a lie, you wondered if it was obvious. “And I don’t want to cause him any more pain than I already have.”

She nodded, she looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t.

You smiled a bit wider at her. “It was nice meeting you, Natalie, but I should really get going.” You stepped away then. You heard the door open as you were walking away and spared a glance back to see your husband step out, you had expected it to just be Natalie walking in. You quickened your pace, not wanting him to try to stop you from catching a cab.

Crockett saw you retreating from the cafe, then saw Natalie standing there, looking like she had just meddled.

“You should go after her.” Natalie told him, looking up at him with a friendly smile.

He looked at her for a moment before sighing. “Listen, I know you’re just trying to help, but don’t. She obviously doesn’t want to talk, much less work things out.”

“But she does.” Natalie insisted softly, still looking up at him. “I just talked to her and she does.”

“Please just stay out of it.” Crockett sighed.

Natalie sighed then too. “Fine, I will, but not before I say this. I just talked to her and she wants to work things out, she’s just scared.”

“And did she tell you what she’s scared of.”

“Being hurt and hurting you more than what’s already been done.” Natalie told him. “Don’t give up, you have a chance to work things out and get her back. I know if it was me and I had a chance to get my husband back, I’d do whatever it took.” She spoke softly, reaching out to squeeze his arm before stepping around him and walking into the coffee shop, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk alone with his thoughts.

#crockett marcel imagine #crockett marcel x reader #dr crockett marcel x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #one chicago imagines

[porcupine-girl]

Zimbits AU, 1500 words

I’ll post this on AO3 eventually, but I have to think of a title first... and edit it and shit... *eyeroll*

This is from @stultiloquentia‘s prompt, “They meet in an antiques shop where they fight over a historically interesting teapot.“

It’s not quite a teapot, but close enough?

---

Jack curses under his breath as he enters the shop. Cute Blonde Guy is there again.

Not Cute Blonde Guy. He really needs to stop thinking about this guy like that. It doesn't matter that he's cute, what matters is that he somehow always knows just when Jack is going to show up at every local antique shop and manages to not only get there first, but lay a claim on whatever item Jack would otherwise be interested in buying that day.

Okay, he doesn't get there first every time. Last weekend, Jack had gotten to the store up in Attleboro first and couldn't help feeling a rush of triumph when Cute—when Blonde Sniper Guy's eyes had landed on the pie safe Jack had just paid for.

That rush of triumph definitely did not deflate at the way Blonde Sniper Guy's face fell when he saw the SOLD tag on the pie safe.

Jack knows it's silly to get so competitive about it. Sometimes he gets what he wants, sometimes someone beats him to it. That's how antiquing goes. It's just frustrating that for the past three months, it always seems to be that guy. Why is he so interested in late 19th century kitchenware, anyhow?

Jack picked up antiquing as a hobby a couple years after landing his job teaching high school history. He's found that being able to show his students actual artifacts brings the past to life for them in a way books just can't. Adam, another history teacher at his school, has a collection of military memorabilia from various wars, but Jack prefers to look for items from people's daily lives. His students seem to connect with those better—they see the people who lived through these historical events as people, not just characters in a story.

Last year Dex, who teaches both wood shop and home ec, approached the history teachers with some ideas for cross-disciplinary projects—having his students make things that reflected what they were learning about in their history classes. It's been a raging success, and they've been working to expand their collection of still-usable antique cookware. It's not easy on their teachers' salaries, but Jack's parents have been very generous about supporting the history department, and with their donations it's going well. (In return, Jack has promised that once their collection is large enough they'll set up a program to loan pieces out to other local schools.)

That particular effort would be going even better if this guy didn't seem determined to buy up all of said antique cookware in the Providence area. Sometimes Jack has to go up to the Boston suburbs to avoid him—and sometimes even that doesn't work.

For now, he tries to ignore Blonde Sniper Guy's presence. It works for about ten minutes, but then Jack notices not one, but a stack of at least five original Frisbie pie tins.

"Perfect," he murmurs to himself, and starts to move toward them—but he's still ten feet away when a blonde head darts in from the other side of the store.

"Oh, would you look at these!" Less Cute Every Time Jack Sees Him Guy squeals as he grabs the stack of tins. "How perfect can you get?"

Jack clenches his teeth and fully intends to just go and leave the guy to his find, but he unintentionally lets out a grunt of frustration, only three or four feet away from where the guy is staring at his treasure.

Ugly Blonde Sniper Guy's head whips around at the sound. Jack tries and fails to keep those wide brown eyes from changing his mental assessment of the man's attractiveness.

"Oh," the guy says. He looks a little guilty, a little wary. "Did you have your eye on these?"

Jack blinks. This is the first time they've actually spoken to one another. He's not sure if the guy is trying to gloat or what.

"I—yeah. I mean, I saw them. But you got to them first so." He shrugs.

"Well, there are…" Blonde Sniper Guy counts the pie tins quickly. "Six of them. And I really shouldn't buy all of 'em, I don't know what I'd even do with that many. Would you be happy with three?"

Jack is taken aback, but manages to nod.

"Um, sure," he finally says as the guy is separating three tins from the stack. "That would be great."

Increasingly Cute Again Blonde Guy hands them over with a smirk. "I'm sure they'll look lovely in that circa 1850 real cherry wood pie safe," he says, and Jack blushes at his teasing tone.

"Er, yeah," he stammers as he takes the pie tins. "Sorry about that?"

"Fair is fair," the guy says, then shrugs. "Honestly, it was out of my price range anyhow. I think if I want one of those I'll need to get one in worse condition and refinish it myself or something." His eyes flick over Jack's body, assessing. Jack can't think of a single thing to say. "I've been curious," the guy admits. "You don't look like most of the people I've run into at these places. I've got a bakery to decorate, what's your excuse? Your wife a collector?"

Jack frowns at the assumption. "That's very gender essentialist of you," he says, feeling like Shitty should be here to pat him on the head. The guy seems to suppress a grin at that. "I'm a history teacher. I use this stuff in my lessons."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Cute Blonde Guy says, and his enthusiasm seems earnest. "Lord, if my history teachers had used more antique pie plates in my lessons, I'm sure I'd remember a lot more. I took a few classes on food-related history in college, they were fascinating. Where do you teach?"

Jack is surprised at the guy's continued interest in talking to him, to say the least, but he answers reflexively. "Classical? High School?" The guy nods, but the name doesn't spark any recognition in his eyes. "Where did you go to college that had food history classes?"

"Samwell, up in Massachusetts," the guy says with a smile. "My first job out of college was here in Providence, and I kinda liked the city, so I stuck around. How'd you wind up here? You don't sound like you're from Rhode Island any more'n I am."

"I went to Brown," Jack says. He's not sure why they're still having this conversation, but he doesn't want it to end. Unfortunately, he is a shit conversationalist. "I, uh. Yeah. Liked the area."

"Wait, wait!" Cute Guy's eyes widen, and he puts a hand on Jack's arm. Jack tries very hard not to look at the hand. "Did you say Classical? I'm an idiot. Do you know Larissa Duan?"

"Of course," Jack says. Larissa is an art teacher, and one of Jack's closest friends outside of his own department. He opens his mouth to ask how this guy knows her—then stops as he remembers a conversation he had with her recently. "She brought in some muffins and scones the other day and said a friend of hers from college just opened a bakery. Is that you?"

"I assume so," the guy says, his smile widening. "If she has any other friends who own bakeries, she's been holding out on me! Oh gosh, now that I know these are for her school, I can't possibly take them—" He starts to hand Jack his three pie tins, but Jack presses them back.

"No, no, I don't need six either," Jack insists. "I think three each works fine."

"Well, okay," Really Cute Guy says, and hugs the tins to his chest.

They stand there looking at each other for a moment. Jack desperately wants to keep the conversation going, but he doesn't know what to ask first—where the guy's bakery is? How he met Larissa? Whether he'll keep buying antiques like this once his bakery is sufficiently decorated?

"Well," the guy says, shifting from one foot to the other. "This is probably all for me today, so I should just—" He nods toward the register. "It was nice to meet you," he says as he starts to—slowly—make his way over there. "Small world, huh? I'll have to tell Lardo about this."

Jack nods and watches the guy walk to the register.

"Um, wait!" Jack finally finds his voice and quickly catches up to Actually Kind of Beautiful Now That I've Stared At Him For A While Guy. "What's your name?"

"Oh my Lord, where are my manners?" The guy says with a gasp. He shifts the pie tins to his left hand so he can stick out his right for Jack to shake. "I'm Eric."

"I'm Jack," Jack says. The touch of Eric's skin on his has him feeling a little dazed, and their hands very definitely linger longer than necessary. "I see you all the time," he blurts out. "Maybe—maybe we should go together next time? To the monthly flea market next weekend?"

Eric bites his lip, but it doesn't stop his grin. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

It's not until after they've exchanged numbers and Jack is walking back to his apartment with his share of the pie tins, playing the conversation back in his head, that it hits him that maybe Eric wasn't asking about a wife for gender essentialist reasons at all.

#zimbits #omgcp #ficlet #zimbits au #zimbits fic #pg writes #haha I've already found one fuckup and edited it

[harveywritings92]

Soulmate Au: Ezio Auditore x Reader 1/2

Soulmate AU: heterochromia one of your eyes is the color of your Soulmates. Note: if your eyes are the same color as your bonded one's eyes you are blind in that eye until you meet them, like it's dull and clouded.

Monteriggioni, Tuscany

Y/n sighed annoyed as her boss handed her some crates containing dresses for the brothel. He barked that they needed to be delivered last week! And now the Madame was paying them half of what they were promised! All because someone went and got herself sick. "Yep... that's me miss selfish!" She sassed as the old man turned purple and piratically shoved the poor girl out of the tailor shop!

Y/n grimaced as she tried to look over the boxes that obscured her vision, when the y/ht felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up! her mismatched/half-blind eyes started looking around unnerved and as she kept walking the y/hc woman felt someone burning holes in the back of her head and finally looked behind her to see...

The blacksmith's assistant? um...Abilio? ducking behind a hay cart! Y/n felt fear pierce her heart recalling the look he was giving her, the y/wt woman swallowed she couldn't really place it...she quickly looked back ahead unsure of what to do, why was he following her? she whipped her head back around not really noticing what was going on in front of her; Until she walked right into to someone, and almost causing one of the box to fall!

luckily the person she bumped into caught it. "Oh that was close one." The person mused The y/ht was going to thank and apologize to the person she bump into only to for them to reveal it was her old neighbor Leonardo Da Vinci..Y/n sighed in relief that it was just him and not one of the rich traders coming through! She then cautiously glanced back behind her to see Abilio sulking back towards the shopping district.

"Are you you alright Y/n?" Leonardo asked noticing her unease, the y/ht woman put on a brave face insisted she was fine, the inventor gave her a concerned look recalling how she was ill the week before and thought she was still recovering, he then offered to help deliver the boxes with her, before she could protest Leo had already taken two of the four boxes she was force to carry.

"You really didn't have to help Leo..."

"Nonsense Mia amica, what kind of man would I be if I let a woman carry all these heavy crates by herself?"

"I suppose, Grazie."

"How's Monteriggioni been treating you by the way?"

The two old neighbors chatted as they finally made to the brothel with no other problems, Leonardo set the boxes down as the Madame scrutinized the one of the dresses she taken out of the crates while she was doing this Y/n was looking anywhere that didn't have half naked drunk people pissing away their life savings on cheap women and wine, Before accidentally locking eyes with a handsome man who was in mid romp with some painted redhead.

[Reader has different colored eyes: Y/n grimaced and turned to Leonardo and the Madame both gasped causing the y/nat woman's brows to furrow bemused. "What's wrong?" the inventor just pointed at his face...No, his letf/right eye? then at her stunned, It took a moment before she realized he was trying tell Y/n that her eyes were...She let out a scoff as Y/n's brief flicker of happiness slowly dissolved into disgust, as she realized just who her soulmate was! she shot the man she locked eyes with a waspish look, just as the Prostitute mentioned his eyes had changed he looked up at the h/c...]

[Reader's eyes are the same color as Ezio's: Y/n scoffed at the man in disgust when the y/ht woman realized she could see out of her Left/Right eye, he must've realized it to, because he stopped his actions and gawked at her... then looked down at the prostitute he was busy with, all the color drained from his face. Y/n humph'd  and turned a stunned Leonardo who was trying to figure what got Y/n suddenly rattled...]

"Figures I would get some sporco maiale for a soulmate," She sneered at the still gawking man the redheaded woman under him giggled and pulled him into a kiss. He didn't even bother pulling away, well, at least from the disgusted woman's perspective. "let's go Leo I'm gonna be sick..." Y/n spat dragging the inventor out of the brothel, the madame sheepishly thanked Y/n for delivering the dresses, and paid the annoyed woman in full instead of half-price then apologized that she had to find her soulmate in a place like this, Y/n didn't care! she just wanted to wanted to go home, to forget this day and sleep off the wave of nausea she was feeling.

The walk back to the tailor shop was rather tense, Leonardo didn't know what to say, what could one say after meeting your soulmate in that kind of situation? The inventor didn't even have the heart to tell Y/n that he was best friends with her soulmate and knew what Ezio was like when it came to women, He wanted to tell her that the dark haired man always did say; if he ever encountered his soulmate he would give up that lifestyle... But to have met his soulmate whilst he was indulging in said lifestyle, may have just blown Ezio's chances with Y/n altogether! He was probably going to get barrage of questions from the young man when he returned to the Villa.

After Leonardo dropped her off at the tailor shop, Y/n was confronted by her boss looked ready to tear into her again only to shut up when she toss him a large sack of coin, He grunted as he counted it out and glowered at her only to do a double take when he noticed her eyes. 

"You found your soulmate." he pointed out gruffly the y/ht woman nodded curtly he cocked a brow. "You don't seem too happ-" Y/n cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it..." she huffed returning to checking the fabrics inventory,Then her boss realized that Y/n's soulmate may have been a patron at the brothel... the old man winced wishing the poor soul good luck Y/n doesn't forgive so easily.

Unbeknownst to Y/n and her boss Abilio was listening in on their conversation he got a dark look in his eyes "She's mine, if I can't have her.." he muttered darkly before returning to the forge, not realizing he also being watched, A figure with glowing eyes and white hood watched from the rooftops as the young man disappeared into the blacksmith's a frown formed on the mystery man's scared lips seeing the man's aura change from blue to red, he silently stepped away from the ledge and into the shadows...

A few days later...

Something was going on...this morning Y/n found a planter outside her house filled with Hyacinths,white Daffodils and Violets. she frowned cocking a brow at them before checking around for who could of left them, but there was no one in her alley, save for a thief sitting on a roof smoking a pipe and the occasional Mercenary doing their patrol rounds.

The h/c hummed and brought the flowers inside, she left them on her dinner table before heading to work. making sure to speed walked passed the blacksmith's when she was at the shop. Y/n was greeted by a note left by her boss. that he and his wife have gone to Forli for the renew of their vows... Don't get the y/ht woman wrong she was happy for her boss but that means she was left with unfinished commissions and deliveries...

She checked the list for today luckily there was only one delivery t'was repair and dye job for the daughter some well off wine family in the vineyards not far from the city. Y/n hanged out of her dress into a simple shirt and trousers and packed the dress to a crate and secured it to a frame and carried it on her back she got her cane sword. 

She made sure to leave a note telling customers of her absence and she should return in an hour or so, and to please leave any clothes or requests with the blacksmith until she returned, The y/ec woman then swallowed her nerves and went to Francisco to tell him to hold her customers until she got back...

Franco gladly agreed to keep an eye on the shop for her, but before she even took a step away Y/n noticed a new man working the forge. "What happen to Abilio?" she asked reluctantly as a look of disappoint and anger crossed the old man's face. "I had to let him go...Seems he was planning to steal from Ezio Auditore." He said before a clanging noise caused them the jump the blacksmith and seamstress looked to see Franco's new apprentice had just knocked a rack of daggers off the shelf the old man cussed the younger one out as Y/n winced at the colorful language being thrown around and quickly got out of there!

"He and a my Granny would've gotten along fine..." The y/wt woman mused she felt like a little girl back in Florence again! Franco used words she hadn't heard in years! she made her way to the stables, Y/n sighed relived to find a gray horse left and the stable master napping on a stool. "Excuse May I borrow that horse?" the man didn't even open his eyes before gruffly answering. "No." The y/hc woman frowned taking a carriage would be too expensive, her grip on the frame straps tightened.

 "Please, I'll bring it back!" the lazy stable master snorted still not opening his eyes. "Like I haven't heard that before!" just then the stable boy got one look at her blanched dropped a bucket and walked over to the stable master frantically whispering something to him.

The man's eyes snapped open and immediately jumped to his feet looked at the very startled and confused woman. "Mi dispiace! Madonna! y-you wanted this horse, right?" he stammered pointing at the gray mare as Y/n briefly looked at the stable bot who was face-palming behind his boss, as the y/hc woman smiled tightly and nodded as the stable master got the horse ready. 

The stable boy helped her up on to the mare and his boss kept apologizing, disconcerting the y/ht woman even more as her horse trotted down the road Y/n briefly glanced back at the guarded walls of Monteriggioni bemused.

People have been treating her differently seemingly overnight! Women would glare at her, Men would kind of avoid her; the market was giving her discounts on her purchases, thieves would pick her pockets one minute then return it the next scared out of there minds! 

and just the other day a group of drunk men had cornered her, only for the y/ht woman to be saved by a coterie of courtesans, at night a couple of mercenaries have started to follow her home; and now there was the incident at the stables... it was starting to freak her out!  

Her thoughts drifted back to that perverted oaf fate seemed to cruelly bond her to. *does he have something to do with this?* she thought was he someone of importance? well, he did have nice clothes...even if they were on the floor. He must've belong to some wealthy family that would explain her nightly escorts, but that didn't explain the Courtesans or the thieves...

Y/n was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of thunder in the distance her y/ec squinted and and saw greenish storm clouds in the distance... *I better get this job done now, I don't want to get caught in that.* she thought to herself she finally made to the farm the girl loved the dress and her father seemed pleased with the work and paid Y/n in full as she haphazardly listened to the the girl gush to her mother about if Ezio would like it?

*that name again..* The girl's mum seemed worried saying she's doesn't think that'll happen, she heard rumors he's found his soulmate and has lost interest in other women, the girl looked upset before smugly declaring "he'll forget all about that Nobody once he sees her in this dress!" Her parents immediately scolded her and the father offered Y/n a room because of the on coming storm. but the seamstress declined saying she had other orders to fill and her boss would have fit before leaving.

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

Notes: FLOWER MEANINGS: 

purple Hyacinths= Forgive me, 

white Daffodils= New beginnings/second chances, 

Violets= My destiny in your hands.

[Ezio thoughts when he realized who Y/n is: Nooo! Not here, Not now, not like this! never like this!]

#assassin's creed 2 #Ezio auditore x reader #assassin's creed x reader #ezio auditore da firenze #leonardo da vinci

[lovelyirony]

honestly i think it would be really cool to explore the possibility of what if petunia evans had been a witch. she got her letter a year late--dumbledore says the post was crazy, mcgonagall doesn’t say anything--and she goes to lily, who she hasn’t been the nicest to, and timidly asks if she can get a map to where she’s supposed to go. 

“you won’t know the first thing, come with me,” her sister says. “sev and i can take you.” and petunia doesn’t exactly want to go with them because she gets a weird feeling around lily’s best friend, but okay. 

the world is as realistic as it is magical. petunia can hear the casual spell and flick of a wand to grab a dress from high up, and lily laughs as she takes it all in. 

“we have to get you a wand first.” 

and lily teaches her everything. what you shouldn’t wear, how to accessorize, and who to talk to. 

“do not talk to james potter or anyone who calls you anything mean,” lily says. 

(petunia never really talks to james because he is ridiculous and too much of a boy. 

but lily breaks this rule several times over.) 

petunia is there for her sister when severus snape starts saying nasty things, when she gets the position of head girl, and when they have exams. 

She is there when their parents are out of town and lily forges the signature because “tuney, you have to go to hogsmeade with us.” 

she likes the group that lily is part of, the group that she shouldn’t be a part of because all of those people are so...so good. and brash and blunt and petunia has always been too proper. 

“you speak the queen’s english,” sirius tells her over a drink of butterbeer. “you’re not like the rest of us.” 

and in a way, she isn’t. petunia doesn’t go to the magic world for work. she finds that when she takes the wizard version of home ec, she’s one of the few students that can excel in it 

so she opens her own bakery in london, buys her own flat, and settles down nicely. there’s a florist shop at the corner, and she can get small little gatherings for her tables when the morning rush comes in 

lily and james visit frequently, and james always tries to accio some of the lemon-poppyseed scones. when lily tells her the big news of harry, petunia receives calls right before closing sheepishly asking if there are any raspberry cupcakes left 

(petunia never has any left, but she bakes some extra thirty minutes to close because she knows her sister will want some) 

when harry potter is sent into the world, there are dangerous times. and petunia knows this, probably knows it more than she should. she sees the worried looks on his parents’ faces when she comes over to babysit while the Order meets. 

but she knows that right now, it’s her job to make Harry laugh and hopefully not wail as they’re trying to plan out some attacks. 

it is october when petunia worries. she worries when they change from sirius to peter, and she tells them so. she has never liked peter, neither has lily much. but he’s always been okay, and james likes him well enough. besides, he’s like family. 

just 

like 

family 

except he’s not, and he nearly gets lily and james killed. probably would, if it hadn’t been for petunia’s insistence that she come on halloween to take a picture of her nephew in his little bat costume. after all, she had found it on sale 

petunia doesn’t use magic often, but she knows enough of it to carry her wand on her 

they are not sure why the green light reflected off lily, but it does. 

there is a man crumpled on the kitchen, and petunia says she didn’t like the yellow tile of their kitchen anyway after all is said and done 

harry spends many nights at “aunt tuney’s” as he’s growing up, and complains consistently about not being allowed to fly indoors or out of doors, what would Miss Arabella Figg say? 

(Miss Fig would say that Harry would be the best seeker in a couple of years, and some of her cats needed a good scare anyways) 

harry learns how to bake things, and use a little bit of magic along the way 

he also learns that aunt tuney knows plenty of magic, she just doesn’t always use it like his parents like to. 

when he is eleven, he gets his letter while his parents are at work and he is at the bakery after school. petunia made him tea and gave him a biscuit and helped him with some maths homework. (they keep changing the methods! why!) 

and aunt tuney is the one who accompanies them, because while they can get everything on the list, it’s a brand new experience. petunia laughs as harry chooses an owl named hedwig and makes a new friend with a weasley 

“You remember arthur!” james tells tuney when they’re all having a drink after harry has gone to bed “he’s the one who was always making friends with the muggles. i think one gave him a rubber duck and he cried.” 

aunt petunia is there at the train station with a container of sweets for harry to share on the train, and a promise to treat everyone rather nicely and to not get into too much trouble 

they get a letter home from professor mcgonagall saying that harry would be a seeker his first year 

“minnie, holy shit!” james says. “my son!” 

“he’s going to get a bigger head,” lily groans to her sister. “i need stronger tea.” 

petunia meets a nice man who owns a bookshop a few minutes’ walk down the street, and he likes writing about magic. he also attended hogwarts, a year up from petunia. he writes children’s books, and thinks harry is hilarious and one of his books lands big. his name is david. 

their marriage ceremony is small because it’s near mother’s day, and petunia has a lot of orders to fill for tea cakes 

(she and lily go dress shopping for the just right one, and harry says that one of his classmates said that there’s such a thing as a ringbearer, and he figures it’ll be cool) 

david and petunia take a small trip to Greece and come back with ancient magic books for harry and pictures to show off. (even though she keeps the photo of david kissing her for herself. lily would tease her) 

as harry grows up, petunia will get phone calls and letters and even one time a howler from james of all people, and it wasn’t even a howler so much of “please petunia talk some sense into your nephew, he’s a teenager now, ugh” 

she listens to all of the rants harry goes on of his mother not understanding and his father expecting too much of him, she treks into the trendy stores to buy him clothes that look ugly and “honestly you could’ve gone to Harrods or something, Harry, what are these pants” 

she is there when ginny finally comes to family dinners and they’re awkward and she pretends not to see the moments they think they’re being sneaky about. (harry got the subtlety gene from his father. which means it’s not there.) 

aunt tuney is there when she gets to lily’s home after harry graduates from hogwarts and is off to college and exploring career options and lily just wails about 

“my baby! harry! he used to be this tall! and ride on a broom that blew bubbles!” 

she is there when harry announces that he wants to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and James jokes about going back to school. 

there’s a dinner to celebrate Ginny and Harry’s engagement, and Petunia exchanges words with classmates she hasn’t seen in years, and brings David along. he’s always better at reading her, so they can go home a little bit early after she drinks her second fruity drink. 

and when she decides to retire and hand off the bakery to a young witch named luna who has inventive ideas about decoration and has more subtle magic than most of the applicants. the only thing petunia’s really worried about are the numbers, but luna says she has a couple of friends to take care of that. a timid boy named neville--tuney always liked his mother--promises to help around during the break months. he teaches with harry. 

she never meets vernon, never has dudley, never knows who she would have been had she not been a witch. 

to be quite frank, she doesn’t want to know what she’d be like if she wasn’t a witch and if lily hadn’t taken her instead of just thrusting a map in her direction. 

#listne #i love this hc #i would die for witch tuney #i love her #petunia #petunia dursley #i don't like using her last name i cri #lily evans #james potter #harry potter #just give me 'aunt tuney' being like #an actually okay aunt #please #lovelyirony writes #like what if she was actually pretty good?

[enbyleighlines]

For your modern au prompts, how about Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang best friends going on a shopping trip?

Oooh, sounds good to me!! I hope you don’t mind that I took liberties with what constitutes as a shopping trip! This idea popped into my head, and I wanted to explore it~

—

The bell on the front door gives a twinkling little jingle as they enter. Immediately, the familiar aroma of Wei Wuxian’s favorite arts and craft store rubs against his nostrils like an affectionate cat.

Beside him, Nie Huaisang walks with a spring in their step. In the crook of their elbow, they carry a small but finely crafted handbag, as though they’re a rich socialite on a shopping spree in the big city. “Here we are,” Nie Huaisang says, excitement giving their voice a fun lyrical quality, “Where shall we start, Wuxian-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the wide grin that breaks across his face. He scoops up one of the shopping baskets by the entrance. “We should start from the ground up,” he decides, logically, “Let’s go see how sturdy their poster board is.”

“We can always glue a layer or two of cardboard to the base,” Nie Huaisang points out.

“True, true.”

The two friends make their way towards the poster aisle. They’re on a mission, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have fun.

They’re making a diorama as their final project for freshman biology. Thankfully, they were allowed to pick their own partners, and since they’ve become quick friends over the course of the year, it was a no brainer.

Their plan is to create a miniature factory, with its walls, machines, and workers, but then label everything as though they’re the parts of a human cell. Wei Wuxian is certain that it will appeal to their teacher’s quirky sense of humor, and earn them a grade worth bragging about. Nie Huaisang is less convinced, but they’re just happy for the opportunity to show off their talent for arts and crafts.

They sift through their manyu options, poster boards of all different sizes, material, colors, and even textures.

Nie Huaisang pulls out out of the rack and gasps delicately, as though they’re holding a precious treasure. “Wuxian-xiong,” they say, “Feel this one. Isn’t it just like the gritty texture of cement?”

Wei Wuxian runs the tips of his fingers over the rough surface. “Oh wow, you’re right! But won’t that make it difficult to glue things to it?”

“Ah, I hadn’t considered that!” Nie Huaisang gives the poster board another longing-filled stroke. “Perhaps we can use little metal stands for the figurines, and stick the metal through the poster?”

Seeing that his friend’s heart is set on the poster board, Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah, that could work! We’ll definitely need to add some cardboard to the base, though. We get a bunch of cardboard boxes at the restaurant from shipments and stuff. I’m sure Jiang-shushu won’t mind if we take one.”

Nie Huaisang eagerly takes the paper board and rolls it up. It’s still too long to fit in the basket, but at least they could carry it one-handed. “What next, Wuxian-xiong?”

“Metal wire for the stands, probably,” Wei Wuxian answers, “And maybe some of those things they use in gardens, with the names of plants on them? We can use those to label stuff. Would they have those here? If not, we can probably make our own...”

“There’s a gardening store around the corner,” Nie Huaisang says helpfully.

Wei Wuxian nods sagely. “That’ll do. Oh, and we should probably be keeping track of how much everything costs. How much did Nie Mingjue give you to spend?”

Nie Huaisang gives Wei Wuxian an incredibly self-satisfied smirk. They dig into the handbag and fish out a stack of folded bills. “Oh, we don’t need to worry about money,” they assure Wei Wuxian smugly, “My Gege gave me more than enough.”

Wei Wuxian whistles.

Nie Mingjue, Huaisang’s half-brother, took over management of the family business recently. He’s also been the one looking after Huaisang ever since their parents retired to travel the world. Mingjue likes to pretend that he’s a strict disciplinarian, yet he spends money on Huaisang like it’s going out of style.

To hear Nie Huaisang tell it, they’ve always been a spoiled child. But it seems as though it’s gotten even worse ever since Nie Mingjue became Huaisang’s primary guardian.

Nie Huaisang giggles behind their wad of cash. “So, yeah,” they say, “Money is not an issue.”

Wei Wuxian might be jealous if he was the type of person to get jealous. Instead, he only laughs in delight. “That’s good to know! Let’s take proper advantage of your Da-gege’s generosity, then!”

—

They quickly fill up the basket and have to upgrade to a cart. They take their time choosing the plastic figurines. There aren’t any factory workers, but there are some crossing guards, and a man in an astronaut suit, and they figure they can just pain over them. Nie Huaisang already has a decent collection of paints, but they also grab some new brushes, along with a fine point pen.

Then it’s off to the gardening store for some plastic plant markers, with tips sharp enough to pierce through paper and cardboard. While they’re there, they also grab some short two-inch fences and some mesh to use in constructing the cell walls.

They bring their haul back to the Jiang residence, because it’s closer.

The Jiang house is unusually quiet. Jiang Cheng is at soccer practice, and Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are both at work at the restaurant. Jiang Yanli is home, though. She greets them at the door, and then immediately moves to prepare tea and snacks for them.

“Your supply run went well, I see,” she says, as she putters around the kitchen.

Wei Wuxian makes sure to plant a big, loud kiss to her cheek before he starts unloading things onto the dining room table. “It went great, actually,” he says, “Jiejie, you have to see all these awesome things we found!”

Nie Huaisang hovers a tad awkwardly in between the kitchen and dining room. It’s not the first time they’ve been to Wei Wuxian’s house, but it’s not a routine experience, either.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jiang Yanli examines the enormity of their haul with a worried expression. The cause of her concern becomes clear when she says, “I hope you didn’t have to use up all of your allowance on this school project, A-Xian.”

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian beams at her. “I didn’t spend a penny. Huaisang-xiong’s rich Gege footed the bill.”

“That... was probably not the best way to phrase that,” Nie Huaisang murmurs to Wei Wuxian, “Please let your Jiejie know you meant my actual Gege, and not an older guy who spends money on me like I’m his sugar baby.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. And then he starts snickering loudly. “She’s not going to assume that,” he assures them.

“What will I not assume?” Jiang Yanli places a plate of rice crackers on the kitchen’s island, and raises one of her brows at them.

Nie Huaisang grabs Wei Wuxian’s arm to stop him, but it’s too late.

“Huaisang-xiong doesn’t want you thinking they have a sugar daddy,” Wei Wuxian confesses, “So they want me to emphasize that, in this case, I used the term ‘their Gege’ to refer to Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang looks like they want to melt into the floor.

But Jiang Yanli only giggles, demurely, behind the cover of her hand. “Well, I’m glad you clarified that,” she teases both of them, “Both of you are too young to have sugar daddies, anyway. Come, and have some rice crackers while the tea steeps.”

The two freshmen each hop up onto one of the stools obediently. Wei Wuxian stuffs his mouth without thought, while Nie Huaisang carefully nibbles at their cracker like a timid mouse.

There’s a bit of companionable silence. Jiang Yanli pours them each a cup of green tea, and then moves the sugar bowl within their reach.

Then she sits on one of the stools opposite them, and asks, “How are your other final projects coming along?”

Wei Wuxian heaves a dramatic sigh. “Bo-oring,” he singsongs, “It’s all essays and making flashcards for the exams. The same old generic stuff we did in middle school.”

“I get to make a poster for home ec.,” Nie Huaisang offers.

“Ooh, about what?”

“We have to try to design the food pyramid,” Nie Huaisang answers, “Other kids are just making collages out of newspaper clippings, but I want to try my hand at painting the food. I’ve never had a reason to paint food before, except for maybe an apple, back when we were learning how use shading.”

Jiang Yanli smiles. “That sounds fun,” she says, “Just don’t get so caught up in your fun projects that you don’t leave any time for the boring ones.”

“Right,” Nie Huaisang answers automatically.

Wei Wuxian is more lax. “I’ll be fine,” he assures his Jiejie, “Besides, I get my best work done at the last minute.”

Jiang Yanli gives her Didi a look. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is how it works! That spike of adrenaline really helps me get things done,” Wei Wuxian insists, and taps the edge of his nose with a cheeky little smirk.

“But it doesn’t leave you much time to go back and edit, does it?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I make less mistakes on my first drafts than everyone else does on their final copies! If I start turning in perfect papers, then people might think I’m just showing off.”

“You ARE showing off,” Nie Huaisang snips.

That makes Jiang Yanli giggle again. She shakes her head at Wei Wuxian, but in a fond sort of way. Neither try to continue the argument.

“What about you, Jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asks suddenly, “Any fun final projects?”

“Just exams,” Jiang Yanli answers. She’s a high school junior, two years ahead of them. “Though, my math teacher said that anyone who already has an A in the class doesn’t have to take the final exam.”

“Let me guess,” Wei Wuxian says with no little hint of pride, “You have an A.”

Jiang Yanli hides her mouth behind the rim of her teacup. “I do,” she confirms, and her smile is audible in her tone. “So that’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

“That’s my Jiejie! Smartest girl in the whole world!”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Think so? I know so!”

Nie Huaisang smiles at that. Though the dynamic between Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian is completely different from their relationship with Mingjue, there’s still something vaguely familiar about it.

Just like Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, really. They’ve got completely different temperaments. Wei Wuxian is a natural leader, charismatic, bold, and optimistic. Nie Huaisang tends to follow the herd, being as indiscisive and anxious as they are. Yet the two of them are often on the same wavelength.

That’s probably why, even though they only met for the first time that year, it already feels like they’ve been friends for a long time.

#asks #anon #anonymous #mo dao zu shi #mdzs modern au #drabbles #leigh’s writing

[purplesurveys]

748

Do you have a grandparent, who refuses to go to an old folk's home? In the first place, sending your elderly to a nursing home is not a part of our culture and is majorly looked down upon because children here are expected to take care of their parents; we’re a super super family-centered culture and adult children will take in their elderly parents into their homes to care for them until they pass. We only have a couple of nursing homes in Manila and as far as I know, none in the provinces because of this. I hate the idea of sending any of my grandparents to a nursing home. Have you ever made an article of clothing yourself? If so, what was it? No. One of our final project in 6th grade home ec was to make an apron but like I said in previous surveys, I didn’t turn in a single project for that class. Do you go to arcades? If so, what's your go-to game at one? Yes, we usually go when we’re feeling stressed and just want an hour of fun. I always run to the basketball games first. Sometimes I’ll wanna do the piano tiles too. When it comes to friends, what's the biggest thing you have in common? We’re all journalism majors haha. Most people in my circle now hail from my org and I’m glad I decided to join one and that I ditched my dumb orgs-are-useless mindset from freshie year. If you had to study something for the next year, what would you study? Law. I was planning to take admission exams for law schools anyway by 2021.

If you were a fantasy character, would you be a warrior, a mage or a rogue? I don’t know, this is my least favorite genre and I don’t have a clue what any of these mean in fantasy world terms lol. Do you ever experience heart burn? I had this once and I vividly remember it because it was such an awful experience, and it was after eating a Double Down from KFC. I vowed to never have a Double Down again after that evening, and I don’t think I’ve broken that vow since hahaha. Do you own an army shirt? I don’t. What tempts you frequently? Surveys serve as an escape from when I have a task that I’m trying to avoid and is giving me immense anxiety, i.e. thesis, and tbh it’s been working wonders. Isn't it cute when gay couples show affection to each other in public? Yeah but just like with any other couples, too much PDA can be annoying too. But in general I do like seeing gay couples being affectionate in public more; it makes me feel we aren’t alone. What's something that will always distract you from what you're doing? Notifications from Gab. I still get butterflies after six years and want to reply as fast as I can, heh. Who is the most wonderful, amazing person in your life right now? ^ She is. Do you enjoy handling coins? I don’t really mind it. I have a tendency to gather so much change until my wallet becomes fat and a bitch to close, so there’ve been many times that I’ve had to spill out all my coins on the table or floor and count them all to see how much I have. When's the last time you had an alcoholic beverage? What was it? It was a month ago, eugh. Peach soju. What's your favourite Deep Purple song? I don’t have one. What has been the most enjoyable job you've had? I’ll let you know in five years when I’m sure I’ve had more than one job by then. How about the least enjoyable job? Do you get hungry late at night? Sometimes, but I usually have coffee to wash the hunger down. These days my mom is also into making chicken sandwich spread so there’ll be a tub of that in the fridge. Do you carry a backpack, a shoulder bag or a purse? Depends on where I’m going or how much I have to do. Sample scenarios would be if Gab and I are only going out for dinner I bring my purse; if I plan on studying at a coffee shop for a few hours I’ll bring a shoulder bag for my laptop, but if I have a full day at school I’ll obviously bring my whole backpack. That’s why I really find it convenient having a car cause then I can just bring all those bags whenever I wanna do all three of those in a single day hah. What's something attractive in a member of your own gender? Our strength. What's something repulsive in a member of your own gender? Some women will still be very judgmental and shame others who get abortions and I don’t understand it. Do your pets sleep next to you at night? No. Kimi prefers the floor because it’s colder. I’ve tried placing him on my bed a thousand times but he just jumps off after a few minutes of being restless on it. What's the farthest country you've met someone from? I’ve had online friends from all over the US and back in my Kristen Stewart phase days most of my friends were from South America like Brazil, Colombia, and Peru. Have you ever taped your face? I don’t think so. What's something revolutionary you've done? I dunno if it counts but the day they announced that Ferdinand Marcos’ body was going to transferred to Heroes’ Cemetery there was an incredibly quick mobilization organized both in UP and Ateneo. So many students and professors came to the protest all angry, all betrayed, all wanting to march the highway to show our outrage, and so we did. It was awesome to see a bunch of other drivers angrily honking their horns too to show their solidarity with us. It was big enough for media outlets to have to use their drones to capture the crowd and for the event to land on national news, and I don’t regret skipping out on it. Who is your favourite movie villain? She was technically a book villain, but Annie Wilkes was portrayed flawlessly by Kathy Bates in Misery. What's your favourite flavour of mousse? Just chocolate. I don’t know if I’ve had other flavors of it, actually. I don’t really have mousse much. What about your favourite flavour of cheesecake? Just your classic New York-style cheesecake with no toppings, oreo, and ube. Do you prefer fruit or berries? Neither. Have you ever kept a food diary? Nope. Have you ever calculated whether you get enough minerals and vitamins in your diet? I haven’t. How often do you use online dictionaries? I’d say I check a word at least once a day.  Are you good at planning your time usage? You mean time management? I’m good at it when it’s urgent, like when I have a bunch of tasks that I need to accomplish ASAP. I’m a bit loose with myself if my sched is a little relaxed. Long story short, I know when to discipline myself when it’s necessary at the very least. When's the last time you had to carefully plan how you use your time? December 2019. It was the end of the semester and it’s usually when all the requirements pile up on my to-do list and it’s when I take my time management the most seriously. I haven’t deleted my alarms from that period, so this is basically what a hectic study day would look like for me near the end of the sem hahaha:

#survey #surveys

[argylemnwrites]

Fire Inside

Character: ??? 😮 ???

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu) referenced

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Heir, various chapters)

Word Count: ~2100

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Doing what needs to be done isn’t for the faint of heart. Sometimes channeling that fire inside will bring out enemies, but only the timid worry about that.

Author’s Note: So, this is something pretty different from what I usually write, but the idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know if anyone else will like this, but I had a lot of fun exploring motivations of this character. I just wanted to dislike this character for interesting reasons, not hate them for dumb reasons that lack all nuance. So, yeah, not trying to defend this character, just trying to make them a dislikable human instead of a silly, annoying trope.

Inspired by Day 4 of the Choices November Challenge - Rage. Tagging all my TRR peeps, so apologies if this isn’t your thing. Like I said, I know this isn’t my usual style.

How did that old saying go? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Something like that. She’d heard it plenty of times throughout her life. She just never really understood it.

It’s not that she didn’t get the intent; she wasn’t stupid. But she just didn’t quite get why anyone would want to catch flies in the first place. Swat those annoying buggers away. Let them live their life while she lived hers. Why would you want to attract nuisances when you could scare them off instead? And no point drawing them in to kill them. There would always be plenty more pests coming after them.

But growing up, everyone seemed to tell her she should be more nurturing, more caring. Buying her dolls for her birthday and for Christmas. Trying to get her to care for the chicks after the coyote got into the pen and ate the hen. Scolding her when she hadn’t held Bee’s hand and wiped away her tears with gentle thumbs and soothing words when she’d fallen from the tree and broken her arm, but instead had carried her back to the house, arm wrapped in her own shirt as a temporary sling. But her practical solution hadn’t been enough. She was supposed to tend to her sister’s emotional pain, not just the physical.

They all wanted her to be sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, if that’s what little girls were supposed to be made of, it never made sense to Leona that everyone seemed to ignore the middle ingredient. You wouldn’t call two pieces of bread on either side of some sliced ham a bread sandwich. That’s a goddamn ham sandwich. So why did everyone think that girls should be sweet little angels, not spitfires full of heat and intensity? 

Leona was never cut out to play the damsel, dependent on someone else. She would fight for herself, fight for what she thought was her due. And she was never going to apologize for being that way. Her fire served her well. It’s how she got out of taking home ec in high school, instead getting herself a spot in shop class. She could live with rips in her clothes that she couldn’t mend well and food that filled her belly without winning a prize at the state fair for its flavors. But if the equipment on the ranch broke down, well being able to fix that herself would save her whole family time and money. And that just seemed a hell of a lot more useful than learning how to be a perfect little homemaker. 

Of course, in shop class, none of the boys or Mr. Linvel had viewed her as anything other than a novelty. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the boys who laughed at her anytime she made a mistake, or the ones who assumed she couldn’t do it herself, always coming over to “help” her. What they didn’t understand is that she never needed their help. They weren’t better than her just because their fathers had taught them those skills already. She would do it herself, no matter how many tries it took. 

Because the world was a harsh place. It never made sense to Leona that she was expected to stay soft. She didn’t understand how anyone could. But all the girls around her seemed to manage it just fine. Cathy and Linda and Susie braided each other’s hair and shared lipstick. They giggled and gossiped and swooned over Chip and Bobby and Kenny. They hugged each other and passed around hankies when those same idiot boys all fell head over heels for the new girl, Patty, with her bleached hair and bell-bottom jeans. They all cried over their Dolly Parton records, moaning about how “Jolene” was their song. Leona didn’t get it. Why waste any time on some boy who was inevitably gonna let you down?

But one by one, she watched them go off, get married, start their families. Cathy caught the eye of some traveling salesman, Linda finally got Bobby to put a ring on it, and Susie moved to Houston to go to secretarial school, but quit and got married 4 months after her first posting. And one by one, she watched them get broken, by bills and mortgages, by baby after baby, by unfaithful and cruel husbands. And as they cried on the front porch, wondering how they got to that point, a not-so-small portion of Leona kept thinking, “I told you so.” She didn’t feel bad for thinking it either. Because she knew what they thought of her. Bitter. Cold-hearted. Bitch.

But she took it all, because she knew that life wasn’t a fairy tale. It’s a series of hardships you just had to face head on. She told her sister that everyday, not wanting her to make the same mistakes that so many of the other girls made. And for a long time, it worked. It was just the two of them and Dad, taking care of things on the ranch. But eventually Bee wanted more. She wasn’t content, always dreaming of something different. She saved her money. Traveled. When she came back, she was full of stories. But she was different every time. Still could pull her share around the ranch, but she was teasing her hair. Had new blazers with shoulder pads in addition to her practical work clothes. Talked about some fancy-ass coffee drink she had at some restaurant. And then she saved enough to go overseas, coming back a few months later, holding hands with some fancy European asshole. Told Leona she was moving to some country called Cordonia to marry that man. Left the ranch without a backward glance, leaving Leona and Dad to manage it all. She made promises of coming back in a couple of years after Jackson’s service requirements were complete, but first a son came along, and then a daughter. And each year that went by, Leona knew that Bianca was never coming back. Sure enough, phone calls promising a move back next year soon became phone calls promising a vacation. The life they had known together was now a novelty, an escape, not a reality. She only did make it back to the ranch once with the kids.

Those two were lost causes, as far as Leona was concerned. Brought up in a world of gold and diamonds, parties and designer clothes. Hell, the boy was best friends with one of the princes. And when she was the one who had to bury Dad in the orchard all by herself, six feet down, right next to Momma, she knew she was the only one left in the family with any common sense or perspective. She just hoped that Bianca remembered a little bit of the toughness she’d tried to teach her when those ass-kissing, stuck-up nobles she’d surrounded herself with inevitably screwed her over.

Leona was surprised that Bianca lasted over there as long as she did, nearly two decades before it all came crashing down with Jackson’s death. But she did crash, hard. Her life fell apart. And who did she call up, but the sister she’d abandoned, left to carry on the family business all alone. And once again, she wanted Leona to be softer. To offer sympathy and comfort. Well, she offered a roof over her head and food in her belly when her so-called “friends” somehow couldn’t be bothered to spare a dollar. That would have to be comfort enough. 

She’d heard Bianca crying many nights. At first, she knew it was over her husband, a man who gave his life for some over-important royals, leaving behind his own goddamn family. And after years of watching her sister struggle to finally heal from that, the crying started again when Drake called, frantic, saying Savannah was gone, asking if by any chance she’d come to Texas. She recovered faster that time, though. Leona hoped that she was finally learning, that she was tougher. Stronger.

But that all came crashing down one fall morning, when Bianca bounded into the barn, telling Leona that not only was Savannah back in their lives, but that she had a baby. Baby Bee was a grandma. Not only that, but she was going back to the hellhole of Cordonia to see this baby and to watch Drake marry some fancy duchess of some sort. She was optimistic and energetic. It was as if she’d learned nothing from her first time there. 

They’d fought, Leona asking her sister how many times she was gonna get her hopes up about that place. Bianca saying that things would be better this time. Yeah, right. Leona had seen enough to know how this would end. Bianca brought her kids up in the world of posh nobles and fancy rich people. It was only a matter of time until they decided they were too good for her again.

But Bee ignored her warnings, not only flying out there for some pompous hoighty-toighty wedding, but offering to host Savannah’s wedding to some frickin’ Duke of snobbery, the same man who knocked her up and then neglected her and the baby not two years earlier. Amazing what you could get away with when you had money.

To make matters worse, Bee invited some motley crew of royals and nobles to come stay on the ranch for this wedding. They weren’t outwardly disdainful, so maybe they did learn some manners from their fancy pants educations, but still. Leona had a ranch to keep afloat. The last thing she needed was to babysit a group of rich kids playacting at being cowboys. 

She felt a little guilty selling info on Drake and his wife to the press. He was the most helpful of the group, and he was family, after all. He seemed to remember a few things from his visit as a child, seemed to have kept a handful of practical skills. But his wife was overeager, annoying, and seemed to think that she had something in common with Bianca and Leona just because she used to wait tables. That growing up in a fancy city like New York was somehow equal to hard, physical labor because she hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. If he had chosen to marry someone like her, then he probably wasn’t much different than the rest of them. The fact that they were orchestrating some bizarre political move to get their kid onto the throne just sealed the deal for Leona. So she did what she had to do. Granted, they all ended up being much kinder than she’d guessed them to be. But their kindness wasn’t going to keep the ranch going long term, keep the hands hired and the electricity on. So, Leona kept on selling any info she had. Morality was all fine and dandy when you were privileged, but it had no place in the real world.

It wasn’t until Riley was screaming at her, yelling about how she would never forgive Leona, hand protectively placed across her very pregnant belly, that she saw something more than kind but spoiled little princess. She saw pure anger, fire-forged and intense. She saw rage and hunger. She saw someone that maybe had been hardened by life, but kept that intensity hidden away, covering her true strength with silliness and laughter.

Leona couldn’t be sure, of course. She barely knew the woman, and she had no illusion that she and this woman would be bonding as in-laws going forward, so she probably wouldn’t get the chance to find out. She had never been naive, after all. She knew that bridge was burned. But she wasn’t one for regrets. She’d made her choices, and while she’d hoped maybe her nephew would understand her reasons, calm his wife down, she wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. So she went back to Texas, to her parents’ ranch. To her ranch, really. What was done was done.

She hadn’t anticipated her sister’s anger. Bee had never been the overly-protective, Momma-bear type, after all. But she’d yelled, alright. Told her off about betraying the family. Selling out her own nephew. Making it so that Drake and Riley were never going to be willing to bring the grandbaby to visit. Bianca expected grovelling, contrition, regret. But she wasn’t going to get that. Leona had the fire raging inside of her to keep moving forward; she would never apologize for that. And if anyone took issue with that, well that was just their own damn problem. No one else was going to solve it for them. Certainly not Leona. Anyone who expected such a weakness could just go fuck themselves.

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