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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just A Friend

Just another Sunday and just another chapter. Thanks to all of you who read, like, reblog, comment. i appreciate it more than you know.

thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 4: From Park to Parlay

There’s something rather special about this time of year with the transition from spring to summer when everything is still so fresh and green. The long, light evenings make me feel like I’ve been given an extra couple of hours in my day.

My flat has a balcony. It’s small—just enough space for a bistro table, two chairs and a few pots of herbs—but I love it. I come home from work and sit out there, sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes with something a bit stronger. Of course this is weather dependent — I am in Scotland, after all.

But sometimes, like tonight, sitting on my balcony isn’t enough. I want to be outside in all that fresh air and sunshine. Plus, one of my neighbours has acquired a new hobby, apparently. It’s either learning the violin or strangling cats. Although it sounds more like the latter, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the former. I have finally managed to identify the piece she’s having a crack at. It’s from ‘Frozen’ — ‘Let It Go’ and I really wish she would.

Besides, if I wander into the park, there’s a certain ice cream kiosk that might still be open. My mouth waters at the thought of their cherry bakewell ice cream. So, I grab a cardigan, keys and a bit of cash, and head out.

As I stroll through the park, I’m thankful that I brought my cardigan. The sun is still warm, but there’s a distinct chill in the shade. Not enough of a chill to put me off an ice cream, though.

The kiosk is just on the verge of closing for the day, but he spies me doing that stupid little pretend run that’s actually no faster than walking and waits. I smile gratefully as I hand over the money in exchange for a double cone. Turning away, I can hear the shutters closing.

There’s a bench nearby, overlooking the pond and still in the sun… unoccupied. I sit down ready to enjoy my ice cream in peace. After the cacophony of a violin bow being scraped painfully across strings, this is sheer bliss — only the sound of a few argumentative ducks and the occasional playful dog. No-one to disturb me, no-one to—

At first, all I can hear are two voices, coming from the path behind me. Nothing above a murmur — one low pitched, the other higher. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Not that I would want to. The higher voice, a female, is definitely getting louder now. She’s not happy by the sound of it. The other, clearly male, keeps to a calm murmur.

“Are ye telling me I’m imagining things, then?”

I can’t hear the response, but it’s obviously not to her liking.

“I ken she works fer ye. But she has her eye on ye. I’m no’ stupid. D’ye think I’m a mug?”

The voice sounds a bit familiar but I can’t place it anywhere. Perhaps we go to the same coffee shops or bars or—

“That’s it, James Fraser. I’m going, I mean it... Ye ken where tae find me… this is me, going… bye… I said bye. Fine, dinna answer me, then.”

The annoyance in her voice registers in my brain. I know why she sounds so familiar— it’s little Miss James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever. Which means that, at any moment, one or other of them might be rounding this corner and think that I was eavesdropping.

Quickly I get to my feet ready to walk away —slap bang straight into Samsonite-owning Jamie Fraser. I take a step back. The first thing I notice is he’s not wearing a white dress shirt this time. He’s far more casually dressed in a plain white t-shirt… a plain white t-shirt now adorned with a large splodge of pink ice cream right in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, gosh, I’m — I’m so sorry,” I stammer apologetically as I fumble in my pockets for a paper serviette or tissue.

He looks up. The vexed expression on his face gives way to one of amusement.

“Claire Beauchamp,” he announces. “I didna recognise ye without yer suitcase.”

“I am sorry,” I continue to apologise as I pass him a somewhat crumpled but clean tissue.

He makes no attempt to leave, but settles himself on the bench and starts to dab ineffectually at the pink stain.

“Was it good?” He nods at the battered cone I am still holding.

“Oh yes, the best. I’d buy you one as compensation but they’re closed now.”

“It’s fine. If I feel the need I can always suck on ma shirt.” He looks down at the stain, glaringly obvious against the pristine white of his t-shirt. “Sae, how are ye doing?”

I perch on the bench next to him. Apparently we’re having a conversation.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I answer politely. “And how are you?”

“Me, I’m no’ sae bad,” He looks annoyed, then shakes his head and gives a little half smile. “Look, I’m sorry if any of that… er…weel, if ye heard any of that.”

Do I lie? Pretend that I heard nothing? I’m not a very good liar. Geillis always says that I have a glass face, you can see every emotion clearly etched on it and I think she’s right. So I choose to answer noncommittally.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s jes’...” he pauses for a moment, considering his choice of words. “Jes’ … tricky.”

He seems lost in thought. Maybe I need to remind him that his wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper has just stormed off and will clearly be awaiting some sort of reaction from him.

“Shouldn’t you be… ?” I gesture towards the path in the direction she must have taken.

“Nah, I’m no’ going after her… no’ this time.” He adds the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, ok.”

“That's what she wants, ye ken. The attention, me chasing after her, making promises…” his voice tails off as he realises what he’s doing.

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldna be blathering like this tae ye. I dinna ken why.”

I do. Sometimes it’s easier to vent, to get things off your chest, to a stranger rather than family or friends. You can pretty much say what you like, confident that it’s not going to come back and bite you, or spread like chinese whispers around your peer group.

“No need to apologise. It can be easier explaining things to strangers, sometimes.”

He smiles. “Ah, but, I dinna think we’re strangers. After all, I’m well acquainted with yer holiday… er...shall we say, accessories.”

If his intention was to make me blush, he’s succeeded. I feel myself redden. “It was a hen party. I had to get into the spirit.”

“So ye say.” He raises an eyebrow as if to question my explanation. “Och, dinna mind me, I’m jes’ teasing.”

I screw my face up in mock disgust and he chuckles.

“My mam told me never tae pull faces else ye’ll be stuck like that if the wind changes.”

I assume a serious expression.

“That’s much better, Miss Beauchamp,” his face becomes serious too. “But, aye, I get what ye’re saying— about talking tae people ye dinna ken. Ye’ve no horse in this race, as it were. Everyone else that I ken seems tae have an opinion.”

I’m suddenly conscious that the remains of my cone are still in my hand, now totally melted. Noticing my awkward fidgeting, he returns the crumpled tissue to me. I wipe my hands and deposit all the debris in the bin by the bench. He settles back, obviously keen to continue our conversation.

“Sae, are ye up fer giving me yer opinion then about ma situation?”

I’ve never thought of myself as an agony aunt, but I’m curious to know more about him. It’s reassuring to know other people have complications in their love lives too.

“I don’t know enough to give you my opinion, but feel free to unload, if you want to.”

He leans forward, his large hands resting on his denim clad knees and sighs. He has very nice hands with neatly shaped nails, no ragged cuticles or bitten nails. There’s a smattering of reddish hairs on the back. I always notice a man’s hands. Frank had very smooth, elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Jamie’s are much broader than Frank’s, which fits with his whole Viking throwback vibe. I force myself away from his hands and focus on what he's telling me.

“Ye see, ye get tae an age where all yer friends are in couples and having bairns. And ye feel that’s what ye should do, have a proper ‘relationship’.”

I inhale sharply at the way he says the word, so similar to my own thoughts. He glances at me, and continues.

“Ah, ye ken what I mean. And sae ye go along wi’ it when ye friends introduce ye tae a lass. And ye date… and it’s nice, but there’s always that feeling that they want something more, that they want the whole ‘relationship’ thing. They want more than ye can give. And that leads tae disappointment and arguments. They push, trying tae force ye to commit.”

He sits back and looks at me. “Mebbe it’s…och, i dinna ken. Jes’ ignore me. I’m a stupid dolt.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Honestly.”

“I mean, Laoghaire is a nice enough lass, but it seems the more she pushes, the more I back away. It makes her more suspicious. If I dinna want her, then she reckons I must be after another. What do ye think?”

Do I tell him about her answering his phone? I mean, it seems like he’s coming to a conclusion all by himself. I decide not to volunteer any more information. And I know I said I wouldn’t give an opinion, but I just can’t help it. This is all too familiar to me.

“It is difficult but, ask yourself, is this fair to Laoghaire, or fair to you? Will this keep happening? I mean, I don’t know her, but will she be satisfied with what you are prepared to give? I think you already know your answer. And I think you know what you must do.”

He sighs again. “Aye, I do. But it’s no’ a pleasant thing, is it?”

I shake my head. The image of Frank’s devastation is still fresh in my mind. “It never is.”

The bench is now in shade, and it’s cooled down a lot. I shiver and wrap my cardigan tightly around me. Time to head home, I think.

“Aye, ye’re right. Time tae go.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the evening chill, or what he needs to do about the whole Laoghaire situation.

We both stand up at the same time. He extends his hand, and I take it in mine, which is more than a bit grubby and sticky, with the odd bit of tissue still stuck to it.

“Thank ye for listening, Claire, and fer yer opinion. It’s been a big help tae me. I dinna ken what it is but I feel I can talk tae ye. And I promise, next time, it’s yer turn. Ye can vent like ye want tae me and I’ll do the listening.”

“Will there be a next time?”

He smiles. “Oh aye, I’m sure there will be.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Just a Friend #chapter 4

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frizz22 · 4 years

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New In Town

MamboSpellman prompt: Can you do a Mambo Marie and Zelda fic where they meet in season 1. Mambo Marie needs a change and decides to move to Greendale and so she sets her shop there and meets Zelda one day

CHAPTER 100🙌🏻🎉🥳 Read on ao3

I know this is a more recent prompt and it jumped in front of a lot of others, but I’ve decided to stop trying to do prompts in the order I get them and just work on what ideas come first. I’ll hopefully get them done a bit faster, fingers crossed, this way. I’m sorry if this means you’re waiting a long time, I know some of you have been already. Thank you for sticking with me

Zelda grumbled to herself as she parked the car. As convenient as the mortuary was in terms of collecting potion ingredients, it truly wasn’t worth operating in times like this.

Throwing the door open, Zelda lit a cigarette and exited the car, resting her elbow on the roof and glaring at the building in front of her.

The Chamber of Commerce.

If ever there was Heaven on Earth, it would be located here; where all business owners had to attend mind numbing quarterly meetings in order to maintain their license. Not all cities did this, she’d checked, no, just lovely, little Greendale where her brother had so wonderfully planted their roots.

She took a long, fortifying draw of nicotine and released the smoke slowly into the air. With one final resigned sigh and a scowl on her face, Zelda slammed the car door shut and headed across the parking lot.

Maybe she could get away with a few small persuasion spells to end the meeting early. She didn’t think she could stomach another monologue about the ups and downs of the economy from the man who owned the local flower shop. The last time she’d tried to shut him up without magic, claiming the man should have entered a more stable business—like death—it’d extended the meeting by a good twenty minutes. No, if it came down to it, Zelda would expose herself as a witch and risk execution before she listened to that man blather again.

Pausing at the front door, Zelda took several quick drags of her cigarette before stubbing it out—she’d gotten enough lectures in the past about smoking indoors and how it was ‘against policy’. While she normally wouldn’t have cared, smoked regardless of mortal frailties, Zelda knew from experience that trying to smoke during the meeting would only prolong the torture. The price wasn’t worth it.

Cigarette extinguished, Zelda strode through the building until she reached the harshly lit conference room. Restraining an eye roll, there’d be plenty reason enough for that soon, she signed her name on the attendance sheet and ignored the odd man from the horror bookstore who always asked after Hilda; interacting with these people only ever annoyed her, better to let them see her a frigid bitch so they’d leave her be.

And even though she’d arrived a few minutes late on purpose, hoping the meeting would be starting, people were still floating around the room and chatting. Sitting, Zelda tapped her fingers irritatedly on the table in front of her, crossing her legs and bouncing one foot.

That was until a flash of orange caught her eye.

When she realized the orange was from a dress, Zelda couldn’t help but let her gaze rove appreciatively over the woman. The newcomer was a handsome woman, all curves and confidence, hair wrapped in a scarf, dress flowing and jewelry clicking softly; certainly, worth appreciating.

The woman met her gaze, having just taking a seat several spots down, and arched a brow. Unabashed at being caught, Zelda inclined her head in greeting and turned her attention to the front of the room where the meeting had just started.

It dragged on; just as Zelda anticipated.

Satan, what she wouldn’t give for a cigarette. When they finally reached the last item on the agenda, welcoming new members, the entire room eagerly shifted to face the orange-clad woman.

Zelda turned a little more slowly and was pleased to find the woman’s eyes on her when she did.

“I am Marie LaFleur, I moved here from New Orleans and just opened an... antiquity shop.” She murmured huskily, her accent surprising them all and the men leaned forward a little bit more. “I look forward to getting acquainted with this charming little town you call home.”

The meeting dispersed quickly after that and though Zelda was intrigued by Marie, sensed there was something more to her, the poor woman had immediately been swarmed by men as soon as they adjourned and was unreachable least Zelda wanted to be sucked in.

So, instead of wading through that quagmire, and potentially sending the message that she was open to speaking to others, Zelda made a mental note to find this ‘antiquity’ shop later in the week. There were more layers to this Marie than the mortals were aware, and Zelda intended to find out what they were.

Besides, she still needed to get Sabrina a gift for her dark baptism next month, something unique from an antique shop would do much better than anything mass produced and sold in Greendale’s existing stores.

She glanced at the woman once more and then ducked out of the room.

~~~

The week passed in a blur of viewings, funerals and preparations for Sabrina’s dark baptism. In all this, Zelda forgot about Marie and her magnetic presence until she was walking through town completing other errands and saw the store across the street.

Curious, Zelda strode over and slipped inside with a small bell announcing her arrival.

Marie’s head popped up from behind the counter and she smiled warmly. “Hello, ma chérie, welcome to my store.” She leaned her forearms on the counter and tilted her head. “Can I help you in finding something in particular?”

Approaching the counter, Zelda cocked a brow. “My niece’s baptism is in a few weeks; I’d like to find her something unique.”

Brow furrowing, Marie straightened. “Oh, I don’t think I have anything appropriate for infants...”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no, I, my niece is turning sixteen. In our religion a wi—, a young woman re-devotes herself as she enters adulthood.”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You are a witch.” She breathed, a smile unfurling on her lips. “I thought I sensed it in you, though your mention of a baptism made me doubt.”

Stunned, Zelda blinked and automatically made to deny the statement. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking—"

Waving her hand, Marie rounded the counter. “No need for diversions, ma chérie, let me formally introduce myself. Je suis Mambo Michele Marie LaFleur, Priestess of High Haiti, daughter of the Tiano people, faithful to Guinee.”

“A vodou priestess,” Zelda exhaled, eyes taking in Marie in a whole new, and much more excited, light.

Marie held up a finger. “I don't do none of the watered-down New Orleans vodou hoodoo bullshit. This is a Haitian house. Comprenez-vous? And the vodou practiced here is a way of life.”

She smiled, unable to suppress her excitement at a new witch in the area; and one who practiced a different witchcraft as well. “I’d love to get together sometime to discuss your ‘way of life’, I think we could learn quite a bit from one another.”

Eyebrow arching, Marie smirked. “I believe you’re right, ma chérie.” She took a step closer, invading Zelda’s space a little. “But first we must find your niece an appropriate gift for her dark baptism, yes?” And with that, Maria placed a hand on Zelda’s lower back and guided her deeper into the store; eventually making it to the back where Marie stored her magical wares; antiquities indeed.

~~~

Zelda left nearly an hour later. She’d selected Sabrina’s gift rather quickly, but she and Marie had gotten lost in a philosophical discussion and it was only when one of the many clocks in her store sounded the hour that Zelda realized she was supposed to be running errands; Hilda would be wroth with her... she’d promised to be back ages ago.

As she bid Marie goodbye, the woman framed Zelda’s face and kissed her lightly on each cheek. “The pleasure was all mine, ma chérie. I do hope we can spend more time together soon.”

Cheeks heating up, Zelda nodded. “I’m sure,” she cleared her throat, “I’m sure we can arrange something. Thank you for your help with Sabrina’s gift and for lending me the book.” She half lifted the text on vodou and then hurried away before she could blush and fumble further.

~~~

Marie spun her bracelets as she watched the redhead hurry away, a small smile on her lips.

She’d thought the woman was magical when she first walked into that dreadful business meeting at the beginning of the week. To have it confirmed, and without any meddling on her part, well, it was nice to be certain she wouldn’t be starting up a dalliance with some mortal.

Not that she was being presumptuous in thinking she and Zelda would have something... just that she was quite drawn to the woman, it seemed Zelda felt the same, and the fact that she was a witch made everything easier.

~~~

Two days passed before Zelda walked back into her store. Marie suppressed a laugh; the woman had held out longer than she thought.

Turning her attention from the items laid out on the counter in front of her, Marie smiled. “Back so soon?”

Zelda placed the book on corner of the counter. “Quite the read, I must say I was—"

Blinking, Marie took the book. “You finished already?”

Mistaking her tone, Zelda nodded. “Oh, yes. Well, I can hardly sleep for worry. Sabrina’s questioning every step of her dark baptism, and while skepticism is healthy in certain doses, it’s ulcer inducing in others. Anyway,” she waved a hand, “that means I have plenty of time to read. If I can’t sleep I might as well me productive.”

“Most of it is in French.” Marie remarked, she’d expected, hoped even, when she gave Zelda the book that the woman would come to her for help; gone so far as to picture them huddled over the book discussing concepts as Marie translated.

“En effet, c'était,” (indeed, it was) Zelda replied easily, her eyes glittering mischievously, and Marie’s eyes widened. “I know several languages, Marie, one does not spend decades traveling the world and not pick up a few things.” She winked and then headed to the back of the store.

It took Marie a moment to recover and follow, the returned book in one hand, . She found Zelda standing in front of her bookcase, perusing the titles. “If you’re going to keep borrowing things, I’ll have to charge you for something. This isn’t a library, chérie.” She teased, hands itching to grip the witch’s hips and draw her back against her body, see if they fit together as well as Marie had imagined.

Turning slowly, Zelda gave her a sinful smile. “Hmm, well, I’m sure,” she took a step closer to Marie, “we can come up with some kind of bartering system.” Her eyes flicked to Marie’s lips as her tongue darted out to wet her own.

Shivers raced down Marie’s spine and she closed the distance a little more. “Well,” she breathed, “it seems you already owe me… for the book you’ve just returned.” She set said book a side table; using the movement as an excuse to sweep even closer to Zelda.

“How rude of me,” Zelda murmured, “barely know you and already in your debt.” Her voice was huskier, and Marie could barely concentrate. When Zelda reached up a hand to cup her cheek, lips tenderly capturing hers, Marie was certain her brain stopped working altogether.

The kiss was far gentler than Marie predicted it’d be, but the light tug of Zelda’s teeth on her lower lip, how her hand readjusted for a firmer hold on her neck while the other slipped around Marie’s back, it had her head spinning.

When they broke, Marie realized she’d been so entranced that her hands were still hanging uselessly by her sides.

Not missing her lackluster response, Zelda backed away stiffly. “Perhaps I misread… we have a large collection of books as well—"

“No.” Marie cut in, moving quickly to rectify the situation. Her arms wrapped around the older witch, pressing into the small of Zelda’s back so the witch arched into her slightly when their lips met once more.

The smile on Zelda’s lips hindered the kiss for a moment, but then her hands were back, framing Marie’s face and pulling her in deeper.

Oh, oh she was in trouble.

The brief thought surfaced briefly when they pulled back slightly for a breath before diving back in. She hadn’t anticipated this; how intoxicating Zelda would be after so little interaction.

Marie had had her share of lovers, didn’t shy away from the casual carnal pleasure. So, she thought nothing of pursuing Zelda in such a way, especially when the witch clearly felt similarly. And, well, while Greendale was the change of scenery Marie needed, it’d already bored her to the extent of her chasing after Zelda for fun. But this, she gasped as Zelda’s tongue darted into her mouth and caressed her own before it teasingly pulled back, she could already tell this was different and she wasn’t nearly as in control as she’d previously thought.

But Marie found she didn’t mind the surprise, especially when she could push all thought from her mind and focus on thoroughly kissing the captivating witch in her arms.

~~~

A small moan emanated from the back of Zelda’s throat as Marie deepened the kiss, her fingers pressing firmly into her back.

This, this was.... Her thoughts trailed off when Marie slowly backed her into a wall, deliciously pinning her there with her body as her hands made their way to Zelda’s hair.

Her mind managed to form one last semi-coherent thought about how maybe the Chamber of Commerce meetings weren’t so bad after all if they led to this.

Note: All French is courtesy of google translate, if it's horribly wrong please tell me!

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drunkisabelle · 4 years

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Drunk Isabelle Watch: Day 62

What an arse of a week Isabelle has had so far. First she gets fined £1,000 by the cops for trying to hide in the Brewster's Bar toilets with a stolen bottle of vodka after the 10pm 'Covid curfew', then that little blue fucker Rodney came back from a Smashmouth concert and they were forced to lockdown the whole damned island for two weeks because the half-pint hamster halfwit had lost the ability to smell, and had spent most of the day coughing up lumps of half digested burger van kebab meat.

She was forced to fall back on her super secret escape plan from the island, which she'd put in place a couple of years previously after suspecting the authorities might potentially kick her door if they found out about the cases of homemade gin she'd sold to the mainland for a quick bit of cash.

They'd been labeled as 'Isabelle's Premium Gin' at the time, but were little more than two parts Domestos and some strawberry flavoured water mixed together to give it a wee fruity 'Je ne sais quois' before the poor recipient potentially fell blind after three sips.

She had to get to the mainland since it was 'Fight Club' night and she was finally facing Blathers in a tournament semi final knockout round. She was determined to win, and she'd spent most of the day slipping tranquillisers and diuretics into his lunchbox at the museum so he'd be ruined for fight time.

Sure enough, after a swift speedboat ride, two chloroformed police officers and a hefty bung of cash to a taxi driver, she was prepped, vaselined up and facing off against a clearly half asleep historian barn owl who was about to get his fucking shit severely ruined..

#DrunkAF

#ac switch #animal crossing #isabelle #acnh community #comedy #nintendo #funny #gaming #humour #nintendo acnh #acnh

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offtoljubljana · 4 years

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47. I love Animal Crossing a lot

21/03/2020

Het is 0:10 en ik ben moe. Ik eet wat en dan ga ik mijn bedje in. Waarschijnlijk schrijf ik dit ook af als ik weer wakker ben. Hoe kan het dat ik zo moe ben? Nou... Animal Crossing. Als je 46. A N I M A L C R O S S I N G hebt gelezen, dan heb je een hint.

Maar eerst gaan we het hebben over mijn geweldige kookkunsten! We gaan even terug naar donderdagavond 19/03/2020. Ja, ik loop achter, maar dat komt ook door Animal Crossing.

Ik had niets meer in huis op donderdagavond, maar ik zag dat Barbara 400 gram passata achter had gelaten, dus ik had mam geappt om te vragen hoe ik daar pastasaus van kon maken.

Nou herinner: ik ben een idioot in de keuken die alles of kant-en-klaar koopt of alles basic-bitch houdt. Lang verhaal kort: ik gebruik nooit kruiden en specerijen. In Nijmegen ben ik er een beetje mee begonnen, maar ik kom niet echt ver. Ik had mam dus een foto gestuurd met alles dat in huis was en met haar hulp koos ik wat kruiden en andere spullen. Zo ging ik ten werk:

(De afwasmiddel ging er overduidelijk niet in zo dom ben ik nou ook weer niet).

Het was niet slecht, maar ook weer niet goed. Ik had overduidelijk één kruid teveel gebruikt, dus dat was pittig (?) en overheersend. Maar aangezien ik niet echt weet welk kruid het was, weet ik ook niet wat ik de volgende keer anders moet doen.

Ik heb ook niet echt een recept gebruikt. Ik heb gewoon alles op gevoel erin geknikkerd en soms geproefd. Blijkbaar is het niet goed voor je om een handje met paprikapoeder los op te eten. Toch weet ik niet wat het nu was. Ik denk misschien de peper? Geen idee, joh. De tomaten würzsalz, wat dat ook mag zijn, was wel heel lekker.

Op een moment was het niet meer te redden, dus ik ging maar eten.

Volgende keer beter?

Op vrijdag 20 maart 2020 zat ik om precies 0:00 op mijn Switch om... Animal Crossing niet te kunnen spelen. Oh. Oké. Misschien kan het een paar minuutjes duren. Huh, maar iemand anders kon wel al om 0:01 spelen? HuH?

En ja hoor, om 0:05 was dan echt de tijd om... een melding te krijgen dat ik te weinig geheugen had op mijn Switch. Motherfucking fuck. Mijn Switch had het automatisch naar mijn systeem gedownload, niet naar mijn micro SD kaart.

Dus... ik heb het opnieuw moeten downloaden en zo om 0:39 was het tijd om... weer een notificatie van te weinig opslag te krijgen. De data van het spel komt natuurlijk op mijn systeem te staan. Ik heb snel wat software gearchiveerd en eindelijk rond 0:41 was het zo ver!

Ik heb gespeeld tot 2:00. Het was misschien goed dat ik ‘s nachts begon, want toen was er niet veel te doen. De spellen van Animal Crossing werken namelijk op “real time”. Als het 2 uur ‘s nachts is in het echte leven, is het ook 2 uur ‘s nachts in Animal Crossing.

Toch kwam ik om 3 uur weer mijn bedje uit. Ik had gelezen dat je Blathers snel kon krijgen, dus als ik voor 6 uur Blathers kon toevoegen aan mijn eiland, dan zou hij er al weer zijn als ik wakker wordt, want dat is dan de volgende dag.

Dus ik had het geweldige idee om dat te doen. Uiteindelijk viel ik rond de 4 uur in slaap. I regret nothing!

Nou, de regret kwam om 6 uur ‘s ochtends toen ik voor geen enkele fucking reden wakker schrok. En daarom ben ik dus mega moe. Uiteindelijk ben ik rond 8 naar de keuken geslopen om wat te eten, want ik had zo’n honger. Ik dacht dat het 10 uur was.

Ik had koppijn en wow ik was zo moe. Eenmaal terug in bed zag ik dat het dus 8 uur was. Hallelujah. Ik zette de wekker, want om 11:00 had ik een Zoom afspraak en geluk boven geluk viel ik in slaap! Normaal heb ik moeite met slapen, zelfs als ik heel moe ben. En normaal slaap ik ook nooit nadat ik eenmaal wakker ben.

“Thank dead God!”

EN HET ERGSTE? IK WAS VERGETEN OM DE TENT VAN BLATHERS TE PLAATSEN DUS ALLES WAS VOOR NIETS!!

Om 11:00 had ik dus dat theekransje met Danila en mijn tutoren. Alleen Ana kon er uiteindelijk bij zijn. We waren met z’n 8en misschien.

***

Abrupt einde. Ja, het was 0:21 en ik gaf het op. Inmiddels is het 14:16. Ik werd rond 11:30 wakker, dus ik heb 11 uur geslapen. Ik had het nodig.

Gisteren had ik wel snel een overzicht gemaakt van wat ik allemaal wilde vertellen, zodat ik dat nog zou herinneren:

Dus laten we verder gaan met het theekransje. Ik luister nu naar de soundtrack van Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Ik zat tijdens het 2 uur lange theekransje de hele tijd te spelen. Multitasking!

Danila gaf aan dat ze heel verbaasd was over de reactie. Blijkbaar blijft meer dan de helft van de Erasmusstudenten aan onze faculteit gewoon in Ljubljana. Dat maakte haar blij. Ze was wel een beetje teleurgesteld voor ons. Ze zei ook: “This is supposed to be such an amazing time for you guys!”

Ach, we hebben tenminste een once in a lifetime Erasmus experience (hopelijk).

Sommigen blijven omdat hun landen gevaarlijker zijn dan Slovenië, anderen omdat het onmogelijk is om uit te reizen, anderen omdat ze simpel weg niet willen. De Slowaak kon maar niet stoppen met praten. Hij praatte ook constant door anderen heen. Het was zo irritant en ik had hem bijna uitgescholden. Iemand vraagt Ana iets, laat haar dan ook antwoorden.

De Slowaak blijft hier omdat hij hoopt dat het in mei beter zal zijn, maar Danila betwijfelt dat. Dan alsnog, niemand weet wat er gaat gebeuren.

Maar ja, we konden Danila vragen stellen over onze lessen en wat dan ook en zij probeerde die zo goed mogelijk te antwoorden. Tadeja and “Wiet” waren er niet, maar “Wiet” is ook een dorm student, dus misschien daarom. Alle domitories in Slovenië zijn ook gesloten, dus Sloveense studenten moesten verplicht terug naar ouderlijk huis. Dit ging niet makkelijk, want niet iedereen was hierop voorbereid en sommigen hebben ook nog andere obligaties in Ljubljana of Maribor.

Alleen buitenlandse studenten mogen nog in de dorms blijven. Wat een toestand. Verder hebben we ook landen met elkaar vergeleken, niet alleen maar rondom Corona, maar ook rond prijzen. Danila en de Slowaak zijn het er niet mee eens dat Slovenië een derde ranks land is in de Erasmus beurs, want Ljubljana is een dure stad om in te wonen. De rest van Slovenië? Ja, oké, maar met de Erasmusbeurs in Ljubljana ben je niet rijk.

De meesten in de chat komen uit landen zoals Macedonië en Slowakije enz. en ze konden het niet geloven toen ik zei dat de huur in Amsterdam tot €700 per maand kon oplopen. Misschien wel meer. Ik had al eerder verteld dat de mega dure toeristische plekken in Slovenië ongeveer hetzelfde kosten als Nijmegen of Heerlen of zoiets. Dat wordt gezien als mega duur voor andere Slovenen.

Maar ja, het klopt wel qua huur dat Ljubljana dus wel als een tweede ranks land had kunnen tellen.

~~En nu onderbreken we dit verhaal om te praten over Jasper, die eindelijk een goed punt heeft voor Engels! Ik ben heel blij en trots en ik vond het ook heel leuk dat hij het me liet weten!!!~~

Het volgende in mijn lijstje: Spar!

Ik ben voor de eerste keer in een hele week naar buiten geweest.

Ja ik heb er meteen een foto van gemaakt. Het was ook zo’n goed weer. Ik had een t-shirtje aan, maar ook nog de jas van Delaney. Dat was dus totaal onnodig.

En er was een mooie duif:

Simple joys, man.

Dani zei al eerder dat deze quarantaine wel mensen rust geeft om dingen te waarderen die je eerst niet zag. Kijk, een duif!

Het was niet mega rustig. Er reden nog geregeld auto’s en er waren zeer veel fietsers. Uiteindelijk kwam ik aan bij de lege supermarkt. De schappen waren vol, maar de winkel was leeg. Er stond bewaking voor de deur en iedereen moest in een rij wachten met ieder 1,5 meter afstand.

Dan mocht je één voor één naar binnen en je moest je handen desinfecteren en plastic handschoenen aan. De schappen waren dus best vol. Alleen pastasauzen, bakmeel en pasta was iets leger. Er was zelfs nog mega veel wc papier!

Ik denk dat de wc papier craze uit Australië komt. Daar was in februari een ban op wc papier, waardoor er gevechten in winkels ontstonden. Een krant had zelfs 6 pagina’s gebruikt om wc papier te printen, aangezien de Australische overheid nu een limiet had gezet op wc papier.

Het meest ironische? Die ban was niet wegens de Corona-crisis, maar wegens de bosbranden crisis.

Al deze shit voor wc papier rondom Corona klopt dus niet. Wel raar om te bedenken dat er al zoveel is gebeurd in 3 maanden.

In januari: conflict VS en Iran, mogelijke nieuwe oorlog

In februari: Australië staat geheel in de fik

In maart: pandemie

Please, april, please laat ons niet in de steek. Mijn verwachtingen zijn zeer, zeer laag, maar ik heb toch nog wel hoop.

Maar ja, boodschapjes gedaan. Tijd voor weer een week binnen zitten.

Toen ik eenmaal thuis was, ging ik nog meer Animal Crossing spelen. Waarom niet? We hebben nu tijd. (Antwoord: studie, maar yada yada Animal Crossing). Plus ik heb donderdag dus de hele dag besteed aan Sociologie, omdat ik wist dat ik nu in een Animal Crossing mood ben.

Oh, het volgende punt op mijn lijstje: Corona update.

Hiermee bedoel ik het uitreizen. De Belgische ambassade gaf de Belgen een bericht dat er op zondag, dus morgen, een vliegtuig vanuit Parijs naar Amsterdam zou gaan. De stagiaire van de Nederlandse ambassade bevestigde dat. Nou, Anouk heeft het afgewezen. De Belgische ambassade zou vervoer naar Parijs regelen, maar zij wilt dus zeker hier blijven (yo, ik ben niet alleen!!!!). Anderen gingen meteen een vliegticket boeken.

€500 of meer.

Oh, ja. Sommigen haakten toen ook af. Plus, de rit naar Parijs zelf is ook al risky. Ook was de vlucht heel snel volgeboekt. Inmiddels zijn we een dag verder en twee Nederlanders, toevallig beiden van de RU, hebben een ticket. Ze vliegen vanuit Ljubljana naar Parijs naar Amsterdam.

Sanne had dit ook gezien, maar de vlucht was ineens weg van de site. Waarschijnlijk dus ook vol.

Dus dat is nu de stand van zaken. Helaas is er wel nog onduidelijkheid over Parijs, aangezien Frankrijk in total lockdown modus is. Maar ze nemen het risico.

Ik zit er nu naar te neigen om helemaal niet te gaan, zelfs als er een kans is. Het is gewoon mega veel gestress en zoals Anouk al zei: “Wat is de meerwaarde?”

Maar zoals anderen ook al zeiden in die groep: emoties gaan de hele tijd heen en weer. Iedereen zit met de onduidelijkheid. Corona neemt alles over.

Maar mijn blog niet meer! Ik heb eindelijk andere dingen in mijn reblog tag gegooid die niet gerelateerd zijn aan Corona. Het zit nu vol met dingen die me nu even bezig houden, zoals ook de bedoeling was (alhoewel, Corona houdt me natuurlijk ook bezig), dus er zit wat Animal Crossing in. Ook wat Red, White & Royal Blue, zoals “afgesproken” en ook The Most Popular Girls In School.

Ik was het vergeten te zeggen, maar op donderdag heb ik eindelijk na 8 jaar MPGIS gekeken. Please, iemand, zeg dat je MPGIS herkent! Lucas, Maura? Het is een webseries ging mega viral in 2012.

MPGIS was overal anno 2012. Ook werd de audio overal voor gebruikt. Iemand moet het toch wel kennen? Je weet wel, de serie met de goedkope Action namaak Barbie poppen en de grove humor?

Ik kan niet geloven dat ik na 8 hele jaren eindelijk seizoen 1 heb gezien. Ik kende maar een deel van één aflevering en ik moet bekennen dat ik het nog helemaal uit mijn hoofd kende. Seizoen 2 t/m 5 moeten maar wachten, want nu heb ik Animal Crossing. Als ik niet bezig ben met “verantwoordelijkheden”, doe ik dat.

Volgend punt op mijn lijstje: Sofia/Sophia. Geen idee hoe je het schrijft.

Dit wordt nog een lange blogpost, maar ik moet alles inhalen van donderdagavond t/m nu, want ik was te druk met Animal Crossing om te schrijven. Ik ben nu ook Animal Crossing tijd aan het gebruiken voor dit.

Maar ja, we hebben een nieuwe kamergenoot. Ik had het verhaal nog niet helemaal uitgelegd, want ik werd onderbroken door die nieuwe regel.

Sofia is een Duitse Erasmus student en een vriendin van Kath. Kath heeft Matjaz gevraagd of Sofia dus bij ons in kon trekken, aangezien Caroline’s kamer leeg is.

Dat kon. Kath ging Sofia halen met al haar spullen. Ze konden de auto van Sofia’s voormalige huisbaas lenen. Anouk en Aga hielpen met verhuizen. Ik had geen idee dat ze er al was, want ik lag in bed, want ik was moe. Alsnog: weinig slaap.

Matjaz was er blijkbaar ook even en hij vertelde de rest dat hij niet in Corona gelooft.

Huh?

Hij gelooft er gewoon niet in. Het is allemaal nep in zijn ogen. Hij denkt dat het allemaal propaganda is.

Toen de rest vroegen “propaganda waarvoor?”, had hij geen antwoord. Dude, als je een complottheorie gaat verspreiden, geef het dan tenminste inhoud. Propaganda waarvoor? Wie de fuck heeft hier baat bij?

Dus ja, Sofia trok in en ik stuurde een mail naar mijn Sociologie lerares. Toen was het tijd om te eten. Met mijn nieuwe boodschappen heb ik weer de pasta met spinazie en crème gemaakt. Kath was ook aan het koken voor haar en Sofia en we waren aan het praten, dus ik besloot om maar bij hun te zitten. Ik had eigenlijk het idee om te eten in mijn kamer terwijl ik Animal Crossing ging spelen, want Evelien en Merel waren ook online.

Maar nope. Toen kwam Anouk binnen voor de magnetron en ze bleef ook hangen. Het was mega gezellig en we hebben het over veel dingen gehad, waaronder Corona, maar ook adoptie. Dit gebeurt vaker: ze willen weten hoe alles zit. Ik vind het niet erg.

Toen hadden we het meer over human rights en die dingen, want Anouk heeft stage gelopen bij Amnesty International. Het was dus een gezellige en interessante avond.

Maar op een moment was het voorbij dus ik belde mama even terug en toen was het tijd voor Animal Crossing!!! Met Evelien en Merel!!!!! Give me peaches!!!!!

Elk eiland heeft exclusieve items, dus je wordt gemotiveerd om elkaar te bezoeken om dingen te ruilen. Dat ga ik zo weer doen. En ja, dat was de rest van mijn avond. Tot middernacht heb ik Animal Crossing met ze gespeeld, maar ik had al aangegeven dat ik mega moe was. Dus ik at wat en ik begon deze blogpost en nu...

Nu ga ik weer Animal Crossing spelen.

#47 #blog post #march

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pussykech · 4 years

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hoi! hier is een soort van review i guess voor animal crossing new horizons. ik heb het nu 3 uur gespeeld ongeveer, hier zijn wat thots

(ik heb het spel nu al omdat gamemania de preorders eerder heeft uitgegeven vanwege c*rona)

**even wat blank space want ik weet niet hoe readmores werken op mobile, help**

ik heb het spel nu ongeveer 2 uur intensief gespeeld, na een uurtje was ik echt wel door de dagtaken heen maar je kunt nog met heel veel dingen nook miles verdienen waardoor je toch wel bezig blijft. bugs en vissen spawnen ook heel vaak, het enige probleem is dat flimsy tools heel vaak breken en op een gegeven moment alle crafting resources op je eiland op zijn. gelukkig kun je bij resident services wel voor bells nieuwe tools krijgen!!

je hoeft maar 5 unieke critters in te leveren bij tom nook om blathers te ontgrendelen, je moet dan zijn tent een plekje geven en ik neem aan dat hij de volgende dag dan arriveert.

na die 2 uur speeltijd had ik al dik genoeg nook miles verzameld om mijn getaway package af te betalen, en dan kun je meteen je huis laten bouwen! weet nog niet hoe dat zit met andere villagers. getaway package was 5000 miles, eerste house loan is 98,000 bells.

je kunt cadeaus krijgen via balloons, je haalt ze op dezelfde manier neer als in new leaf (slingshot) maar in plaats van dat vreselijke balloon furniture zitten er items, kleren, diy recipes of crafting materials in. er spoelt soms ook flessenpost aan, ik heb er nu eentje gehad en daar zat een diy recept voor een spiegel in. daarmee heb ik character customization ontgrendeld!

edit: misschien dat het nog komt, maar tot nu toe verandert de muziek niet elk uur :(

dat was het ongeveer, ik hoop dat het een beetje leuk en/of nuttig is :3

#acnh spoilers #acnh #animal crossing new horizons spoilers #animal crossing new horizons

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zahumnypodcast · 5 years

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Episode 6 notes – Populism is the new black

Populism is the new black, or so it seems judging from the ubiquity of the terms populist and populism in public discourse. Seriously, your policy is not relevant if it has not been called “populist” at some point at least once.

We are in the business of political science though and we do not take using academic terms lightly. That is why we set out to clarify what populism really is and show that not everyone who is being labelled populist really is one. Here is what we talked about in episode 6.

First of all … what is populism.

If we did this episode ten years ago we probably would have spent the whole half-hour on the different definitions political scientists argue about. But thanks to Cas Mudde, a Dutch political scientist, we have a definition that everyone more or less agrees with.

Populism as such is always somewhat context-specific because the particular segments of society that populists define and use depend on local realities. Nevertheless, in order for someone to call a person or a party populist, the following four attributes should be present in their language.

Number one, anti-elitism. Elites and the establishment are the primary “enemy” (often without the inverted commas) and populism presents itself as being in direct opposition to them. Populists claim to speak for those who have been overlooked, oppressed or left behind and present themselves as champions of the people. Which brings us to number two, the people. Borrowing the famous (and overused) quote about government being of the people, by the people, for the people, it is implicitly assumed that “people” is more or less everyone, or at least everyone who voted. This is not the case in populists’ eyes because the people is constituted by those who are the real, pure, uncorrupted and hard-working. That means that apart from elites, those on benefits or immigrants are often also excluded, especially by far-right populists.

Defining “the real people” is of course arbitrary albeit based on sentiments present in a given society. A good example of an instance of using these sentiments is birtherism in the United States. This conspiration theory maintained that Barack Obama was born outside the U.S. and as such unable to serve as the American president (as the Constitution prescribes that every American president needs to be born on the U.S. soil). For those who felt Obama was unfit to serve because he was...well, not particularly white, birtherism presented a great opportunity how to put a legal stamp on these feelings (racism, shush!).

Number three, the people as a homogeneous entity. When society is comprised of two opposing groups there is an implied assumption of common interests and common will of the people. That means that populism is, while not undemocratic per se, incompatible with liberal democracy – populists see themselves as the only representatives of the will of the people, and nothing is more sacred than that will – not even constitutional courts for example. Moreover, if you believe that the people is a unified entity you do not need to recognize minorities or even hold parliamentary debates. When all you do in office is exercising the will of the people, there is no need for blathering on.

And finally, number four, appeals to morality. Those follow from the distinction between the rotten elites and the pure people, in the sense of morally pure. That is why populism has the capacity to stir up emotions, it discredits its opponents through accusing them of being morally corrupt. Populist leaders can therefore be very rich and still claim to represent the common folk – social class or wealth is only secondary to moral purity. A not insignificant part of the appeal of populist leaders comes down to their accessibility enabled by social media, further showing how different they are from those in power.

What is missing from this definition of populism is any kind of ideology. Populist parties are difficult to place on the traditional left-right spectrum, which is also one of the reasons what it took political scientists so long to agree on a definition of populism. Some claim it is only a communication strategy, the aforementioned Cas Mudde uses the term “host ideology” because he sees populism as a vessel that can be filled with leftist or right-wing ideas. This will then influence the way leaders define the people and identify the enemy.

One of the best examples for this flexibility of populism is Italy. The country had the first Western all-populist government, with both the left and right represented. On the left it was the Five Star Movement. The Five Star’s priorities – their number gave the party its name - are why they are being classified as left-wing populists: public water, sustainable transport, sustainable development, access to the internet as a right and environmentalism. What makes the party populist if for one that manifesto rejects traditional party politics and political elites as well as the distinction between the left and the right simply because all politicians are equally corrupt. Anti-establishment stance – check.

The Five Star Movement is sometimes referred to as digital utopists but for our purposes we could call them digital populists. As traditional party politics is corrupt they set out to capture a collective intelligence of sorts that can be defined through and on the internet. The party’s app Rousseau is the tool for that and theoretically, after everyone becomes a member, the will of the people will emerge through consensus on everything from confirming election candidates to bills to be presented in Parliament.

Despite the fact that the Five Star Movement exhibits features traditionally associated with the (far) right – Euroscepticism, an aversion towards migration or links to the anti-vaccination movement, they are still mainly associated with the left thanks to their environmentalism or emphasis of de-growth. Undeniably right-wing on the other hand is The League of Matteo Salvini.

Originally called the Northern League, the party called for the separation of Northern Italy, or Padania, from the rest of Italy. The interesting thing about The League is that it has always been populist but the subjects and contents of their message changed. The definition of the morally pure people shifted ideologically from regionalism to nationals. Geographically, “us” is no longer Padania but the whole of Italy and the main “them” is no longer rotten Rome and lazy Southerners but migrants.

Salvini is also an avid user of social media. As opposed to the Five Stars who use new technology to build a platform to define the will of the people, Salvini uses the internet to build trust and give his voters the feeling he is one of them. There are more than enough selfies with the bare-chested Salvini than Tim Bernes-Lee would approve of but it works. Emotions and emotional charge spread like wildfire online and Salvini, as well as Trump, mastered it.

When speaking of Italian populism, we also have to mention Forza Italia and Silvio Berlusconi who used populist tactics before it was cool, in the nineties. He is a good example of another trait that populism often has – a charismatic leader. Forza is rather a centre-right party using populist tactics which only reinforces the idea of a rather blurry line between “pure” populism and a party taking a page out of the populists’ book. Forza has been ideologically flexible over the years but the core values stayed – freedom and individualism, which does not sound much like the quest for a unified people.

What Berlusconi mastered though was the use of media, the reason why we mention him in connection to populism. Before the internet was widely used, people watched television. And Berlusconi offered a very different TV experience – a lot of reality and comedy shows and according to one study published in American Economic Review, there is a direct link between consumption of Berlusconi’s media and support for Forza or even the Five Stars today. The researchers claim that these viewers expected easy solutions and also, simplyput, showed signs of cognitive decline. Which is of course not to say that people voting for populists are stupid but there seems to be a correlation between people being more receptive to populist messages and their media consumption preferences.

Generally, the quest for clear definitions and then using them to pigeon-hole different parties or politicians into neat categories is not always welcomed by conditions “on the ground”. The Five Start Movement is no doubt a populist movement, but they are also utopian. The League checks all the boxes for populism but is also far-right. On the other hand, there are those who only use populist tactics such as Silvia Berlusconi so is it a good idea to describe him as a populist?

There is a good argument for why not to do that because it distorts the original meaning of the word. But we also cannot come up with a new word every time something does not exactly match the definition we came up with. This struggle is of course nothing new, we have the same problem with the word democracy. The main lesson here probably is to be aware of the fact that words can be misused as a label and populists are not the only ones who are good at using emotionally charged terms. Trying to discredit ideological or political opponents by labelling them as populists not only muddies the terminological waters of politics but also leads to the question of why it is such a bad thing to be accused of “working for the people”.

Populism therefore is not only an interesting phenomenon by itself, it also demonstrates a broader point of the difference between “official” academic definitions of terms and the way they get used – and misused - in everyday language. So, beware of your words!

References can be found on the episode page here: https://soundcloud.com/za-humny-podcast/06-je-to-populista

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libraryscarf · 6 years

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Payback

“Which one?” she asked helplessly. She couldn’t parse the blur of songs on the screen with Yato sitting so close to her. Kofuku collapsed on her other side, leaning on her shoulder to browse the titles. “Ooh! This one! Sing this one!” She snatched the screen and poked a button. The song began to play. Hiyori choked. “No. No.” “Come ooon,” Kofuku whined piteously. The corners of her rosebud mouth turned down when Hiyori balked. “You have to sing this one, for me. Please?” Blushing up to her ears, Hiyori slowly stood up and took the microphone. “Okay,” she said, heavy with reluctance. “But…it won’t be good.”

Chapter 7: The Karaoke ( ao3 / ff.net )

Hiyori stared at page 449 of her textbook for half an hour, scanning the same two sentences over and over with glassy, unseeing eyes.

A knock on her door startled her out of her stupor. When she called a welcome, Ami cracked the door open a few inches. Her glasses reflected the sterile blue of Hiyori’s desk lamp, making her look a bit like a sinister scientist.

“How goes the cramming?”

Hiyori looked down at the page of her notebook, which was covered in eyeballs. Not literal, squishy eyeballs, but sketchy doodles of eyes that her hand had been creating absently while her mind wandered.

“The cramming goes shittily.”

Ami hummed in sympathy. Then she was silent, but she didn’t close the door, obviously lingering to say something else. Hiyori spun around in her old, squeaky swivel chair.

“Something on your mind?” she asked pointedly.

Ami opened the door a fraction wider, but still didn’t step into the room.

“Just thinking…maybe you should get out for a bit. Do something besides study.”

Hiyori pinched her eyebrows together with a thumb and forefinger. “God, it must be bad if you’re telling me to go out and be social.”

Ami didn’t seem to take offense to the comment. Instead, she continued standing silently in the doorway. A surge of irritation rushed up Hiyori’s throat.

“Can you spit it out?!”

She hadn’t finished speaking before she regretted the harsh tone, and her head drooped with penitence. Ami cleared her throat softly.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just that he’s here.”

Hiyori’s head snapped up again. Ami could only mean—

“The delivery guy,” she clarified, holding up two plastic bags of takeout as evidence.

Hiyori melted back into her chair, weak with both disappointment and relief. After that damn party, she wasn’t sure she could look Yato in the eye without fainting from humiliation.

“Thanks,” she said without enthusiasm, and reached for one of the bags. Ami pulled her arm back, dangling the food—which smelled mouth-wateringly of broccoli and beef—out of reach.

“My credit card was declined,” she said. Hiyori stared at her in disbelief.

“So...you want me to…?” She trailed off, hoping Ami would show a modicum of shame.

Ami’s shoulders hinted at a shrug, but didn’t quite make it all the way. “Sorry.”

Hiyori dragged herself out of her desk chair, stomping past Ami and down the stairs to the front door, where the delivery-person was, apparently, still waiting for payment. The door wasn’t completely closed, so she flung it all the way open. And then she nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Yato—!” she gasped.

He was dressed in a stained, dubiously gray uniform, and stood with one arm awkwardly extended, holding the electronic card reader in front of him. They stood like that for several seconds.

“You deliver Chinese food?” she blurted stupidly.

Yato didn’t answer for a half-second, his jaw still hanging slightly ajar. Then he inhaled quickly, as though just realizing she had asked him a question.

“Yeah. I got—uh—kind of fired from my other job.”

Hiyori covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh no!”

He shrugged awkwardly with one shoulder. “It happens. Apparently ‘repeatedly missing shifts’ and ‘stealing product’ is not smiled upon in the pizza industry. Plus I smelled like pepperoni twenty-four-seven.”

“Well, now you’re just gonna smell like MSG!”

At that, Yato grinned. Then he realized he was still holding the card reader out, and quickly lowered his arm. The movement jogged Hiyori’s memory, and she pulled out her wallet and rummaged through it for a card.

“Right. How much?”

She brandished a credit card, only to be met with a blank look.

“Huh?”

“The credit card,” Hiyori prodded. “Ami’s didn’t work?”

Yato stared at her in vacant confusion. “No, it worked. It’s all paid. She said she had to go grab some cash for a tip.”

Sudden understanding punched through the top of her skull. Hiyori half-turned her back to Yato, of a mind to find Ami and box her ears.

“Oh, that little—” she fumed, before clamping her teeth onto her tongue and forcing herself to smile prettily at him.

“Of course. Sorry. Um. I guess I should…tip you, then?”

Yato’s mouth shaped several silent syllables before he managed to get any sound out.

“Oh. N-no, I mean, it’s fine! I just—it felt rude to just leave, so—”

Hiyori stuttered for a second, before an immediate, searing realization folded her gut in half.

“I haven’t paid you!” she cried.

Yato stopped with his mouth open, halfway through his string of excuses. Hiyori thought she was sweating much more than was necessary, and had to stifle the urge to fan her damp forehead with both hands.

“For the—the other thing,” she said, dropping her voice just in case Ami—Judas that she was—might be lurking somewhere in earshot.

He shrugged again, though the pause before it was just long enough to be suspicious.

“It’s…y’know, whatever,” he said, obviously wanting to just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible.

The sweat on Hiyori’s forehead was starting to drip down her temples. Feverish with discomfort, she dug through her wallet again for her checkbook.

“I know we didn’t discuss payment or anything, but, um—”

She scribbled three figures on the check, signed it messily, and thrust it toward his chest, hoping she hadn’t already smeared the ink with her clammy hands. Yato stared at the check for a moment, then gingerly took it from her. His eyes were frozen to the total scrawled on the front.

If he didn’t say something soon, Hiyori was going to cry.

“Je-sus,” he breathed.

Oh god, she’d insulted him.

“It’s negotiable,” Hiyori gasped. She eyed the pen in her hand, wondering if it was sharp enough for her to use to commit seppuku.

Yato’s eyes traveled, slowly, from the check up to hers.

“Negotiation isn’t necessary,” he said. “But…this is a lot. Are you sure?”

Hiyori nodded vigorously. “Please. You’ve helped me so much. I really can’t thank you enough.”

It seemed to take Yato some effort to pocket the check, and even when he did, his posture was very subtly altered, as though there were something sharp poking him in the spine. He was quiet for a few more seconds. Something started to push at the bottom of Hiyori’s stomach, worming its way up her throat like an eel.

“Thanks,” Yato said. After another half-second he remembered to smile, but the strain of his facial muscles looked unnatural.

The pressure in Hiyori’s throat quickly became unbearable. If she opened her lips she was going to either puke or scream. She turned back to the open doorway, hoping to put some distance between herself and Yato before she did either of those things.

“Hiyori!” he cried.

She stopped, halfway inside the house. She couldn’t look at him, but the writhing in her throat subsided.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat loudly.

“I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay, after that night, but I wasn’t sure that—I didn’t know if…”

It sounded like he was forcing the words out with something heavy sitting on his chest. His voice finally trailed away, and after a moment of collecting herself, Hiyori turned back to him. Her cheeks and eyes felt warmer than usual.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Yato’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m fine,” she repeated with more conviction. “Really. Thank you.”

His lower lip twisted, but he managed to turn it into a slight smile.

“Good.”

It could have been a moment for her to go back inside, for him to walk away.

Could have, but wasn’t.

Yato scratched the back of his neck. “Oh,” he said. “I was also going to ask: has anyone…caused trouble for you since then?”

Hiyori’s eyelid twitched. Fujisaki hadn’t surfaced since the episode at the party, but the mere thought of him becoming litigious towards Yato made her head pound. She felt sick with worry that he was, even then, brewing something awful in revenge.

But she hadn’t warned Yato. She hadn’t offered any help at all. Her own cowardice made her feel ill.

Yato misread the tortured expression on her face, and his expression darkened in anger.

“No!” Hiyori said quickly. “No. No one’s caused any trouble for me. But Yato, you shouldn’t have attacked him. That was so stupid!”

Yato looked like she’d shoved electrodes into his chest. He took a step back, and Hiyori’s hands twitched after him. She sputtered miserably.

“I-I mean. I appreciated it, of course. A lot! So much. Um.”

He looked like he wanted to speak, but she blathered on.

“And I mean, if we’re talking in terms of stupid things we did, I did…um. Stuff that was stupid. Definitely. So it’s not like I can really scold you for punching somebody.”

She shook her head even harder, and fought the urge to clutch her ears.

“Except I am—because he could hurt you, Yato! Do you know how powerful that family is?! And you broke his nose! He deserved it, yes, but…you can’t! You can’t go around punching horrible people’s noses. Because sometimes those horrible people’s noses are attached to just…just a whole lot of money. And lawyers.”

She was extemporizing to the ground at Yato’s feet. For some time now she had been at the mercy of her mouth, waiting for the stream of fragmentary nonsense to run dry. At last, it did.

“Money and lawyers,” she trailed off in a whisper.

Yato made a funny sound in his throat, like he was gargling wasps. Hiyori’s eyes flicked to his face for a second, and saw in it a sort of tortured resolve that bewildered her.

“It’s fine,” he said, quickly composing himself. Hiyori was about to say that it wasn’t fine, and that he ought to consider what kind of damage both money and lawyers could do to him, but then he said:

“Do you like karaoke?”

She frowned. Maybe he’d misheard her.

“Do I what?”

“Do you like karaoke,” he repeated slowly.

Hiyori tried to remember the last time she’d done karaoke. Certainly not in the last several years.

“Um,” she said. Yato must have seen the question mark hovering above her head.

“I was just going to say that there are a few people I know who are going tonight. And I just wanted to know if you liked karaoke, and if you wanted to come.”

He said it all in one breath, so quickly that Hiyori almost couldn’t process it. Taking a few beats to untangle his meaning, she felt her ears catch fire.

“Oh.”

Yato blinked, his face pale and sweating. He looked like she had him on some medieval torture device, ratcheting up the agony with each silent second.

“People?” she repeated, hesitantly.

“Friends,” he hurried to supply. “My friends. You met Daikoku before. He and his girlfriend Kofuku were at the party, but you probably didn’t see her. I’ve known them forever.”

“Oh,” she said, in revelation. “A couple.”

Yato was so white that he could have passed for a corpse, and judging by the expression on his face, he would have found that state of existence preferable.

“Yep,” he choked.

Hiyori couldn’t find her tongue.

What was he asking, exactly? Was this another building block in the pyramid of falsehoods that made up their “relationship.”

“Oh, and Yukine will be there too. Actually—he’s the one who told me to invite you.” Yato laughed uncomfortably. “I think he might have a tiny crush, to be honest.”

Hiyori’s stomach did a nasty somersault. Her eyes stung fiercely. “Ah.”

The door opened behind her, and Ami poked her head out. Both of them jumped at the intrusion. Yato dropped the card reader he was still holding, and it clattered against the sidewalk.

“Did you get kidnapped?” Ami asked. “Food’s getting cold.”

“No! Sorry. I’m just…” Hiyori trailed off, watching as Yato picked up the card reader, straightened, didn’t look at her. She turned to Ami.

Two minutes, she mouthed. She smiled, praying her face didn’t look unnatural. Ami squinted.

Hiyori widened her eyes. Please.

“Okayyy,” Ami said suspiciously. “But I’m picking out all the best pieces if you take too much longer.”

She shut the door with a severe bang. Hiyori gathered her wits.

“Yeah, I’d love to come along!” she said exuberantly. She winced as her fake-bubbly voice shot up an octave. “It sounds fun!”

Yato raised his head. “It…does?” A shade of color was coming back to his cheeks.

“Yeah! Totally!”

Her mood swing was giving both of them whiplash. Hiyori couldn’t handle the insane false cheerfulness that had her in its grip. She grinned like an effervescent demon. She giggled like a cheerleader on speed.

“Great,” he said cautiously. “I’ll…let you know when we’re leaving?”

Hiyori bounced on her heels, smiling a deranged smile. “Yep! Awesome!”

Yato started backing away from the house. Hiyori couldn’t blame him. He smiled back, his eyes a little terrified. “Okay, um. See you later.”

“Uh huh! Great!”

Hiyori spun around and fumbled for the doorknob, hoping to exorcise whatever had possessed her by cutting herself off from any more human interaction. Slamming the door behind her, she found Ami on the other side of it, regarding her clinically over a plastic bowl of Chinese takeout.

“Please,” Hiyori moaned. “Please. Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.”

Ami innocently pondered the broccoli beef between her chopsticks. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Good.”

There was silence, punctuated only by the raucous gallop of Hiyori’s pulse.

“So.” Ami popped the beef into her mouth and spoke around it. “How’re your karaoke skills these days?”

Hiyori straightened her spine, cast her friend a withering glare, and stomped up the stairs. She would spend the next three hours staring at her phone, failing to convince herself that the hollowness in her chest was normal, that it was nothing, that she was fine, just fine.

: : :

Following the instructions from Yato’s text, Hiyori arrived at a tiny building hiding between a bustling beauty supply store and an equally bustling porn emporium.

She walked inside to see three people waiting for her. One of them was Yato. The other man she recognized from the umbrella store. The third was a tiny woman with a bubblegum pink bob, who squealed as soon as Hiyori walked in, and flung herself into her arms.

“It’s so good to meet you!” she said rapturously. “I thought Yato was lying about having other friends, but you’re so real and pretty!”

Hiyori laughed nervously. “It’s—um—nice to meet you too?” She cast a helpless glance at Yato over the top of the girl’s pink head.

“This is Kofuku,” was all the explanation he provided, as though this happened all the time. The “pretty” comment did turn his cheeks a bit pinker than usual.

Kofuku released Hiyori from her stranglehold, though she did attach herself firmly to her elbow as they got their drinks and were escorted to a small, bench-lined room by an employee wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed “UNDERWORLD” in bold, dripping red font across the chest.

“This is an…interesting place?” Hiyori observed. The memory of the porn emporium next door was still technicolor in her memory.

“They couldn’t get an alcohol license here,” Kofuku said brightly. “So it’s almost always empty. And cheap!”

Hiyori looked mournfully at what she now realized must be a virgin mojito, and sighed. Behind her, Yato chuckled.

“Trust me, you won’t need alcohol to enjoy hearing her butcher Madonna,” he said. Kofuku let go of Hiyori’s arm long enough to smack his shoulder.

Daikoku growled: “My woman’s got the voice of an angel.”

“Yeah!” Yato said gleefully. “The angel of death!”

Hiyori laughed at that: a loud, undignified snort that, after it escaped, seemed to echo in the room. She slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified.

The other three looked at her for a second. Then Kofuku squealed, clasping Hiyori so tightly in her arms that she swore two of her ribs cracked.

“You’re so, so, so so adorable! I just wanna squeeze you into my pocket and take you everywhere—!”

Yato began scrolling through song options, and Daikoku sipped broodingly on his drink. Neither of them offered to help her. As she turned steadily bluer in Kofuku’s embrace, Hiyori had a revelation.

“Hey,” she wheezed. “Where’s Yukine?”

Yato glanced up from the song list. “He said he was busy again.”

Daikoku frowned sadly. “Aw, damn. I like that kid.”

“He’s been acting so shady recently,” Yato complained. “Why are teenagers like this? I thought he wanted to hang out with Hiyori, but then all of a sudden he has ‘botany assignments’ and ‘study partners,’ and then he’s ditching me to go to the ‘library,’ and—”

“Sounds like he’s just being a responsible kid,” Daikoku pointed out. Yato sulked.

“I didn’t tell him he could do that.”

“You’re not his dad.”

Yato bristled. “Well…I feed him!”

“Day-old pizza and ramen is not a balanced diet for a growing boy.”

Hiyori, overcome with curiosity, interrupted their disagreement.

“Wait,” she said. “Where are Yukine’s parents?”

Yato’s mouth was open to make some retort, but he shut it again. He shrugged, almost nonchalant.

Almost.

“No idea,” he said.

There was a second of silence. Hiyori’s eyes darted from Yato, to Daikoku, to Kofuku. There was a secret here she was being shut out of, and she wasn’t sure how hard she could press before her prying struck too deep a nerve.

“So…you’re basically his caretaker,” she stated to Yato. He shrugged again.

“More or less.”

Hiyori’s chest squeezed tight and hot with sudden, inexplicable grief. “Oh.”

Something in her voice made Yato look back at her. When he saw her stricken expression, his attitude flipped 180 degrees.

“Hey,” he said loudly. “This sure is a bummer conversation! Can we sing yet?”

Kofuku cheered and grabbed a mic. Yato reached for the other, but Daikoku snatched it away with a smooth, lightning-quick motion.

“You gonna take the first duet with my woman?” he said menacingly. Hiyori had no idea whether the threat in his voice were real or playful.

She wasn’t sure Yato knew either. He threw his hands up in surrender.

At that, a wide grin spread across Daikoku’s face. He guffawed, slapping Yato’s back with such thunderous force that he was nearly driven face-first into the table. Hiyori winced.

“Agh,” Yato groaned, giving a weak thumbs-up. “Funny.”

The music started. Kofuku had chosen a syrupy, woeful Lady Antebellum song that she and Daikoku lumbered through with more enthusiasm than skill. Yato’s earlier statement proved true: by the end of the song, Hiyori was dissolving in giggles at Kofuku’s death-defying commitment to the drawn-out, yearning notes.

As the doomed duet drew to a very flat close, she found her shoulder being tapped. At some point during Kofuku and Daikoku’s performance, Yato had scooted along the couch to sit nearer to her.

“You wanna go?” he asked.

She nodded, and took the song selection device from his hands. Their thighs brushed, and heat crept from her collarbones up her neck. She scrolled quickly through the song options, trying to distract herself from the warmth of his leg.

“Which one?” she asked helplessly. She couldn’t parse the blur of songs on the screen with Yato sitting so close to her.

Kofuku collapsed on her other side, leaning on her shoulder to browse the titles.

“Ooh! This one! Sing this one!” She snatched the screen and poked a button.

The song began to play. Hiyori choked.

“No. No.”

“Come ooon,” Kofuku whined piteously. The corners of her rosebud mouth turned down when Hiyori balked. “You have to sing this one, for me. Please?”

Blushing up to her ears, Hiyori slowly stood up and took the microphone.

“Okay,” she said, heavy with reluctance. “But…it won’t be good.”

The song’s intro was building to a crescendo. Soon, she would have to sing.

She met Yato’s eyes by accident. He was grinning broadly—no doubt anticipating her failure—and something hot and hungry in her awoke.

She wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face.

She lifted the mic.

“I think I did it again.”

Hiyori didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her. Sultry, seductive.

Britney.

She only struggled with a few of the lower notes, and finished to an insane round of applause, mostly provided by Kofuku. Daikoku smiled his approval, which made him seem much more like the gentle young man he was, rather than a hired gun. Yato looked like he was going to pass out. He was sitting motionless, mouth agape, too shaken to even clap. Kofuku elbowed him in the ribs, and he finally joined the applause, though it still seemed like a stiff wind might knock him over.

“Are you okay?” Hiyori asked, sitting back down. She was a bit breathless, but her head was light with elation.

“Uh,” he said. His voice was airy, like the breath after a punch. “Who—Where did you—? You can sing?”

She giggled. It was nice to have surprised him. Too nice.

“I think that was just a good song for my range,” she admitted. “But…thank you. I assume that was a compliment?”

Yato was still staring at her, slackjawed. Then he nodded silently, at a loss for words. A blush climbed into her cheeks.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “It’s your turn now. What are you going to do to show me up?”

As soon as she said that, his persona shifted. He plucked the microphone from her loose grip, and reached over to snatch the song selection device from Kofuku, who was threatening Daikoku with another sappy duet. As he reached behind her, his arm grazed the back of her neck, raising a host of goosebumps across her neck and arms. Hiyori swallowed.

“You’ll see,” Yato said quietly.

As soon as he pressed the button, Freddie Mercury’s rich, soaring voice broke on their ears.

“Caaaan…anybody….”

“Oh god, no,” Daikoku groaned.

“Fiiind meeee…”

Yato stood up.

“Somebody to…”

He looked straight at Hiyori, and his mouth twitched.

“Loooooove?”

The piano began. And then Yato started to sing.

She had to admit that he was a natural performer, though his falsetto was rocky at best. He had a surprisingly pleasant, deep voice, which resonated with something in the pit of her stomach that she didn’t entirely trust.

He committed utterly to the spirit of the piece, and by the end was lying supine on the floor, kicking one leg feebly in the air as he warbled the last few notes in a dying voice that was only a distant cousin to the song’s key signature.

As soon as he finished, Hiyori burst into applause, quickly joined by Kofuku’s enthusiastic cheers. Daikoku’s face was dark red with suppressed laughter, and Hiyori suspected he was enjoying the spectacle of Yato making a fool of himself more than anything else the night could bring him.

Yato flung himself back onto the couch next to her, his face shiny with exertion.

“Very nice,” Hiyori said sincerely. “Though I don’t think you were supposed to try and sing backup vocals along with yourself.”

He grinned, unperturbed by her critique. “I like a challenge.”

Daikoku’s ears perked up.

“Oh yeah? You up for some Underoath, dude?”

Yato paled. “Do…do they have anything by Underoath?”

Hiyori, who had taken charge of the song selection, shook her head.

“No, but they do have a whole lot of Simon & Garfunkel. Like…too much. And one Katy Perry song. Have they updated this since 2009?”

“Which Katy Perry song?” Kofuku asked brightly.

“I Kissed a Girl.”

“Ooh!” Kofuku squealed. “I wanna do that one. Gimme.”

: : :

Hiyori couldn’t believe it when Daikoku glanced at his watch and yawned.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“9:30.”

Yato scoffed. “What are you, 80?”

Daikoku glowered at him, but before he could retort, Kofuku turned white and clasped both hands over her mouth.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “I just remembered. I think…I think I left the oven on.”

Yato groaned. Daikoku lowered his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I’m so sorry! I don’t even know why I was using it!”

Daikoku stood up, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “Well…I guess we’re heading home now. If it’s still standing, that is.”

Yato slumped back on the couch, and as he did so, his elbow overlapped Hiyori’s. She tried not to react, but the effort to keep herself from shivering at the contact was monumental.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth. “She does this a lot. It’s usually a false alarm.”

Hiyori’s eye twitched. “Usually?”

Kofuku allowed herself to be pacified, receiving repeated assurances from the other three that the oven was probably not on, that the house was probably not ripe with combustive gas. However, she and Daikoku still made movements to leave.

“We were supposed to have the room for another hour,” Kofuku said. “So you two stay and get your money’s worth.”

Then she looked at Hiyori. Somehow, without either of the men noticing, Kofuku shot her a bold, saucy wink.

Hiyori’s stomach dropped. She suddenly harbored doubts as to whether the oven had actually been left on.

“Um,” she said.

“Okay!” Yato broke in, more than enthusiastic to take up the offer. “We’ll sing enough for both of you.” He turned to her, and the joy on his face was so infectious that Hiyori thought it would be outright cruel to puncture it.

“Sure,” she said. Then, after a moment of hesitation: “It was really great to meet both of you.”

She meant it. There was something almost familial about how the two of them had immediately welcomed her as Yato’s friend. She gave Kofuku a warm hug, and had her shoulder affectionately patted by Daikoku.

“Nice singing,” he said sincerely, and Hiyori beamed.

As the couple left the room, Kofuku shot one more mischievous, meaningful smile over her shoulder. Yato caught a glimpse of Hiyori’s expression, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” she said, too quickly. Searching for a distraction, she punched a random song on the screen. As soon as the opening notes played, she and Yato exchanged a look of wide-eyed terror.

“Oh man,” he said. Hiyori scanned the screen for a “skip” button, but the programmers had cleverly hidden it in an obscure corner. Before she could conduct a more thorough search, Yato grabbed her wrist.

“We can’t skip it,” he said earnestly. “That’s cheating!”

“You can’t cheat at karaoke—” Hiyori protested, but he wasn’t listening.

“I got chiiills.” His voice cracked badly, but he soldiered on. Hiyori winced. John Travolta, Yato was not.

“They’re multiplyin’. And I’m looosing control.”

He grabbed her hand, dragging her up from the sofa. She yelped as he swung her in a circle, then pushed the other mic into her hand. Hiyori shook her head, though a grin tugged at her lips.

“You better shape up,” she sang—cautiously at first, then louder as her confidence grew. “‘Cuz I need a man, and my heart is set on you.”

Yato was doing some sort of upper body wiggle that made it seem like he was dislocating his shoulders. Hiyori burst into laughter, losing the tune. He picked it up again, and somehow they blundered through the chorus. At one point, they abandoned the melody entirely, instead resorting to shouts of “ooh, ooh, ooh, HONEY” at random intervals.

Hiyori was weak with laughter by the time the song ended. Yato was sweating, and his hair was wild from all the disco he’d just put it through.

“How have I never done this before?” she marveled, trying to catch her breath.

“Because you needed a cool, hip friend to take you!” he said.

Hiyori turned her gaze on him, and saw that he was one hundred percent serious. Her cheeks warmed.

“I think you might be right.”

She put him in charge of the song selection after that, because she didn’t trust herself to not pick something that would embarrass both of them. Yato was no better at choosing appropriately, as Hiyori discovered upon finding herself trying to carry the tune of “Eternal Flame” a few seconds later. He was belting out the operatic backup vocals, with only a passing nod to intonation.

After butchering The Bangles, Hiyori sank onto the bench again, her throat sore with laughter.

“Aren’t we almost out of time?” she asked, half-regretfully.

“Just one more?” Yato sank into a crouch in front of her, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

She tested her throat and winced. “I’m not sure I can. My karaoke stamina is not nearly as impressive as yours.”

At that moment, one of the employees poked her head in.

“Um. You guys have to leave soon. We’re closing.”

She stared with open curiosity around the humid little room and the two disheveled, sweaty people who had obviously been occupied in some sort of strenuous activity for the last half hour.

“Are you…” The employee cleared her throat self-consciously. “What have you been doing in here?”

Hiyori took in her expression, the state of the room, the state of herself—

“Oh!” she cried out. “Oh. Oh no. We’re…we’re done. Sorry. We’ll leave.”

Yato however, was still caught up in the spirit of karaoke. He grabbed her wrist before she could set down the mic.

“One more?” he begged. “I promise it’ll be great.”

Hiyori cast a helpless glance at the UNDERWORLD employee, who shrugged and withdrew—probably to report to her manager about acquiring a hazmat suit to clean the room after they were through.

“I’m not kidding, Yato,” she said. “My voice is shot to hell.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured her. “This’ll be my solo.”

Apprehensively, Hiyori watched him pick the final song. As soon as it began to play, she couldn’t restrain a bark of laughter.

“Are you serious?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s a grand finale!”

“Yeah, but—“

It was too late; the chorus to “I Will Always Love You” had arrived, and Yato was giving it his all.

His all, in this case, happened to be an unholy screech. His raw, overtaxed voice couldn’t handle the strain of keeping up with Whitney’s extraordinary vocals. The auditory effect came closest to the cacophony of sixteen cats being disemboweled, and was enough to summon the manager of UNDERWORLD to kick them out of the room.

“Well, that was rude,” Yato said in a hurt voice, once they had been unceremoniously hustled outside. Hiyori was still holding her stomach and trying to breathe through stitches of laughter.

“I think you did break their sound system, though,” she wheezed. Yato frowned, clearly displeased with how the management of the place had treated his artistic endeavors.

Once she’d recovered her wind, Hiyori looked around the dark, nearly abandoned street. Her car was the only one in sight.

“Did you walk here?” she asked in disbelief.

“Oh, no.” He winced and scratched the back of his neck. “Daikoku and Kofuku drove. I…forgot about that. Whoops.”

“Well, I’m headed in the right direction.” She shot a sideways grin at him and jingled her keys.

“Need a lift?”

shit got real and i barely got this chapter up today. i'll try SUPER HARD to not make you guys wait more than two weeks for the next one! pleas forgiv

#scarfwrites #noragamibigbang2k18 #yatori fanfiction #yatori #noragami fanfiction #noragami #the editing on this is TRASH i just wanted to POST #DDDD:

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gtparisinprogress · 4 years

Text

You might know me from @gettingtoparis . I started that blog nearly a decade ago. (God... How has it been that long?!?) I ‘met’ so many amazing people during that golden age of Tumblr & now some of my dearest friends were once strangers on the internet. Then there was this shift... or Life happened... or some ‘Je ne sais quoi’... but it just wasn’t the same.

Right around that time, there were also some shocking, massive, life-altering events happening in my life. I just withdrew from every thing. So many friends & family in my offline life didn’t/don’t even know what really happened & I couldn’t blather on about nonsense when my whole world was shifting. I lost my voice & the will to write for a few years. I haven’t quite felt like me in a long time... & I think that has something to do with it. But I’m taking my power back. Now.

When I started ‘GettingToParis,’ I was searching for a way to get back to myself. This quote finds a way to put into words all the jumbled thoughts I had; My original goal of my blogging adventure was that personal excavation. Somewhere in adolescence & young adulthood, I got so caught up in who I thought I should be & who I thought others wanted me to be that I lost who I actually was. I wanted to find a way to get back to that little girl inside who had big dreams, was fearless, & loved Paris. I think I made great strides... & I even made my dream of visiting Paris come true. Twice. 😉

I’m grateful for the growth & change that happened as @gettingtoparis, but it feels like a different verson of me & I wanted to honor that. But I also didn’t want to abandon the foundation I had created either... Because the woman I am now, I worked SO hard to become her. I realize that the journey of finding myself will always be ‘In Progress’... & voila! The idea for my new name was born. I feel a lot more confident in who I am now & I am ready for a new chapter. 💙

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kmp78 · 7 years

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“But it’s coming off more crazy,convoluted, and unreal. Not only is it the whole far-fetched lack of proof thing. It’s the more you need to embellish a lie, the less believable it gets kind of thing” 👏WORD, but now you and anyone that calls her out/her lies are all some character “Stranger,” but wasn’t it “Lovelos” just the other day? Then also everyone on Tw (and all other sm), previously EL/VK/SB/JE?😂 The problem with lying is you can’t keep your shit straight, but hey, man, it’s everyone else that’s ‘lying’ and ’cray’, plus trying try to break J up with her imaginary friend. Pity this Gert and others are the ones that rep us as fans out there with their nonsensical blathering. *** So many Gerties and agendas, so little time to roll eyes as thoroughly as they would deserve... (http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/147887250529/disclaimer-and-rules)

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writer59january13 · 4 years

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Present wedded bliss haint no touchstone...

Circa ~ late spring/ early summer 1978 twas at behest of Harriet Harris, thus due credit mother dearest (she long since passed away) who tried, to bribe, coax, exhort... (protracted effort not all in vain), cuz her second of three progeny,

and sole son i.e. (me) to commingle, frolic, immerse myself quintessentially ushering yawping zeal, cuz general disposition courtesy yours truly heavily trended toward solitude, limiting interpersonal opportunities minus those crafted, viz overactive imagination (mine).

I took immediate affinity (think how quick ducks adapt to water) to milieu of contra dancing and soon became popular with the gals,

surprising myself how enjoyable untrammeled pinteresting linkedin hoopla delivered je ne sais quois joie de vivre (the most fun one could experience without taking off their clothes), me no exhibitionist by a far cry!

How fitting and proper

to state we (thyself

and spouse) met (for reel) at Thursday night contra dance

Summit Presbyterian Church

6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19119 (initially held at Church of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields, Saint Martins Lane, Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, PA 19118 scads of years past (actually more'n deuce score of decades ago), whereby the missus claims, she espied (yours truly then as) young lad (bookworm type fella) with boyish good looks and golden locks emblematic of Samson, who would be envious (ha).

At four foot eleven the petite prospective missus

(plus her waist length brunette tresses)

ball of fire stood out amidst

madding crowd drew attention (mine),

yet she vociferously, vigorously,

and vehemently still claims

initial awkward overtures

ascribed to Zison assertiveness.

Yours truly, he blatantly admits pranced as novitiate

devoid of interpersonal finesse and polish to whit,

a mere neophyte in a nutshell hankering to sow wild oats that's zit.

Whereby our marriage got off to

(how shoal I say) rocky start

gallivanting with thee lass,

who would eventually

take me (grudgingly - ha)

as her respective lifelong sweetheart.

Unbeknownst to yours truly,

pent up unleashed testosterone

experienced disquieting alarm adequately adept equipped with strong arm,

I tapped into secrete Lucky charm,

(albeit surreal environment

cavorting amidst madding crowd)

helped cultivate feral latent impotent

animal husbandry to farm

long fallow fresh unadulterated field

jabbering innocent blather,

brazenness embarrassingly proliferated,

but provocative behavior

smote ego (mine)

not with irrecoverable harm,

analogous to angry bees didst

adequately buzzfeeding naiveté

beehive ving like metaphorical swarm

(smartly stinging me) think freshly cooked

cockles and muscles clammy and warm.

I eventually acquired figurative ropes regarding dating game

basic primal version

(at that time apps unnecessary)

nevertheless, call of the wild

thee woke former slumbering

beastie boy needed receptive body to tame,

he thus availed himself as lame

crash test dummy

feebly acquired social skills

bungled how to romance a capricious dame

readied himself to aim.

Aye celebrate mine life partner with balance and swing

proffering courtesy turn

exhibiting gratitude occasionally while with linkedin elbows we turn a circle

punctuating spontaneity with do-si-do.

Just now, nine days shy of twenty third orbit

delineating, demarcating, denoting, supposed

whereby justice of the peace

Judge Henry Schireson,

(who still maintains an office

925 Montgomery Avenue, Suite 100

Narberth, Pennsylvania 19072-1913) accommodated us as we became newlyweds

pledging our troth that hot July twenty fifth, I try to recollect any vestige

constituting distinguishing,

under_scoring outstanding details

sifting thru hazy memories of past.

#long story short...? one soon to be anointed geezer #learns about marriage.

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

Text

Road To The Aisles

The Ties That Bind second arc

So, legal battle won, the hard work begins. In a year full of changes, Jamie and Claire must learn how to be parents, juggle work, friends and family, and deal with an ex and her mother. Not forgetting to fit in their own special ‘grown-up’ time…

… oh, and plan a wedding, of course.

This story starts just after the legal agreement reached in Ned Gowan’s office and before the final scene of The Ties That Bind. It will be clear where the two stories merge. It is a continuation and so will make more sense if you’ve read The Ties That Bind first.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve and @wickedgoodbooks.

I aim to post every weekend, if possible. Hope you enjoy...

Chapter 1: An Awaited Introduction

“See how he clings to my finger. I’m sure he knows me already. He cries when the nurse takes him away. Oh Marilla, do you think - you don’t think, do you - that his hair is going to be red?”

L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams

Geillis looked around the small tea room with satisfaction.

“Thank god there are still places like this. I went tae a place last week… it had all the atmosphere of an aircraft hanger, but wi’ these stupid wee chairs, like a school. And the waiters, sae fuckin’ pretentious.”

She sipped her mug of tea with relish. “All I asked fer was a mug of tea and a jam doughnut. The wee fella looked at me like I was pond scum and told me in his fake Morningside accent, that they only served ‘high end teas’... or some such shite. Nae milk or sugar, and the matcha green tea doughnut looked like it was growing penicillin.”

She bit into her scone. “Anyway,” she spoke through a mouthful of crumbs. “I’m sorry. That’s enough of ma blather, tell me exactly what happened wi’ the lawyer yesterday.”

Claire smiled at her friend. “It was as good as we hoped. The lawyer John recommended was brilliant. Jamie got everything he asked for. Geneva didn’t have a leg to stand on. Shared custody of William. So Jamie will have William every Sunday evening until Tuesday, well, until morning drop off at childcare, I suppose. And then alternate weekends, from Friday evening. It’s a bit hazy at the moment, until William’s a bit older and in nursery.”

“But how do ye feel, Claire? This has all been about Jamie and the baby. What about ye? I mean this is pretty huge, is it no’? Ye’re gonna be a step-mother. That’s a forever thing. And ye’re always goin’ tae have tae deal wi’ Geneva… and her mother.” The look on Geillis’s face clearly showed her opinion of Geneva and Louisa Dunsany.

“To be honest, G, it’s only just hitting me.” Claire picked up her teaspoon and started methodically stirring her tea, clockwise then anti-clockwise, as she spoke. “Last night, after all the excitement, I lay in bed while Jamie was asleep, just thinking about it all. I mean I’ve never actually met William yet. I know that’s hardly surprising… Geneva didn’t even let Jamie see him for weeks. And now I’m going to be a big part of his life.”

She put the spoon down. “It’s like… like… being on an express train. I had a choice, when Jamie first told me. I chose to stay, to get on the train and to deal with all this. And I don’t regret it, any of it. And then with all the problems with Geneva and her mother and the lawyers, well, I didn’t have time to think about it. All our energy was on sorting that mess out. And now the train has slowed, we’ve reached the destination and I’m thinking ‘oh shit, what do I do now that I’m here?’”

“Ye ken fine what tae do. Ye’re a doctor, ye can cope.”

Claire smiled at her friend’s words of encouragement. “Practically, I know I can cope. It’s not that. What if… what if… William doesn’t like me? What will I do? And what will Jamie do?”

Geillis got up from her chair and rushed to Claire’s side of the table. She wrapped her arms tightly around her friend and kissed her loudly on the cheek. “Hush, there is nae way that William will no’ love ye. Ye are amazing… I ken that, Jamie kens that and that wee bairn will too.”

Returning to her seat, Geillis continued. “So, was there no big scene in the lawyer’s office? Did Geneva no’ go after yer blood? I can’t imagine she’d be too pleased seeing that ring on yer finger.”

Claire held her hand out to admire the diamond solitaire once more before replying. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no scene. I did, however, have to put Louisa right on a couple of things.”

“Ooh, such as?”

“That she had no right to question me about my behaviour, I owed her no explanations. And what I thought about their little game-playing.”

“Ok, but more importantly, does she ken ye’re engaged? Did she see the ring?”

“I didn’t actually mention it, but I may have wafted it in her general direction a couple of times.”

Geillis laughed. “Fuckin’ brilliant. I think that’s game, set and match tae ye, Claire. Ye’ve won.”

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

Claire stood at the hob, stirring the Ragù sauce, a pan of water bubbling next to it, ready for the pasta to be cooked as soon as Jamie came home. She wiped her hands on her apron before taking a sip of her wine.

In the previous weeks, starting from the day of William’s birth, she had tried to increase her cooking repertoire and had found it both therapeutic and incredibly enjoyable. To her surprise, she was now the proud owner of not only an apron, but also a Mezzaluna and a mortar and pestle. Following recipes appealed to her logical mind and the very act of cooking gave her time to think and contemplate.

She thought about her chat with Geillis. It really didn’t feel like she’d ‘won.’ It wasn’t a competition in her eyes (although Geneva had obviously thought otherwise), but the gateway to a new part of her life. ‘Stepmother’ - Claire inwardly shuddered at the very word, with its evil fairytale connotations. She just wanted to love William, for all their sakes, and hope that he would come to love her as well.

Claire moved to the fridge as she heard the front door and poured Jamie a glass of chilled white wine. The image of a Stepford wife briefly came into her mind but she laughed it away. No Stepford wife would ever have hair as messy as hers, nor willingly immerse their hands in the amount of blood and gore that she did. She just had to remember that, in addition to their new roles as Da and Stepmum, they were still Jamie and Claire, they were still the same people.

Jamie came into the kitchen. Having finally got to spend time with his son, he was still clearly bursting with excitement. He came up behind Claire, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck.

“Mmm, Sassenach, ye smell of garlic and basil.”

She turned in his arms and brought hers around his neck. Bringing her head to rest on his chest, she sniffed then pulled away. “And you, James Fraser, smell of… baby spit up.”

Jamie grinned. “Aye, weel, there may have been a wee bit of that after I fed him.”

“You fed him? With a bottle?” Claire spoke without thinking.

Jamie chuckled.

“Nah, with one of ma fully functioning man breasts… Aye, with a bottle. Geneva knows he’s goin’ tae have tae have the bottle when we… I…” Jamie rapidly corrected himself. “When I look after him here. And I changed his nappy. First nappy ever.”

"I can't believe you've never changed a nappy. Not even your nephew's?"

"Nah, I've always been more on the fun uncle side of things, ye ken. And before, with William, it took all ma effort tae get Geneva tae let me hold the bairn, never mind actually tend tae him."

“So, how did you find the nappy change?”

“Fer a wee bairn that’s only fed on milk, it was surprisingly… gross. It gets everywhere.”

Claire instinctively took a step back.

“Nah,” he paused and sniffed before confirming. “No’ on me. But the wee laddie drew his feet right up in tae it.”

Claire laughed. “You're supposed to hold his feet out of the way. Did Geneva not tell you?”

“Aye, I ken that now. But Geneva didna tell me or show me anything. She jes’ sat in the corner, watching every move. Like she was scoring me on ma performance. I tell ye, I canna wait until I can be with him and no’ have her peering over ma shoulder.”

Claire passed Jamie his wineglass and turned back to the cooking.

“Sassenach, let dinner wait a while. I need tae ask ye something. Will ye come intae the lounge?”

Claire turned the hob off as Jamie took her hand and led her into the living room. They sat together on the sofa. Claire sipped her wine and waited.

“Sassenach, I canna tell ye how it felt tae spend time with William today. He’s such a braw lad.” Jamie paused for a moment, reliving the day’s emotions.

“Anyway, if ye’d like tae… would ye come with me tomorrow tae meet him?”

Claire’s stomach flipped. She took a larger sip of wine before answering.

“Jamie, you know I want to meet William, but tomorrow? Are you sure? I mean so soon. Geneva’s hardly even got used to the idea of sharing William. Have you asked her?”

“Aye, I asked her. She wasna happy about it, but what can she do? Ye’re a big part of ma life and will be a big part of William’s life too. If ye're willing ye can finally meet him."

“Of course I’d like to but...” Claire hesitated, unwilling to dampen Jamie's excitement at the meeting.

"Tell me, please. What's troubling ye? Are ye worried about Geneva? I willna leave ye, ye dinna even have tae speak tae her if that's a problem."

"It's not that. It’s just, well, this is pretty huge… life changing… and I am worried. Babies can be fussy creatures. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he won’t stop crying when he sees me? How will we cope?”

Jamie put his wineglass down. Claire reluctantly let him put hers on the table too. He tucked her curls behind her ear before stroking her cheek.

“Claire, I dinna think that will happen at all. But if it does, we will manage. William will grow tae like ye… tae love ye. Dinna worry about what might never happen. So, no pressure, do ye want tae meet him tomorrow?”

Claire nodded.

Jamie continued. “The only thing is, Sassenach, Geneva doesna want ye in her home, so we’ve agreed, if ye’re willing, tae meet at Isobel’s house.”

“That’s fine. I have no wish to spoil the, no doubt, perfect ambience of her house.”

Jamie grinned. “Aye, somehow I dinna think her interior design is going tae survive much longer, not once William’s mobile. I’m so happy you’re going tae meet him, Sassenach. I canna wait fer tomorrow.”

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

Claire stood nervously waiting on the front door step. Jamie took her hand, entwined his fingers with hers and gently stroked her palm with his thumb. He looked at her, checking that she was ready. She nodded as Jamie knocked on Isobel’s door.

Isobel had obviously been waiting as the door opened almost immediately. She shepherded them into the hall. The sound of a baby crying came from another room.

Isobel shrugged. “I’m afraid William’s being a little bit unsettled today. Geneva was up several times in the night. But I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

They followed Isobel down the hall. Before she opened the door to the living room, she turned and spoke to Claire.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to see him. Don’t worry, Mummy’s not here. I told her to go shopping. I’m not sure what you said to her, but she didn’t seem too keen to stick around and see you anyway. And I have reminded Geneva to be polite. Seriously, they’re more difficult to handle than my students! I’ll settle you and then go and put the kettle on for us.”

Isobel’s living room was bright, airy, and tastefully decorated. It was also filled with various baby paraphernalia. A changing mat lay on the floor next to a bag overflowing with toys, nappies and clothing. A baby gym was balanced precariously on a chair. William’s car seat was discarded on the sofa, a couple of muslin cloths draped over it.

Geneva sat in the midst of this, cradling a somewhat fretful baby. Isobel hurriedly moved the baby gym off the chair and indicated that Claire should sit.

Jamie stopped himself from rushing over to take William from Geneva as he stayed at Claire’s side.

“Hello, Geneva,” Jamie greeted Geneva formally. “I believe Williams’s being a wee bit tetchy today.”

Geneva looked over to Jamie and Claire. Despite the immaculate makeup, the lack of sleep was clearly evident on her face.

“That is an understatement.” There was no trace of friendliness or humour in her voice.

“Weel, have ye tried tae…”

“Spare me any misguided advice. He is fed and clean and dry… just not too happy. Here, take him. My arm’s gone to sleep.”

With a quick look to Claire, Jamie moved across to Geneva and took the baby from her arms.

Claire felt her chest tighten and tears fill her eyes as she watched Jamie, standing in the centre of the room holding William. She had grown accustomed to seeing him cuddling his nephew and baby niece, but to know this was Jamie’s son affected her more than she had realised.

Jamie looked directly at her and mouthed “You ok?”.

Claire nodded and blinked several times to clear her eyes.

“So, would ye like tae meet William?” Jamie asked, bending over and placing the baby in her arms.

Claire looked down into the red, creased face of Jamie’s son, a little whimpering sound now coming from him. She stroked his cheek gently.

“Hello there, William,” she whispered.

“You need to be careful you don’t scratch him with your ring... And remember to make sure his head is supported.”

Jamie turned to Geneva, trying to remain calm at her intervention. “Claire kens all that. She is a doctor after all. She’s used tae dealing with bairns. She doesna need ye tae point that out, do ye, Claire?”

There was no response from Claire, as she focused solely on William, studying his features intently. He grew calm in her arms, quietening before giving a massive yawn and rubbing one small dimpled fist over his face.

The door opened and Isobel popped her head in. “Geneva, dear, can you come and give me a hand? I’m not sure if this baby monitor thing is working.”

She winked at Jamie as Geneva reluctantly made her way out of the room.

Jamie sat down on the floor at Claire’s feet, watching Claire’s face as she lowered her head to kiss William, now drifting happily off to sleep. Jamie leant his head against her knee.

“How do ye feel, Sassenach?”

Claire thought for a moment, lost for words. “Jamie, he’s lovely… just perfect. And I can see you in him... that chin… and that red hair. I still can’t believe he’s here and going to be part of our lives. How about you?”

“Every time I’ve been with William, even though that’s been grand there’s always been Geneva, with her games and her comments and her resentment… and her mother. This is the first time I can see how it will be, when William comes tae our house and it’s the three of us.”

William stirred for a moment before returning to his contented slumber.

“Yes, Jamie, the three of us… our family.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #Road To The Aisles #Chapter 1 #modern au #plenty of fluffy fluffiness #the ties that bind sequel #still nervous about posting

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