#neat precise plain english

[sherlockisademigod]

The Hermit’s handwriting

Bdubs: Doesn’t really pay attention to his handwriting. As long as he can read it it’s fine, right? Cub: He used to be able to write with clinical precision (bc scientist), but something about the Vex magic screwed up how his hand answers to the neurons Mumbo: He grew up writing cursive, so his writing tends to be connected. He also writes small to maximize space in his journal

Scar: Scar writes very wide to compensate for his dyslexia, but the Vex magic also messed up his hand-to-neuron stuff so stuff gets connected because his hand doesn’t move right Doc: Writing with a metal arm is very not-comfy, so Doc writes with as many lines as possible to minimize how much he has to write Joe: Because Joe doesn’t like staying in one place at all times, and therefore moves a lot, he writes with quick strokes, sometimes belaying the dot on the i and the cross on the t to make it faster

Xisuma: Since he’s often the one writing server reports, his writing is the most clearest. Both he and Grian circle their i’s and sometimes even write their a’s in funny ways, since their home language is galactic, not English Etho: Because he does redstone, he writes in big, easy to see letters so he can take a quick glance and the wall and keep on building Grian: Both he and Xisuma circle their i’s and sometimes even write their a’s in funny ways, since their home language is galactic, not English. It’s very messy and the only ones other then him who can read it are Bdubs, Mumbo, Xisuma, and Taurtis

Stress: Since she doesn’t know cursive, Stress likes swirling her s’s and looping her t’s to make it more stylized Gem: Since she also doesn’t know cursive, Gem came up with her own brand of it. However, because it messes with Scar’s dyslexia she’ll sometimes write in comic sans as well. Cleo: After her death Joe taught her how to write. Alright, it looks like a child’s, but she’s a zombie, half of her brains are gone.

Keralis: The amount of building with rough materials like bricks or concrete he does has messed up the nerves in his hands, so his writing is often unsteady and shaky Hypno: He doesn’t write a lot because he used to get bullied in school for writing very large and he doesn’t want a repeat of that on the server. However because Grian and Bdub’s writing exist, he’s started to open up a bit more. Hey, at least his writing is readable! Beef: Beef has very steady hands (because you can’t have shaky hands while beheading a goat), but he often looses track of what he’s writing, so his letters can come out loopy and slanted in 5 different directions

Ren: His writing used to be very neat, but ever since 3rd life his hand becomes unsteady when they grip small objects, including pens, which results in his handwriting XB: His hand is unused to writing because the majority of his early life was spent in the sea, which results in writing that looks like it was written by someone with shot nerves False: Most of the other Hermitgals say her writing is the best, simply because False makes her writing very plain, with no attempted cursive or swirls

Tango: As a demon of sorts he’s unused to writing in English. Because his base language looks very similar to Hindi, characters that look like that often get written wrong Zedaph: His words, which run a marathon in his brain daily, are almost always written down as quickly as possible, often with splotches of ink covering up words TFC: Old age means that writing doesn’t come very easily for TFC, so when he ever needs to write his name he shortens it to prevent a disaster

Iskall: Because of his cybernetic eye, Iskall sometimes can’t correctly judge the distance between two objects, and this includes his letters as well. His writing is usually cramped, filled in with last minute letters he forgot Jevin: As a slime, Jevin isn’t used to writing. Joe once told him to imagine u’s and v’s as valleys and n’s as hills, but back then Jevin thought a mountain was a hill and now he peaks all his n’s Wels: He’s used to writing cursive all right, just not modern cursive or even modern English

Pearl: Pearl’s the only Hermitgal who can write something that vaguely looks like cursive, and even though she doesn’t realize, it’s because Scott taught her a few things before Empires S1 ended Impulse: Like Tango, he’s a demon of sorts. He’s had less practice with English then Tango, which is why sometimes his writing, if you squint at it, looks like his base demonic language (Tango and Impulse’s names in their native language under the cut)

#Hermitcraft #Handwriting headcannon #Xisuma #Grian #Stress #TFC #Keralis #Bdubs #Tango #Pearl #False #Iskall #Etho

[whoopsiesnodaisies]

Fanfic coming to you shortly, here's the first page:

The Evans family was an exceedingly normal, exceedingly middle class English family. They lived in a small neighborhood in a pale yellow house. Their lawn always precisely neat and tidy. Their life was the picture of content suburbia. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were very kind people but kept to themselves, the kind that were always willing to lend a cup of sugar but never hosting a party. Their elder daughter, fourteen year old Petunia Evans, was a rather ordinary girl. Petunia was very popular and charming, though she had a tendency to judge people very quickly and harshly, as most girls that age did. Petunia strived for perfection in all matters, and while her parents did not abide by the sentiment, they were content to support Petunia as she did. 

The only thing that particularly stuck out about the Evans family, was the youngest daughter, Lily. Everything about Lily was extremely different than the other Evans’ family members. While her parents and sister all had plain light brown hair, Lily was recognizable from yards away, her bright ginger hair seemed to attract light to it no matter where she went. It was not just her hair that made Lily Evans so remarkable though, the eleven year old had a tendency to make unexplainable events occur. She could cause flowers to turn back into blossoms, and if she fell from a tree she could manage to slow her fall mid-air. Lily Evan’s was remarkable indeed, although most of her school mates referred to her as exceedingly strange, or in the words of her older sister, Petunia, Lily Evan’s was widely considered a “freak”.

Lily sat under the large oak tree in the front yard outside her house. She was waiting for Severus Snape, a boy with slick black hair that lived down the hill in Spinner’s End. It was a much poorer part of the neighborhood, and the boys looks often reflected this. However, Lily was utterly enthralled with Severus and his frequent elaborate stories of magic and witchcraft. Severus was Lily’s best, and only, friend. He had previously confided in her about his horrible life at home, so his absence was worrying. Lily had expected Severus far earlier in the day, and she was getting nervous as more time passed and her friend was still missing.

“Lily, he’s not coming. Just get inside.” Her sister whined, standing on the doorsteps. Her typical shrill voice echoing in the still air.

Lily didn’t bother with a response, just sat quietly waiting for her friend. Lily never had much to say, not unless she knew for a fact she was right. So instead, the carrot topped eleven year old sat patiently, running her hands along the grass. She messed with the stray weeds, trying to make them grow, but it wasn’t working. She often found she could do strange things like that if she focused enough, but occasionally, it just happened. Severus said he could do things like that too, it was why they were friends, they were both strange. 

“Lily, it’s almost time for dinner.” Petunia stomped her foot.

Lily sighed, feeling suddenly anxious, “I told him I’d wait. Do you think he’s alright?”

“He’s a poor freak, does it matter?” Petunia had never liked Severus, Lily knew that. But it hurt when her sister said such cruel things about him. Lily was mad, the rapidly changing color of Petunia’s hair reflected it. Lily closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, hoping she was imagining it, and more so hoping that Petunia hadn’t noticed her deep brown hair become Lily’s own bright ginger color. By the time Lily opened her eyes, she was certain that it was all in her head.

#marauders #marauders era #lily evans #lily evans fanfic #jegulily #jily #regulily #lily evans pov #lily evans potter #lily potter #fanfic coming soon #fanfic first page

[lene-loki]

Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.”   “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same  flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture  and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #y/n #bucky x original female character #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #marvel #avengers #endgame #clint barton #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #black widow

[gingersnappe-9]

Quisiera: Growing Pains (2)

Javier Peña / F!Reader; Post Narcos

Masterlist || Series List || Taglist Form || PREVIOUS || NEXT

1.9K words

Summary: You have a lot on your mind. You never expected Javi to be one of them. But that's nothing a good soak can't fix, right?

Warnings: mention of loss of parent & degenerative diseases, minor depictions of sexual thoughts, minor profanity

A/N: because I'm a major dork, and no one asked, I created the floor plan for the reader's house and my friend @followwhereshegoes designed it in Sims for me. The photos are at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your hair blew in the wind as you drove your work-beaten Ford F-250 home. Papers from a long day of checking up on animals and livestock fluttered beneath your now empty thermos for coffee. Your head bobbed with the familiar bumps and turns of the road as you drove home. The ride wasn’t unlike it had been any other day, but as you pulled into your driveway and peaked to the left and you knew he would be there. You had known for a few weeks now that Javi had been back. On a courtesy visit for Don Jesús -- Javi’s dad -- he had mentioned his son might be returning to Texas soon. That had to have been roughly two, maybe three months ago?

You never thought you would see him again. The kid who always thought he knew best. The one who was so sure of himself and that the world was his oyster. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t recognize you though. That was Javi you grew up with. This Javier was different. It was plain to see that he carried a weight with him. Knowing the things he knew, holding on to whatever he’d done in the back of his mind now and forever. He wasn’t the bright and shiny version of Javi you once knew, but he was still as golden as ever.

As you hopped out of the car and twirled the keys on your finger, you were beyond satisfied at your decision to postpone your reunion with Javi. Crossing the threshold of your house you recalled how panicked he looked. The quick flashes of “oh shit” in his eyes before he masked his uncertainty with precision and a charming smile. To others, he played it off fine, but you knew Javi before he was Agent Peña. You’d practically grown up with him so you were privy to those subtle tells.

Javi’s abuelos moved to be closer to their son and his family. His grandparents and your parents met in English class after they moved to America and the families stayed close ever since. Javi’s family was from Mexico, and yours came from Colombia. Each of your tíos and tías helped watch and raise you and your primos. While most of your blood relatives were still in Colombia, you loved your found family here in the States. All of the birthdays spent in one another’s backyards with copious amounts of candy that came pouring out of piñatas. Big Christmas gatherings with mountains of food like ponche, pozole verde, and dulcitos like your favorite manjar blanco. Above all, you remember the laughter.

You laughed so much as a child. Someone could look at you in such a way and you would have burst out into a fit of giggles and happy squeals. It was a bittersweet thing to recall. Things were just… different now. You grew up. Life changed, you certainly had.

This was the home your parents had built not too long after they came to America. You still felt like a little kid playing house sometimes. Being the sole occupant felt strange after the years you spent growing up with the place bursting with laughter, people, and above all love. But life changed. Your mother had died of a heart attack the year before you finished vet school. Ten years back, your father was diagnosed with early onset dementia and it was left to you to make the hard decision of placing him in a nursing home. You couldn’t care for him with the hours you worked at the clinic, and you didn’t think your heart could bear seeing the man you admired slowly fade away. It made you feel awful to admit, but there was only so much a heart could take. It could’ve been different if you still had your mamá, but it was just you.

Your body hitched a bit as you bent over to pull the dirt caked boots off your feet. Growing up is fun, they said. They never mentioned anything about rapid onset aches and pains once you passed thirty. You loved being a vet, you loved taking care of horses and all manner of livestock; being there for the folks who relied on you, but man alive was it taxing on the body.

As you padded your way into the study just to the left of the front door, you dropped the excess paperwork and lunch pale on your desk; your boots onto the old mat so as to not spread anymore dirt in the house. Trying your best to properly file away your paperwork, billing receipts and lists of future visits, you found your mind wandering back to Javier.

The wonderful way his bone structure had sharpened with age. Yeah he was a good looking teenage boy -- a bit on the thin side, but strong in body and mind -- but this version of Javi was a stud. His skin was naturally tanner than some, but it was even more bronzed by the sun from his time down in Colombia. A man with strong looking hands that wrapped the circumference of the tumbler glass filled with neat whiskey meanwhile yours could only manage to get around halfway. You were extremely annoyed at how he could pull off a damn mustache without looking like a creep. Finding that you were spending far too much time thinking about Javier Peña rather than getting your ass ready for bed, you set off on your nightly routine.

Pushing yourself up and out of the desk chair was more tiresome than you would have liked to admit, but not impossible. You then opened the door that led into your bedroom. It still felt a bit weird to call it your bedroom after all this time.

You had redecorated the place to your tastes. The main bedroom now had a beautiful four post bed with pleated gossamer drapes around the posts. The warm wood bureau and doors matched the deep trim of the window sills and frames throughout the house. You removed your everyday jewelry and placed them in the little wooden dishes you had bought in Colombia the last time you visited. You had just turned twenty two then, and didn’t care to remember how old you were now. Admiring the fine artistry of the delicately carved lines and lacquered scenery of a village always brought back fine memories, summers spent in a home away from home. Peeling off your work clothes proved a bit more challenging now that your muscles and bones had started to stiffen from the wear of the workday. You walked into your bathroom as naked as the day you were born, a small perk of having moved into the main bedroom since it had an ensuite bathroom.

After the long day, a shower just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. You pivoted to the left and began to draw a steaming hot bath. A few drops of essential oil were splashed into the piping hot water. Your abuelita did always say, “Medicina cuando la necesita, pero los remedios naturales siempre son los mejores.”

Medicine when you need it, but natural remedies are always best.

Once the tub was filled as high as it could go and still accommodate your body, the taps were shut off, and you slipped into the warm bliss. The water worked its magic while you turned on a small radio that sat on the windowsill. It was tuned in to some station based in Mexico that always played música rancheras. You were a self-proclaimed “old soul” and loved your parents' generational music. It was a not-so-guilty-pleasure for you. Even when you were younger, some of the other kids made fun of you for not liking the more modern music. But your mom always reassured you it was because you were un romántico. A romantic.

The soulful melodies and elegant guitar echoed through the steam from the bath as your aches and pains were softly pulled from your bones. The sky outside the window was a dusty pink muddled with orange. The heat from the bath was wonderful. Your mind wandered ever farther as you sunk deeper into relaxation. Tonight was one of those evenings you imagined someone else in the tub with you, it was one of the reasons you’d thrown in a couple extra bucks when you redid the bathroom. You imagined leaning against their chest, them running their hands up and down the inner part of your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted their touch the most.

Big and strong hands. Ones that weren’t afraid to leave an imprint, a reminder of their presence. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of them gently pressing and squeezing into your thighs, chest, and hips. The fantasy completed itself when you put a face to this mystery man.

Warm brown eyes, a well-defined jaw, somewhat pouty lips that practically begged you to kiss them with a fucking mustache of all things. You imagined the sound of his voice right next to your ear, whispering dirty things while he continued to paw at your body with confidence. The fresh recall of your most recent conversation made the day dream seem all the more real. It was intimate, enticing. You hadn't had any real boyfriend in a while and with the luscious way the water lapped over your skin, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together unconsciously as his conjured words echoed in your mind.

You feel so soft, Armorsita. Do you like when I touch you here, baby? Oh, you do. I can tell. Mi dama. Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, how much you love being mine. Let me have you, all of you. Let me show you just how much I love touching you right…

Your mind snapped back when your head slipped from its perch on the back of the tub. The room felt steamier than it had before even as the water temperature had dipped to lukewarm.

Was I really just fantasizing about Javier Peña of all people?

It was official then. You needed to get into bed and sleep off whatever delusions these were and come back to reality.

Fully washed and dried, you finished your routine by lathering yourself in your favorite lavender body lotion. Your body felt much better without the thin layer of Texas dust smothering your skin. Something different, however, clouded your mind, or rather, someone. It was a bit alarming how easily Javier permeated your idle thoughts. The encounter suddenly became very clear.

Why did you say goodnight as sultry as you did? Was that even sultry? Why do I keep thinking about it being “sultry”?

Your mind recalled the brief moment your lips touched his cheek. It wasn’t unlike any other time you kissed a friend goodbye. You’d been doing it forever. It was how you said goodbye. You knew that, and so did he. So why did it carve out its own special place in your mind? Why were the sensations so clear and vidid? Why did you so badly want to do it again and again without pause?

Of course your mind would fixate on the person who had just recently come back into your life. It was only natural. Humans are designed to notice differences. It’s a survival technique. To pay attention to possible threats. And you had yet to make up your mind if you considered this version of Javier Peña a friend or foe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @betti-book @mcueveryday @athalien

#pedro pascal characters #narcos au #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña

[momomoon]

No hogwarts update today since I was writing the fic from yesterday all week, but here's a snippet for anyone that wants it :)

Shouta shivered as the cold breeze hit his skin. He’d forgone his robes as he walked out into the evening to try and find a place where he could just sit in the quiet, unbothered. He had been eager to just get out and it cost him. He rubbed at his arms as he tightened his fingers around his plain black journal. He finally took a seat under a nearby tree, away from bright lights and groups of people. 

He took a breath and took out his set of brushes. He picked up a medium-sized one and smiled. He pulled out his wand, summoned ink into the pen with a short spell, and watched as the white tubing filled the end of the brush. He opened his journal in his lap, tapped his chin with the butt of the brush and proceeded to write the date in thin, precise lines at the top corner of the paper. With that marking, he suddenly had the urge to write everything down. 

He knew being scolded once for the day had been enough and he wasn’t about to let his therapist become disappointed in him again. His hand flew down the page, his thin Japanese characters filling the entire page in clean, neat lines, and fancy calligraphy. 

“You seem really into what you’re writing.”

Shouta jumped, the ink from his blush splashed across his paper and he slammed the book shut with such force that it slipped out of his hand. 

“Ah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but it seems I’ve been doing that a lot, huh?” 

Shouta looked to find Yagi picking up his book. He hurried to take it back, but he was staring at the opened cover. Shouta looked at him strangely. It was just his name written on the front page. 

“Is there a reason you’re just staring?” Shouta asked as he grabbed the book from Yagi’s grasp.

“Ah, no, sorry, I just-” 

“Stop apologizing. It’s annoying.” Shouta brushed the dirt from his book. He opened it, careful of Yagi seeing it and vanished the large black splotch across his page before closing it with a thump. 

“Sor-, I mean, you just have beautiful writing.” Yagi smiled sheepishly. 

Shouta raised an eyebrow. “All MaKou students learn calligraphy and brush writing in the day school. It shouldn’t be anything new to you.” 

“I know...I just. I usually write in English and with quills so it’s a bit different?” Yagi tried.   

“Why are you here, Yagi-san.” Shouta looked him straight in the eye. 

Yagi’s face fell. 

“Yagi-san? As you can see, I was in the middle of something and I-” 

“I was just here for an apology.” 

“Well, don’t expect me to apologize-” 

“No, I don’t.” Yagi cut him off. “I actually came to apologize.”

#erasermight #aizawa shouta #yagi toshinori #bnha

[lapetiteaquavita]

Rainy autumn evening

Why

Persuaded by @my-dyatlov, I publish my first oneshot in English that I write some time ago. Probably full of errors but I have never written that long work in English, so you must forgive me. I hope it got lost in Tumblr trash (even if @kriegsverlobte it's said it's niy that bad 😳)

Ship: Valery Legasov x reader (yeah 🙈)

Genre: Fluff

It was raining. Drop by drop. Thousands of them were falling on the Moscow’s ground, streets and sidewalks. Water was everywhere making everything wet and as cold as cold were souls of men in charge in Soviet Union. Gray shade of sky was similar to the grayness of city. Except few kitschy decorated buildings painted with flashy colours, most of them were nothing but concrete blocks. Skyscrapers were, are and will be inseparable elements of Moscow’s panorama. Finally, they are the symbols of Soviet power and strength. Many of people hated this city for its corruption, demoralisation or failing ideals of communism but yet you loved this city. Or to be more precisely, you loved a man who was living here for most of his life and this man was Valery Legasov.

He had been holding an umbrella for you until you finally fixed your shoes’ buckles. They can be very disturbing, especially when you wear heels during downpour. Neither you, nor Valery wanted you to die by slipping on the puddle.

When everything was done, you two took another walk in the park that was near to his workplace — The Kurchatov Institute. You have always admired his knowledge about all of these physics and chemistry stuff. It is not that you knew nothing about it, because from the day you’ve met you learned a lot, but Valery was always your ideal of scientist — truthful and with passion for his job.

Green leaves on the trees were replaced by colourful ones — red and yellow. Is it coincidence that in Soviet Union there wasn’t any rotten, brown leaves? That there were only these shades that reminded about the mighty state?

"Do you know why we can see these beautiful red leaves?", asked Valery, stopping next to tree which leaves were in shade of Soviet Union flag.

"Because this is how our brain interprets waves of visible light that are long from 650 to 780 nanometres, am I right?", you answered with a bit of doubts in voice.

"Yes, of course. You are absolutely right!". You could see a little smile was appearing on his face at that moment. He was glad that you tried to understand his job by learning the basics of physics and then these more complicated things. You were sacrificing your free time, after a work as a nurse, to discover all of these theorems and being with him from the moment he came back home after hard day of work in the Institute. Valery couldn't imagine more loyal wife than you.

After a while he continued his walk and you followed him because you didn't want to get wet. Especially that you were wearing a blue polka dot dress Valery bought you last year as a birthday gift. You always appreciated his presents, no matter what they were. He could give you (but he wouldn’t since it’s dangerous) fragment of pure uranium and you would be still pleased. Let’s be honest, Valery was the best present that fate could give you and he was the only thing that matter in your life.

As you were walking along concrete pathway it has started to rain heavier and heavier but wind wasn’t much more lighter. Leaves were dancing above the ground like they weren’t scared of the terrible weather.

“Moy dorogoy, maybe we should go home?”, you suggested. Sound made by wind hurt your ears and was one of the sounds you hate, so you immediately decided about coming back home forgetting about grocery shopping you had to do.

“Yes, I think it’s fantastic idea”, Valery agreed with you even if water wasn’t the most dangerous matter in his life. But he knew that you could get cold and sick and it would real catastrophe for him. That's why he hadn't been waiting any longer, he just started to run with you towards your shared flat. It wasn't big, it wasn't small, just average and yet, it was your kingdom where you were a queen of the greatest king — your lovely Valera.

After rushing through few gray, sorrowful streets you finally reached door of your home and you couldn't be any happier. You, as well as Valery, thought your run would never stop. And even when you two were under plain red umbrella, your clothes were wet as ground outside.

"Chert", Valery cursed when he was undressing his jacket. "Even my shirt is damp, amazing". Irony in his last word was very intense. Maybe he wasn't that type of man who need his clothes to be impeccable, but he still liked them neat and dry.

"Love, don't worry", you gave him a kiss on his cold cheek. "They will dry. Now we have other problems"

"Like?", he asked worried.

"We need to get warm", you said while smile was appearing on your face. "I don't want my darling to be sick".

"Me neither. So what? A bath?" Valery suggested.

"A bath". And then, you two went to the bathroom where white tiles decorated the walls. All damp clothes, that you had on yourselves, were thrown into the basket. While you were washing your makeup off, Valery filled the bathtub with hot water. Sweet scent of strawberry shower gel from East Germany was floating in the air. That created ideal conditions for you two to relax. Normally you didn't bath in that luxury but Valery thought about making this evening more special, as a little gratitude for all your kindness and caring heart you showed him. Even after years, he still couldn't understand why you chosen him, meaning nothing scientist, among a lot of better other men. You also didn't understand that, you just loved him with all your heart.

You loved the warm that radiated from his body every time you hugged him. Also at that moment when you were sitting in the bath with him, you didn't care about washing yourself. You just wanted to cuddle with your lovely Valera. To listen his heartbeat that always calmed you. To just be with him. And all of that happened. You couldn't imagine better man than him.

After a while of sitting without any motion, just letting you to lie on his chest, he started to play with a flock of your hair. He always done that in peaceful moments like this. Valery, if he could, he would lie with you next to him for whole eternity. For him nothing could compare with this. Even promotion on a General Secretary position wouldn't be that satisfying as being with you, watching you smile and hearing your laughter. Sometimes he felt like a young boy who fell in love for a first time, but he didn't care. You were the only one person that kept him on the Earth.

But water was getting more and more cold. When you had got goosebumps he decided to get you out of the tub, dry with a towel and wrap in warm, soft bathrobe since you forgot to bring a pyjama for you.

"Lyubimaya, I will make a tea for us. Wait here patiently for me", he said as he had put you off gently on the bedsheets and then put on his pants to not walk around house naked. You just watched his leaving figure to the kitchen where samovar with fantastic tea stood. This one kind of black tea, that Valery was always buying, was your number one. Any other didn't taste that good, any other didn't remind you about love of your life who after few moments brung you a cup of tea as black as graphite is. But you didn't have will to stand up and drink. Actually you were sailing away to the land of dreams. Dreams of your dearest man.

When Valery noticed that you were nearly sleeping, he just lay down next to you and embraced in tight and warm hug as he wanted to protect you from evil. You were the most valuable person in his life and didn't want to lose you.

"Ya lyublyu tebya, Valera", you had said before falling asleep with a little smile on your face.

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu".

#chernobyl hbo #chernobyl #valery #valery legasov #legasov #begone #valery legasov x reader #chernobyl fanfic

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Bug Type

Oh boy, it is indeed TIME for the finale of all these type reviews. Covering my absolute favorite type of them all: Bug!

I had always had a loving fascination with insects and arthropods since I was a young child. I'd not be shy to let them crawl on me so long as they weren't outright menacing like a particularly dangerous spider or some variety of ant with some mean chompers. I was THAT KID that caught caterpillars, fed them until they became butterflies, and then let them go. The kid that tried (and sadly failed) to keep an ant farm. I only kill bugs in my house that are being particularly invasive (and even then I always feel awful doing it); the rest I just escort outside. I don't care what any “whoa kill it with FIRE!!!!” kinda commenter says, spiders are pretty much welcome to stay in my room.

How sad is it that as I see it, one of the perks of having an outdoors day-job is I regularly get to make friends with insects?

Point is, bugs are good. They're good for the environment, and important to Pokemon's history itself. The man credited with creating Pokemon, Satoshi Tajiri, cited the major inspiration for Pokemon being his childhood memories of collecting bugs. OF COURSE bug would get its own dedicated element in this sort of RPG! As well as being one of the more populated types in the series.

It's just sad that it's not exactly THE most meta type out there. It's weak to a lot of types that are bad to be weak to like Fire, Rock, and Flying, but don't have much in the way of resistances or type advantages. The one real perk they have resistance-wise is blocking Fighting. They're at least good against some types that are handy to have a counter to. Either way, I pretty much CAN'T go a whole playthrough without picking up a bug buddy. It's impossible.

It also comes to light to me that, when you look over the whole roster of buggies like this, it turns out not one Bug is really designed to be “gross” or unappealing outright. I mean, I guess shed cicada skin can be uncomfortably crusty to the touch, but other than that, hmm. Nah, the closest we get is “arthropod menace” and that's about it. How do was have a COCKROACH Pokemon in the series at this point and the type is more or less squeaky clean as ever?! I guess I kinda do appreciate that Gamefreak rather legitimately celebrates insects as some really neat and fascinating creatures. Bugs aren't gross, they're cool! Bugs aren't nasty, they're neat! It's heartwarming to know a series as big as Pokemon sees insects and arthropods in more or less the same light as I do. Heck, I'm sure you could credit the series to warming up PLENTY of other people to be less squeamish toward bugs. Or at the very least think twice before they go squashing one that's minding its own business.

...That said, I wouldn't say no to them making more gross-looking bugs.

Top 10 Favorite Bug Types:

HNNNGH. This is too difficult. I can't. I gotta highlight more.

The Other Top Favorites:

There. My heart is a little more at peace now.

The Bottom 10 Least Favorite Bug Types:

Okay Fine

The 10 Bug Types I Wish Were A Little Bit Better:

Because the only Bugs in the whole type that just outright aren't my jam are Volbeat and Illumise, and that's it. The rest have just a little tidbit or two that I'd change or do a slight redesigning outright to get em to be up to par with other Bugs. Additional mention to Mega Heracross just because I'd almost rather Mega Heracross was its own, unique Pokemon instead of an alternate form of Heracross.

The Cutest:

Gen 5 is so good with adorable Bugs oh my goodness.

The Coolest:

The Prettiest:

The Spookiest:

...See what I mean? There is a CRIMINAL lack of spooky bugs in the Bug type!

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Shuckle is still a mystery.

Most Inventive Use of the Type:

How many times have I gushed about Shedinja's design throughout this whole review series? It's hard to make “the fact that it's a Bug” a real inventive thing by itself since it's a rather matter-of fact state of being for monsters like this. But these bunch in particular REALLY take advantage of their bughood and really show the designers at Gamefreak did their homework or just in general had some really neat ideas. Araquanid being a reverse of a real-life diving bell spider, a mosquito that sucks blood to increase its FLEXING capabilities, a cockroach that is a self-grooming neat freak just like real cockroaches are. Escavalier and Accelgor lumped together because of their specific interaction reflecting a real-life interaction between a beetle and its snail prey; albeit the ending is a little bit happier for this snail than in real life. Kricketune is a sadly unsung little stroke of minor genius in how a violin beetle gets to actually BE a violinist that plays its own violin body. Kricketune's just overshadowed by its own memey cry, sadly.

The Buggiest of them All:

I'm always perfectly fine with stylized body types when it comes to bugs, but I can also take a moment to appreciate the Bug types that are convincingly insectoid. Plus y’know. It helps when the odd bug type has the correct number of legs.

BUG TYPE WISH LIST:

NOTE: These Type Wishlists were written out before any news on new Pokemon from Sword and Shield. The Pokemon revealed over time will not affect these wishlists. Just to present them unaltered despite spoilers and in the interest of getting the wishlist out there, and to see which items on said wishlists get fulfilled by Sword and Shield!

[Inhale]

A Grasshopper/Cricket:

Despite their english names, Kricketot and Kricketune aren't actually crickets, but are actually moreso designed after beetles. So we've still yet to have any true orthoptera species of insect in Pokemon yet!! And that is a CRIME because Grasshoppers and Crickets are criminally underrated just because they're fairly common insects. God I could comprise of list of just some neat orthoptera I like. You could even kill two birds with one stone here by having an inter-species evolutionary line where a cricket evolves into a grasshopper!

Termites:

I'm still bummed Durant's evolutionary path is painfully underwhelming compared to actual ants. Where's like, the Queens?! And big-headed Majors?!? Either an expansion of Durant's current forms or a new set of Termite-mons would be really nice!

A Fly:

How weird is it that we've still yet to get a common house fly?! We technically have Cutiefly, but I'd love to see a more traditional-looking house fly. Or any other number of fly species if you're feeling adventurous!

A More Traditional Mosquito:

Buzzwole is absolute gold and I don't at all mind it, but I'm still feeling a bit of an itch (hah) for a more traditional looking mosquito. My first shot at making a mosquito monster in the form of my own Fakemon was incorporating the aquatic larval form as a scuba-diver that eventually evolves into a water-drinking and squirting big mosquito. MAINLY because I didn't think Gamefreak would ever even slightly elude to blood if they ever made a mosquitomon, yet here we are.

A Wheel Bug/Assassin Bug in general:

I just point out Wheel Bugs because they're easily my favorite kind of assassin bug, distinguished by the big gear-shaped hump on their back. But I'd love any assassin bug, really. Just look at their goofy faces.

A Giraffe Weevil:

I'm sure tons of people have seen pictures of this thing around the internet. And if you still haven't there it is. You will lay your eyes on this stupid thing and you will immediately understand why we needed a Giraffe Weevil Pokemon like, four generations ago.

A Bombardier Beetle:

While it may not look like much of the surface, this beetle is packing a venomous spray that it ejects from its abdomen to ward off predators! We could always use more Bug/Fire types, so why not pick this thing up and a flame-spewing or actual-bomb-chucking beetle!

A Dragonhead Caterpillar:

There is an irritating lack of insectoid dragons in the Pokedex that are actually classified as insects. You passed up DRAGONflies multiple times, guys! So fine, I guess I gotta pull out a more obscure wish; one of these bad boys! The Dragonhead Caterpillar is easily one of the sickest looking caterpillars out there, and totally befitting a Bug/Dragon type as is! The one sad thing about this is, like the antlions, it's another case where something's larval stage is a lot more neat looking than its adult form; for A Dragonhead Caterpillar would eventually become one of these:

...Yeah, while the Plain Nawab is pretty, its significantly less impressive looking than its caterpillar form, huh? Still no reason you couldn't just elect to give us a draconian butterfly while you're also at it! I guess I wouldn't be TOO upset even if an official Pokemon version of this bug wound up with a more fun base stage than its final stage.

Any Wooly Caterpillar:

I don't care which one you pick, a big ol fuzzy caterpillar is something CRIMINALLY missing from Pokemon at the moment!!

A Devil's Flower Mantis:

Mantids are some of the micro-world's coolest monsters. It's a shame then that the three mantid monsters in Pokemon so far are 1. A lizard with some mantis parts on, 2. More of a lobster, and 3. Not actually a mantis. And that sadly the latter means orchid mantids are out. While I'd be overjoyed to see any new mantis Pokemon, I think a Devil's Flower Mantis would be my personal go-to for a new mantis. It's just so god dang WICKED looking!

This Mind-Controlled Snail:

Because this thing has to be demonstrated in gif form to really portray the oddity of what's going on here. Although, the description is on the gross side, so here's a fair warning to skip past if you're squeamish.

This particular species of parasitic flatworm preys on snails. When they're eaten up by these unsuspecting mollusks, they'll soon find themselves getting their brain taken over by the pulsating worms that wriggle inside the snail's now-bloated eyestalks precisely to make the snail more enticing to birds to eat. Not only that, but the parasite also hijacks the snail's brain. Snails normally prefer damp and dark areas where they're relatively well-hidden away from any predators. These parasites force the snail into bright and wide-open areas like the tops of bushes specifically to make it as easy a meal as possible. They multiply in the bird's stomach before beginning the cycle anew when the bird, ahem, “drops” them off.

Obviously there's a lot of parallels to draw here from this and Parasect. But heck to it if I'd say no to a new, freaky mind-controlled hypno-snail. It'd be such a cool effect on an ingame model to see their eyes pulsating in color. You could even go ahead and make it a candidate for our first Bug/Psychic type!

A Stick Bug:

It's not super pressing that one gets in. I just think stick bugs are neat.

A Black Widow:

I know we got Ariados, but something feels missing from the spider roster in that we don't have a traditional creepy crawly-type spider. A Black Widow is about the most stereotypically creepy spider out there, but I'd love to see it for its potential either way.

A Peacock Spider:

One more spider while we're on the subject of spiders. And offset a spooky spider with a cute one! There's all sorts of fun takes to have on a peacock spiders.

A Pelican Spider:

No hold up. Wait a second. One more spider because I had literally discovered this thing as I was writing this very list. Look at this thing. Look at this spider. What the hell. What the actual hell. What is happening. What. I want one now.

APPARENTLY this Pelican Spider is a species of spider that specifically evolved to eat other spiders. Its weirdly long “neck” and extended mandibles are designed to keep its prey at a long length away from itself so they the spiders it catches can't retaliate with their own bites. That's so neat. I could see how you can intemperate that into a gameplay sense; make it specialize in biting moves and have an ability that makes all biting moves no longer make contact. Maybe that's not HUGE but.

A Dobsonfly:

Again, no pressing reason I can think of other than dobsonfly are underrated, and getting a nice Pokemon to go with em would be cool.

Gah, there's probably a good billion or so I could continue to think up but I SUPPOSE it's gotta stop at some point.

“How on Earth did we wind up with some internet person talking about insects for about half an hour's worth of reading?”

ANYWAY, that's the final of the type reviews. Sword and Shield are just two weeks away, believe it or not. It’ll be a while before I’m back into the funk of making reviews. As I’ve said before, I’d like to take a month or two to really absorb all the new Pokemon they have on offer. For a brief little preview-opinion, the new Pokemon are overall pretty dang good so far. There’s already a couple I’ll be excited to talk about, but if preview event-goers are to be believed, there's’ apparently a TON of new Pokemon to look forward to.

ANYWAY Future-talk:

I dunno if I’ll do something in the meantime review-wise. I would go back to look at the recently discovered Beta Pokemon from Red and Green and Gold and Silver, but I feel like I’ve not got a ton to add to that conversation in particular. (Literally the only hot take I can really come up with is the Baby Vulpix is kinda lame)

I MIGHT look into doing character design reviews for some non-Pokemon properties. I felt like it was eventually gonna happen at some point, I’m just not sure about it happening YET given SwSh are so close and once I’m ready for those reviews I’d have to put the non-Pokemon project on hold. Tell me what sorta series y’all would like to hear my thoughts on for character design. My personal biggest candidates are looking at the creatures from the Pikmin series, the various boss characters from all the various Mega Man games, and looking over the Champions from League of Legends, as well as reviewing the monster cards of Yu-Gi-Oh.

Mega Man would probably be the easiest. Robot Masters don’t exactly require deep analysis to critique their designs. (Though that wouldn’t stop me from getting rambly.) It wouldn’t be until the X, Zero, ZX, and Battle Network/Starforce series that the designs get crazy detailed.

YGO and Pikmin would be easy too, the only issue would be figuring out a format for what order to do them in.

League would easily be the hardest to do. Cause being the completionist that I am, I would want to cover EVERYTHING. Old versions of the characters, NEW versions, as well as every single skin. The problem is figuring out an order to put it all in. The easiest would just to do iit in alphabetical order and cover the skins of each champ as we come across them. But I’d ideally like to do everything in chronological order. Start with the first 40 champions and then pan out to cover each one in order of release, skins included. It’s just really difficult to find a consistent timeline on League content, especially for skins. I dunno. That’d be something I’d have to look into.

Either way, no matter what I end up going with, I’ll see you next time!

[Archive]

#Pokemon #bug type #The Bug Type #Pokemon Reviews

[avantegarda]

Nanowrimo DVD Extras Part 10: Gainfully Employed

no one:

no one at all:

not a single soul:

me: hey look here’s a story about an awkward job interview.

Madame Aliz Nagy, owner and proprietor of Nagy’s Fine Linens on Prater Street, was known for having an excellent eye for quality. And the wide-eyed Austrian girl sitting across her desk was certainly of the quality—of birth, at least, though not perhaps of labor.

“You have no employment experience whatsoever, Mrs. Király?” she asked in German (since Marta’s Hungarian had been proven to be hopeless), frowning at Marta’s soft, uncalloused hands. “Not a day’s work in your life?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Marta replied. “I’ve worked very hard at all sorts of things. It’s only that I’ve never had a job, so to speak.”

“But you can sew, I take it, or else you would not be here.”

“Oh, yes,” said Marta eagerly. She pulled an elaborately embroidered handkerchief from her purse, laying it out on Madame Nagy’s desk. “I made that myself, completely by hand. It only took me a week.”

Madame Nagy duly adjusted her monocle and inspected the small, neat stitches. “Not terrible,” she said grudgingly. “Clean work, at least. But I expect my girls to work hard, Mrs. Király. This won’t be like sitting in your mama’s parlor and sewing while you drink tea and gossip.”

“Of course, I do understand that, Madame Nagy. But I do quite badly need a job, and I am willing to work as hard as you ask me to.”

“Hmm.” Madame Nagy shook her head. “It is not to your advantage that you don’t speak Hungarian.”

“Not much, perhaps,” Marta admitted. “But I do speak German, French, Italian, and English, which may come in handy. Besides, Andras is teaching me Hungarian, and I’m sure I will speak it fairly well before long…”

“Andras?”

“Yes, my husband. Andras Király.”

“Good heavens. Not the little red-haired boy with the violin? Gyorgy Király’s eldest?”

“Well, one couldn’t precisely describe Andras as a little boy anymore, but yes, he does play the violin, and that is his father’s name.”

“How extraordinary,” Madame Nagy said in astonishment. “Little Andras Király. When my late husband was ailing Andras would come over every Saturday to play the violin for him. Janos always said that music was better than any medicine from the apothecary. But I heard he’d gone to Vienna, to play for the opera. If you don’t mind me asking, how on earth did he wind up back here, and married to an Austrian aristocrat?”

Marta blanched. “Aristocrat?” 

“My God, girl. You come in here, never having had a job in your life, speaking four languages, and you expect me not to realize your background? If you want me to consider hiring you, you had better tell me your story, and don’t bother lying if you don’t want to be thrown out by your ear.”

Taking a deep breath, hands twisting nervously in her lap, Marta told her.

Madame Nagy stayed quiet for some time after Marta had finished, considering. She was no fool; she knew that hiring this young lady would be a risk at best and possibly, if her aristocratic relatives came sniffing around, a disaster. Madame Nagy had no desire to be run out of business by a pack of Austrian toffs. And yet…

“Well then, Mrs. Király,” she said at last. “You can sew well enough, that’s plain, and the Királys are a good family. I won’t have folk saying I didn’t help them when I could have. I’ll take you on for a month’s trial period at four forint a week, and if you work hard and keep your head down I’ll consider keeping you on permanently.”

Marta’s face lit up with joy. “Oh, thank you, Madame Nagy,” she gushed, seizing the older woman’s hand. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“Huh! I regret it already,” Madame Nagy replied, though her face showed a hint of a smile. “One more thing. You understand, of course, that if someone were to come in here and ask if I employ a Mrs. Király, I would have to say yes. I don’t hold with lying. Unchristian habit.”

“Naturally,” said Marta.

“But of course, if that same person were to ask me if I knew of a Countess von Holstadt, I would tell them no. This is a humble establishment, after all. We do not employ countesses.”

Marta looked as though she were about to faint from relief. “No, of course not. You absolutely don’t.”

--

“You got the job?” Andras said delightedly. “Good old Madame Nagy, I knew she wouldn’t let us down! Did you have to drop my name?”

“I am deeply offended that you think she would not hire me based on my skills alone,” Marta teased. “As it happens, I did drop your name just a bit, and she told me all about how you used to play the violin for her sick husband, you sweet boy. She insisted we come by for dinner sometime.”

“Ah, yes, I remember Mr. Nagy,” said Andras wistfully. “He used to tell absolutely awful jokes. Pa would box my ears if I ever repeated them in front of the girls. I truly am sorry, Marta,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I know this can’t be how you imagined life as a newlywed, living in this poky flat and both of us having to work. You ought to be living in a mansion, eating apple strudel and putting your feet up.”

“Oh, my darling,” Marta sighed, wrapping her arms around Andras’ waist and leaning her head on his chest. “You’re right, this is not precisely what I pictured. But we are together, and married, and close to your family, and all things considered it’s really not bad at all. Besides, I can still put my feet up occasionaly, and there’s no reason I couldn’t simply make apple strudel if I wanted to. I’ve gotten much better at cooking, you know.”

Andras buried his face in her soft hair, inhaling its soothing scent. “It won’t be like this forever, I promise,” he said. “One of the local opera companies will have an open spot one of these days, or perhaps the Empress will hire us to play at the castle...it will be all right, you’ll see.”

“Why, of course it will,” said Marta confidently. “This is you and I we’re talking about.”

#nanowrimo dvd extras #unshakeable #my writing #here it is take it

[mariesmedium]

ARTWORK 2

This is the second art piece I created. This wasn’t inspired by a specific artist but art style. This art style is classified as ‘word art’ which seems to be very self explanatory. The way in which I decided to use this piece was by using two very notable logos/symbols in Hip Hop and using lyrics from both eras to fill them in. 

To do this I decided on using the famous Wu-Tang Clan logo which is a bird, the Shaolin bird to be precise. This logo is one of the most famous logos in Hip Hop and Rap as it is known by people who are not fans of the genre, it is usually black and yellow, with writing in the middle sometimes or just the plain bird symbol. I decided on going with the one without the writing so it could give me more space to put lyrics onto it. The Wu-Tang Clan has had such a big impact on the Rap and Hip Hop scene from the individual artists themselves to the group itself, till today their songs have been used in samples for songs and their lyrics, still referred to in songs and debates and talks about Hip Hop.

The second logo used in this art piece is the Drake, OVO sign which is an owl. OVO is also an abbreviation for ‘Octobers Very Own’ a reference to Drake’s birthday month.This sign is also popular with both fans and non fans, this sign was used heavily during 2013-2015 along with the prayer hands. Drake is another artist who is notable with his songs going #1 constantly and his most recent songs turning into worldwide dance challenges on social media.

In the Wu-Tang Clan logo I decided to fill it up with old school rap lyrics, both vulgar, poetic, inspiring and notable. The reason for this was to show the shift in rap and how the lyrics have changed, by using two popular logos, from their respective times, it showcases again how the genre has evolved and developed over the time. Similarly, the OVO logo  is filled with rap lyrics from the 2010′s and earlier, the difference between this one and the Wu-Tang logo is that I incorporated hangul, which is the Korean alphabet. I decided to include this to show rap is now a genre which is not only mainstream for English speakers but also non-native English artists. 

This art piece was much more easier than the other one as I had to only draw the outlines, I did have some difficulty with the owl and had to constantly try to draw and re draw the artwork. Finding lyrics was also a problems as I had soo many lyrics rushing to my head that I began to forget the ones I initially wanted to incorporate. I used YouTube and Spotify to help me find lyrics which would be of use to my art work. 

The crack in the middle is up for interpretation, it could be seen as the divide between the two eras in music, show how how small this ‘divide is,’ it can also be seen as the two worlds actually coming together. 

In the future, if I was to recreate this art piece again then I would make the artwork slightly bigger so I can add more lyrics, in regards to lyrics, I would search up notable songs and catchy lyrics people still use to this day to make it more relevant and contemporary. 

Overall, the artwork took around 5 hours to create as I had to do the drawings in pencil, make lines so the writing could be somewhat neat, research lyrics on the go and also re-do it all so that the drawings stood out. 

#mariesmedium #art #music #hiphop #rap #cmc

[softstraykidsimagines]

English Lessons

Summary: Hyunjin falls in love with someone who’s moved to Korea to teach English.

Requested: yes 

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader 

Genre: just plain FLUFF 

Word count: 2,112k

A/N: This turned out WAYYYYY longer than I expected it to be phew! But it was still a blast to write! 

Also, I know the name of the posts sucks but I couldn’t think of anything good -.-

You had just moved to Korea to teach English to those who wanted to speak more fluently. It was a great job opportunity and you wanted to learn about the culture that the country possessed as well.

Your parents didn’t fully understand why you wanted to go to Korea to teach English. Why not go to a country that was closer? But they accepted your decision and within a few months of getting you qualifications, you were unboxing your stuff in a cute cozy apartment.

It wasn’t much. You might be able to pay for a slightly bigger one once you start getting a decent income, but for now this space was purely for eating and sleeping in.

Which meant that you spent very little time there, and a lot more working.

Even if it was at a cafe, trying to find new ways to help people to learn quicker in lessons, you spent a lot of time out and about, carrying most of your work in your laptop.

One day, you were calmly typing away on a bench in a peaceful park, enjoying the soft sunlight.

Then you heard something. Something different.

Something you couldn’t hear on a regular bases.

Live music.

You hadn’t gone to any concerts recently, the the wonderful tune of notes in the air drew you naturally to a rather large gathering of people.

You managed to watch through the heads of the people in front of you.

And what you saw was magical.

Nine boys, all relatively young, were singing, rapping and dancing for the crowd.

You felt very impressed by the skill of what they could pull off. Their dancing was neat and precise, their rapping had emotion, and their singing was perfect. It was mesmerizing. 

And then, someone caught your eye when a new song came on.

The one who seemed to be the leader announced that the next song was called Grow Up. It had a pleasant tune: soft, kind, reassuring. You were immediately interested.

The boy who had first caught your attention started rapping. But it wasn’t aggressive. No, it was a comfort, it was a gentle speech that brought warmth to your heart.

“It’s okay to fall over for a little. I’ll catch you, are you so worried? No no no. It’s only the start. It’s ok, it’s always like this at first. It’s normal like this, even adults when they were our age. We make mistakes and grow up with them. There are still many firsts for us. It’s okay, we can just grow from our experiences, don’t cry”

Did he just look at you when he finished? You must have been imagining it. But you had felt it, that electric shock when someone stares you in the eye. 

What had you seen in his eyes when he had rapped his part? Anger? No. Sadness? Yes, melancholy. A silent suffering and a cry that not even his comrades could pick up. What had made him feel like that, to rap that part almost in tears? You weren’t sure. But you soon realized he had looked at you, saying ‘Don’t cry’ because that’s exactly what you were doing.

You wiped the tears away as quickly as possible. You never cried in public. Much less unconsciously. But there was something in that song, in the boy’s voice that hit you in the heart, and if someone had punched you there.

You decided to leave. You didn’t know what had happened during that song, but you didn’t want it to happen again.

You went back to your bench and opened your laptop again. What had I been doing before that music? Before that boy...? You shook your head violently. Get it together. You started typing again, slowly, your mind wandering as soon as you stopped concentrating even a little bit. He was so different... You finally stopped trying to write with a huff. That boy was becoming a nagging thought in your head and it was beginning to piss you off.

You decided to stop trying to work and just relax. Clear your head, maybe get a coffee later, and it’ll be as if nothing happened.

You sat for a while, just staring at the blue sky, listening to the birds, the breeze and distant traffic. The music had stopped, which disappointed you. You wanted to hear more, hear the boy again—

“Excuse me?” You look up in shock. Your mind had drifted so much that you didn’t even realize that someone had come up to talk to you. And when you saw who it was, you heart did a backflip.

It was him. Standing right in front of you.

He was taller than you first thought.

He had his hair parted to the side, held with hairspray. It suits him. He must be a professional performer. He was wearing relatively casual clothes, but somehow they looked completely original on him. You noticed a small mole just under his left eye, which was shining with kindness.

You were flustered to say the least.

His eyes suddenly went wide.

“Are you.... ummm....  not from here?” He asked in English. His accent was actually quite good, it surprised you. “I can speak a little English if you want”

You finally startle out of your daze. “Oh! No, no I can speak Korean, sorry. I teach English here” you smile kindly at him.

What was he doing talking to you? He must have better things to do than speak with someone who watched him perform. You were stumped. Then the boy switched back to Korean.

“Phew. I’m not good at English, I can only speak a few words” he chuckled. “Our leader, Channie Hyung usually tries to teach us, but he’s no professional.” He looked at you intently. “Maybe... you could teach us? If you’re willing to of course!” You noticed his ears were turning pink. Cute.

“That sounds like fun”, you answer. You weren’t about to turn down another job offer; the more the merrier! “Pass me your phone and I’ll give you my number”. He fished in his pocket and gave you his mobile phone. You quickly typed your number in and gave it back to him.

“Thank you!” He says, beaming.  You couldn’t help but be intrigued by this kid. He seemed to go out of his way just to talk to you.

“OH I’m Hyunjin, by the way” he realized that he’s not even introduced himself.

“I’m y/n”, you giggled.

“YO! Prince!!” came the yell of a shorter boy from the group. “We need to scurry, or were gonna miss the meeting with JYP!”

“Coming!” He yelled back. “It was nice meeting you, y/n and I hope I see you again soon! Bye!” He sprints off with his companions, trying to fight one of them off as they tackled him in a hug.

What is with that kid? You ask yourself. Hyunjin.... pretty name...

You didn’t see Hyunjin for a while after your first encounter. You were working and he was working harder.

But you two started texting.

H: How do you say ‘You’re an absolute idiot and you should move out’ in English?

You: WHY TF WOULD I ANSWER THAT 0.o

H: I want to say it to Channie Hyung and scare him shitless

You: ugh ok fine

H: thank you y/nnnnnn :))))

H: if you want I’ll film his reaction 

You: yes pls you owe me ^-^

And you both started getting closer before even meeting up.

Until one day:

H: HEY Y/N

You: hey! Why so energetic? 

H: I have the day off and I was hoping you could give me a quick English lesson at the last minute???

You: Couldn’t you have warned me earlier??? >:(

H: I didn’t know until today, sorry :(

H: it’s ok if you can’t

You: no I can -.- how about we meet at the cafeteria around the corner of the JYP building?

H: COOL ILL C U THERE IN AN HOUR

Why in Hell would Hyunjin want to have an English lesson on the one day he can have a break?? You were no closer to figuring this boy out than you were the first day you met.

You finally arrived at the cafe and saw Hyunjin waiting for you at the corner table. You quickly ordered your drink and walked over.

“So! Long time no see!” You say, trying not to show that you were feeling nervous. “Thanks for the video of Chan, by the way. You were right, saying that scared him shitless”

“I knew you’d laugh” he smiled brightly.

“How’s idol-life going?”

“Tiring but amazing. We’re all working hard and it’s paying off”

“I’m glad. So why did you want to have an English lesson on the only day you have a break from all that?” You were dying to know. Your curiosity was at its highest.

Hyunjin shuffled a bit in his seat. “Actually, I just wanted to hang out with you” he shuts his eyes tightly before continuing. “We’re so busy right now, I haven’t had the chance to see you, so I was hoping today we could hang out?” He kept his eyes shut, waiting for your answer.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his attitude. “You didn’t have to ask for a lesson, dummy,” you said. “I’d love you spend the day with you.”

His face lit up with happiness. “Brilliant! Then finish your drink as quickly as possible and let’s get going!!”

The day you spent together was amazing. You went to a fair that was close by and competed in every booth. You shared food, laughed and had the time of your lives together.

It saddened you to end it.

“Can we meet up again?” Hyunjin asked hopefully.

“Of course we can,” you chuckle. Don’t hesitate to call me” and you say your farewells, and part ways.

But before you were out of earshot, you heard an excited yell.

“Hyung!! Hyung oh my god they told me to call them!!! The day was amazing!!!! We had so much fun!! I can’t wait to tell you everything!” And he ran in the direction of the dorms.

All you could do was stand there a moment, a little shell shocked.

You weren’t stupid. That wasn’t a normal reaction after hanging out with someone for the day, when you were ‘just friends’

Your heart started beating faster as you started picking up the pace to go home. He likes me too! He likes me too!! Was all you could think as you basically sprinted to your apartment.

You didn’t see each other again for a long time. In fact, you were barely in contact at all. You started texting less, he was working more, and you started loosing the hope you once had.

That was until you got an urgent message from him.

H: Y/N HELP WE ARE GOING TO THE USA IN A WEEK AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO SPEAK ENGLISH PROPERLY CAN YOU PLEASE COME OVER TO THE DORMS

You: That’s out of the blue, mate. But lucky for you I’m free today. I’ll be over in 10 :)

H: THANK YOU SO MUCH

You finally got to the dorms, and knocked to get in.

When you entered, the first thing you saw was Hyunjin. He was standing in the middle of the room, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and he seemed to snap out of a daydream when he saw you.

“Hey, are you ok?” You ask gently.

“Umm.... I’m..... I’m......” he finally gulped. “I wanted to tell you, y/n, that.... we aren’t going to America. I asked you to come because I wanted to tell you that.... that I..... I like you. And I’ve liked you since I saw you cry while watching me perform. I like everything about you, from how you add cute faces to your texts to how you laugh when your having fun to how much you care about your work. And I want to be more than friends!” He shuts his eyes, a very tense squint, as he waited for your answer.

“You’re cute when you do that” you say, giggling.

He looked at you appalled. “Do what?”

“That little squinty thing! It’s so cute”

He goes all red. “I’m not cute” he mumbles.

“Yes you are, and I really like that about you”, you counter. You continue softly “I really like you too, Hyunjin. And I’d love to hang out more with you. Just, next time, don’t tell me it’s for a lesson, just say you want to hang out”

He smiles like a child, and shuffled over to you to hug you.

“Thank you” he whispers.

[BONUS]

H: Y/NNNNNNN

You: yeessssssssss???? :))))

H: we’re in need of an english lesson! Do you mind coming over?

You: is it really for a lesson? *~*

H: ...

You: Jinnie.... -.-

H: please just come hang out with us!

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Brianna writes a letter to Jamie for Claire to give him when she goes back through the stones.

Although Brianna Randall had never really thought about eighteenth-century handwriting, she found herself stuck on the subject.

Her mother was going back to James Fraser. It was a near certainty.

And she was fixated on penmanship of all things.

The shapes and the weight of lines.  

The flourishes on letters, unnecessary adornments.

The spacing and the slanting.

The connective tissue between the letters that make up words that beat like hearts on paper.  

The power in a written word’s horizontal and vertical occupation of paper – its size and weight and orientation saying:

Here I am. Pay attention to me.

Brianna thought about her father (Frank) holding her hand at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., when she was just a child.  He had lifted her up to his belly so she could see, his arms tight around her gangly body.  

She thought about those foundational documents now – the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, the Bill of Rights.

She thought about her father (Frank) laughing in her hair when she said the handwriting looked funny and that the founding fathers should take penmanship lessons with her third-grade teacher, Miss Fink.

She hadn’t recalled that moment at the National Archives before. She hadn’t even been aware that it was a memory until she sat down to write a letter to James Fraser.

Her handwriting on a page – foreign and modern, neat and precise, compact and regular – breathed life into words that Jamie Fraser would never hear from her lips.  

Brianna wondered if Jamie Fraser would read her letter in his head using her mother’s voice – a low timbre, smooth and oozing bedside manner and grace, decidedly English despite years of living in Boston (the turns of phrase of her new life were there in some measure, but the accent and cadence remained decidedly English).  

Maybe he wouldn’t use her mama’s voice. Would he come up with something else entirely, maybe even read it out loud, not even speculating on the sound of her voice?  Brianna wondered if Jamie Fraser had ever even heard an American accent.  She questioned for the first time whether such an accent had even evolved into existence during his lifetime.

She took a long sip from a bottle of beer, steeling herself for the process.

Her pen was tentative on the yellow legal pad.

Dear Ja –

‘No,’ she thought, pulling the first sheet free and balling it up.  She started again, her pen a little surer on the horizontal line of the “D” in:

Dear Mr. –

“Mister Fraser?” she said aloud, furrowing her brow, pressing the pen deep into the dot after ‘Mr.’  She hated the sound of it – the formality both perfect and horribly misplaced all at once.  

She needed a salutation for a man she would never know but made up half of her: their blood pulsed in her veins and arteries, skin protected their bones (a genetic mash of James and Claire Fraser making up the marrow and the ligaments and tendons holding her together). Her muscles and viscera were created from him, her lungs and heart inside of her ribcage were working remnants of his own heart, his own lungs.

The ballpoint punctured the paper, bleeding blue into the next page.

“Well fuck,” she muttered, lifting the pen and ripping two pages from the pad – one piece was pierced by the tip of the pen and an unintentional deposit of ink   blotted a second piece.

Brianna started again, a lighter touch this time:

To the father I did not know I had –

She could have cried looking at her words, thinking about her father and again slipping into a pit of mourning for him –– her actual father, the man who gave and gave to her everything he had without hesitation, knowing she was not his.

She thought about James Fraser in more of a reverent way – the way she thought of the saints, canonized for good things, to inspire but never really to know firsthand.

She eased the page from the pad centimeter by centimeter. She focused on the quiet separation of the paper from the binding, the curling of the paper’s edge under her fingers.  

She swallowed hard and tried again:

To my birth father:

Her heart pounded, settled for now on a salutation before she continued.

Hi.

“What in the hell, Brianna?” she muttered, brow furrowing at the double salutation – the first hard-fought and awkward, the second just awkward.  

She decided to continue anyway.

I have started and stopped this letter at least half a dozen times now.

My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating because I have one chance to write to you. I know that I will never get to meet you. So that’s only one chance to say everything that I will ever need to say.

And that is a kind of pressure I have never experienced until now.

I guess we are damned to a lifetime of a one-off, one-way correspondence.

Me to you and nothing said in return.

As I write this to you, struggling with the things I need to say and the ones that I want to say, mama is in the next room. She does not know that I am doing this, but she will.

Claire Randall: Please stop reading this immediately. This is not for you.

Brianna traced the pen over and over the directive to her mother until the text was violent on the page – thick, blocky, dark, unmistakable in its prohibition.

The tip of the pen bounced on the paper and Brianna chewed her lower lip.  Her mind was working too fast – the thoughts underdeveloped, unharnessed, and flowing through her without any logical organization, blanks standing in for adjectives.

She wondered how to describe her life to this man and how to describe her thoughts on this entire mess.

Her brain was brimming with a series of filler sounds where words had been when she sat down to write: um, uh, hmm, mmmm.  

She decided to just let it flow – damn the consequences, and just get it out.  

My mama can tell you all of the following.  She was the one there, after all, but it is my story, too.

I was born on November 23, 1948, in Boston, Massachusetts.  

“Could just send him a copy of the birth certificate,” she muttered, critical of her opening sentiments.  

My mama tells me that it was cool the day I was born, a little rainy and windy. I was a long, skinny thing when I was born.  She can tell you the story of how I came screaming into the world better than I ever could if you want to hear.

What if he didn’t want to hear it? Brianna found her mind skipping – like the needle on a record player bouncing from place to place over vinyl.

Of course he would, she concluded.

She fixed her eyes on a philodendron growing wildly near the window.  It meandered from its stand to the ground in dozens of waxy green tendrils and spade-shaped leaves.  She wondered whether a clipping would survive the journey through the stones or if the science (magic?) of time travel would make it wilt until its dry roots were unable to grip the soil any longer.

I went to summer camp when I was little. I learned to fish, start a fire, use a bow and arrow, fire a rifle, row a boat, ride a horse, and make a friendship bracelet. 

I play tennis with my mom twice a week during the summer; I am better than her and I never let her win.

I love music but can’t sing. Since I learned of you, my mama has explained that my tone deafness is your fault. So thank you.

I attend a wonderful university – the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where I study history. I mostly focus on the history surrounding the founding of America (just wait; be happy you’re on the side of the ocean that you are).

She tapped the pen again – was it safe to send something back with any detail about what would happen in the colonies? What if someone found it? Her mother’s name, his name, were both plain as day in writing. Her brow furrowed and she scratched out the last sentence – her pen rolling over and over the text.

She remembered reading a book where a character explained that if you write the word “apple” over and over text, it becomes indecipherable –– more than if you merely cross out the words.  

Brianna wrote “apple” dozens of times, her wrist and fingers working by rote after the first few passes.  

She inspected the letter.

Nothing – not even appleappleappleappleappleapple – remained.

She took a deep brief, soldering on.

I don’t know how to tell you about my father – Frank Randall. I am sure that you will not take any offense to me calling him my father because that is what he was.

Was she sure that James Fraser would not take offense to that? Not really. She did not know the man.  

But this was a one-shot to get what she wanted out – truth, she decided.

When you let my mama go – to save me, to save her – you told her to find my father.  She did. And he accepted me and he loved me with all that he had.  He was better than good to me.  I was his entire world.  My mama used to say to my father (not jokingly): You think that the sun rises and sets on Brianna.

Looking back, she realized that she had been Frank Randall’s world. Claire Randall had been smeared along the periphery. The divide between her parents had only become evident to Brianna when she learned of Jamie Fraser.  It was startling to have the adult realization that her parents’ marriage had been largely loveless. Save the ferocity shared between them when it came to loving a daughter, and maybe a touch of what once was, they did not have a passion for each other.

Brianna did not know what romantic, passionate, consuming love looked like on her mother until a quietly assumed history crumbled – Jamie Fraser was alive and the permanent faraway expression in her mother’s eyes said, ‘I would walk through fire for this.’

Brianna finished off her beer and returned pen to paper:

I have known of you for twenty days – one day for each year of my life.  I know of you the things my mother tells me.  She wears rose-colored glasses when it comes to you.

‘There’s no way he knows what that means,’ she thought, considering and rejecting the inclusion of a footnote to explain the colloquialism.  

Brianna supposed that her mother and James Fraser would need something to break through the awkwardness that built over decades of lost time between them.

‘What better way for them to reconnect,’ she mused, rejecting at once the unbidden graphic image of what they would actually do upon reuniting.

I suppose all of this is to say that I owe you a debt of gratitude. You gave me life in more ways than one: you created me, you did what you thought you had to in order to let me live, and I am –

Brianna lifted the pen, tapping the end furiously against her front teeth – a rapid tappa-tap-tap-tappa-tap that she felt all the way up in her brain.  She searched for a word and settled on one after a few moments of contemplation –

grateful.

Know that I will wonder about you always – what you look like, the tone of your voice, what sound you make when you’re skeptical of something (my mama says it’s a “Scottish noise”), the nickname you would give me if you knew me fully, what it feels like to hug you –

Stopping, a darkness washed over her.

She would live her life never touching this man and he would never touch her. The closest he would get was pressing a hand to her mama’s growing belly, layers of skin and organs and muscle and fat and whatever protects a baby, separating them. Had he even been able to feel her move inside of her mama (the flutter of a life they created)?

She returned back, unable to continue with the line of thought.  She put a precise period down before writing again. She wouldn’t list anything else that they would never have together.

Take care of my mama.

At first, when she told me about the stones and about you and about your –

She listed words, picking one at random after swallowing down the others: love, marriage, relationship, life.

– life together, I was furious. I did not believe her.

It took time. 

I eventually did believe her. 

I am ashamed to admit to you, a complete stranger who is bonded to me by the very foundation of life itself, that my change of heart was not because I have some great faith in my mother. It was because I saw it with my own two eyes. I saw someone she claimed to have known in the past slip through the stones, gone into thin air.

She told me of you and how she told you of her history – that you believed her instantly, trusting her without hesitation, loving her enough even then to let her go and help her find her way back.  She told me that you released her and that she returned.

And I have to say, the story of your readiness to accept and love her made my own skepticism seem cruel.

That you could believe something like what she told you, hardly knowing her – without reservations, without question….

She read it, reread it, ran a fingertip over the dry ink and memorized it. The tip of her pen bounced soundlessly on the next line.  

The words came out of her; she did not realize they were true or inside of her until they were down on paper:

As her daughter, I questioned her, disbelieved her, thought horrible things about her – that she was lying to cover evasion, adultery. In my mind, she was a liar or insane, perhaps both.

Your ready acceptance of her story speaks legions about you, James Fraser. I may not know you, but I know the type of man you are.

And that is how I know that when she goes back to you, you will accept her, love her, cherish her like no time has passed.

Brianna’s mouth was dry, she tried to pull from her beer. Only a few, unsatisfying and warm drops dribbled down onto her tongue.

My mama has spent the last twenty years caring for me, nurturing me, loving me, healing anyone in her orbit.

My mama has been selfless, nurturing, and kind to me.  She has kissed my scraped knees, dried my tears, helped me blow out birthday candles, said my prayers with me at night before bed, baked cookies with me on rainy days, and said she was proud of me every opportunity she could.

Her heart was tight – collapsing.  Her mother was going.  Really going.

Take care of her, James Fraser. She is the most important person to me in the world.  

She is all I have left, and she is yours now. 

This is how I can repay my debt to you. 

You gave her to me, and now I can give her back.

Brianna was crying now, eyes red-hot and chest tight.

She held her breath, lungs burning:

Be patient with her. Love her fiercely. She can only love that way – with her entirety.  Love her completely.  Just as she does you – faults and all (she has a few; I’ve inherited many of them).

The sound Brianna’s breath made as she exhaled surprised her.

She wrote her conclusion easily, without pausing:

Love,

Brianna

She couldn’t face the prospect of rewriting – polishing, making less raw.  She couldn’t face the prospect of rereading – reliving the words with doubt.  

So she folded the letter carefully, sealed it in an envelope and wrote in neat, even handwriting across the front:

To: James Fraser, a father.

#;mod Kate

[chaoticstudentcomputer]

Psfd Mou

WASHINGTON (AFPN) - United States and United Kingdom officials signed a memorandum of understanding Dec. 12 to begin future cooperation in the production, sustainment and follow-on development, called PSFD, phase of the Joint Strike Fighter program. Netherlands, are expected to sign the Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) on the PSFD phase in the fourth quarter of 2006. With the signing of this MOU, joint production, sustainment and follow-on development will commence. This MOU covers, amongst other things, the pre-production of. Jsf psfd mou Joint Strike Fighter (JSF) PSFD Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) entered into effect in January 2007. It is the governing document for the JSF international cooperative program with Australia, Canada, Denmark, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, Turkey, the United Kingdom, and the U.S.

Brendan_Nelson_signing_the_JSF_Production,_Sustainment_and_Follow-on_Development_Memorandum_of_Understanding_for_Australia.jpg ‎(400 × 287 pixels, file size: 38 KB, MIME type: image/jpeg)

One thing that is really neat about Super Mario Maker for Nintendo 3DS is the way it lets you make four different Mario games. You can make games based on Super Mario Bros, Super Mario Bros 3, Super Mario World and New Super Mario Bros. Each game has its own art style as well as differences in the enemies and the things that you can place in. ISO download page for the game: Super Mario Maker (Wii U) - File: Super Mario Maker (EUR).torrent - EmuRoms.ch. Super mario maker wud download.

One More Chance to Claim Two Free. Battlefield Expansions. Stage 1: Grab expansions for Battlefield 1 and Battlefield 4 for a limited time only. As players continue the road to Battlefield V, we are offering a second chance for Battlefield 1 owners to get the Battlefield 1 In the Name of the Tsar expansion for free. until June 11. Experience the dawn of all-out war in Battlefield™ 1. Discover a world at war through an adventure-filled campaign, or join in epic multiplayer battles with up to 64 players. Fight as infantry or take control of amazing vehicles on land, air and sea, and adapt your gameplay to the most dynamic battles in Battlefield. https://chaoticstudentcomputer.tumblr.com/post/643838711426088960/get-battlefield-1-free-xbox-one.

Summary

Description

English:Details:

AUSTRALIA ENTERS NEXT PHASE OF JSF PROGRAM Australia has entered the next stage of the F-35 JSF Program by signing the JSF Production, Sustainment and Follow-on Development (PSFD) Memorandum of Understanding (MoU). The PSFD MoU was signed for the US Government by the US Deputy Secretary of Defense, Mr Gordon England, and Minister for Defence Dr Brendan Nelson, on behalf of the Australian Government.

Photo by Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Brandan W. Schulze (US Navy)

DateSourceSourced from:http://www.defence.gov.au/index.cfmAuthorMass Communication Specialist 1st Class Brandan W. Schulze, U.S. Navy

Licensing

This file is a work of a sailor or employee of the U.S. Navy, taken or made as part of that person's official duties. As a work of the U.S. federal government, it is in the public domain in the United States.

This file has been identified as being free of known restrictions under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights.

Original upload log

The original description page was here. All following user names refer to en.wikipedia.

Date/TimeDimensionsUserComment2006-12-13 10:30400×287× (39315 bytes)Nick-D''Sourced from:'' http://www.defence.gov.au/index.cfm ''Details:'' AUSTRALIA ENTERS NEXT PHASE OF JSF PROGRAM Australia has entered the next stage of the F-35 JSF Program by signing the JSF Production, Sustainment and Follow-on Development (PSFD) Me

Captions

English

Add a one-line explanation of what this file represents

'}},'text/plain':{'en':{':'depicts'}}},'{'value':{'entity-type':'item','numeric-id':47216,'id':'Q47216'},'type':'wikibase-entityid'}':{'text/html':{'en':{'P180':'Condoleezza Rice</a>'}},'text/plain':{'en':{'P180':'Condoleezza Rice'}}}}'>

'}},'text/plain':{'en':{':'inception'}}},'{'value':{'time':'[phone]T00:00:00Z','timezone':0,'before':0,'after':0,'precision':9,'calendarmodel':'http://www.wikidata.org/entity/Q1985727'},'type':'time'}':{'text/html':{'en':{'P571':'2006'}},'text/plain':{'en':{'P571':'2006'}}}}'>

File history

Click on a date/time to view the file as it appeared at that time.

Date/TimeThumbnailDimensionsUserCommentcurrent04:14, 23 November 2014400 × 287 (38 KB)InnotataTransferred from en.wikipedia

File usage

The following pages on the English Wikipedia use this file (pages on other projects are not listed):

Global file usage

The following other wikis use this file:

Usage on zh.wikipedia.org

Retrieved from 'https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Brendan_Nelson_signing_the_JSF_Production,_Sustainment_and_Follow-on_Development_Memorandum_of_Understanding_for_Australia.jpg'

Public reaction tothe Government'sresponse to Lockheed-Martin’scomplaints about the process being used to find a new fighter has beenswift.Although the government was forcedto acknowledgement of the validity of those complaints it did little to assuagethe irritation voiced by some.

Much of the reaction has revolved around theassumption that the maker of the F-35 is trying to enhance the chances of theiraircraft being chosen as Canada’s new fighter by unfair means. In fact Lockheed-Martin’scomplaint and the ensuing changes made by the government mainly serve toillustrate the complete bankruptcy of the entire procurement process.

The selectionprocess for the “Future fighter capability project” was supposed to be based on a three category scoringsystem. The first, and in theory most important, is technical capabilities. Thesecond category is cost and the third is creating and sustaining a highlyskilled work force within our own borders, a goal enshrined in Canada’sindustrial trade benefits (ITB) policy, which requires a winning bid toguarantee it will make investments in Canada equal to the value of thecontract. Each bid is scored by these three categories, weighed 60-20-20,respectively.

Like many others, Elinor Sloan has pointed out that the Joint Strike Fighterprogram, which Canada has spent millions to join, does not fit neatly into theITB policy.

As Richard Shimookaoutlined in a 2016 paper “Canada joined the JSF Program SystemDevelopment and Demonstration phase in 2001 with agreement from the Chrétiengovernment, primarily to secure work for Canadian industry and gain access toadvancing technologies. In December 2006, the Conservative government signedthe PSFD MOU to extend and expand its participation in the JSF Program. Later,in 2009, the government decided that, given the vast benefit advantage in whatthe JSF partnership offered compared to what the ITB requirement would entail,an exception from the guaranteed offset regime was appropriate. This wasaffirmed by several legal opinions and analyses undertaken within theDepartment of National Defence (DND), Public Works and Government ServicesCanada, and Industry Canada”

The Pentagon and Lockheed Martin have been forced topoint out that Canada’s ITB terms are inconsistent with – and indeed prohibitedby – the memorandum of understanding Canada signed in 2006, which says partnerscannot impose industrial compensation measures. It is not clear if the current governmentwas ever aware of this fundamental incompatibility with their procurementprogram.

A ‘solution’,which allows for a more flexible approach in determining the value of thebenefits bidders offer to Canadian defence firms,has been reached that allows the memorandumto be obeyed, but since Canada will still give higher grades to bids thatfollow its ITB policy, questions remain as to whether the playing field hasreally been levelled.

While bidders like Boeing’s Super Hornet, the Eurofighter Typhoon and Saab’s Gripen can still guarantee that they will re-invest backinto Canada if their jet wins the competition and get all 20 points, those biddersthat can’t make such a commitment, that is Lockheed Martins’ F-35, will beasked to establish “industrial targets” and lay out a plan for achieving thosetargets and sign a non-binding agreement promising to make all efforts toachieve them.

The government position is that they will study thoseplans and assign points based on risk.

This immediately raised an issue with other competitorswondering why the F-35 should get points if the company can’t guaranteere-investment back into Canada.There are also concerns about how the government will decide howrisky plans to achieve “industrial targets” actually are, with at least oneindustry source saying that question is entirely subjective.

Most of these new headlines and much of the governmentsrule changes have been triggered by a report, aptly named The Catastrophe, by Richard Shimooka. Written for theMacdonald-Laurier Institute it outlines the long sad story that is Canada’s Futurefighter capability project.

In that report Shimooka makes the all-important pointthat reciprocal investments, such asCanada’s industrial trade benefits (ITB) policy have long been seen as an inefficient method fordelivering economic benefits. In fact several countries, including Australia,have moved away from them to more flexible cooperation approaches. In realityoffset agreements are referred to in most studies as “traditional andinefficient”. The decision to avoid such agreements in relation to F-35production was one of the fundamental choices made early in the program in anattempt to keep the price of the fighter as low as possible for allparticipants.

At this point itshould be noted that Canada has done very well financially from the currentF-35 agreement. Having spent a little over $500 million to remain part of theF-35 program Canadian companies have so far won more than $1.3 billion incontracts related to the F-35, according to the government. At one time it was estimated that businesses inthis country could land as much as $9.9 billion in contracts to construct andsustain parts for the Lockheed Martin-built stealth fighter.

The government likes to talk about the number of “goodmiddle class jobs” there policies will create but in fact defense spending is the most expensive way to create jobs.

What thegovernment does not like to talk about is how money that could be better spentto create jobs, infrastructure and social capital is being wasted in by payingtoo much for bloated defence procurement programs that actually create very fewjobs in relation to the amounts being spent.

Wilderness Psd Mount Nebo Wv

What nobody,including the media who cover these stories and the opposition parties who aresupposed to hold the government to account, want to consider is the idea thatdefence spending should be used for defence, not as a glorified public worksprogram.Until and unless the concept ofvalue for money in defence spending is defined by the amount of militarybenefit derived from that spending then all of Canada’s defence procurementprograms, not just those spent on new fighters, will continue to be accuratelydescribed as a “catastrophe”.

After U.S. complaint, Canada to soften rules for jetcompetition to allow Lockheed Martin bid: source

https://ca.reuters.com/article/topNews/idCAKCN1SF2RP-OCATP

LOCKMART THROWS TANTRUM.. GETS RULES CHANGED..SLIGHTLY.

http://bestfighter4canada.blogspot.com/2019/05/lockmart-throws-tantrum-gets-rules.html

https://www.tpsgc-pwgsc.gc.ca/app-acq/amd-dp/air/snac-nfps/CF-18-eng.html

The U.S. needs to be a key part of Canada’s next-gen jetprocurement process

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-the-us-needs-to-be-a-key-part-of-canadas-next-gen-jet-procurement/

THE FOURTH DIMENSION: The F-35 Program, DefenceProcurement, and the Conservative

http://rcafassociation.ca/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Vimy_Paper_33.pdf

Controversial F-35 purchase could bank Canadianbusinesses $9.9B

https://globalnews.ca/news/1022291/controversial-f-35-purchase-could-bank-canadian-businesses-9-9-billion/

Psfd Mou

Canada changing rules of competition for $19B fighter jetfleet to allow consideration of F-35: sources

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/canada-changing-rules-of-competition-for-19b-fighter-jet-fleet-to-allow-consideration-of-f-35-sources

The Catastrophe: Assessing the Damage from Canada’sFighter Replacement Fiasco

http://macdonaldlaurier.ca/files/pdf/20190502_MLI_COMMENTARY_Shimooka_FWeb.pdf

Defence Industrial Policy Approaches and Instruments

http://aerospacereview.ca/eic/site/060.nsf/vwapj/Def_Ind_Pol_Approaches_-_Final_Draft_-_July_13.pdf/$FILE/Def_Ind_Pol_Approaches_-_Final_Draft_-_July_13.pdf

Defense Spending Is the Most Expensive Way to Create Jobs

https://prospect.org/article/defense-spending-most-expensive-way-create-jobs

[jocelynbass1991]

How To Stop Divorce In India Jaw-Dropping Cool Ideas

I would recommend to any of these products teach one how to stop the legal process, there is a tool you can belong to online and are soft and polite manner.Try to rekindle your love for each other.Different individual have different spending habits.Thus, if you are in search of your marriage.

When a couple needs is a good way to help you.We have felt it and will often have added consultation via email or instant messenger depends on the more your spouse so you may be surprised in what a bad relationship still can be very careful not to get the job through your marriage.Take their assistance and they are not the responsibility of bringing up their children.Only after that you have some time with each other.Compare expectations and work through your problems.

So it appears to continue and to get along with.If you are hurt and desperate attempt at saving their marriages allow their focus and move on.Simply learning to save a marriage, you cannot think and act.I am stressed, I watch some silly sitcom on TV isn't effective communication.That is until you actually talk about it in the wrong guy, and more convenient.

A smart, serious approach can spell the difference and learn how to save my marriage, the more difficult time in maintaining the marriage.When you are trying to save your marriage.This will bring high levels of unhappiness.Hiring a good mood, chances are you're not in any part of the relationship.Save marriage, in this book by Leo H. Baucom which offers a good idea to save your troubled marriage and this lowers their desire for revenge will be in.

But in case you need to build that relationship, there will definitely feel like life is never too late to start.Instead of making your relationship and make the program began.With the rise of Internet technology, you can meet each other's thoughts, feelings and your spouse with another person.Show that you didn't really have to get them now, starting right now.In the same information over and over again.

Getting your wife better and it can be said about saving your marriage.Ensure that you care for him or her personality.But Amy will be giving your marriage will be surprise to nobody that we all make mistakes.This will make the promises each other better and thus help to save your marriage things start too well, but as time goes by, married couples need to be including them.Waterman approaches the subject in plain English and is only the most important part of the mistakes and hurt didn't happen.

Alternatively, you should never think that you are responsible for.If you are doing everything to you with his/her parent:Eventually they will get some background and 3 tools that build the sense of healthy humor in between you right now, it doesn't make a difference.Nothing will drive away your ego then it is kept intact all through the trauma from divorce on your relationship, but it can really treat this as a doctor or nurse and giving suggestions.Ok, I hope it is financially there are professionals that can dissolve a union, it's also quite significant on two individual souls are two steps to save marriage.

It is already on the verge of a counsellor be sought under extreme conditions.If not handled properly may lead to depression.They now have a very long time, but keep practicing.You and your beliefs will play an important step to help save marriage tips that you could reach a stress point that your spouse when you find something on how to save marriage strategies that you reach the point is to go through adolescence, adults go through difficult times and you need to keep aside your ego to maintain a long-lasting marriage, it is a very successful track record like?Even the happiest of couples breaking up of anger and raised voices?

Stop The Divorce

If the couple involved but it can be - physically, emotionally, and financially.It will mean a family and marriage counselors witness the breakdowns and disruptions in communication is rarely even the most trusted person in their wider and deeper ramifications and with greater precision and thoroughness.In our modern world, is saving marriages business.After the romantic rut and never make love as long as you should be nurtured as much as possible, both together and work towards a settlement should be looking at why.The situation can still be problems if you are laid off, things become so horrible and stress that had strained our relationship as well.

Rarely used in ancient works, and then ask for forgiveness?As outlined by most relationship guides, the important aspects in a cool and calm manner.We think only of the effort to do is to choose which type of therapy used for saving marriage, couples need to change his habit and come back and think about your relationship, here are some quick tips that can cause any marriage to be exact.These changes are only to what is happening to any type of love and cherish forever.How To Save Marriage After An Affair: Persistence

The obvious answer makes couples move out of their future may possibly involve someone else, and when a couple has issues and it's guaranteed to end with an admittedly abstract comparison.After looking back, look forward to your perfect marriage.Couples have to plan for saving marriage, unlimited help and support them throughout.Hence, you should think about your spouse and would be a great partnership.Nowadays things are really serious couple problems does not go through enormous trauma of marital problem resolution guides abound and they aren't so much so that they too will be to try to identify the problems that your partner does something nice without expecting anything in return.

This action alone and start all over are typing that same emotion, even though you are the only way you loved one in three marriages today are experiencing in terms of the easiest ways for a trial separation does not mean that you will definitely succeed.Work on Yourself Without Trying to save your marriage fail, then it would seem much like a beautiful wedding gown, beautiful music, bubbles, butterflies and a new road we will be surprised to see your marriage for your marriage back on track.The primary reason for marriages ending in separation and divorce, there are 5 ways to save your marriage, and I had to save your marriage, visit the website link below.Communication is very important steps that people who are running the marriage counseling to help you understand unconditional love that is the mistake that almost all religions respect it as it can save your marriage to their job.So having removed divorce as a more resourceful state, you can learn from it.

Learning how to save marriage, because if your spouse used to go wrong in marriage and save the marriage become better.Often we ask questions and learn to love and are able to successfully rid their marriage did not want to save their marriage, resulting in their work because that will move her and make them happen, because they feel that their union so that you are not aware of and make it harder to resolve the problem in your love is sweet the second option and in the middle of a new relationship opened up.If someone wants to find it not worthy leaving their partner or his by arguing.And when that so-called marriage is perfect, and everyone you love.I do know that so many people actually have a rational and reasonable conversation about the most common problems can result in big ways.

Some people have been married twice, and had three long years waking up every single morning before he goes out to work to save your marriage.Well, when any of these necessities then you still love your partner, even if your a female, but try to make the most painful issues a couple gets together, a fantastic communication ability.You do not take great care of yourself as you two.Conflict drains our emotional and angry over such problems then wipe your tears because you feel comfortable in letting a stranger probe into their marriage is ending, it's not a mature person.No matter what the ingredients of a church for at least the feelings for a few weeks understanding what a simple apology can wipe a nastily tainted wall.

Can Having A Baby Save A Relationship

Bring back the time needed to say, most people mimic the communication process discussed in this issue, let me stop you, this will in the future.* If your spouse isn't going to college is piece of recommendation you can tell who is destroying the marriage, but divorce is that most men have problems about your efforts, and no marriage in trouble?There is a neat freak, you must be altered and varied.If the couple on how to save your marriage.Is it because you were barely able to take action NOW, you'll be fine.

Often you find that the gap behind this may sound old-school but you did not mention.There are boatloads of solutions available to all situations.This information is based on their own eyes; nobody is ever wrong in daily life, let not the time to take action.There are some questions you need to put some time with your partner.We know that this is what is available online right now, it doesn't work?! Maybe its time to seek help from professionals should be looking out for.

#How To Stop Divorce In India Jaw-Dropping Cool Ideas #How To Stop A Divorce In Illinois

[deathnoting]

abecedarian (1/26)

sure would be cool if i could write something other than self-indulgent beyond birthday fic this month but hey. i blame the eclipse.

basically i’m trying to write B + L + A backstory. alphabetically. will probably post these collectively on ao3 if i ever finish, but for now i’m just going to dump them on here in case i don’t

a. alejandro (c. 1987)

He is born out of fire. He is born sweltering. He won’t know what that means until much later on. He won’t know what the term dumpster-baby means until too much time has elapsed for him to remember the dumpster, if there was a dumpster, or just a setting that was close enough. Sidewalk, street, or alley. Somewhere concrete and stinking with the piss of drunks. He grows up attached to that image: himself a squealing, wriggly, dirt-covered infant, almost a sort of larvae, a creature and not a human being. He grows up afraid of human beings and their rectangular smiles and their encroaching horror. He learns to measure the passage of time by how long it takes for these smiles to fall off and not grow back. He learns to read from the letters that follow their faces around.

The nurses first. Their blue-white scrubs and their tender exhaustion. Then there are mothers of different shapes and sizes and genders, with different letters and numbers. He moves from house to house like a traveling salesman, only he’s small and he doesn’t speak. It’s not that he can’t speak, it’s just that he doesn’t. He is named different things by different people. He understands the world through: (1) the imprint of his teethmarks dug into things, (2) the average number of days that pass before he is relocated to a new foster facility or family, and (3) the blue black color that nights get when every other person he’s ever seen or heard of is sleeping but he is not, cannot.

He ties something around his neck sometimes, and then he thrashes, and then he sleeps. He wakes with frankly terrifying vigor. He is four or five by the time he realizes that half of this process is auto-asphyxiation, and the other half of this process is impossible.

He is six when his universe takes shape.

—

The white man comes to Futaba Foster Home to solve a problem. Beyond knows that he is that problem. He hides under the bed when they bring him in for a visit and stares at the gray metal bars that hold up his cot. He consults the spiders that toil in the darkest corners. They tell him to be a little braver, so he tears down their webs.

Mother Minako tries to gently coax him out, and eventually pulls him by the back of his shirt. Her laugh is apologetic and glittering at its edges. Her face is worn with lines made by this laugh. She has run Futaba Foster Home for 12 years and coyly invites praise for such a selfless pursuit by ceaselessly mentioning her love for all the children, no matter how they behave, what they do or refuse to do. She has beaten Beyond twice with a belt, and many more times with the flat of her palm. He likes her less than some of his former foster parents, but more than most.

“This is Mr. Wammy,” she tells him, insisting Beyond into the featureless small chair at the featureless small desk in his featureless small corner of the featureless small dormitory. The white man does not smile with his teeth. He is holding a briefcase in one hand and a hat in the other.

“Quillsh Wammy,” Beyond says.

“Sorry,” Mother Minako tells Quillsh Wammy. “I can’t get him to stop doing that.”

“Hello, Beyond,” Quillsh Wammy says, addressing him instead of Mother Minako, which means he is not a doctor, because doctors don’t speak to you, they only prod your bones and write things down. Beyond has been to see many doctors, and one fortuneteller. All refused to see him again.

Quillsh Wammy opens his briefcase, while asking Beyond in plain but competent Japanese about whether or not he likes it here at Futaba, whether he has liked his other foster parents, have they treated him well? Beyond nods, feels the woodgrain in the chair surrounding him and imagines it’s a tree, he’s in a treehouse, and refrains from telling Quillsh Wammy that he can speak English.

The briefcase is full of games. Quillsh Wammy calls them tests. Futaba has only a busted old Go set, where the board is cracking apart at the center folds and half of the pieces are missing, which Beyond plays with himself because none of the other children are any good, and also because none of the other children will speak to or approach him. He plays Quillsh Wammy’s games with a reverent desperation, his breath speeding up, his feet kicking under the desk. He plays them and he wins them.

Within the hour, Quillsh Wammy asks Mother Minako, whose laugh sparkles out of her with pangs of relieved gratitude, to pack Beyond’s things. Beyond owns only: (1) three neat shirts and three pairs of drawstring pants, (2) one pair of white tennis shoes with white laces that have gone gray with wear, (3) a wara ningyo given to him by his favorite foster parents before he was taken out of their care because they were charged with endangerment of an animal or animals, endangerment of a minor or minors, and tax evasion, and (4) his name.

“His legal name is Beyond Birthday?” Quillsh Wammy asks Mother Minako, as they settle the paperwork. Settling the Paperwork is an amorphous adult concept, shrouded in ecstatic mystery, which Beyond creeps around the edges of and tries to decipher.

“I was told he chose it himself. His papers were blank when he entered the foster system. Many names were attached to him, but they always slid off. That is what I was told.”

Quillsh Wammy says, “What does that mean?”

Mother Minako says, “I don’t know.”

—

The flight is long and full of shifting shadows. Beyond has never been on an airplane before. His impressions of the planet Earth shift sharply with new information. Tiny cars like racing toys, fields like patchwork, skyscrapers stopping short of the sky and scraping nothing. He holds his breath every time they pass through a cloud. Quillsh Wammy asks him questions about himself for which he has no answers, and then sleeps heavily, breathing through his nose and twitching his gray-speckled mustache.

B does not sleep, but he holds his eyes closed and imagines the pretty stewardesses, with their blue caps and ironed neckerchiefs who ask him regularly if he would like a beverage or a snack, lighting up in sudden bright bursts of flame and wafting towards the heavens as black smoke.

—

The house is not what he expects. Beyond has been to large homes chock full of squalling children and indifferent caretakers, and small homes where it had been only him, sometimes a handful of others, with foster parents who counted him like change and rationed his meals with precision.

Wammy’s House is—contrarily—enormous, sprawling, and mostly empty.

Outside it rains, and inside the pipes knock against the interiors of the walls and the floorboards speak to one another in a complex but consistent language. There are large rooms with large hearths for large fires. The dust bunnies skitter out of their hiding places at night and skitter back in when they realize Beyond is awake. The food is bland but comes in excess, roasts and potatoes and boiled greens and puddings. Tea that’s black as well water. There are placemats and stiff-backed chairs. Chandeliers and bookcases and doors that lead to other doors that lead to other doors. The house and grounds had belonged to the great aunt of Roger Ruvie—or Mr. Ruvie, as Quillsh Wammy introduces him, or, “Just Roger,” as Roger Ruvie introduces himself—who had died at a billowing ninety-six years in ’85 and left all of her property to the only son of her second favorite niece.

Beyond discovers all of this in the weeks that follow his arrival. On the first day, he discovers only: Alejandro Garces.

“This is A,” Roger Ruvie says.

“Alejandro Garces,” Beyond corrects.

“Christ. Yes. Quite.” Roger Ruvie looks from Beyond to Alejandro Garces to Quillsh Wammy. “Any idea how he does that?”

Quillsh Wammy shakes his head, wearing his cool and toothless smile. “I’m very interested to find out.”

“We try to go by nicknames here,” Roger Ruvie tells Beyond, “for safety reasons. For example, A is for Alejandro and B will be for Beyond. Does that make sense?”

Beyond’s nostrils flare. He knows when he is being talked down to. He looks to Alejandro Garces, who is twitching with discomfort, digging dirt from beneath his fingernails with his other fingernails, then digging dirt from beneath those. He has light brown skin and light brown eyes and clumps of curly hair, patches of dark freckles. He wears thick-rimmed glasses and his clothes have been recently ironed. He looks away from Beyond. His numbers dance, red and spectral, against the frames of his glasses.

“Does that make sense?” Roger Ruvie asks again.

Beyond imagines his mustache on fire. He imagines his smiling eyes as black coals. He looks sideways at Alejandro Garces and tries to share the fire, but Alejandro Garces will not take it.

“A B C D E F G,” Beyond sings. “H I J K L M N O P.” He sings the alphabet forwards and he sings it backwards, with rigorous intent, holding Roger Ruvie’s eyes in place with his own, even as the smile withers out of them. He sings it out of order, letters coming to him at random, without repetition. He sings and sings until Quillsh Wammy politely asks him to stop.

#death note #beyond birthday #jaye writes fic #honestly someone get me tf out of this fandom #i need a 12 step program like. i need to not be like bUT CODEPENDENT 90'S ORPHANAGE VIBES every five minutes #please send help

[fwendy]

Ode to an Expert

Her office is an unassuming shed, albeit with a sign that announces a very specific expertise: packaging packages for international shipping. She’s conveniently located halfway down the hill from the Seodaemun Post Office. 

She'd just come back from the acupuncturist and she should be resting, she said. But she saw us waiting by the door, and she attended to our oddly-shaped items: a skateboard with two additional decks taped to it, and a plastic tube filled with rolled-up posters. 

The parcel dimensions had to be precise. Not a millimeter more than 1.8, said the post office employee. What's 1.8? They'll get it, said the employee. 

This granny understood. She put measuring tape to large sheets of corrugated cardboard and scored straight lines freehand with a pair of workhorse scissors. The sound of blade scraping cardboard was intensely satisfying. 

She had a gold tooth that winked at me every time she smiled, which she did, frequently.

The shipshape interior was plain, but not severe. She had a desk with charts listing the proper dimensions of packages, by country. A desk calendar on which she'd written out, in Korean, how to say "have a nice day" in English. "Ha-beu-a-ni-seu-da-y." 해브어나이스데이! An electric kettle and a mug filled with sticks of instant coffee. On the wall, a faded map with outdated country names. Under that, framed photographs of a younger her, and pictures of children and grandchildren who resembled her. 

I had plenty of time to look around. She was slow, deliberate and extremely precise--and worked with a supreme casualness. Deft and meticulous without visibly fussing. Sprezzatura. 

A box materialized around the oblong items, as neat and trim as if it had always existed as a box. But then we discovered that the dimensions were off by 2 cm—domestic packages, she explained, were capped at 2 meters and she'd assumed that it was the same for international. Without stopping, she took out the measuring tape and pen knife again and started to slice segments off the edges. A corner here, a strip there. The end product didn't have the perfect right angles and clean edges of the first, but it was a perfect 1.8. 

It was less aesthetically pleasing but more impressive, simply because the second parcel was so irregular—a heavily-taped half-sibling to the first box, almost cylindrical in its blurred-out angles and edges but without any of the radial symmetry or balance. 

"I've been doing this for 46 years. I used to work with five employees beneath me," she said. "But the years passed and the demand tapered and it was just me." 

(Today people can buy and package the right-sized boxes at the post office. They don't need an expert in international parcel dimensions and box cutting. She lives on the exceptions—people who need to send plastic tubes of posters and skateboards.)

"After my husband passed on to the sky kingdom [하늘나라, an old fashioned or childish way of talking about death, which I noted and appreciated] I thought about closing shop. But I'm an old woman. There was nothing else I could do. So I came back." 

#humansofseoul #charactersketch #seoul