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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back.

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!!

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!!

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman.

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today.

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands.

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother.

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time.

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave.

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers.

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down.

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs.

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair.

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself.

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response.

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no)

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says.

“Okay, kiddo!”

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet.

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.”

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway.

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen.

“Morning.”

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?”

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug.

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying.

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?”

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.”

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly.

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.”

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.”

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?”

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?”

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.”

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.”

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.”

“You’d do that for me?!”

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?”

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims.

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast.

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!”

Logan flaps even more in response.)

#starshinewrites #little and broken but still good #happy birthday roman sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic tlamp #brotherly logince #romantic roceit

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toastedbuckwheat · 5 years

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Hello! May I ask how you draw? I'm currently learning how to myself and would be highly interested into a step to step process by you! Like from sketch to the done thing (no color necessary)

Hello there!

I dunno how I feel about showing how I work/giving advice to someone who’s learning (and I say it as a pro artist who went through years of traditional art education) because when I do the illustrations you see here on my tumblr I BREAK THE RULES you’d learn though life drawing routine, and give in to bad habits, and my methods are rather unplanned and chaotic which makes it difficult to pinpoint significant stages. But I used my portable potato to take some photos during working on my last piece, so I’ll throw it here with a bit of an explanation of what’s going on.

Before I begin - and because you’re about to look at a mess of a WIP - I’d like to give you some general advice that generally makes life easier when you draw (again, things that I learned in traditional arts education - another artist might advise you the complete opposite, dunno!)

Work holistically. Forget them satisfying-to-look-at clips on instagram showing someone produce a hyperrealistic portrait starting from an eye, with each and every element emerging being finished before they proceed to another part. It takes a lot of talent, yes, but these are ppl redrawing a photo in a kind of a mechanical manner. Most artists don’t work this way. Especially if you’re working without a reference, or if you’re doing a life drawing - your process will be layering and changing and finding what works best to give an impression of what you’re drawing rather than reproduce the exact image, and your artwork is likely to look messy most of the time.That said: don’t start with the details. Don’t spend too much time on a particular part while neglecting others. Your goal is to keep the whole piece at the same level of ‘finished’ (even though it’s unfinished - do I make sense?) before you’re confident that everything is where it should be and proceed to the details. So sketch out the composition first. See how things fit, what’s the dynamics. You’ll save yourself from limbs sticking out from the frame, odd proportions etc etc.

Because it’s a game of relationships between different parts of the picture/scene. I ask you not to worry about finishing a single element before laying out the rest because you’ll find that said element will look different once the other part appears! For instance - you might think that the colour you picked for a character’s hair is already very dark. But once you’re done with the night sky background, you’ll find that it’s in fact too light, and doesn’t work well with the cold palette. You’ll have to revisit different parts of the image as you go to balance these relationships and make the picture work as a whole.

Give an impression of something being there without actually drawing it ‘properly’- because details are hard, mate. You’ll see that my lineart usually has hardly any, and my colouring is large unrefined stains, but the finished thing looks convincing. Like, fuck, I can never focus on how Crowley’s eyes are really shaped. So I just turn them into large glowing yellow ellipses crossed by a line, and heard no protests so far.

Don’t panic if you messed up (you probably didn’t anyway). It might turn out to be a completely unnoticeable mistake - because, remember, things work together to balance each other, so another finished off prominent element will probably drown that badly placed line that looked so visible and out of place a second ago.

It might not look good before it’s finished. I’m mostly immune to it after years of drawing, and my recent illustrations all follow a specific method (ykno, my sunset glow effects and all that) so I can kinda predict the next stage. But I do my linearts on a specially picked crap paper, I don’t bother erasing the smudged graphite, and it looks messy af until I make the background white in Photoshop. Conclusion: you might have a moment of doubt as you work through a piece, but try to break through it - I often suddenly start to like what I cursed a minute before! - and try to finish it even if it’s meant to be bad. This way, looking through your past pieces, you’ll see the progress. And trust me, I can’t even look at my art from literally three months ago. It’s normal.

Now, pics! The sketches are paler in real life, but I increased the contrast a little so you can see something.

1. Laying out the composition!

I wanted to just show them kissing, but I got carried away due to some Art Nouveau inspiration. As you might have noticed, most of my illustrations are quite self-contained (ykno - they look like a sticker on a plain background). So I wanted a tight swirl bordered by Aziraphale’s wings creating a sort of rounded, yin-yang like bubble around them. Consequently I made the whole composition revolve around their heads.

2. Adding more details to the sketch. It’s messy af. It will be messy until I’m done. It’s fine.

3. These are the fineliners I use for the linearts! They are made by Uni-ball and come in light and dark grey. I also sometimes use the guy on the left - ‘Touch’ sign pen by Pentel, when I want more brush-like, wider strokes. I work in grey because when I scan it and do my usual boring trick with sunlight highlights - which is an Overlay mode layer in Photoshop - the highlights ‘burn out’ the lines too and make them vanish a little, and the lighting effect gets more striking. I also like to use the light grey ones to make something look pencil-y without actually using pencil, because pencil fucking smudges.

4. It smudges! So because I am right handed, I start inking from the right hand side, no matter how tempted I am to do their faces first.

5. You can see the composition directions here. I made it intuitively, but ofc some ppl actually use grids etc to lay out their drawings.

6. See how pale ans thin the lineart was at first? I kept adjusting it as new inked parts were appearing. It starts to look nice and consistent now!

7. Finished lineart? There are some mistakes which I later corrected in PS. Notice that Aziraphale’s face has hardly any details on it - I tried to make the drawing suggest his expression rather than risk overdoing it.

8. Photoshop time!! You can totally do what I did here even if you don’t have a graphic tablet. I used Curves tool to enhance the lineart, then Quick Selection Tool to select the background around around my sticker-like piece and filled it white (on a new layer ofc). I keep this white layer on top of the layer order so it works as a mask as I colour. I decided I did not like the hatching shading underneath Aziraphale’s halo, so I erased it with a Stamp tool (because I wanna keep the textured grey fill my crap paper naturally gives me!). It’s done roughly but won’t be visible once the thing is coloured.

9. And the reason why I keep the grey shade instead of easily getting rid of it by using Curves/Levels is because when I set this layer to Multiply mode and colour underneath, it gives me this nice desaturated look like from an old cheap paper comic page. It works as a natural filter! But of course I can’t do bright colours this way, so all my glowing highlights happen ABOVE the lineart layer - on a separate layer in Overlay mode!

Finished thing here!

_____

Commission infoBuy Me a Coffee - help me with my transitioning expenses!Prints and stickers and things on my Redbubble!

#ask the buckwheat #long post #tutorial #drawing advice #drawing tutorial #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanart #good omens art #my illustrations #doodles #toastedbuckwheat

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years

Photo

Behind the Screens

Oh, look, a reminder of why I don't do detailed backgrounds often! Okay, okay, this is actually an entry for projecteducate's All Mediums Contest: From Logos To Art. It sounded like a fun challenge, so I thought I'd take a stab at it. (Hopefully obviously) My primary logo choice/inspiration was the Instagram logo, largely because I had a strong visual idea for it in my mind right away. However, if you look closely there are logo inspirations hiding in there, too. Some of them I think are more obvious, while others are more subtle. In case you'd rather try to find them on your own, I'll list them in small text so you can skip to the next paragraph and not be spoiled. Moving left to right, top to bottom: Outside the window is the Twitter bird, tweeting away; Then we have a literal FaceBook propped up against the window, and next to it a "Ko-Fi" Coffee cup; below the window we have a chair, the SnapChair, based off the SnapChat logo/ghost, which I am particularly proud of. On the right side of the art, we have a globe with some plastic bits that's inspired by the Google Chrome logo; then a PinBoard as a reference to Pinterest; and side-by-side on the table we have an Apple-apple and a Tumblr-tumbler. Fun fact: Because of that apple I now know there are in fact real apple species that have white skin, the most common among them seeming to be the "white transparent" variety. You'll notice all the logos have something to do with the internet/computers/social media, and though I did think about sneaking in a couple of other logos like Dominos or the NBC Peacock (since those logos have good visuals), I ultimately decided it was better to stick to a more cohesive theme. This is also where the title came from, as the idea is this is the reality behind the screens of a perfectly poised Instagram photo. And therein lies the further theme/message you can take away from this; Notice how the figure is holding the camera so that we can't see their face at all, like a mask. And how the other logos have crept into the rest of the scene, in a way that a lot of them you probably wouldn't notice as internet icons if it wasn't pointed out to you. Both of these are realities for a lot of people. On the internet, we put on a facade like a mask. We control the narrative of what people see of us. And our online presence and habits sneak into our lives in ways we might not notice right away. Both things happen for better or worse, and they can and do happen to anyone, regardless of who you are. To that end, I consciously tried to make the person holding the camera little androgynous, so that it could be a boy or girl, but since this is me we're talking about I'm pretty sure it leans more notably on the feminine side. And it doesn't help that for the positioning of the hands I had to use reference photos of myself when I couldn't find quite what I was looking for online. Speaking of which; to make the art I started out with a traditional sketch of the figure and the background bits that were inspired by logos, except for the Pinboard and Kofi/coffee cup. And it's kinda funny because I wanted to base the camera design off of one of the newer instant Polaroid cameras (as that seemed the most fitting to transform into the Instagram Logo camera), and fortunately when I was taking the reference photos my phone is sized just so that I could use it as more or less a stand-in or base. This worked out even better because it meant I could just take the photos in front of a mirror instead of having to set a timer and hope I could pose correctly from a distance. I scanned the sketches in, and then came the trickier part: That background. Especially since a lot of the concept here relies pretty heavily on it. I used a lot of reference photos I found online for this. I did have a basic, rudimentary sketch of my own that I made without any references, but I knew to get the lighting and perspective right I was going to need some actual photos to go off of, and I don't personally have a room that looks like what I had in mind for this. Based on these photos, I did end up putting the shelves over the pinboard, as opposed to putting the pinboard higher on the wall, but other than that and some slight adjusts to the perspective, my general idea for the room stayed the same. And, given my tablet situation, I gave myself a bit of break and decided not to do perfectly clean, solid linework for anything other than the human figure and the camera they're holding. The camera kinda had to have clean lines for this to work, and I thought the figure would stand out from the background better if they were done with clean lines. (And I'm pretty sure I was right about that.) For once in my life, I mostly started in the back and moved my way forward. The walls and ceilings, then the window, then the shelves and the stuff on them, then the banners over the window. And my process reminded largely the same throughout: Loosely line the object, give it a base layer of color, then go back and shade/lighten as necessary. And I was using semi-realistic colors, though I knew they were going to get largely disguised later on when I did the all-over overlay to really drive the Instagram logo inspiration home. Naturally, all the stuff on the shelves was a largely more annoying undertaking than I'd anticipated, but it wasn't quite as bad as the multitude of books I had to do for World in a Book. It's not even that drawing in a bunch of objects like that is hard, necessarily, it just takes a while to get through if you want it to look right. Anyway. Once all of that was done, I took a break to work on the figure and camera, getting the lines done and then moving on once again. Then it was the other logo bits' turn. Once I had them all lined and properly arranged/placed (as they were drawn as separate, individual items from the rest of the scene), I colored each one using the actual logo colors first, then went back to shade them, and then fiddled with some adjustments to bring the saturation down a little and make them blend a bit better with the overall tone. I would end up having to undo some of this after I added the overlay, and as otherwise with that in place some of the logo-inspired things would've either blended in too well or stood out way too much, depending on which one it was. (The camera is a bit of an exception here as instead of getting proper shading, I opted to line it only and just use my home-made gradient inside of it. Once those were taken care of, I back-tracked to color in the figure. Which went similarly to everything else, save for this time I'd use multiple layers for the shading/highlights until I was happy with it, then I merged all that onto a layer about the base color. And then, because I have one solid blue-gray base color for them, I then went back and separated the hair, skin, and shirt with their own unique colors. That was all the coloring done, so I moved on to filling all the blank "photo" spaces I'd left everywhere; the pinboard, the tumbler, even a little picture on one of the shelves. For this, I simply used my own artworks as that seemed like the fastest and easiest way. I just went through my gallery, found pieces I thought would fit properly, then copy & pasted them in and adjusted them to size. A few I did a little perspective warping on just to be thorough, but nothing too crazy. Finally, then I could move on to arguably the most important part: The overlay. Actually, aside from the overlay making the whole image look a little bit too dark, a little too saturated, that went a lot smoother than I thought it would. I just had to turn the saturation down a bit and bring the lightness up to fix that. Or, that's what I thought. I must've saved this thing 6 or 7 times thinking it was finished before spotting this, that, or the other thing (usually related to lighting or shading) that needed to be fixed. First, it was just fiddling with the overlay layer because it still seemed too dark overall, then it was tinkering with shading in various places, and then I decided to drop the ko-fi cup in there because it felt like that spot on the windowsill needed something else and I really wanted just one more logo reference. And then the bottom left corner I thought I fixed earlier now seemed too dark, so I had to un-fix/re-fix that. And of course, even after all that back-and-forth, I thought I was finally, finally done when I noticed the black checkerboard squares on the SnapChair were too dark of a black compared to the blacks/darks elsewhere in the photo, especially considering how light the area around the chair is. I'm sure I could've left it alone and it would've been okay, but my own brain wouldn't let me. So I fixed it! It's not even that noticeable of a difference, but it makes my brain feel so much better knowing it was indeed fixed. Fortunately, after that (at least for now) I stopped noticing things to tweak/fix. It's still not completely perfect, but the things I could continue playing with are at least to my satisfaction to the point I'm comfortable calling it finished. Though, honestly, it already feels like this description should be a lot longer when I think about the 3-4 days I spent working on this. It was a lot of work, but just like I thought it would be, it was fun and I'm really happy with how it turned out. It was a real challenge as far as shading and perspective go, and obviously, for as strong of an image I had in my head when I started, it wasn't exactly a cakewalk to get it there. A lot of the lines are rough up-close, but they don't look so bad when there's so much else going on in the picture to distract from them. Maybe I'll try the "softer" lines like this more often. I do know one thing, though, I'm going to be avoiding detailed backgrounds for a while. They always take a lot out of me. ____ Artwork (c) me, MysticSparkleWings I do not own any of the logos that inspired parts of this artwork ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#projecteducate

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crimsonslytherin · 4 years

Text

I’ll Be Your Reason - Chapter 14

(First) - (Previous)

Words: 4334

A/N: Please Note I used some parts from the book.

The early morning of his birthday, about an hour after he’d turned 13, Harry leaned on the sill of his open bedroom window to look up at the night sky. He’d been working on one of the essays that had been assigned over the summer. Harry was only able to work on his homework really late at night or with Fiona at her house. The Dursley’s had locked up all of his magical things – his broom, his books, wand and cauldron – under the stairs like they had the year before. Harry had been able to get his wand back within the first week but Fiona let him use her books so he didn’t need to worry about getting them back just yet. She insisted on him borrowing them but he didn’t want to risk her losing her books to the Dursley’s as well. He didn’t mind having to go to her house to work on their homework, he was glad to have her help as well.

The night was rather quiet allowing Harry to hear the distinct sound of a backdoor open in one of the neighbors yards. He leaned out and looked to the right, towards Fiona’s house, in time to see her trying – and failing rather badly – at riding a broom up and over to his window.

“Fiona, what are you doing?” he whisper-shouted in amusement . Fiona looked up and grinned at him.

“Just a second.” She seemed to need all her focus to properly ride the broom. When she made it to the window Harry helped her climb through as quietly as she could. She leaned the broom against the bed before turning to him. “Happy Birthday, Harry.” She pulled him into a hug and he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as he hugged her back. He did his best to ignore the evidence of puberty pushing against his chest. Fiona pulled away before sitting on his bed. “Ah, the witch burning essay?” She turned the piece of parchment to read some of it.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed as he sat down on the other end of the bed. “Still bad at flying?” Fiona stuck her tongue out at him.

“I’m not a star Quidditch player like some people,” she teased.

“I’d give you lessons if we didn’t live here,” he offered.

“We could always practice at The Burrow; any word from Ron?”

“He uh, he tried to call,” Harry started. Fiona winced.

“Oh dear, who answered?”

“Who do you think? I don’t think Uncle Vernon could shout any louder.”

“Poor Ron.” Fiona shook her head. “I’m sure I could send my father’s owl and give him my number and you could just use our phone.” Harry chuckled.

“That’s okay, Fee. Maybe Hermione since she knows how to use a phone.”

“Oh well I already have her number,” Fiona told him, waving her hand dismissively.

“Talk a lot, do you?” he asked, curious. Fiona nodded.

“Mhm, mostly girl stuff, you wouldn’t be interested.” Harry chuckled.

“Probably not,” he agreed.

“So, Harry, how does it feel to be a teenager?”

“Exactly the same,” he admitted. Harry opened his mouth to speak when three owls suddenly flew in through his window. Two of them were carrying the third which they placed on the bed between the two.

“Hedwig,” Fiona greeted one of them with a smile. The snow owl nipped affectionately at Harry as he removed the parcel she was holding. She then hopped over to the unconscious owl on the bed, Errol, Ron’s family owl. The third the two didn’t recognize but it held two letters with a familiar H.

“One for me and one for you,” Harry noted as Fiona took the two letters from the owl that then flew out the window as if it were on a schedule.

“What did Errol bring? Poor bird,” Fiona cooed as she stroked the bird’s feathers. Harry took the package and tore open the brown paper to find a present wrapped in gold and a birthday card. He opened the envelop and two papers fell out, a letter and a clipping from a newspaper. Harry read the clipping aloud, quietly, and the two learned that Arthur Weasley had won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw and that the family was on summer holiday to Egypt to visit the oldest son, Bill. “Wow,” Fiona gasped seeing the moving picture of the family in front of a large pyramid. Harry opened the letter and read it to himself.

“Ron’s getting a new wand,” he told her with a smile.

“I would hope so; I don’t think we’d survive another year with that one.”

“And Percy’s Head Boy.”

“Of course he is,” Fiona groaned as she rolled her eyes. “He’s wearing his badge already.” She turned the photo to Harry and pointed it out. He chuckled.

“They’ll be back a week before school starts and he wants to know if we can meet them in London.”

“Sounds fun. What’s Hermione say?” she asked as he opened up the letter from her, the one Hedwig had been holding.

“She’s in France… Her essay is two rolls longer than Professor Binns asked for.” Fiona groaned. “And that she’ll also be in London the last week of holidays.”

“That’s awesome, what book’d she get you?” Fiona asked. Harry snickered knowing well before opening the present could be a book but they were wrong. His eyes widened and a grin spread on his face.

“A Broom Servicing Kit!” he whispered excitedly.

“If only we could get your broom,” Fiona said with a frown at the bedroom door. Harry shrugged.

“I can always bring it to Hogwarts.”

“True. Speaking of,” Fiona started as she picked up the letter addressed to her. She opened it and scanned it over. “List of books, of course, and… oh I forgot about Hogsmeade-” She paused, biting her lip and Harry let out a sigh.

“Permission form,” he muttered.

“Maybe your aunt would sign it,” Fiona suggested. He put the letters on his nightstand and noticed the time.

“Two o’clock. You should get back, Fee,” he told her. Fiona pouted.

“Fine,” she whined quietly as she stood up. Before grabbing her broom she pulled Harry into another hug and kissed his cheek. “Happy Birthday,” she told him with a grin before carefully going out the window. Harry watched to make sure she made it the less than 20 feet over to her back door. She waved at him and he gave a slight wave putting a hand to his cheek.

…

The next morning at breakfast Harry learned his uncle’s sister would be staying with them for a month. Harry, with the hopes that his uncle would sign the permission form, sent Hedwig to Fiona’s and informed her of the situation. For a whole week she couldn’t sneak into his room and he couldn’t go over to her house either. Her father had offered that he could stay at their house for the week but Harry knew his only chance at getting the form signed was to stay.

“Hey, if you need an escape our door’s always open to you,” Jonathan told him when he came over with Hedwig’s cage. He decided for the hour while his uncle went to the train station that he’d spend time with Fiona. They sat outside on the curb, Grimm lying in the sun between them.

“I can always perform a rescue mission if you need me to,” Fiona suggested. “I can be very charming.” Harry chuckled but shook his head. “Alright.” She held up her hands. “But hey, if you need to talk later I’ll be down at the playground. It’s actually quite peaceful after sunset.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

Fiona was sitting on one of the swings with Grimm lying on her lap when she heard screaming in the distance. She turned and looked up to see a round object floating up from the houses.

“Oh dear,” she muttered before she looked down at Grimm. “I guess Harry’s joining us after all, boy.” The cat meowed and climbed up into her arms as she stood. A few minutes later she saw Harry storming down the street pulling his trunk behind him. “Harry?” she called as she walked over. Grimm jumped out of her arms, more comfortable walking next to her as she began to jog over to him. “That’s you’re doing then?” she asked before glancing up at screaming the dot in the sky.

“She insulted my parents!” he growled out as he stopped, he was almost out of breath, huffing in anger.

“Hey, I would’ve done the same thing,” Fiona said. “But, Harry…”

“I know I know,” Harry said. “I did magic outside of school.”

“I’m sure they can just erase her memory and everything will be alright,” Fiona said.

“Let’s hope so,” Harry said. He pulled his suitcase over to the sidewalk and laid it down before sitting down himself. Fiona sat beside him and Grimm jumped up onto Harry’s suitcase. Harry pet the cat idly as Fiona leaned against him.

“You could stay with us,” she offered.

“I can’t. I can’t be near them or that house.”

“I get it,” Fiona said with a nod. “You could always stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Hermione will be there in two weeks. I could come and keep you company,” she suggested, suddenly excited. “It’ll be like a sleepover!” Harry chuckled and was glad any colour on his cheeks was hidden in the dark.

“How am I going to get there though?” he asked.

“The Knight Bus.”

“Night bus?”

“Mhm, it comes to stranded witches and wizards wherever they are and takes them wherever they need to be.”

“The magical world still amazes me,” he said with a grin. Fiona hummed in agreement. The two sat there in silence, Fiona leaned her head on his shoulder as Harry continued to pet Grimm. Fiona felt Harry shift uncomfortably and sat up.

“Do you want to ride the swings like we used to?” she asked with a smile as she took his hand and stood. “I’ll push you.” Harry started to smile back when suddenly the streetlamp above them started flickering. The wind picked up and they heard creaking metal. They turned and saw the playground parts moving. Grimm suddenly hissed and the two heard the cracking of twigs in front of them. They stood as they saw a large black dog on the other side of the street. “Harry.” Fiona took out her wand and went to move in front of Harry.

“Stay behind me,” he said as he took out his wand, held out his arm to block her and push her behind him. The dog barked making Harry stumble back and trip over his trunk. Fiona stumbled back as well but didn’t fall back. Suddenly a horn sounded and headlights shined on them as a triple-decker purple bus drove up before it hissed to a halt. Standing on the back door was Stan Shunpike, an 18- year-old boy in a wrinkled conductor’s uniform. He had a pasty face, raccoon eyes and looked like he hasn't seen the sun in years. He read from a crumbled paper.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus,” he said drearily. “Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike,” He pointed to his name tag. “and I will be your conductor this evening.” He put his paper in his pocket before he peered down at Harry. “Wha' choo doin' down there?”

“I fell over,” Harry said.

“Wha' choo fall over for?”

“I didn't do it on purpose,” Harry said as Fiona helped him up. Stan eyed Harry suspiciously and nodded slowly.

“Well, come on then. Let's not wait for the grass to grow,” Stan said. Harry and Fiona glanced around the bus to the bushes where the dog had been but it was nowhere to be seen. Stan peeked around as well.

“Wha’ choo lookin’ at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said.

“Well, come on, then. In.” Harry went to get his trunk but Stan was already getting it. “No, no, no. I’ll get this. You two get in.” Fiona took Harry’s hand and they got onto the bus. Inside there were no seats but a few beds, in one was a sleeping wizard. The two moved past the bed as Stan struggled with Harry’s trunk. As the two reached the middle Harry looked up to see a large chandelier. Behind them Stan had gotten Harry’s trunk in and was now walking behind them. “Come on. Move on, move on, move on.” The two hurried towards the front of the bus. They moved in front of the last bed and Stan stood in front of them. The little machine around his neck spit out two tickets. He ripped them from the machine before handing them to the two. Stan knocked on the glass behind him. “Take ‘er away, Ern.” Behind the wheel sat Ernie, an unshaven wizard with very thick glasses. A shrunken head hung from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, take it away, Ernie!” it said. Ernie took a bite from a sandwich before switching gears. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” The head said before cackling. The bus rocketed away and all the beds slid back. Harry and Fiona fell back onto the one closest to them. Grimm screeched and dug his claws into the middle bed. The two looked up at the chandelier swaying directly above them before the beds moved back.

“Wot you say your names were again?” Stan asked.

“We didn't,” Harry said as the two held onto the bed.

“Whereabouts you headin'?”

“The Leaky Cauldron!” Fiona told him.

“That’s in London,” Harry added.

“You hear that, Ern? ‘The Leaky Cauldron. That’s in London,’” Stan said, clearly amused. The head laughed.

“The Leaky Cauldron. If you have the pea soup make sure you eat it before it eats you,” It said before laughing. Harry looked out the window watching London careering by.

“But the Muggles. Can’t they see us?” Harry asked.

“Muggles?” Stan asked. “They don’t see nothing, do they?”

“No, but if you jab them with a fork, they feel,” the head said before cackling some more. “Ernie, little old lady at 12 o’clock!” The bus came to a sudden stop to avoid the lady crossing the street and Harry and Fiona went flying. Harry into the window and Fiona into him, she quickly moved back a bit to give him room.

“Are you okay?” Fiona asked but Harry was distracted by the head counting down.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three and a half, two, one and three quarters. Yes!” The bus took off again sending the two onto the bed, this time Harry on top of Fiona.

“Sorry!” He quickly got off of her and looked up to see the Daily Prophet Stan was reading. The headline read ‘escape from Azkaban!’ below was a moving picture of a shrunken-faced man with long, matted hair, screaming. “Who is that?” he asked. “That man?” Stan sighed and closed the paper to look at the front.

“Who is that? Who is-?” Stan turned the paper to them. “That's Sirius Black, that is. Don' tell me you ne'er been hearin' o' Sirius Black?” The two shook their heads. “He’s a murderer. Got 'imself locked up in Azkaban for it.”

“How'd he escape?”

“Well, tha's the question, isn't it? He's the firs' that's done it! He was a big supporter of… You- Know-'Oo, Black was. I reckon you heard o' him.”

“Yeah. Him I’ve heard of,” Harry said.

“Ernie, two double deckers at 12 o’clock,” the head said. “They’re getting closer, Enrie. Ernie, they’re right on top of us!” Ernie slammed two pedals and pulled a gear. The bus slowed down as it approached the two red buses. Earnie pulled down something. “Mind your head.” Suddenly the bus was squished together to fit between the buses. “Hey guys!” the head laughed. “Guys! Why the long faces?” it asked before laughing. The bus un-squished and Harry and Fiona let out sighs of relief. The bus rocketed away as soon as it could. “Yeah, yeah. Nearly there, nearly there.” The bus turned a corner and slammed on the breaks again sending the two teenagers flying once more into the window, Fiona face first then Harry next to her. The bus nudged a car’s bumper and the car alarm wailed.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Stan said as Harry and Fiona pulled themselves away from the window.

“Ow…” Fiona whimpered as she rubbed her forehead.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. Fiona nodded.

“Next stop, Knockturn Alley,” The head said. The two turned to see the inn keeper, Tom, get on the bus.

“Ah, Mr. Potter and Miss Gaunt... at last.” He grabbed Harry’s suitcase and pulled it off the bus before he waited for the two to get off. Fiona picked up Grimm, with some difficulty seeing as the cat’s claws were dug into the bed he was on.

“Come on, Grimm. We’re getting off, now.” The cat gladly let go and Fiona followed after Tom. Harry and Fiona got off the bus and followed Tom into the pub then up the stairs.

“Miss Gaunt, room 17 is open to you.” He held out a set of keys. “Your father was made aware of the situation and all you’re things are inside waiting for you.” He turned to Harry. “Someone wishes to speak with you Mr. Potter.” Harry nodded and turned to Fiona.

“Thank you,” Fiona said giving Tom a big smile. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight,” Harry said before Fiona went down the hall and into her room. She found her trunk all packed at the foot of the bed as well as all the required books stacked up on a nearby table with a letter perched on top.

Fiona

I wish you would have come home to tell us about your impromptu adventure into London with Harry but seeing the blimp of a woman flying from his house I realize there wasn’t time. I informed the Minister of Magic that the situation was dealt with – the woman is back to normal and her memory of the event was erased. Unfortunately I couldn’t fix Harry’s Aunt and Uncle’s memories seeing as they already know. No doubt he’s speaking with Harry as you read this, you’ll have to stay within Diagon Alley but you’ll be free to go where you wish there. In your trunk I’ve included some spending money, obviously don’t worry about your school books.

Love Mum & Dad

Fiona smiled down at the letter before looking through the pile of books. She noticed the Care of Magical Creature’s book, if one could call it a book, The Monster Book of Monsters. It was growling softly as if it was sleeping. She knew her set of books would be the exact same as Harry’s since they picked all the same classes at the end of their second year.

Grimm jumped up onto the bed and curled up. Fiona double checked that her luggage and books were all accounted for before changing and going to bed.

…

The next morning Fiona left Grimm asleep on the bed before going to out into the hall to find Harry’s room. She didn’t need to ask which one it was either, she could hear the book inside. Fiona went to knock and heard a thud then a squeal. She knocked on the door.

“Harry?”

“C-Come in!” he called. Fiona came in to see him standing on the book, with one shoe on. “M-Mind getting me the-“ He motioned to the strap that had been holding the book closed. Fiona got it and Harry tied up the book.

“At least your shoe’s okay,” she said. “I was actually coming to warn you not to open it.” Harry sighed and gave her a look. “I’ll try to be quicker next time,” she said with a slight giggle.

“Laugh it up,” he said shaking his head but smiling as he put his shoe back on.

“Shall we get breakfast, then?” Fiona asked. Harry nodded and grabbed a sweatshirt.

…

“I knew you wouldn’t get expelled,” she told him with a grin as they sat at the table before ordering breakfast. “Dad bought all my books already.” Harry nodded.

“Mine were all in my room as well.”

“Well, after breakfast, what do you want to do first?”

“Ah, well, I need to go to Gringotes first,” Harry started. “Then…”

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t buy every shiny thing.” Harry frowned in confusion. “Hagrid told me one time you wanted to buy a gold cauldron first year.” Harry chuckled as he remembered.

“Imagine Snape’s face; he already didn’t like me that first class.”

“How about we stop by that Quidditch store?”

“Sure, though if we run into Oliver you’re charming our way out.”

“Agreed.”

_________________________

The two spent the next two weeks window shopping, occasionally buying things though nothing they didn’t need or anything too fancy. More than once Fiona had to pull Harry out of a store. They ended up seeing a few students doing their shopping like Dean and Seamus in the Quidditch shop, where they thankfully never ran into Oliver. They saw Neville outside Flourish and Blotts but they didn’t stop and chat for fear of upsetting the boy’s grandmother. They saw other students they didn’t know the names of, from other houses, and obvious first years.

In the back of her mind Fiona was keeping an eye out for someone. Harry would notice her looking around when they stopped to get a bite to eat or when they walked out of a shop. He didn’t question it; he figured she was just looking for anyone they knew since he was on the lookout for any sign of Ron and Hermione.

It was the last day before term, they both left their rooms and stopped in surprise as a rat ran passed them followed by an orange cat. Grimm simply licked his paw as if it was beneath him to chase such a thing. The two walked out to the stop of the stairs and heard Ron.

“I’m warning you, Hermione! Keep that bloody beast of yours away from Scabbers, or I’ll turn it into a tea cozy.”

“He's a cat, Ronald! What do you expect? It's in his nature,” Hermione said. As Harry and Fiona reached the bottom of the stairs they found Ron protectively cradling Scabbers, while Hermione did her best to restrain a hissing Crookshanks.

“A cat! Is that what they told you? Looks more like a pig with hair if you ask me.”

“That's rich coming from the owner of that smelly old shoe brush.” Harry and Fiona grinned down at the two. “It's all right, Crookshanks. You just ignore the mean little boy…” Hermione cooed to her cat. Ron looked up to see the two on the stairs.

“Harry,” Ron said. Hermione turned to see them.

“Fiona,” she said with a smile.

“And Grimm,” Ron said. “A cat who doesn’t try to kill Scabbers every time he sees him.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

The four moved to the large table in the middle of the room, the boys on one side and the girls on the other, each girl holding her cat. Ron showed Harry and Fiona the newspaper clipping with his family’s vacation photo on it.

“Egypt! What's it like?” Harry asked.

“Brilliant. Loads of old stuff. Mummies, tombs . Even Scabbers enjoyed himself.”

“You know, the Egyptians used to worship cats,” Hermione said.

“Yeah. Along with the dung beetle,” Ron said.

“Not flashing that clipping about again, are you, Ron?” George asked as he and Fred walked over. George took the clipping from him.

“I haven’t shown anyone,” Ron said.

“No, not a soul!” Fred said as the two made their way around the table. “Not unless you count Tom,”

“The day maid,”

“The night maid,”

“The cook,”

“The bloke that came to fix the toilet,”

“And the wizard from Belgium,” George finished before the two sat down.

“Good morning, Fiona,” The twins said in unison as they smiled at the girl.

“Good morning, Forge, Gred,” Fiona said making the two grin before they turned their attention to the clipping.

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley said as she headed over. Harry stood.

“Mrs. Weasley!”

“Good to see you dear.”

“Good to see you too,” Harry said.

“Oh Fiona! Good to see you’re doing well too, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. Weasley,” Fiona said with a smile. Mrs. Weasley turned back to Harry.

“Now, you’ve got everything you need?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Yes? All of your books?”

“Yeah, it’s all upstairs.”

“All of your clothes?”

“Everything’s there.”

“Good boy,” she said patting his cheek.

“Harry Potter,” Arthur said as he walked over.

“Mr. Weasley.”

“Harry, wonder if I might have a word?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah sure,” Harry said before he started to follow him.

“Hermione.”

“Good morning, Mr. Weasley,” she greeted. The two went behind a post to talk while the rest of the table started ordering breakfast.

“How was your summer, Fiona?” Hermione asked.

“Uneventful,” Fiona answered with a chuckle. “I can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts.”

“Me too! Only two more years until O.W.L.s.”

“That is what you’d be excited about,” Ron said shaking his head. Hermione glared.

“George's nose looks positively massive in that photograph,” Fred said

“That's your nose, Fred,” Ginny said.

“Bloody hell. 'Tis, isn't it? Take after your side of the family, don't I, Mum?” Fred asked making Mrs. Weasley lightly smack his arm. She sat down and a waitress came over with a menu. Everyone ordered breakfast and after a few minutes Harry came over and sat back down beside Fiona.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” he said with a nod but with a look that told her he’d tell her later. Fiona nodded.

“I ordered for you,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

___________________________

(Next Chapter)

#Harry Potter FanFiction #Draco Malfoy x OC #Movie & Book Canon #Slight Canon Divergence #I'll Be Your Reason

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mintchocolateleaves · 7 years

Text

Cost of Freedom (31/52)

Summary: In which the heist begins.

[CoF Full chapter list]

They block off the streets.

Kaito hadn’t thought exactly that they’d block off an entire street, not when KID heists had been so popular, but he supposes that because there’s technically a murder case with his name against suspect, and they want to ensure he doesn’t take any hostages.

Not that Kaito would ever be desperate enough to turn to hostage-taking. It’s messy, and frankly, he doesn’t want to rely on random strangers to help him find Pandora. Or… anyone really, which is why KID is a one-man show.

Shinichi, he’s left back with Hattori and Kazuha. The three of them looking over the more important murder scenes, while Kaito tries to divert the attention of those who are trying to set them up.

The blockade is a mixture of police vans and wooden signs. The signs are manned by two security guards. Two, because the police haven’t forgotten his track record of knocking people unconscious and stealing their identities.

Not even months in prison can make people forget that.

The blockades are a nuisance, but they’re still easy. He’s not too arrogant to forgo them completely, but KID is a phantom and if Kaito needs to get into a museum, then he’s perfectly capable of doing so.

The sky is black, an absence of stars in the night. The light of the waxing moon is shuttered behind clouds, releasing only the smallest hint of light, the city covered in dull shadows. It’s the street lamps, really, that will be a problem when trying to remain unseen.

Okay, Kaito thinks, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. It’s a deep brown, filters into the shadows better than pure black clothing ever could. Let’s do this.

Which way to go, though? The sound of police choppers above the museum, scouting out the rooftops for him, means that going above will be a bad idea. Too much lighting, and he can’t be arrogant while getting indoors.

They must be expecting him to come from the skies, flying in because of how utterly hopeless it is to come in from the streets. Except… they seem to have forgotten one important key fact.

Magician’s perform magic, and tonight, Kaito will disappear and reappear inside the museum. A good comeback for KID, although he’s not… entirely pleased with the mechanics of how his trick is going to work.

He’s brought a mask, which should help, but he still shudders as he pries open the manhole in the alleyway that’s 100m from the police blockades. The sewers wait below, an overpowering stench meeting his nose before he even reaches it.

Kaito winces, double checks that the backpack he’s bringing is properly sealed, before climbing down to the sewers below. If his information is correct, then there’s a walkway that will lead him the 700m to the manhole just outside the museum’s back entrance.

He tightens the mask he’s brought with him, pulls the straps tighter until it feels like he’s being pinched. Then, he loosens the strap slightly, so that it’s comfortable, but still effective in its use.

“Okay,” Kaito says, once he drops down onto the walkway. He clicks on a small torch, the light dull enough to see where he’s going without creating a bright beam of light, “time to get this show on the road.”

Ran paces.

Aoko watches with uncertainty racing in her mind, wondering whether she should comfort Ran by saying it’s okay, or stand back and let the girl stay in one piece. Comfort is something she needs, but right now, Aoko needs Ran to stay in one piece.

They are, after all, the backup plan that will ensure Kaito and Kudo will stay alive if guns are aimed on them. And as much as Aoko knows Kaito wants to be free, she will gladly throw him back in a prison cell.

But only if it comes to it. If there’s a way to get around it… then she’s going to ensure Kaito doesn’t get murder added to his sentence. Either way, that requires Ran to be strong and comfort takes away that need.

Aoko hopes Ran won’t hate her for that. Instead, she stands from her seat and offers the only comfort she can.

“Ran-chan,” Aoko says, and it’s quiet, just loud enough to pull the other girl’s attention from her own thoughts, “will you help Aoko tighten this?”

Ran turns, glances down as Aoko points at the vest they’ve been ordered to wear during the heist. The other girl flinches, but moves forwards, hands trembling as she tightens the edges, so that the vest is snug. It’s more of a reminder of what’s to come next, than a comfort, Aoko supposes.

“You’re so calm,” Ran says after a second, once she steps away. “I wish I could be, but I’m just so worried.”

Aoko glances in through the doors to the room where the diamond is being held. She bites into her cheek, wonders how Kaito expects to get past the guards without getting caught in the crossfire, before realising that this is Kaito, he has always been good at evading capture.

Except for the time he was caught, her mind supplies, rather unhelpfully, forcing a shudder to slither down her spine.

“It’s okay,” Aoko says, “Aoko’s been to heists before, she’s used to them now.”

Ran’s lips tighten, as she wraps her hands around her stomach, hugging herself with an anxiety that makes even Aoko feel nervous. From the way she turns her head, a sudden sharp movement, it’s clear to see that this isn’t quite what she means.

“I suppose,” Ran says finally, biting into her lip, “it’s just… they’re not usually this dangerous, are they?”

Aoko isn’t sure. There have been several heists where KID was left slightly injured, now that she thinks more on it. Especially his last, where shackles had dug into wrists, bruises had littered his skin where he’d fallen.

Still, as far as Aoko knows, there hadn’t been any guns.

“Not normally,” she agrees, “but they’re only a last resort.”

Ran pales, “don’t the police usually have to use every resort to try and catch KID?”

Aoko hums, turns her back on Ran so that the other girl can’t see the worried expression that she’s trying to hide. It’s Kaito’s decision, yes, but it’s also a stupid one – mainly because Ran’s right. The KID taskforce have had to use every trick up their sleeves to catch Kaito, and if they’ve got the clearance to add guns, then… then, they will.

She wonders whether her father will shoot.

Aoko wonders whether she’ll hate him if he does.

“They’ve had a hard time catching just Kaito,” Aoko says after a second, “with a detective on his side, they’ll have more time to plan.”

Not just one detective either – two. Both Kudo and Hattori. Aoko’s not sure whether Kaito will bring the detective’s in on much of his plan, but he would listen to their ideas, coming up with counters to whatever ideas they’d come up with to stop him.

“And anyway,” Aoko says, “KID’s pretty solitary, I doubt he’d let Kudo-kun show up and put his escape plan at risk.”

“Hey,” Kudo says, dragging Heiji’s attention from the file he’s looking at. He’s brought as many files as possible from the previous cases, whatever he can manage to convince Megure to take photocopies of, and is now sat catching up on the murders he’s looked into before, “look at this.”

The Tokyoite has been sat scanning over the crime scene for half an hour now, looking between the official crime scenes, the pictures Heiji’s taken himself, and the photographs that have been sent to him.

Heiji glances over, realises he can’t see well enough, and begrudgingly pulls himself out of his chair, stepping around the table to look at the pictures over Kudo’s shoulder. He asks, “what is it?”

Kudo points his fingers towards the photographs. The two crime scene photos are absent of Numabuchi’s corpse, while the sent message has the body still pinned up.

“Doesn’t the blood around where his shoulders would have been look a little wetter in the newer pictures?” He asks.

Weird. The Nakamori girl had pointed out the same thing.

“Yeah,” Heiji says, “what abou’ it?”

“Well,” Kudo says, and he leans closer, looking more in depth at the picture that’s been sent to him, “it had to be placed there after they strung Numabuchi up, right? To cover something up – that’s what I was thinking to begin with.”

Heiji nods, “well yeah, th’ killer must a wanted t’ hide somethin’ right?”

“Maybe,” Kudo says, “or, they wanted to cover up the fact that they’ve taken something away.”

For a moment, Heiji is silent, and then his gaze flickers towards the final photograph, looking at the area behind Numabuchi’s shoulders. There… he needs to squint to see it, but soon he can see what Kudo was talking about.

“There’s somethin’ there,” he says, pointing his finger towards a flash of silver peeking just from above the corpse’s collarbone.

“Exactly,” Kudo says. He nods his head with a sharp, sudden movement. “It looks almost like a sticker. So I started looking into the other pictures on my phone, and there’s always at least a small hint of silver peeking from behind the bodies.”

The air is stagnant, tense with what exactly this means.

“They’ve been playing with you since the beginning,” Heiji says, almost regretful. Fire ignites in him as he realises, whatever organisation Kudo’s been fighting against has only been toying with him this entire time – God, who exactly are they up against?

“They’re playing with us,” Kudo says after a moment, turning to him with bright eyes, “but the thing about games is that they can easily be skewed in your favour, if you know the rules.”

Heiji runs a hand through his hair, sits in the seat beside Kudo at the table. He says, “we don’t know the rules.”

“So we create them,” Kudo says. He lifts the pictures they’ve printed from the phone messages, lays them out on the table, leaning forward to grab one of the abandoned notepads they’ve been writing notes down in.

“First, starting with this,” Kudo says, drawing a rectangle onto the page, “we figure out what that sticker looks like.”

Heiji nods, “okay.”

The moment Kaito pushes the manhole open, he feels a familiar jolt of excitement. It’s the same feeling that spreads through his veins every time something dangerous happens, the same rush of euphoria he’d felt when he’d broken into the police station with Shinichi by his side.

Climbing back out into the night, the air crisp against his clothing, he removes his gas mask just long enough to take in a breath of fresh air. Then, he puts it back on, places his hood up and makes his way towards one of the entrances.

He uses the vents often, so he decides that it’s going to be on the lists of the task force. And Kaito can hardly climb the walls without being seen, so he decides it’s probably better if he goes in through one back entrances.

Or… well, a window would work too, but he doesn’t want to risk breaking one or leaving an open route that will lead the task force toward the manhole he’s climbed out of. Now, he closes it, leaves it behind as an exit if his other plans fail.

They shouldn’t fail, but he really isn’t sure. Some detectives have a way of surprising him when he least expects it, and they’re… well… he doesn’t want arrogance to walk him right back into a prison cell.

He moves forward, the wind guiding him forward, whispering the location of guards in his ear. Every few seconds it nips, sending a rush of cold against his skin, reminding him to stay focused.

It is times like this that Kaito wishes he could wrap himself up in the wind, live beneath moonlight forever. He wonders if his father had felt the same, wonders whether he enjoys this because he’s KID, or because he’s Kaito.

He isn’t sure – now isn’t the time to think about it anyway.

“This way,” he mutters to himself, cutting through the hedges and dropping down to his feet at the faint sound of footsteps. The hedges scratch against his hands, the feeling reminding him to push his gloves onto his hands.

It’s not like he really needs to hide his fingerprints, but at this point it’s practically tradition. One of the many things he’d done before heists to make sure everything had gone well. Maybe it’s superstitious, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

The footsteps get nearer, and Kaito shuffles forward on his arms to get a faint view of the pathway between the hedges and the museum. There’s a ventilation shaft across from him – and yes, maybe he doesn’t want to rely on them, but if he’s remembering the building plans correctly, this one leads down to the basement.

Into a furnace.

A furnace that’s been out of commission for almost fifty years, since the museum has been refurnished, changing over to a central heating system. Kaito rakes his thoughts, asks himself if there’d been any particular reason he’d not entered the museum that way, during his last attempted heist.

Oh!

The door had been stiff. When he’d faked maintenance work for his previous heist, it hadn’t been favourable, mainly because he’d wanted to hide his entrance, and the layer of dust in the sliding door had made it difficult to be inconspicuous.

After breaking out of prison, and breaking in to a police station, Kaito isn’t so worried about a bit of disrupted dust. Instead, he starts thinking about how quickly he can undo the vent and how he’s going to navigate the fall without any concrete knowledge of what he’ll be falling onto.

It a risk, yes, but it’s also one of his best shots.

The footsteps fade away, and in that moment, Kaito scurries forward, towards the vents. It takes time, but after a few minutes, he’s undone the vent, and is climbing through. He doesn’t want to fall, not unless it’s a controlled descent.

“Okay,” Kaito says, the sound echoing down the vent, causing him to wince. “Time to do this.”

He places the main vent back on, keeps it loose so that he can push it off from the inside when he gets ready to leave, before readying himself for a fall.

Kaito checks his watch, realises that he’s still got fifteen minutes until his heist begins, and crawls deeper into the vent. Darkness awaits him, but this time, he doesn’t let gravity drag him down. He climbs down, his back arched against one end of the vent, his feet on the other, almost as if he is walking down the metal.

By the time he’s out of the vent, Kaito only has ten minutes left.

Ten minutes to get to the other end of the museum.

He’s played worse odds than that before.

Kazuha is the one who finally pieces the logo together.

Heiji isn’t surprised, she’s always been good at remembering brands and logos, spends enough time on social media and her phone to have seen and practically remembered it all. Sometimes, her random phone browsing comes in handy.

“You have?” Kudo says, glancing up. His eyebrows are furrowed, worried at the concept of narrowing down on the sticker so quickly. Suspicious, as if it shouldn’t be this easy. Heiji thinks that the other detective just hasn’t accepted that his organisation wants him to figure out the logo on this sticker.

Something meant for only Kudo’s eyes… Heiji’s curious himself, about what it could be.

“I think so,” Kazuha says, and her voice wavers, uncertain. “From th’ bits we’ve been able to draw ou’ from th’ picture messages, there’s only so many tha’ it could be. And most o’ ‘em don’t seem suspicious, except for this one.”

She places her phone in between the two boys, stealing their attention without even batting an eye. Heiji tears his eyes to the logo and barely manages not to flinch. Kudo however, reels back as if he’s been burned.

“I don’t know for certain yet–”

“It’s them,” Kudo says, steel in his voice. He leans forward, lips pressed in a tight line, finger nails reaching up to his throat, scratching against skin. Heiji contemplates stopping him, but the other boy doesn’t look like he’s digging too deeply into skin, and Heiji doesn’t want to take away one of the coping strategies Kudo has developed. “Of course, it’s them, they’re trying to be funny.”

Heiji glances down at the logo again.

A sign broadcasting a chain of liqueur stores across Japan. With the knowledge of what Kudo already knows about the members of the organisation… their codenames being that of various alcohols, it just seems like taunt, a reminder of how much he doesn’t know.

“Those bastards,” Heiji hisses, poison spitting from his voice. “They’re just messing around with you–”

“Maybe it seems that way,” Kudo says, an eerie calm settling into his bones, “but this is worth more than they think. Kazuha, can you search the chain online?”

Kazuha nods.

Heiji has to resist the temptation to pull out his own phone, clicking onto news related to the current KID heist, just to check in on how Kuroba’s fairing. However, as far as he knows, the media have been denied any access to the scene, leaving the news reports lacking, due to the absence of reliable sources.

“Okay,” Kazuha says after a moment, pausing only to ensure both boys are looking at her. “there’s a lot o’ information about th’ business an’ its history. There’s th’ main site, but tha’ doesn’t seem like it’ll help much… hey, no wait.”

Heiji waits.

Kudo continues to scratch at his neck.

“There’s a news article dated from this mornin’.” Kazuha says – there’s a pause as she clicks on the link, opening it up. “Wait… this can’t be a coincidence, listen t’ this, ‘company offers group of security guards in response to announced Kaitou KID heist.’”

Kudo freezes. Beside him, Heiji shudders, holding his hand out for Kazuha to pass him her phone, so he can read the rest of the article. She passes it over without a word, leaving Heiji to scroll up and read for himself.

The recent police announcement that Kaitou KID (Revealed last year to be school student Kuroba Kaito) is on the run, having announced another heist, has brought anxiety to the streets of Tokyo.

In light of this anxiety, and the knowledge of recent cuts to policing, chain store Yamaya Dogenzaka, has offered a small group of volunteers from the branch’s main team of security officers.

There’s more, but Heiji pushes the phone away before he can read any more. The timing of these seems wrong, like there’s some ulterior motive in giving resources to the police. It all seems… wrong. Like a corruption that runs deeper than they’d originally thought.

“Shit…” Kudo mutters once he’s read through it himself, “it’s a ploy. They want access to the heist.”

Heiji runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the ends as he stands up. He moans, “Oh God.”

“…What?” Kazuha says, pocketing her phone. She’s paled, although it’s more from the atmosphere and from clarity. “What am I missin’?”

Heiji glances at her, feels his intestines wrap around his stomach, twisting, churning his stomach acid. A feeling of sickness wraps around him, tearing him apart.

Kudo is the one who answers. There’s a calm to him that Heiji’s not seen in a while, back before he’d allowed himself to show vulnerability, during their many meetings within the prison. A defence, to keep himself from breaking apart.

“The police have signed off on the use of weapons,” the boy whispers, “and the organisation is going to take advantage of that. They’re going to kill…”

Heiji pushes away from the table, bites into the side of his mouth with enough force that he tastes blood. He swallows, tongue tasting only the copper tang of blood, before saying, “I need to warn him.”

“You can’t,” Kudo says, and it’s aggravating, watching him remain cool when there’s such a risk, such weight weighing down on them – they’re already responsible for one death, due to their misguided actions, but they can at least offer help to Kuroba…

“We’ve got to!” Kazuha says, jumping to his aid. They’re a good team, Heiji thinks, have always been good at backing one another up. “If he’s at risk of dying we need to make sure he doesn’t–”

“You two can’t go,” Kudo says. There a harsh edge to his voice, a sternness that shows that this won’t be debated. “I’ll go.”

“They’ll kill you too!”

“Maybe,” Kudo says, pushing away from the table himself, “but suppose you do go and warn him. Firstly, you’d be announcing that you’re working with KID and helped us, which will ruin your life and effect the careers of both of your father’s. Secondly, you’d be announcing to the organisation that you know.”

Heiji freezes. He’s always been the irrational sort, but faced with the logic almost makes him sit back down. There’s too much risk, yes, but the loss of another life… adding an additional risk by putting Kudo’s own life on the line…

“Kudo… they’ll sooner shoot you than him.” Heiji says, a tremor to his voice. Usually, he’s calmer but this… this isn’t right, it shouldn’t… they shouldn’t have to worry about things like this.

“I know,” Kudo says, grabbing his jacket from one of the abandoned chairs and slipping both arms into it. After he’s buttoned it, he throws on a cap, covering his face as he pulls it down. “But someone’s got to warn him.”

“Shinichi-kun,” Kazuha says, “don’t–”

“It’s okay,” Kudo says, “I’m going to solve this case, even if it kills me.”

There are lists – so many lists that Saguru feels himself drowning in a sea of names, searching for a common link between Kudo’s case files and people who’d immediately been informed about the prison break.

The list is exhaustive. Police officers who’d worked the case alongside Saguru and Kudo last year, the police commissioners who’d overlooked it. It’s not even central to just the Tokyo branches, seeing as the prison had been forced to inform other cities and ensure everyone was on the lookout.

Compared to finding any suspicious names, Ran’s task of finding Kudo and Kuroba themselves seems easy. At least she’s got an announced location, something to work with. All Saguru has is a list of names.

Wait…

He turns on his laptop, waits for it to load.

How efficient are his hacking skills again…? Saguru doesn’t use them for cases, because it’s a blatant insult to professionalism, and solving things in the correct manner, but he does know the mechanics. He’s always been interested in codes, in numbers, in binary and the way different variations of ones and zeroes melt together to create something more.

And yet… Can he really figure out this case with the same professionalism and law-abiding as he usually does?

Saguru doesn’t think so.

Not if he’s suspecting the people who appear on both lists. If they can’t trust the people there, if Kudo is being framed, then he can’t let anyone know he’s investigating them. He can’t ask for the third list he wants.

Instead, he’ll need to get it himself.

It’ll take time – hacking always does, and he briefly considers requesting Baaya to bring a cup of coffee upstairs. He decides not to, she’ll ask questions, and Saguru doesn’t want to implicate her.

“Is this what Kudo was feeling…?” Saguru mutters to himself, “the last time we spoke…?”

He isn’t sure. Maybe one day he’ll ask him, for now, he just needs to find the third list. Needs to find the people who’d been briefed about the trip to retrieve the hidden bodies Numabuchi had promised the locations of.

Saguru takes a deep breath, winces.

And proceeds to hack into confidential police files.

Kaito is halfway down the hall, sticking to the shadows, when something catches his eye. Aoko.

She’d said she’d see him at the heist, and yet she’s nowhere near the jewel room, has wandered off on her own. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, something that seems almost foreign on her face, not that Kaito can judge her for it.

She turns, looks up and down the corridor, before continuing.

Kaito glances at his watch – there’s still seven minutes until the heist begins – and steps forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into the shadows with him. She lets out a small squeak, eyes wide as she looks up at him.

“Kaito,” Aoko says, and there’s a seriousness in her voice, a worry that Kaito doesn’t like hearing from her mouth, “I’ve been looking for you.”

The lack of any illeism is haunting as well, Kaito has to resist a shudder.

“It’s a good thing I found you first,” Kaito says, glancing at her, “because else you wouldn’t have found me at all.”

Aoko frowns. Then, she reaches down to her jacket, tugs at the zip until she’s shrugging it off. Kaito’s response is a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, Aoko, we really don’t have the time.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Aoko says, “they’ve got guns in there, okay? And I doubt you’ve got a vest that’ll make sure you don’t die. So… Take mine.”

Kaito pauses. He’d gathered there’d be guns, it’s customary with police officers, they’re issued them, but to hear that they’ve got orders to… to shoot. The thought fills him with dread – he needs that vest.

But… Aoko needs it too.

It must shine through the mask he’s wearing, that he doesn’t want to steal away the safety net she’s been given, that he doesn’t want to be the one to put her in harm’s way, because Aoko puts a hand on his and squeezes.

“They’ll be shooting at you,” Aoko says, dropping her hand to fiddle with the clips by her side, “not at me. So take it.”

Kaito doesn’t move.

“Aoko wants you to,” she says finally, when he meets her eyes, offering him the brightest smile she can. It’s faked, of course it is, Kaito can read her better than he can read himself, but there’s a determination there too.

“...You’re sure?” Aoko nods, “…okay then.”

She lifts it from her body, passes it over to Kaito, who changes within seconds. He has to tug a few straps loose, tightening other before he clips it back up. Then, he throws his shirt back on over it, and the jacket he’d been wearing. Too many layers should leave him overheating, and yet, all Kaito can feel is the cold.

“It’s still not too late to back out of this,” Aoko says. The terrible thing is that she means it. She’s willing to ensure he isn’t killed if he wants to carry his plan out, but she’s also dreading his decision.

Kaito feels guilty for worrying her. He almost wishes it were months ago, back when she’d cheered on the police catching KID, before she knew it was him. Now, she’s urging him not to show up.

“I’m going to get the gemstone,” Kaito says, and he places both hands on her shoulders, presses his lips against her forehead, “and then I’m going to figure this whole mess out. Wait for me?”

Aoko looks at him. She shakes her head.

“You think I’m going to wait?” Aoko says, brushing his hands from her shoulders and turning to put her jacket back on. “No, I’m going to be in there with you.”

“Aoko–”

“I’m involved now,” Aoko says, “I have been since the day I found out you were KID…” Another fake smile. “Don’t worry though, Aoko’s going to make sure Kaito doesn’t get himself caught again.”

Kaito bites his lip, nods. Then, he turns, looking towards the corridor where the Cullinan diamond awaits him. Aoko walks past him without another glance.

“Thanks,” Kaito whispers.

The only sign that she hears him, is the faintest twitch of her fingers.

Aoko has to force herself to keep looking forwards.

She can feel Kaito’s presence behind her, for all of thirty seconds, where he deviates, making his way towards his own entrance. It’s almost scary how vulnerable she feels once he’s gone, a feeling of loss overpowering her as she keeps pacing towards the exhibit room where the gemstone is on display.

No… it’s not a feeling of loss… it’s terror.

Aoko isn’t doesn’t like the absence because it means she can’t keep Kaito out of trouble. Yes, he might have gotten this far by himself, but she remembers new scars getting added to an ever-growing list, remembers uncertainty weighing down on her shoulders when she’d been unable to help him.

Now, she has to return to a room filled with suspicious police officers, with her father, and attempt to keep Kaito alive while ensuring they don’t catch on. Is it even possible?

Well, even if it’s not, how hard will it be to create her own miracle?

Kaito’s done it time and time before – if he can do it, Aoko can too.

“Where’s Ran-chan?” Aoko asks, after she lets her father pinch her cheeks, double-checking that her identity is her own. “I can’t see her anywhere.”

Her father glances around the room, hardly seems to hear her question. Aoko asks again, breathes out a sigh as she realises this is their usual routine.

“Oh, the Mouri girl?” He answers after a pause, “she went out to find you, after you left a little while ago. Isn’t she back yet… Where did you go anyway?”

Aoko lets nervousness creep into her voice, just a tiny amount. She said, “I went to the bathroom?”

“Next time,” her father continues, “take someone with you. You can’t go anywhere by yourself at KID heists.”

“Kaito’s hardly going to take Aoko’s identity while she’s using the bathroom,” Aoko says, crossing her arms. “He’s not that perverted.”

Her father sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore… Aoko… Things aren’t looking good for him right now.”

Aoko knows.

She glances down at her watch, waits for the second hand to reach 12.

“Yeah,” she says, “Aoko thinks that a lot of things aren’t going the way he’d hoped they would.”

Seconds tick, until finally she lets her hand drop. The clock reaches 11pm.

“Look at that,” Aoko mutters, “it’s showtime.”

At this rate, they’re both going to miss the heist.

Ran doesn’t know what way she’s searching, or if she’s already looked down this corridor, but she keeps going anyway. She needs to find Aoko, so that she can have the other girl help her track down KID.

A quick glance at her phone shows that the heist has already begun.

What should she do – Ran needs Aoko’s help… but she needs to talk to KID and Shinichi more. Aoko knows what way she needs to go to get back, surely, it’s fine to wait nearby the gem.

Yes, she should. That’s the best plan of action she can take right now. After all, she’s got people relying on her, and Ran can’t let them down. She needs to prove Shinichi’s innocence, somehow, and she needs to find a way to help Saguru solve the strain of murders.

She’s not much of a detective, but she can do this.

Ran pivots, hurries back up the corridor she’s just walked down, turns around the corner with such speed that she doesn’t exactly look where she’s going. And she bumps straight into one of the police officers.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not quite looking as she continues.

Then, she pauses – because that wasn’t a police officer. She knows that small breathless tone, has heard it every time she’s accidentally bumped into it growing up.

Ran turns and stares.

Shinichi stares back.

“No,” Ran says, although she’s delighted to see him. Paranoia and panic crash into her, both tsunami’s that she can’t protect herself against. It feels almost as if she can’t breathe – a panic attack, possibly, except… Ran hasn’t had one of those in years. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Ran,” Shinichi says. And despite the fact that he’s not supposed to be here, despite the fact that being in a place like this is practically going to end in his own recapture, Ran races forwards and wraps her arms around him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ran mutters into his shoulder, before pulling back, “you could die.”

“I know,” Shinichi says, and his hands grip around her wrists, a movement Ran mimics almost unconsciously. “But Kaito – uh… KID – doesn’t know that, and I need to warn him.”

“The police want you more than they want him,” Ran whispers, and she stares up at him, a tremor to her lips as she attempts not to cry. She’s always been emotional, it shouldn’t be a surprise that every feeling running through her is overpowering, each feeling tearing into her with such ferocity that she doesn’t know how to feel.

“It’s not the police shooting that I’m worried about,” Shinichi says, and then, pauses, offering her one of his awkward smiles. He doesn’t comment on it any further, and Ran knows that unless she prompts him, he’ll leave it as it is.

“The people who framed you,” Ran says, “is it them?”

His lack of an answer is enough.

“I’ll find a way to tell him then,” Ran says, “just. Please, leave before you get into trouble… or… or stay here, and I’ll come back. We can figure this all out together, okay? You don’t need to put yourself in danger to help save someone else.”

Shinichi winces.

“I’m already in danger,” he says, “I can’t put you in danger too, Ran. I…”

She understands. It doesn’t mean she’s got to approve of his decision.

“Okay,” Ran says, “but… come back okay. Because – because I owe you an apology okay? And I want to give it to you properly.”

Shinichi gives her a look, a mixture of confusion and sadness. He probably thinks that he’s the one who needs to apologise. What an idiot.

“Because I lied to you,” Ran says, and she grabs onto his hands, pulls him closer so she’s peering up at him, “I lied. Because I’ll never be able to give up on you. Do you understand?”

Shinichi shudders, glances in the direction of the doorway.

Then, he turns back to Ran, his lips set, eyes narrowed with a plan forming in his mind. He hesitates, waits until Ran offers him a nod and asks,

“Will you help me?”

#LOOK WHO FINALLY FINISHED AN UPDATE #It's about 6k long guys so I'm happy it's done hahahaha #DCMK #fic: Cost of Freedom #I hope you all like it!#Kudo Shinichi #Kuroba Kaito #Hattori Heiji #Toyama Kazuha #Nakamori Aoko #Nakamori Ginzo #Mouri Ran #Hakuba Saguru #If there are other characters then I've forgotten lmao #mywriting

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zanytimetravelenthusiast-blog · 5 years

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VidVortex Review And Large Bonus

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alyssajames400-blog · 5 years

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Reasons For Cheating - Why Do Men Do It?

If you are being affected by worries about saving a relationship so you need to know, "How can I save my marriage?" you are going to very happy to are aware that restoring your relationship is certainly achievable. If you are not sure how to start the most suitable choice is to get outside assistance in learning how to communicate with your partner and the way to resolve conflicts between you in a manner that builds the marriage and draws the two of you closer together. Start with an incredible personality. You need an incredible personality to draw in all kinds of men. You can do that by becoming self confident. Self confidence is basically sexy and do this you want to take against each other. To do that you only have to take time for you to realize how wonderful you might be. Next you need to become a positive person. It isn't any fun to be with women (or a man) who is actually very negative. You can make your personality stand out by being upbeat and fun. When you find yourself writing your online dating profile do not lie, but emphasise aspects of your daily life that makes you gaze reliable, profitable and self-confident. In the event you have ever managed a firm, place it in that room. If you maintain down a properly paid for job make essentially the most than it. If you like going out and partying then photos individuals having a good time work effectively.

If you want to win your ex back, you have to make him come into your possession. As long as he or she is at ease with the information you are there when he or she is ready in your case, he'll make you stay waiting. This is building his macho image and filling him with pride. He never imagined a beautiful woman just like you would be crying and begging him to like her also it makes him feel ten feet tall. 4. Once things begin take up many of the SEO functions yourself. Spend a minimum of 1 hour a day for this. More if you can afford to. SEO will take time however it is an important evil. Especially to start with. Blog about your dating site, read and begin leaving good comments on high pr sites, submit articles, and talk about your website when you invest in the risk. You want to build a buzz so people will come your way site. How often you think about your ex girlfriend? If you still love her, what a loaded question. The answer is inevitably destined to be something along the lines of continuously or continuously. It's tough desiring a lady you're don't with. Your memories tend to be a curse as well as a blessing since you can recall how ideal things had been. By the same token, you're also haunted by imagines of what once was but may never be again. Most men don't realize that most of relationships that go by having a breakup can actually be saved. If you're intent on getting the woman you love back, you must begin that process by showing her just how much she needs you. Telling her is not going to get the job done, and it is certainly not going to be helpful should you enlist the help of an associate to campaign for you personally. You have to actually buy your ex girlfriend to comprehend herself she loves and needs you. The best route to suit your needs to decide to use make that happen would be to make her miss you. Your ex boyfriend has taken you with no consideration. He thinks the guy can have you back anytime and every time you're going running after him or sending text messages one after another, you happen to be proving him right. Why should he be worried about getting you back when you tell him you may love him forever and can't live without him. These actions are pushing your ex farther away rather than bringing him back. A little known facts are most wealthy women utilize major internet dating sites to locate men. These sites are the best available, most abundant in features. Wealthy women are fascinated by the best of everything, why should internet dating sites be any different? Now, before heading reaching for your bank card, you need to understand web sites also have free communities, too. You can use almost all of their features for free, without ever being forced to open your wallet. What you need to do is create a profile one of these websites after which go hunting. How you locate a wealthy women is by visiting the search page and typing in words like "wealthy" and "rich" when you are trying to find women. This will raise up a listing of women, most of whom may also be online. Wealthy ladies have a tendency to "advertise" their wealth inside their dating profiles. If you use this system, you will find hundreds, maybe a huge number of rich females and it's not going to have got you lots of minutes. All you have to do is quickly scan each profile and be sure they may be rich. Then just send them a quick instant message or email. And how about an individual's browsing society? People that learn of the divorce that was caused by someone cheating on his or her spouse tend to look down upon the parties involved this also is comparable to adding fuel to some fire. Neighbors and friends often scoff on the matter as well as the situation becomes among ridicule and shame. All this can be avoided if one simply follows the essential principle of keeping promises, particularly when it comes to keeping the vows of marriage. Avoid the dangerous path of infidelity and you have saved your hair a bundle of headaches down the road. When a small child is ignored, they soon stop throwing their tantrum and would like to join in on your family again. If your ex-boyfriend really loves you he'll act in a similar way. He might send a message and ask you the way you might be. Be careful, since this may be only a means of seeing if you will start chasing him again.

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autstudy · 7 years

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study monday #2

(not literally on Monday, sorry; but late is better than never)

four alternatives to note taking

Taking notes is a big part of education: it is important to record as much information as possible during lessons and lectures in order to use them later for revision, and it also helps make better connections in your brain to recall information more easily. Neat, aesthetically pleasing notes are a big part of the studyblr culture, and most people think that it’s impossible to learn properly without taking notes.

However the process of writing things down by hand can be challenging or even impossible for autistic and otherwise neurodivergent people. Many things, including motor dyspraxia, auditory processing disorder and difficulty understanding and processing information as a whole can interfere.

When you think about it, note taking requires many skills: you need to listen to the speaker, correctly interpret everything they are saying, break it down to smaller chunks, identify the important part and write it down quickly enough to follow. Not to mention that your notes need to be readable later, and that you often have to write one thing while listening to another. No wonder it can be so difficult!

Personally I can take notes well enough to make them useful, but I still use two of the four replacements I will list here. You can do that as well – combine several of them for best results. Also if you can take notes and enjoy doing it, you can improve your skills with some advice and practice. This is a good video about how to take notes faster. Other things, such as a pencil/pen grip aid or better furniture can help as well.

Now that we’ve covered the reasons one might need an alternative to note taking, let’s discuss them in detail.

1: typing instead of writing

Many people, including myself, can type faster, easier and more efficiently than writing by hand. Typing requires less finger dexterity and precise movement than writing by hand, and people who are good at typing can write down twice as much as by hand (according to quick googling results, average typing speed is around 40 wpm, while average handwriting speed is around 20 wpm)! So if typing feels easier to you, it’s probably a good idea to do that instead of writing by hand.

From my experience with university, using laptops during lectures is nothing unusual – about ten percent of people in my year take notes by typing. It may be different in your school, college or uni, so make sure to ask a teacher if it’s okay. If it is not a common practice, you might need to explain why it would benefit you, and possibly prove that you have a diagnosis of some sort that explains it. You should also find good software, because a simple text editor might not be enough, and practice several times before taking a laptop to a lecture. But otherwise it is a good solution.

2: recording on a device

Okay, but what if typing is not easier for you, or if you don’t have a laptop/tablet you can take to a lecture? There are other options of course. One thing you can do if your problem is with actually taking notes and not with speech/information processing is to record the lessons/lectures on a dictaphone or an app on your smartphone. Then you can use the recording to make notes at home where you can pause or slow down the recording, or use the recording itself to revise the material.

This method has drawbacks though. Sometimes it is inefficient to listen to the entire lesson/lecture twice without throwing out unimportant bits (which is what happens during note taking). Sometimes you can’t get a good enough recording. Sometimes the lesson/lecture includes a lot of visual information which you can’t record on audio. But it’s still a good idea to keep the recording anyway – if it isn’t perfect, at least it’s something. Also recording lectures is usually allowed, but you shouldn’t share them online, and you might need to ask for a permission.

3: asking the teachers for materials

What if your problem is in understanding spoken language, because of auditory processing disorder, or simply because you understand concepts and visual information much better than words? Don’t worry, this problem also has a solution. From my experience, the vast majority of lectures are accompanied by visual presentations, which is very useful to me – I usually end up writing stuff from the presentation rather than from spoken words. The problem is that you can’t write down or type down everything in the presentation, and you certainly cannot copy every single drawing and diagram (even though I do try). And often enough you aren’t allowed to take pictures of the slides.

What you can do is talk to the teacher, explain why note taking is difficult, and ask for a digital copy of the presentation. In my uni many professors and teachers do it for everyone – they give us access to their presentations online, or send them to us by email. As long as you give a reason and promise not to upload the presentations for the entire internet to see, you should be allowed access. Some teachers and professors might even give you access to their scripts and other materials they used, as they are generally interested in giving you the best education. As in previous examples, you might need a formal diagnosis as proof for needing the accommodations.

4: a different note taker

Let’s say all these methods don’t work for you. Maybe you have problems with auditory processing AND you teachers don’t make any presentations. What then? Well, some universities and colleges are ready to help students like you to get the best education by providing a note taker. They will go to lessons/lectures with you and literally take notes for you. This accommodation will definitely require you to provide proof of formal diagnosis, and not all colleges/universities have professional note takers, but it has a potential to be very useful.

If your college/uni doesn’t have this, or if you are currently unable to provide proof of formal diagnosis, you still can find a different note taker for yourself. Some students might be willing to share their notes, just because they can or in exchange for something else, like help with studying and/or homework. Some students even sell their last year notes online, or upload scans/photos of their notes for other people to use. Many people in my year use those notes and scripts in addition to taking notes themselves because there is always something they didn’t quite catch or write down.

So as you can see, not being able to take notes by hand shouldn’t stop you! There are many ways to accommodate students who cannot do it, and in the end it will benefit everyone – even the completely neurotypical students who are totally capable of taking notes. As long as your teachers are willing to listen and help, this problem can definitely be solved.

What do you think? What are your methods of choice for note taking, or replacing it? Share your thoughts and ideas in replies.

#actuallyautistic #studyblr #study monday #text post #original post

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