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꠵ look at me : chapter nine ꠵

ギフト。

tw : this chapter contains mentions of n//dles, so if that makes you uncomfortable please don't read this chapter ! i want 2 make sure yer all happy nd safe, so if this will affect you at any cost pls just skip over that part, ill mark when it starts and when it stops :)

also : the parts about n//dles are untagged. i don't tag anything in my stories, but i do put little warnings about things that should b tagged. so, read at your own risk.

Iwaizumi awoke to light brown tufts of hair tickling his nose.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes and lifting his head, so he wouldn't sneeze from the tickling sensation. Oikawa was currently laying on his chest, mouth shut in a thin line, his limbs dangling over the ace in a comforting way. It was like he was hugging a life-sized teddy bear. It was comfortable, and safe, within the setter's warm embrace.

Hajime looked around the room, and spotted Matsukawa and Hanamaki leaning on the wall, Makki's head on the other's shoulder as they both snored soundly. The futon Oikawa had brought out for them lay abandoned on the floor, stripped of the blankets that now lay on their laps. How the wall was more comfortable than a memory foam futon- Iwaizumi may never know.

The boy laying on his chest stirred slightly, and he leaned up on his elbows, looking down at Iwaizumi. "Oh, morning, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi smiled. "Morning, Crappykawa. How'd you sleep?"

Oikawa stifled a yawn, trying not to fall asleep to his friend's soothing voice. It was like a lullaby. "Great. You?"

"Terrific." Iwaizumi sat up as Oikawa rolled off him, stretching and yawning.

"Hey, do you mind if I use your bathroom again?"

"Nah. Go for it. We have school today, so hurry up, alright?'

The setter smiled at him, brown eyes twinkling in the reflection of the sun's rays. "Alright." He nodded, skipping to his backpack to grab his uniform. "Make sure you wake Mattsun and Makki up, okay?"

Iwaizumi hummed in reply and started to stand up as Oikawa gathered his things and headed to the bathroom. Toorū shut the door behind him, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water soak his skin and pool at his feet. Grabbing the soap bar, he lathered himself with the suds, then rinsed it all off with cold water to wake himself up fully.

Oikawa turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and drying himself off before he stepped out of the tub. He sighed, looking into the mirror of Iwaizumi's bathroom. With the door locked, he felt comfortable enough to let the towel fall to his feet, standing completely bare in the middle of the tiled floor, looking at his reflection. Most of his bruises were entirely healed up, thanks to the oil Iwaizumi had rubbed onto his skin. He tenderly touched each and every one of the marks, sending shocks of light pain flowing through his nerves. He sighed in relief- thank god for that oil. If it weren't for it, his bruises would hurt much more.

━━━━━━»» TW START ««━━━━━━

The setter prodded at a deep cut in the soft skin of his abdomen. The skin around it was irritated and red, the color stippling like paint drops on a piece of paper. Oikawa winced as he trailed his fingers along the cut, rinsing his hand as he saw blood coating his fingertips. He pulled out the first-aid kit Iwaizumi had left in the bathroom a couple days before, sorting through the items until he found a needle and thread. He peeled open a packet of sanitizing wipes and wiped down the needle and the area around the cut, wincing again.

Oikawa started to sew the wound up, carefully weaving the thin piece of metal in and out of his skin. He focused all of his attention onto his task, ignoring the commotion Matsukawa and Hanamaki were making outside of the bathroom. He finished looping the thread, and tied a knot at the end, pulling the whole thing tight.

━━━━━━»»TW END ««━━━━━━

Deciding to test out his handiwork, he lifted his arms up over his head and stretched, letting out a big yawn. The stitches moved along with his skin, but it didn't appear to be loose, and no blood emerged from the wound. Trusting that the stitches wouldn't break, he put his dress shirt and cream-colored vest on, praying that the stitches wouldn't come loose during school and that he wouldn't bleed all over his uniform. After he put those on, Oikawa grabbed his toothbrush and put a fat glob of paste on it, sticking it under the sink for a second, then plopping it into his mouth.

"Ah, morning, Oikawa." Hanamaki had said when the captain popped back out of the bathroom. "You okay? You were in there for a while."

Oikawa nodded. "Yeah, just dressing my wounds and stuff." He didn't feel the need to lie to Hanamaki. After all, he practically knew everything now, so what was the point?

"Can I see them?"

"Sure." Oikawa lifted his shirt to reveal the bruises and the cut he had just recently sewed up, letting Makki come close and prod at his wounds. "Ah! That tickles, Makki."

Hanamaki stood up straight after a couple of seconds, tugging at Oikawa's shirt so he would let it down. Fixing Oikawa's appearance a little, he smiled. "They look a lot better. Did you sew that cut up yourself?"

Oikawa hummed in response. "Yeah. That's why I was in the bathroom. Wasn't too hard."

"Dang. I probably would have made the cut worse if I tried something like that." Hanamaki muttered, emitting a laugh out of his beloved captain. The two of them walked out of Iwaizumi's bedroom, and were greeted to the sight of Matsukawa putting Iwa in a headlock, the ace writhing around in his grip like a fish. Oikawa let out another laugh, covering his mouth in the process.

Iwa smiled fondly at his best friend, earning another harsh smack to the back of his head as Mattsun continued to torture him. Hanamaki glanced over at Oikawa, who was struggling to breathe through each laughing fit, and sighed. Breaking both Iwaizumi and Mattsun up, he gripped both of their shoulders harshly. “Oikawa just took care of his cuts, and you think it’s a great idea to make him laugh?”

The two boys sighed. “Sorry, Makki.”

Makki hummed in response, walking over to Oikawa and handing him a milk bread bun. The setter’s eyes twinkled in excitement, like a puppy waiting for his owner to give him a treat. He took it gingerly, sinking his teeth into the soft bread. The flavor exploded across his tongue, and he would have made a sound of delight if his mouth wasn’t completely stuffed.

The trio stifled a laugh at their captain as he held the bun up to the ceiling, like a peace offering to the gods. It got worse once he started singing “Ah Savania” from the Lion King.

Stuffing his mouth with the rest of the milk bread, he grinned at his friends for a second, then stopped as he realized something. Pressing his hands together and closing his eyes, he muttered a faint “itadakimasu,” making his teammates laugh again.

“Alright,” Oikawa said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “let’s go! Coach will get mad at me if we’re late~”

Mattsun snickered, grabbing his bag as well. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Oikawa bounded out of the house, turning around and locking the door as the rest of his friends filed out. After jiggling the doorknob slightly to check if it was locked as a precaution, he padded over to the three that stood patiently on the front steps, waiting for him.

“So,” Makki started, as they walked alongside each other on the sidewalk, “has your mom tried contacting you after you left?”

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa made extreme gestures behind Oikawa’s head, signaling Makki to stop. However, the wing-spiker didn’t pay notice to them, wanting to know what was truly going on.

Oikawa nodded, to everyone’s surprise. “Yeah. She’s texted me a bunch, it’s getting kind of annoying,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Pulling out his phone, he tapped his screen a couple of times, showing Makki the conversation with his mother. “See?”

“Outrageous.” Matsukawa sighed, catching a leaf midair, as he, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki read the texts on Oikawa's phone. "The audacity this woman has."

So, that's what's going on. Iwaizumi thought. He had remembered a faint buzzing noise going on last night when they were all sleeping, and Oikawa waking up and almost chucking his phone across the room once he figured out the source of the noises. Oikawa-san never quits, does she? She’s just like her son, in a way.

Oikawa let out a small sigh, stuffing his phone back in his pocket once he was sure his friends had skimmed through the recent texts. Running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, he turned to them with a smile on his face. A fake one at that, Iwaizumi noted. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm starting to really hate her. I know she's my mom and all, and she gave birth to me and raised me and stuff, but.."

"You can hate her if you want. You're not obligated to love her, especially after what she and your father did to you." Matsukawa patted Oikawa on the back, smiling at his captain. "So just hang tight, yeah?"

“..Yeah."

⊱ ─ ‧̥̥͙⋅. ♔ .⋅‧̥̥͙ ─ ⊰

“O-Oikawa-san!” Kindaichi cried, engulfing the setter into a big hug. Oikawa winced slightly, as the pressure irritated his wounds, but let himself fall victim to Kindaichi’s arms.

Patting the first-year’s hair, he gave his underclassman a small, genuine smile, getting him all flustered. “Why, hello there, Kindaichi-chan. Good morning to you, too!”

Kindaichi looked up at him, the blush in his cheeks going down slightly. “M-Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san both said you were sick and injured! We were all worried about you, Oikawa-san!” He gestured behind him, and Oikawa’s eyes darted around the first-year to see the rest of his teammates holding small little gifts for him, worry dotting their faces. Except for Kyōtani, who stood there with his resting bitch face, hands behind his back.

Oikawa looked back at his fellow third-years, making eye contact with Hanamaki, who just shrugged, a smug grin on his face. He felt his eyes getting teary, so he rubbed at them fiercely, a concerned Kindaichi stressing over him.

Putting on another genuine smile, he looked up, beaming at his team. “Arigato, aishiteru.”

Filled to the brim with emotion, the rest of his team rushed forward, joining the hug. Oikawa let out a laugh, tears rolling down his face. Even Kyōtani joined the hug, smiling. Iwaizumi had to rub his eyes to be sure he saw that correctly.

Sooner than later, the team unstuck themselves from Oikawa’s body, giving the setter some room to wipe away his tears, and to properly thank his underclassmen. He patted Kindaichi’s head again, swiped away the tears pooling at the corners of Yahaba’s eyes, and gave Watari a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. Kunimi nudged at Oikawa’s side, and the latter obliged, slinging an arm around his teammate. “Seriously, you guys don’t know how much this means to me. Thank you.”

Kyōtani muttered something, under his breath, turning away from the group to glare at a suddenly very attractive volleyball lying on the court line. Yahaba sighed, stalking over to the angry teen and mumbling something to him. Kyōtani’s shoulders relaxed as Yahaba ran his hand along the blades, and they struck a short, curt conversation, resulting in them both turning towards Oikawa.

“Kyōtani has something to ask you.” Yahaba said, smiling at his upperclassman. Oikawa nodded, turning to face the grim expression Mad Dog-Chan wore.

“Do you..” The spiker paused, his eyebrows furrowing even more as he struggled to get the words out. It wasn’t like he had trouble speaking, it was just he had trouble speaking to Toorū Oikawa. The setter terrified him sometimes. “Do you.. want to tell us what happened? We’ve been worried. And.. And we don’t know what’s going on.”

Yahaba patted Kyōtani on the back, looking up at Oikawa for an answer. Toorū opened his mouth slightly, paused, and closed it. He lifted his shirt over his face, silently weeping into the bright blue fabric. Nodding furiously, he picked his head up, a stupid silly grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you.”

And he told his team. Everything. He thought he should at least contribute to their wishes, regarding the fact that he ignored everyone’s texts after they lost against Karasuno. Emotion fluttered through his team’s faces like a tidal wave- angry, sad, glad, then angry again. At the end of it all, Oikawa’s whole body trembled, and he shivered. Is it just me, or did it just drop like, 20° degrees in here?

Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki stood off to the side, unsure of what to do. Hell yeah, they were proud of Oikawa for manning up and telling the rest of the team everything, but at the same time, he was sugarcoating it. And even telling the story while skipping out on all the gruesome details seemed to do a toll on the team, so they decided to let it slide for now.

Matsukawa snapped out of the trance first, much to Iwaizumi’s dismay. Not like he’d ever admit it, though. The blocker crept up behind Oikawa, patting his back and sitting down next to him. “Good job, Oika.” Oikawa turned to him, giving the latter a small smile in thanks.

“Wait, Oikawa-san.. Did you parents really..?” Kunimi shivered, hoping it wasn’t true. His face fell when Oikawa nodded, confirming his suspicions. “O-oh my god.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if anything I said disturbed you. It’s just how everything went,” Oikawa admitted. “Now, let’s all stop being sad and sappy, I want to see all the little get-well-soon gifts you all brought!”

A cheer erupted from the lungs of the team, and they placed all the packages and bags in a little pile in front of Oikawa, scooting closer to see his reaction once he opened the presents.

Oikawa giggled. “Ooh, I feel like it’s my birthday. It’s not often when my team treats me with cute little presents~!” He grabbed a present with pastel-peach color wrapping on it, which earned a little squawk from Kyōtani. Oikawa smirked. Ah, so this is his. The setter peeled back the tape made to keep the wrapping paper together, not wanting to ruin the beautiful handiwork, and pulled out a little Amazon box.

Digging through the confetti that was hastily stuffed in the cardboard, he pulled out a white knee brace, identical to the one he had on now. Kyōtani cleared his throat. “Uh, I noticed.. that your knee brace was getting old, so I bought you a new one. It’s.. It’s kind of.. basic, but I thought you would like it.”

Grinning, Oikawa ripped off his old brace, took off his shoe, and carefully fitted the new brace to accommodate his knee, flexing the muscle a little bit and smiling at his teammate. “Thank you, Mad Dog-Chan. This is really thoughtful.” He said, earning a grunt in response. Clapping his hands together, he grinned. “Alright, next gift!”

⊱ ─ ‧̥̥͙⋅. ♔ .⋅‧̥̥͙ ─ ⊰

Oikawa really was spoiled. So far, he had gotten a star-sign book from Kindaichi, gift-cards for his favorite café from Yahaba, a build-it-yourself gaming-setup from Kunimi, who had actually admitted to stealing his mom’s credit card to afford it and snuck it in school, and the knee brace from Kyōtani. The only gifts he had left were from Mattsun, Makki, and Iwa-Chan, and part of him wasn’t really eager to open the first two’s gifts.

But, oh well, right?

He sighed, tearing through the wrapping this time, getting yet another Amazon box with a large smiley face drawn on the top in sharpie. Matsukawa snickered at the sight, so it just had to be his.

Oikawa took the little knife he was using to open the other presents and gently sliced the clear packaging tape, lifting the flaps and sighing once he saw what was inside. He pulled out a spray bottle of.. fake spray tan?

That was the breaking straw for Hanamaki and Matsukawa. They burst out laughing, holding their stomachs and hitting their knees. Oikawa deadpanned, glaring at the two boys. “What made you think this was a nice gift for your dear Oikawa-san?”

They shivered at their captain’s tone, but still kept the goofy grins on their faces. “Well, remember that time we went to the beach, and you, like, burnt to a crisp?”

“That was one time!” Oikawa stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I forgot sunscreen, and Iwa-Chan’s such a brute, he used his bottle all up!” Of course, that had only made the two laugh even harder. He sighed, nudging the second present closer to him. Based off the rough packaging, it had to be Iwaizumi’s handiwork. The wrapper paper was a teal color, with a white ribbon, the same colors as Seijoh’s uniforms.

He untied the ribbon, unfolded the paper and was finally greeted with a box that wasn’t from Amazon. It was kind of like those decorative cake boxes, with the lid unsealed so you could lift it up and look at the yummy dessert inside. Oikawa lifted the flap and let out a tiny gasp. There were a bunch of little trinkets inside- little bead bracelets, a mini time-capsule kit, ramune soda, a CD, new cologne, and a bunch of other things.

Excitement taking over his body, Oikawa took out each of the items and set them next to each other. He was smiling so much, his face hurt. “Iwa-Chan, these are so cute!”

Iwaizumi sputtered, pink dust painting his cheeks. “What makes you think that’s mine?”

“Only you would be so thoughtful and get me these things, Iwa~!” Oikawa sang, giving Iwaizumi a little thumbs-up. “Thank you!”

“Just try the stuff out! Or not, I don’t care either way,” the ace replied, crossing his arms over his chest to calm his racing heart down. How that would have helped it, Iwaizumi had no idea.

Oikawa smiled in response, opening up the crate of ramune and handing a bottle to each of his teammates. “Alright, drink up! We have a little feast ahead of us!”

“Arigato!”

⊱ ─ ‧̥̥͙⋅. ♔ .⋅‧̥̥͙ ─ ⊰

“So, how’d you like the presents we got you?” Hanamaki asked. The rest of the team had already left the gym, and the four third-years were left to pack up everything in the oversized bags Matsukawa had brought along.

Oikawa grinned. “They were amazing! Did you all really plan this for me?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “Yeah, figured you needed a little pick-me-up. You haven’t been smiling recently, ever since we lost to Karasuno, so we decided to bring back that stupid smile of yours.”

“Aw, Iwa-Chan’s so thoughtful!” The setter giggled, flinging a hand to his mouth once he let out a little snort. He frowned at the noise that came from his throat, shaking his head slightly.

If anyone noticed that little movement, they said nothing.

A little tsk came from Iwaizumi’s direction. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and help us clean, so we can go home.”

“Got it, Iwa-Chan.”

Once everything was tidy and clean, the four of them walked out of the gym, stepping out into the sunset. The colors were vibrant and colorful- orange, purples, pinks and blues spliced together.

Makki threw his hands up in the air and stretched, a loopy smile on his face. “Ah. Now we can get home and relax.”

“Yeah. About time, too.” Mattsun stifled a yawn, slinging his arm around Oikawa. The latter flinched slightly at the touch- he had bruises all along his shoulders too- but the tingling pain went away after a couple of seconds. “Ready to go home, Oika?”

He nodded. “Yep~! I can’t wait to eat something, I’m starving.”

“You literally just ate.”

“That didn’t count!”

The two went on and bickered, Iwaizumi and Makki at their heels. Hanamaki glanced at his teammate and nudged his side. “Hey, Iwaizumi.”

“Hm?”

Makki looked at Oikawa, worry etching his facial features. His eyes glossed over a little, and he turned back to Iwaizumi. “You think he’ll be okay?”

Iwaizumi let out a shaky sigh, glancing at the back of the man in question. He was laughing at something Mattsun had said, a hand over his mouth, eyes closed. It was a beautiful sight, it was like he didn’t have a care in the world, and he was just living in the now. “Yeah. He’ll be okay.” Turning back to Hanamaki, he nodded in reassurance. “He’s our captain. The strongest one out of all of us. Why wouldn’t he be?”

The corners of Makki’s lips turned upwards slightly, like he was trying to smile, but didn’t want to contribute to the urge. “Yeah. He’ll be okay.” He repeated, wiping at his eyes. “He’ll be okay.”

“Hey!” The two snapped up at the sudden break in the comfortable silence they had formed and met Oikawa’s eyes. “We’re going to the park, is that okay?”

They nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Oikawa grinned, slowing down a few steps and shoving at Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Alright, race you!”

Before Iwaizumi even had the chance to react, he was already bolting away, his laughter a song flowing through the air. Matsukawa followed him, his voice mixing with Oikawa’s like in a duet. Hanamaki and Iwaizumi turned to each other, all the worries they had before wiped clean out of their heads.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay.”

Survey #354

“swimming through the void, we hear the word  /  we lose ourselves, but we find it all”

The last time you washed your hair, did you use conditioner? I never do. My hair is naturally pretty oily, and conditioner just adds oil to it. Do you prefer light or dark jeans? Dark. I never liked light-hued jeans. When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? I almost always just listen. Do you have any of your exes as friends on Facebook? Yes. Who was your first love? Do you ever miss that person? My first "real" boyfriend. I always do to varying degrees. How many cars are parked at your house right now? Just one. Do you have any Italian ancestry? No. Do you prefer water to be ice cold or at room temperature? The colder, the absolute better. I can barely stomach drinking water that isn't cold, like literally. Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak? No. Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found? I don't think so, anyway. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? A certain hot sauce on the wings I used to get at Buffalo Wild Wings. It was close to the top of their little heat rating thing. It made me feel awful, and yet I enjoyed it still?? I think it was an adrenaline thing. I only get medium sauce now; I'm more interested in enjoying my food than feeling like I'm eating fire. Do you need to talk to someone? I'm ready for my therapy appointment honestly, but it's not 'til the start of June. Mom and I both don't want to go through the process of finding a new one, so I've chosen to just suck it up and wait. Is something confusing you at the moment? I'm always confused with myself and my feelings. When was the last time you had a real deep chat? Real deep, I'm sure that would've been during PHP. Who did you last see on webcam? My former group therapist. I miss him a lot and really wish he could treat me outside of the program, but he doesn't do that. :/ What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? Doris, Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Buster, Beesly, Winter, and I believe only one of the fish is named: Raisha. Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? No. Who’s your favorite Disney character? Dory, probably. Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk? What the fuck, no. When was the last time you used a pay phone and who were you calling? I've never used one. Do you like being kissed on the neck? Whoa now buddy, we better be kind of serious by then for you to do that because it doesn't end "well" lmao. Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t dating (but had feelings for) in the hopes that they would ask you out later? I almost deleted this question because I didn't want to answer it, but I try to leave more unique ones in, so... whatever. I haven't. But I would for "somebody." What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra? Ugh, my relationship with bras is a hellish one because NONE FUCKING FIT ME CORRECTLY. Mom's tried so, so many places, so many different stores online and in-person, and even if the bra fits in the front, it won't go around my back comfortably. I guess my body is shaped weird, I don't fucking know, because I have literally ZERO bras that don't aggravate me. At some point, I'm going to some woman Mom knows who can size me properly and therefore buy some that don't piss me off. All that to say I'd actually pay more than the usual, but not a ridiculous price. Do you have any of your teachers’ personal cell phone numbers saved in your contacts list? My old Physical Science teacher, who is actually now a very close family friend and our landlord, is in my phone. Do you ever stalk peoples’ personal blogs, even if you don’t know them very well? No. What’s one thing about today’s generation that you just can’t stand? How ungrateful they can be. Be honest: how do you feel about abortion? I am pro-choice. Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to? There's a lot of people, actually. Old friends I miss. What is your favorite piece of art you own? It... sounds cocky, but it's probably the drawing I did in high school of Pyramid Head and the Halo of the Sun intertwined. I worked my fucking ass off and I'm extremely proud of it. What’s the one thing you apologized for this month? Hm. Probably just something minor, like bumping into Mom or something when passing her. My favorite color is ______? Pink, specifically pastel pink. I wish I had _____? A job. What did you buy today? Nothing. What has challenged your morals? Life, my dude. Live and learn. What made you pick up the last book you started reading? It's the sequel to the last book I read. What about your life concerns you the most? Concerns me, my physical health, especially just how weak my legs are. I'm terrified of them continuing to deteriorate. What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend? I cannot fucking stand the misuse of the word "retarded." Like just keep your damn mouth sewn shut if you have the audacity to say things like "hurr hurr this driver is retarded." ANY mental illness/condition is NOT to be mocked. Onto the next question, I'd say I'm more towards difficult to offend. It really depends on the topic. What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another? I re-watched Fullmetal Alchemist w/ Sara. We're working on Avatar: The Last Airbender too, but I won't resume watching it again until we can do it together. What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same? Well, I weigh a lot more. .-. I gained back almost all the weight I shed since quarantine started, and I'm forever fucking furious about it. I'm the same in most other ways. If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take? Uhhhhh meerkat behavior? Idk. Name a song you’ve listened to today? I've got Halocene, Lauren Babic, and Violet Orlandi's cover of "Aerials" by System of a Down on loop right now. It's fucking gorgeous and so mesmerizing. When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? We had a small playhouse with swings and a slide. Is your mall nice? GOD no. You better accept the possibility of getting shot before you walk in there. There's nothing that cool at all there. Do you have a Sonic near you? If so, what’s your favorite drink from there? Yeah. I love the strawberry slushy, and the Reese's Blast thing if KILLER. Will you be voting in the presidential elections next time around? Yes. How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries? GOOD. STUFF. Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? I think so. Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with? No, he's my closest guy friend. To whom did you last give the finger? Probably some idiot that ran a red light. I'm sure it happened in the car, whenever it happened What was the last musical instrument played in your presence? I've got no clue. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? No, I hate the texture difference. And just sprinkles in general. Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before? No. Do you know how to do the moon walk? No. Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? Yeah, but I beg to differ. Onion rings or french fries? French fries. I'm not a big fan of the other. Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? Nope. Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast? When I'm excited, yes, it happens sometimes. Who is the best cook that you know? Uhhhhh idk. Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most? I don't really skip meals. What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? I can’t juggle at all. What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? Swings. I'd dash to those at recess to try to actually get one. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? All I know is six pounds, no clue on the ounces. Which aspect of your daily routine takes the most time? What do you do? Sitting my ass at the computer, really... I don't exactly do much. Do you enjoy buying gifts for others, or could you do without this? It feels sucky of me considering whenever I do get someone a gift, it's because Mom is letting me use her money with me being without an income, BUT I still do LOVE the process of thinking of something meaningful for those important to me and hopefully seeing them love whatever I got them. I cannot wait until I actually can do that regularly. What is one thing you are expected to do, if anything? Take care of my pets. How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining? I hate driving because you're in a speeding box of death, man. I do really want to start working towards my license though; I've long since reached the "enough is enough" point. But first I need new glasses so I can actually see five feet in front of me. Do you enjoy talking about music with others? Yeah! Is acting something you enjoy? No. I'm too awkward about it. When do you feel most accomplished? When I finish a big art pierce. Do you think Manwich is amazing or completely gross? I like 'em. Just messy, which I'm not a fan of. How many best friends do you have? One. Are you a smoker, drinker, pothead or none of the above? None of the above. If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced? I don't remember exactly, but I was a kid. Do you own any exercise machines? No. I wish. On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? Nah, but I used to do that. Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? Painted, but only because it was a school assignment. Who was your last voicemail from? I don't get voicemails because mine isn't even set up. Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? No. Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? No. When was the last time you spoke to someone in a different language? Not since I was taking a test in high school for my German course. My teacher was a Germany native, so she was a total pro and fun to learn from. Have you ever received an anonymous gift? No. Have you ever camped out somewhere for an event the next day? No. That's always sounded miserable to me. When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was fucking miserable. Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? I don't know if it's abusive, but it's toxic and dysfunctional as HELL. I don't know WHY she keeps going back to him, I feel awful for the woman. I'm definitely not, 'cuz I wouldn't tolerate that shit for half a second. If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? They've both moved out by now. Have you ever gotten searched by the cops? Yes, as a safety protocol with mental illness stuff. Do you like fried rice? Yes. What was the last thing you drank? Would you believe me if I told you I have water right now?

obra de arte || joel pimentel

word count: 2,499

requested by/request: my own idea I threw into my queue lmfao

description: you draw joel pimentel per request, but you don’t expect him to see it.

warnings: fluff

masterlist

tags: @quierick @mepuserojito @ericks-mala-actitud @woowoodaaboo @ella-se-vuelve-loca @joelsaww @honeyzhong @sarswilltakeyouout @pimentelssmile @whippedforcnco @notsoteenagegirl @richukisbb @besosdecnco @emsy55 @cloudfiveclub @erickspretend1 @hardtoadore

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Everyone has their outlet in life, as you like to call it.

An outlet, to you, any activity you do that brings you a happiness high or gives you a sense of calamity. For some, it’s working out. The intensity and achievement of small goals gives a lot of people a shot of dopamine that becomes an addiction. For others, a creative outlet suits them best. Some people sew, draw, sing, do DIYs, and/or dance and use it as their escape from the stressors of life. Then there’s the rare few, that their outlet is their job.

For you, you’re lucky to say that you have been able to take your favorite thing in the entire world, art, and make a living off it. Never in your life did you think you’d be able to do such a thing, but after beginning to innocently post a few artworks on your art Instagram account your friends encouraged you to make, you began to grow.

It was a snowball effect, starting slow, but as soon as the bigger art accounts began to repost your drawings, it grew faster then you could ever imagine. Whimsical art was never your forte, but realism for you came naturally. You could draw anything; humans, nature, dogs, cats, buildings, etc, as easily as breathing air. Some people even began to call you an art prodigy, which you never truly believed.

Your favored medium? Anything that you can make art with. You go through phases, sometimes loving markers for quick art, topping them with colored pencils for details. Sometimes, especially for nature, you enjoy pastels, oil, and chalk, to get the beautiful blending of colors needed to successfully make the picture come alive. Your favorite, however, seems to be painting, specifically watercolor. As much as you love oil paints, there’s nothing like layering watercolors together, giving a gentle and soft finish, but also an imperfect look that seems to draw the whole piece together as one.

Most say you have the ability to make anything come alive; from highlights to lowlights, from perfecting skin colors and providing the correct background to make it all tie together. It’s a special gift of yours; being able to find whatever makes people’s eyes sparkle, and this is how you have your success as an artist. You have the ability to make your models look alive by putting them in a situation where they automatically feel the most lively, where you can see the natural glow coming off their skin. The sparkle in their eyes isn’t painted on, and the flush in their cheeks isn’t just the paint, but it’s the model, and artist, in the prime. People look better when you decide to paint them, it’s like magic, how everything comes together so perfectly on the canvas. It’s like you have an innate ability to make absolutely anything, beautiful. 

Now on a full-ride scholarship to your favored art school in LA, you’re living a dream. Most of your artworks for school, you sell for money, but in the summer, you take commissions and requests to keep your talent and extra money up. So, at the moment, you’re working on a gouache watercolor painting of Joel Pimentel, a request you recently got. You know the band he’s from, since you’ve been listening to them for quite a while, but never so much into it to learn their names.

When you got the request, you decided to do it out of other’s you’d received since, for some reason, you had an incredibly good feeling about it. Your intuition is usually fairly good and right, so you decided to paint the curly-haired boy, whose name you just learned. 

Finding the right picture seemed to take you longer than the drawing, but after searching his Instagram account, photographer’s accounts, and google images, you found the most candid photo you could find of him smiling, seeming to be in his element, and he is.

The picture was taken inside of what appears to be a recording studio, but that’s not going to matter anyway since you’re making the background a single color; blue ombré, light blue at the top to accentuate his hair, and then dark blue at the bottom. Painting him, however, would be done in black and white. You enjoy messing with colors in such a way, just to experiment and keep creativity flow up.

With the picture in front of you, you begin your sketch. For some reason, once you get the basic shapes of his face and body down, you always start with the eyes. Eyes are your favorite thing to sketch because they are so versatile. With a few highlights, you can make them look alive and glowy, and with a few more highlights and some shadings, tear-filled and irritated. To perfect them, that’s where you always start. Then you move up to the hair, and then down the rest of the body. 

When the basic outline is done, you already have pride in the drawing, excited to finish it. Painting it is your favorite part, and once you get a basic grey wash across the entire drawing, you start with, surprise, his eyes. Once you get down the basic color blocking, you begin to add details; small white highlights around the inner corner to make his eyes look extra radiant. From there, you work outwards, building shadows in his face and hair, then letting it dry while you start on the bottom half of his body. 

This is how you work, layer by layer, until the clock reads 3:11 A.M. and your eyes are shutting every few seconds, requiring you to jolt yourself awake. After cleaning up your art hands, which is what you call your hands after they’ve been covered with whatever medium(s) you’ve been using for the day (A/N: this is what I call my hands after I’ve made some art since they’re trashed lol) and you wash your face, you practically collapse in bed. 

Upon waking up the next morning with the brilliant sunlight of the morning lighting up your room, you groan at the light pounding of your head. It’s your own curse, you’re a perfectionist, and you absolutely cannot stop doing anything you’ve started until it’s completed. 

You pop a few Advil that you leave by your bed, gulping them down with some water before pulling back the covers, exposing your body to the AC. A hiss escapes your lips as the cold meets your body rather gently, brushing over your skin like a light kiss, yet leaving behind shivers and goosebumps in its wake. Quickly, you snatch your favorite hoodie you wear around the house, pulling it on your body, before letting your toes greet the chilly floor. 

After you freshen up in the bathroom, your feet pad against the floor towards the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. While it brews, you head back to your art desk you keep by the window of your apartment, finding the painting of Joel staring back up at you. A gasp escapes your lips as you hold it up, heart-swelling at how good it turned out. Just as you take out your camera to take a photo of it, you can hear your Keurig spit out the last bit of your fresh cup of coffee.

Once you have mixed in enough cream and sweetener, you head back into the living room, setting the cup down on a coaster on your desk. From there, you pick up the painting, signing it quickly, before hanging it on the white wall of your apartment. After you set up some white lights, you snap a picture of it with your camera. 

While you work at your desk, you leave the painting on the wall for fear of spilling your coffee on it, yet you have no fear of it spilling on your computer. The realization of your art life makes you chuckle as you plug in your camera to your computer.

After a few quick edits, you send the photo to your phone before uploading it to Instagram and your story, making sure to tag Joel and CNCO to help with exposure. From there, you set down your phone and put away your computer, sipping on your coffee as you think about your next possible artwork. 

Once you’ve downed your first cup of coffee, you stand up, putting all your lights away and placing the painting of Joel in a portfolio case, before picking up your phone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you find your phone blowing up with notifications from Instagram, a few specific ones catching your eye.

cncomusic has uploaded your post to their story.

cncomusic has tagged you in a post.

cncomusic has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel has uploaded your post to their story.

joelpimentel  has tagged you in a post.

joelpimentel has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel wants to send you a message. 

Quickly, you open Instagram, reposting the notifications to your story as you squeal with excitement. Then, you head to your direct messages, accepting the request to allow him to message you.

joelpimentel: Hey! You’re drawing is so good, I love it so much and so does my mom. We were wondering if we can buy it off you if you’d be willing to sell it to us. Thanks so much! You’re really talented :)

Your jaw practically hits the floor as you stare bug-eyed at the message. Before your brain can even process it, your thumbs are typing.

artbyy/n: Hey! Thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, I won’t sell it to you, but I will send it free of charge :)

Almost immediately, you see he begins typing back.

joelpimentel: You’re welcome, anytime :). No, there’s no way I’m not paying for it! That had to take forever. My mom says she’s going to pay you.

artbyy/n: LOL it didn’t take me that long. The medium I used wasn’t my most expensive medium and it was a request, not a commission, so I don’t really mind. I mean you already reposted my art and tagged me in it on your account and on CNCO’s account, that’s payment enough. My follower count is skyrocking lol thank you!

joelpimentel: Fine, okay. You’re welcome lol. Do you want to ship it to me?

artbyy/n: Sure! I can get it in the mail today if you send me your address right now.

joelpimentel: Alright, here it is! Thanks again :)) My mom is really excited.

artbyy/n: LOL well, tell her I said thanks! And you’re welcome, anytime!

Quickly, you take one of those long yellow envelopes and write the address on it with a brush pen to add to the artsy vibe. Calligraphy is also something you do in your free time, just to take a break from art sometimes. Then, you take the artwork and slide it in between two pieces of cardboard inside the yellow envelope before sealing it off with a rubber stamp with your initials on it. 

After putting on a stamp and paying for shipping, you take your keys and slide on some shoes, before walking outside to find your mailbox. Unfortunately, all the mailboxes are on the first floor of your apartment building, so you hop on an elevator and take the ride all the way down.

Around ten minutes later, you find your way back into the apartment, locking the door and kicking off your shoes. You head back over to your phone, finding many new notifications from Instagram.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

It goes on and on for many notifications making you giggle, and then you see there’s a new message from him.

joelpimentel: Your art is amazing holy crap is there anything you can’t draw? Sorry for bombing your phone my mom and I were looking LOL.

artbyy/n: LOL I tend to draw the same things over and over again, so probably haha. It’s totally okay! A celebrity is liking all of my pictures and you think I’M complaining? Also, hi mom lol.

joelpimentel: I think you’re wrong you could probably draw blind. LOL you still have a right to complain. She said hi and wants to know if you speak Spanish cause she saw some of your captions are in Spanish.

artbyy/n: I actually have drawn blind before! It’s a form of art called the blind contour line drawing! Lol yeah I do! I love speaking Spanish so much I would speak it over English if I could. I took classes in high school and now I’m getting a minor in it! Last year I went to Ecuador to study abroad and I just got back a few weeks ago. It feels weird to speak English lol.

joelpimentel: I know the feeling. When I travel with my band and speak Spanish all the time then flip languages it feels unnatural. That’s so awesome you learned it though! Not a lot of people speak it that weren’t raised in a Latin family. My mom says that’s really cool and wants to know how you liked Ecuador.

artbyy/n: Thanks! I know right. I love the language and culture. I just love languages and cultures in general though. Really I could sit and listen to someone tell me about their culture for hours. In my free time last year I started teaching myself Italian too just because languages are cool. 

artbyy/n: Ecuador is the most beautiful country I have ever been too. I cried like a baby when I left. Everyone was so nice there, including my host family. I miss my host mom so much :( she’s the light of my life lol.

joelpimentel: I love languages too! I try to learn a few words from every country I visit. The world is an incredibly cool place haha. I’m interested just like you are :). 

joelpimentel: Ecuador is amazing. One of my bandmates, Chris, is from Ecuador! He’d be so happy to hear you loved it. Aw, I’m sorry :( hopefully, you can visit soon.

The conversation goes on for hours like this, and you only realize when your stomach starts rumbling from lack of food. Really, you’re never on your phone, so it’s odd for you to sit, staring at a screen all day long. A smile has been plastered across your face the entirety of the conversation, and you can’t help but hope he keeps talking to you for a while. It seems you both have the same likes and dislikes, so the flow of conversation is some of the easiest you’ve ever had. 

The smile on your face lasts the rest of the day as you two happily text until it is time to go to bed. When he wishes you goodnight, you swoon, phone dropping onto your chest as you stare up at the ceiling grinning.

Oh boy, you’re in for some trouble.

———————————————————————————————————--

do we want a part two?

。·   .   ˙ ☀  ⌈   taylor   hill   +   cis   female   +   she   /   her   +   the   wayfarer   ⌋   yo   ,   have   you   meet   that   POGUE   ,   𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚   𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬   ,   yet   ?   —   no   ?   well   ,   to   give   you   a   little   heads   up   before   you   do   ,   they’re   a   TWENTY-TWO   year   old,   CON   ARTIST   &   WAITSTAFF   AT   THE   COSTON   CLUBHOUSE   and   have   been   living   in   coston   for   TWO   MONTHS   .   since   i’ve   known   them   ,   they’ve   reminded   me   of   𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝   𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢   𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬   𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐭𝐚𝐧   𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬   ,   𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭   𝐨𝐟   𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝   𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬   ,   𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝   𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐬   𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞   𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧   𝐲𝐨𝐮   𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝   𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞   ,   𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜   𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭   𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩   𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬   ,   𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫   𝐚𝐥𝐥   𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞   𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞   𝐨𝐟   𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟   𝐚𝐭   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞   𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞   .   usually   they’re   quite   𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡   &   𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒   but   just   make   sure   you   keep   an   eye   out   for   them   around   town   because   i   heard   can   be   quite  𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠   &   𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡   as   well   so   here’s   hoping   they   aren’t   the   ones   to   undo   this   whole   peace   pact   they   have   going   on   this   summer   .   but   just   between   you   &   me   ,   i   kinda   hope   it   all   falls   apart   .   the   rivalry   keeps   this   whole   boring   town   interesting   .

gonna   make   these   some   short   bullets   to   speed   up   the   process   bc   i   just   want   these   DONE   AND   OUT

vero   was   born   to   a   teen   mom   in   some   buttfuck   florida   town   that   had   nothing   going   for   her   ,   they   were   pretty   much   just   them   two   doing   what   they   could   with   what   they   had   .   they   lived   in   a   little   greek   neighborhood   and   young   veronica   spent   most   of   her   childhood   being   handed   off   from   babysitting   neighbor   to   neighbor   pretty   free   range   while   her   mom   worked   full   time   to   try   and   finish   school   and   provide   for   her   kid   .   literally   the   definition   of   “   it   takes   a   village   .   “      

when   she   was   about   4   ,   her   mom   decided   she   wanted   a   change   of   pace   and   spent   all   of   vero’s   college   fund   set   up   by   her   grandparents   to   buy   an   rv   .   it   was   a   move   that   got   her   cut   off   from   their   support   and   left   vero   with   a   childhood   that   ,   while   the   instability   would   show   its   later   effects   ,   led   to   her   having   the   time   of   her   life   .

her   mom   took   her   through   the   entire   US   ,   homeschooling   her   and   making   money   off   of   conning   whatever   poor   sap   gave   her   the   time   of   day   .   it   was   an   example   that   she   always   told   vero   to   ignore   ,   “   we   only   do   this   because   we   need   to   ,   “   but   built   a   foundation   that   the   impressionable   child   would   never   be   able   to   let   go   of   .

they   stay   put   long   enough   for   vero   to   get   high   school   knocked   out   ,   though   it’s   at   five   different   schools   over   the   course   of   four   years   as   her   mom   can   never   hold   an   honest   job   down   long   enough   to   keep   them   stable   .   at   the   pushes   and   prods   of   getting   to   know   her   heritage   ,   her   mom   begrudgingly   hauls   them   back   to   florida   the   summer   after   vero   finishes   high   school   and   reintroduces   her   to   a   family   she   hasn’t   seen   in   nearly   15   years   .   at   the   question   of   wanting   to   know   her   dad   ,   as   it   turns   out   ,   he   was   the   child   of   a   formidable   oil   family   in   southern   florida   that   had   come   into   quite   a   sum   of   money   .   vero   ,   against   her   family’s   wishes   ,   reaches   out   to   him   in   an   attempt   to   figure   something   out   about   herself   and   her   background   ,   and   to   her   surprise   ,   he’s   actually   excited   to   meet   her   .

he   has   a   whole   other   family   but   he   asks   just   for   a   little   patience   while   he   figures   out   how   to   tell   them   everything   .   he’s   kind   and   generous   and   pretty   great   of   a   dude   for   having   never   known   he   had   fathered   a   child   with   a   simple   hookup   he   had   had   in   his   youth   considering   they   went   to   different   schools   and   she   ghosted   him   afterwards   .   vero’s   truly   ready   to   settle   down   for   once   and   start   a   life   with   the   family   she   had   finally   gotten   ,   until   her   mom   reaches   out   in   dire   need   of   money   after   crashing   the   RV   following   a   night   of   recklessness   .   vero   ,   getting   a   cold   slap   to   reality   of   the   life   she   had   grown   up   knowing   ,   realizes   she’ll   probably   never   be   suited   for   the   lifestyle   her   dad   wants   her   to   join   him   in   ,   and   relapses   into   what   she   knows   .   she   steals   a   sizable   amount   of   money   and   other   things   from   him   ,   disappearing   in   the   middle   of   the   night   from   the   home   he   had   opened   up   to   her   and   drops   off   enough   money   to   her   mom   to   help   her   get   by   —   making   this   the   last   she   ever   sees   of   her   .

she   buys   a   beat   up   vintage   hatchback   and   hightails   it   out   of   florida   ,   spending   no   longer   than   6   months   in   any   given   place   .   she   works   small   odd   jobs   and   spends   her   days   lounging   in   the   sun   and   spending   nights   performing   raggedy   90’s   karaoke   covers   and   pouring   shots   into   the   mouths   of   random   bar   -   goers   ,   charming   the   pants   off   just   about   anyone   who   gives   her   the   time   of   day   ,   usually   making   off   with   their   wallet   or   earning   herself   a   sugar   parent   for   a   week   or   so   who   lavishes   her   in   gifts   .   it’s   not   a   lifestyle   she   particularly   enjoys   ,   to   be   honest   ;   her   dream   would   be   to   be   an   artist   and   own   her   own   trinket   store   to   occupy   her   time   ,   keeping   her   for   once   in   one   place   .   but   swindling   people   is   all   she   knows   ,   and   part   of   her   identity   is   the   freedom   of   having   nothing   to   tie   her   down   —   admittedly   ,   a   lifestyle   she   doesn’t   see   herself   letting   go   of   any   time   soon   .

so   here   she   is   in   coston   ,   taking   up   a   job   in   the   swanky   coston   clubhouse   where   she   gets   hit   on   by   more   older   men   with   money   than   she   knows   what   to   do   with   .   she   spends   her   afternoons   on   the   beach   chatting   up   whoever   glances   her   way   and   spending   her   nights   in   a   shoddy   beat   up   apartment   she   pays   on   a   month   by   month   lease   .   two   months   isn’t   much   by   normal   standards   ,   but   she’s   feeling   herself   grow   comfortable   in   coston   in   a   way   she   hasn’t   felt   in   many   places   beyond   that   —   something   the   kook   /   pogue   divide   threatens   to   ruin   for   her   and   send   her   packing   promptly   the   moment   something   goes   wrong   .

personality   wise   ,   vero   has   a   rather   laid   back   ,   enthusiastic   personality   and   is   the   type   of   talker   who   could   sell   ice   to   a   snowman   .   astute   and   observant   despite   a   hippie   -   dippie   disposition   ,   she   gives   the   illusion   of   no   attention   payed   while   she’s   secretly   analyzing   where   in   your   pockets   you   keep   your   wallet   ,   how   often   you   look   at   your   phone   ,   what   your   insecurities   are   ,   etc   ,   and   figuring   out   exactly   how   to   capitalize   off   of   that   .   though   she’s   opportunistic   ,   she’s   got   a   heart   enough   to   not   take   advantage   of   most   people   in   precarious   situations   —   though   her   judgement   has   definitely   been   skewed   before   :(

serial   liar   and   never   gets   called   out   for   it   bc   she   never   stays   in   one   place   long   enough   kkwjherjwr   but   lies   about   simple   things   like   what   her   plans   are   or   if   she’s   already   had   lunch   literally   just   lies   for   no   good   reason   ?   just   has   this   unhealthy   concept   that   if   she   tells   people   everything   about   herself   she’s   gonna   get   screwed   over   somehow   so   she   wants   2   be   the   one   screwing   others   over   first   ?   trust   issues   ig

not   a   bad   person   if   she   would   stop   just   being   unreliable   lmao   !   she’s   truly   very   easygoing   and   has   a   natural   disposition   that   wants   to   make   those   around   her   feel   good   ,   very   nurturing   in   a   sense   ?   if   y’all   saw   hustlers   —   ramona   ,   looks   out   for   others   and   makes   them   feel   important   but   at   the   end   of   the   day   she’s   looking   out   for   herself   almost   exclusively   .   it’s   not   that   she   wants   to   be   selfish   ,   if   anything   ,   she   wishes   she   could   feel   secure   enough   to   let   herself   stay   close   to   people   and   put   down   roots   .   she’s   just   had   a   pretty   shitty   experience   letting   people   in   and   doesn’t   want   to   subject   herself   to   the   unknowns   of   investing   in   other   people   .   despite   being   pretty   detached   and   emotionally   uninvested   ,   she   has   a   warm   ,   calming   demeanor   that   balances   out   even   the   most   combative   of   personalities   .

idol   is   90’s   gwen   stefani   (   she   has   a   early   no   doubt   cover   band   that   performs   at   a   local   bar   on   friday   nights   just   for   her   to   have   something   to   do   KWJEHRJWER   )   and   twiggy   ,   her   apartment   is   full   of   those   little   beaded   door   things   that   hang   in   the   doorway   ,   will   braid   her   bangs   out   of   the   way   when   working   on   a   project   and   looks   a   whole   ass   mess   ,   is   a   pretty   talented   artist   and   bases   her   work   ,   whether   paintings   ,   sculptures   ,   or   sketches   ,   off   of   her   experiences   traveling   ,   has   a   minidoodle   she   picked   up   off   the   road   somewhere   in   georgia   named   tate   who   goes   everywhere   he   can   with   her   .

Children of BFFH, Entry 29

 Hearing the changes in Momma Emma’s breathing and heartbeats, I knew she’d be up soon, so I shut off my school work and pulled out her birthday present.  For this year, I had “painted” her a family portrait and created a heart-covered frame out of oak, growing a protective coating over it as she had shown me so many times.  Keeping my own dark energies out of it completely was still too difficult for me, but I managed to keep any thorns from erupting, guiding the magic to color the wood instead.  Jet black oak was weird, but anyone who looked at this would just think it was chemically treated.

 A sound barrier was erected the moment Momma Emma fully woke up, so I asked “What’s she doing in there?”

 Momma Mila appeared in the mirror in my room, saying, “We’re discussing things.  Just give us half an hour, and then you can give her the present.  I’m looking forward to seeing her reaction.”

 “Think she’ll notice the paint!?” I questioned, grinning at the thought.  Instead of using actual paint, I had used plant pigments combined with oils from other plants to create the effect of a painting, forcing my dark energies to the unseen side of them where the “paints” connected with the wooden frame.  Essentially, the “painting” was a collection of new species grown into a single piece of art.

 “The moment she touches it.  You didn’t trap her birthday present, did you?” she questioned suspiciously.

 Shaking my head, I said, “Of course not, Momma!”  The thought had crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to startle Momma Emma first thing on her birthday.

 She nodded and smiled before saying, “Just join us after the sound barrier is down, and no spying.”

 “Yes, Momma.” I replied, slightly disappointed that I couldn’t see what they’re up to.  They had done this sort of thing regularly since I was born, but I’d figure out what was happening eventually.  I always did.

 Cooking breakfast was out, since Momma Emma would want to eat with everyone today.  Being born on Valentine’s Day, she felt kissing every last one of us was necessary each year.  Breakfast was a good time to catch a large chunk of the household, not that most of us ever tried to dodge her after what happened when I was two.

 One of the newer people here at the time, Frederick Petrov, didn’t see the harm in slipping out early for work.  He didn’t realize that would make Momma Emma consider him to be prey.  Momma Emma had reached the grass before his car had reached the end of the drive.  Needless to say, he was captured, hauled back, and properly kissed on the cheek before being sent off to work.  Fighting Momma Emma on her birthday was like picking a fight with the house, yard, and occasionally your own clothing.  Very few here could win against her when she got serious.

 After thirty minutes of gaming to pass the time, sound started reaching me from the other room.  I quickly logged out, grabbed Momma’s present, and ran to her room, creating a kinetic wall over the actual wall when I ran up it to make the turn.

 “Hey, Sweetie.” she told me, flushed and smiling.  Had she been exercising?

 “Happy birthday, Momma!!!” I exclaimed, handing over her present.

 “Wow.  This is big.” she replied, causing the wrapping paper to unfold with a touch.  Her change of expression gave away that she was already looking at the present.

 I could have used something synthetic instead, but Momma Emma preferred natural materials.  The surprise had lasted long enough anyway.

 “Sweetheart, this is amazing!” she exclaimed, looking our family portrait up and down.  She was obviously sensing it as well.  I could feel her magic coursing through it, but she didn’t make any adjustments.  Stepping closer, she hugged me with all her strength.  “I may have to start using the Boss’ illusion spell if I don’t start aging more.  Another ten years, and we might look like sisters.”

 “Wouldn’t that be awesome!” I exclaimed excitedly, picturing us going out together.  Seeing that she didn’t seem as excited about the idea, I said, “At least I won’t look like your older sister.  Messy already looks like Grandma Aaliyah’s big sister.”

 Momma Emma laughed and said, “Yes.  Yes, she does.”  Then she kissed my forehead.  “Let’s figure out where to hang this before we go out for breakfast.

 “Oh!  I already know!  I sized it for the wall in our living room opposite the TV.” I explained, hoping she liked the idea.

 She pursed her lips and tilted her head as she thought.  “I guess I could see that, moving the other pictures to the sides.”

 I nodded, following as she carried the picture over there.  Then I helped hold the other pictures as she unbonded them from the wall.  We didn’t use nails like some people.  Momma simply merged the back of our pictures with the wood from the wall, so rearranging things was simple.

 Hearing Momma Mila move over to get the door, I wondered who was here.  I didn’t hear anyone out there.  I understood why when I heard Grandma Death and Messy step inside.  They had probably appeared out there rather than making their way through the house.  My jaw dropped as I sensed what Messy carried, wrapped up as a gift.  There was a fruit unlike anything I had ever seen before.  I really, really wanted to taste it, but I forced myself to be patient.  This was for Momma.

 “Happy birthday, Emma!  Daddy'll join us after he finishes work!” exclaimed Grandma Death, skipping over to look at the painting.  “Oooh.  Nice job, Serenity.  She really looks like the queen of her domain, and the forest looks beautiful.  Am I really that short!?”  Her eyes were wide, staring at me as if she was perfectly surprised by the idea despite knowing everything, which was the same expression I had given her in the painting.

 Nodding, I exclaimed “Yep!”

 “I like how your Great Grandma’s hiding behind the throne.  Sis is looking flirtatious, sitting on the armrest like that.” added Messy, her golden gaze taking everything in.  ”But why are you attacking me even in the picture!?”

 I shrugged and said, “Because it’s fun?”

 “Serenity Malice!  You goofball.” stated Momma Emma in a chiding manner.  She hadn’t noticed the small, dark tendrils coming out by Messy’s feet.

 The next several minutes were spent discussing the other features I hid throughout the picture, such as the monsters cowering in the woods and the animals bringing us food.  During the discussion, Momma Emma kissed Grandma Death and Messy on the cheek, hugging them each as she did so.

 "Mind opening your gift?" questioned Messy as she held out the present to Momma Emma.

 "How can I deny my favorite sister-in-law-who-makes-a-cute-niece?" replied Momma with a big grin as she took the present.

 "It's sooo cool!" I insisted, smiling when she gave me a look.

 After opening the package, she gently caressed the smooth black fruit, which instantly split into five equal slices, revealing a black pit.  Black veins ran through the perfectly white flesh.

 When Momma offered, we each greedily grabbed a slice.  The sweet flesh practically turned into a liquid in my mouth, but the chocolatey veins and skin had a satisfying crunch.

 Grabbing Messy by the shoulder, I said, "Messy, showing me up on Momma's birthday isn't fair, but I forgive you."

 "Thank you?" she asked, looking worried.

 “More breakfast?” suggested Grandma, licking her fingers.  “We need time to digest, so we have plenty of room for cake later.”

 “Cake will be served in the evening after dinner.” replied Momma Mila, smirking at her mom.

 Hugging her, Momma Emma said, “Onto breakfast!”

 Messy blocked when I moved to tickle her, creating a floating wall of steel between us in a burst of shadows.

 “So cold, Auntie!” I complained, meaning that the steel was obviously well below room temperature.

 She sighed, never really thinking of me as her niece, but I caught the slight twitch of her lips at my joke.  Momma Emma lifted me up onto her shoulders, making me duck as we passed out of our wing.

 Auntie Raine and Pufflewink were waiting expectantly in the hall just outside of the kitchen, and I used my fey telepathy to convince Pufflewink to give Momma Emma a lick in return when she was kissed.

 Momma set me down, so she could attack people more easily once we were in the kitchen.  The Boss was the first to get a kiss, tilting his head for her as she approached.  Momma Alma and their kids were next.  The kiss attacks would continue for over an hour, I was sure, but I split off with the rest of the kids to eat in the dining hall.  We’d be decorating it for tonight’s party after we finished.  Having read plenty of stories about other places, I sometimes wondered how people elsewhere got by with so few parties each year.

Carry Me Home - Part One

Type: fanfic

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Summary: You move to Seoul with your parents and hate being there, until you meet a tall dark stranger..

Chapter One: Tall Dark Stranger

I’m in Seoul. Fucking. Seoul. My mom and dad had been talking about moving here for such a long time. I just thought it was a crazy dream of theirs, but after my father got a job offer at a IPG Legal Law Firm everything went really fast. And I hate it. I loved the place we lived before in the middle of Salt Lake City. We had a big house filled with walls that just begged to be painted. I had just finished a mural of me, my family and my friends in my room, then, just a few hours afterwards, my parents broke the news. I was heartbroken. I had to paint my room a couple of days later and managed to capture a picture of the mural before it was whisked away and then again just a white wall.

Then I had to break the news to everyone else. First, I had to tell my boyfriend, Adam, that I was moving to a country on the opposite side of the world, which he definitely wasn’t happy about. He begged me to stay with him in Utah, but I couldn’t afford it and my parents were stubborn in their decision to bring me with them. “It’s going to be great, just you wait and see.” Yeah, moving 6,000 miles away from everything and everyone you know seems fun.. I promised Adam that I would message him every day and he promised me the same. Then I had to break the news to my best friend, Anna. I think we cried for about three hours straight, until we both looked like absolute monsters, dark circles under our eyes from mascara and red eyes worse than a pink-eye breakout. We both started laughing uncontrollably for several minutes and then started crying again. My mom fiddles with the key for the new apartment, eagerly trying to open the door to her “dream apartment”. I sigh heavely and take the key from her hand, putting it in the lock after one try. “Thank you, honey” she says, and I move out of the way so she can slam open the door. My dad and I look at each other and he shrugs his shoulders and smiles. I do a minor eyeroll but follow him inside. I’m almost blinded by the white walls that dominate the hallway walls which lead directly into the living room/kitchen. Yes, my American parents wanted an open concept kitchen and a living room the squarefoot space of three apartments combined. What a surprise. The lowered living room has a giant window in front of it which takes up all space of that wall.

“Isn’t it great, Lily?” my mom asks.

“If by great you mean excessive to the absolute fullest, then yes.” I say. My mom stops looking in the kitchen cabinets and turns around to give me a sympathetic look.

“I know it’s a lot to move here, away from all your friends and Adam, but can’t you try to just enjoy it a little?” she asks. I look at her feeling a little guilty, but I’m still too mad to forgive her.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t lend me money so I could stay in Utah, when you have money for a place like this. It’s not fair.” I say and turn around to go find my bedroom.

Even though I would rather go back to Utah, I must say that I love my new room. Again, everything is way too white, but nothing a little paint can’t fix. The room is at the end of the building meaning I have two windows that meet at the corner of my room. I have a great view over the city and I already know that I’m going to use a lot of my time here, listening to music and dreaming of being someone and somewhere else. My mother knocks on the door and slowly steps inside my room.

“Sooo, what do you think?” she says, anticipating my answer.

“It’s okay, I guess.” I turn around and face her, and she gives me a bright smile. She has her hands behind her back, as if she’s hiding something.

“What’s that behind your back?” I ask, still with a dissatisfied expression on my face and my arms crossed.

She puts out her hands and hand me a card. It reads “Homi Art Shop” – Giftcard. I glance at her with a confused look on my face.

“Your dad and I talked about using the spare room as a guest bedroom, but also as your new studio, so you have a place to work. That is a giftcard to a big arts and crafts store just a few blocks from here. There should be enough money on there to buy new equipment.”

I widen my eyes. My own studio?! I didn’t have that back home, so I just used all the walls I could get my hands on and painted them. I’m in shock, looking at the card, then at my mom, then back at the card, then back at my mom. She looks at me in anticipation. I can feel the tears coming, so I put my arms around her and hug her tightly.

“Thank you.” I mutter into her shoulder, tears rolling down my face. She lays a hand on my head and the other around my back, and we stand there for a few seconds, until dad shouts from the kitchen.

“Hey, I think our furniture just arrived!”

 Moving in takes a lot of time, and after several hours we only have the big pieces of furniture ready and in place. My room is plastered with boxes and I don’t know where to start, so naturally I take my huge beanbag, throw it in the window corner, sit down, plug my headphones in and start blasting Bring Me the Horizon till my ears start bleeding.

I must have fallen asleep, because my mom shakes my shoulder and I quickly take out my headphones.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asks.

“No, sorry, what was it?”

“I asked if you wanted to go with me down to the grocery shop so we can stock up the fridge.” I look at her, knowing that if I say no I have to deal with all the boxes, and that’s just not something I wanna do right now. But I really don’t want to go with my mom and pick out the best offer on chicken either.

“I actually thought of going down to the arts and crafts shop and buy new equipment, so I could have the studio ready before school starts.” I say. I was accepted to attend Seoul National University College of Fine Arts which was one of the few things I was looking forward to.

“Oh, you don’t want any company? Maybe dad can help you carry it home?” I know she only says this because she’s worried that I will get lost. I am not the best at finding my way around new places, so my parents always keep an eye on me when we are out.

“Mom, if I have to live here for a long period of time, don’t you think I should find out how to get around? Besides, I have my phone, so if I get lost I can just use Google Maps. I already have the address in my phone, so don’t worry.” I can see my mom is contemplating whether or not to cancel her grocery plans and go with me.

“I am also almost 20 years old. You have to stop treating me like I’m still 5.” I can see that this convinces her by the look on her face shifting from concerned to smiling a little.

“Fine, but if you are not home in an hour, I’m calling the cops and I will send the whole police force out looking for your ass.” She’s trying to sound intimidating, but I just smile and nod.

 I follow my mom’s instructions on how to get there, and after 15 minutes of speed-walking I reach the arts and crafts store. It is humongous. It’s three stories from what I can see, and by the looks of it they have everything an artist’s heart could desire. I try to find a sign that says something about paint, but everything is in Korean, so I give up, and just wander around until I find the painting section. Acrylic paint, oil paint, canvases in every size imaginable, easels and paintbrushes. I let out a small shriek of excitement and start choosing the things I want.

I end up carrying way too much on my way to the cashier, almost dropping all of my new brushes, but I manage to catch them before they land on the floor. I put everything down before the cashier, who just looks at me with wide eyes like I’m a weirdo, and then start to scan everything. I fumble around my pockets trying to find the gift card. I slowly start to panic, as I notice it is in none of my pockets. I then remember I put it in my pocket inside my jacket so I wouldn’t lose it. I glance at the entrance and through the door comes a tall dark figure, but before I can catch a good enough look the cashier says something in Korean and I turn around again. I look at him not knowing what he just said, and he points at the display, showing the amount I have to pay. 450,000?! Oh wait, it’s not dollars. I almost had a heart attack. I hand the cashier my giftcard and he swipes it through the machine. I start taking the things from the counter, trying to figure out how I’m going to carry all of this home. The cashier again says something in Korean, and I figure he asked if I want the receipt, so I just say no thank you. He says something again, and this time I look at him, and I can see that something isn’t right.

“Not enough.” he says, and again points at the display. I start freaking out, I didn’t bring anything else than the giftcard, so I just hoped that would cover it. What do I do?

“I live only 15 minutes from here, can I please just go get my card? I won’t be long I promise.” I don’t think the cashier understands me, because he again says “Not enough”. I can see that I’m 2,000 won short and I try to rummage through the pile to find something that is around that price. The cashier is growing impatient which only makes me stress even more, and I end up dropping a pack of acrylic paints on the floor. The tubes fall out of the box and I crouch down to pick them up, when suddenly someone starts helping me. Finally the cashier has found a more humane side, I think, and as I look up I don’t see the clothes of an employee, but big Dr. Martens boots, black tight pants, a black shirt and a big black coat. The bucket hat and mask hide most of his face, but just under the top of the hat I’m immediately fascinated by the dark piercing eyes staring right at me. For a split second I forget where I am and just want to stay right here. The stranger gets to his feet and I shake my head a little, picking up the box, getting to my feet and as I turn around, the stranger hands his card to the cashier.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, I’ll just leave these here, thank you.” I say. He doesn’t say anything and before I get to say anything else the cashier has already scanned his card and handed it back to him. He puts it back in his pocket and turns around to walk upstairs.

“Hey, I didn’t need.. I mean, you shouldn’t.. uh, thank you!” I almost manage to stutter my way through a sentence just as his feet disappear up the stairs. That was weird.

 I get out of the store and I am immediately met by the freezing cold weather. Fortunately, I have my big winter coat on, but I forgot my gloves at home. As I try to figure out which way I need to go I can feel my fingers get colder and colder. On the way here I was able to put them in my pockets, but now I have to carry all of this shit and I don’t even know which way to go. Fuck. Luckily I have my phone with me, so I can just.. oh no.. I don’t have more power. I must have used it all when I was listening to music. Dammit, now I have to rely on my sense of direction which is just great. Okay, I can just trace back what mom told me about getting here. So firstly, I went left. Wait, or was it right?  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. My fingers are not getting warmer, so I make a decision and turn left.

After having walked around the streets for 20 minutes I end up back at the arts and crafts store. You have got to be kidding me. I stop and put down the art supplies, so I can blow on my hands to get some feeling in them again.

A deep voice appears behind me: “Do you need help?” I turn towards the entrance of the shop and notice the tall dark stranger once again staring at me. I immediately tense up as I meet his gaze. This time I get a better look at him. As I saw before his outfit is all black, but I didn’t notice the chains on his pants and the long earrings dangling beneath his black hair that protrude out from his hat. I must have been staring for some time, because he repeats his question and as I come to my senses, he looks at my hands.

“Are you cold?” he asks, pointing towards my cupped hands that I am still holding in front of my face.

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” I say and quickly hide my hands behind my back.

“Let me see.” he says, and steps closer.

“No, really its fine.” I say, and try to walk a little backwards, but I hit the wall. I think he realizes that a man coming towards you in all black clothes wearing a mask and being way taller than you might seem a bit frightening, because he removes his mask and reveals what I can only describe as the sexiest grin I have ever seen.

“Do you know me?” he asks and tilts his head a little to the side. I look at him confused.

“No, should I?” I try to slowly slide to one side, but before I move just and inch, he places his hands on the wall, trapping me between him and it.

“No, I guess not. Let me see your hands.” He bends forward to grab my arms and by doing so gets very close to my face. He pauses, looking directly into my eyes making me hold my breath. He then slowly removes my hands from behind my back, still keeping his eyes locked on me, as he leads my hands closer to his mouth. He cups my hands between his and starts breathing on them. Even though this is incredibly weird, something in me doesn’t want it to end. His soft hands and warm breath on my hands make my heart flutter and I could swear I have actual butterflies in my stomach. Before I lose myself too much, a picture of Adam flashes before my eyes, and I pull my hands from his, and break our eye contact. I start quickly picking up my things, and he asks if everything is okay.

“Yeah, I just have to get home before my mom gets worried.” I try not to drop anything as I pick everything up from the ground.

“Do you need help with that?” he asks.

I burst out a “NO!”. I accidentally drop a paintbrush and before I can reach it, he gets it for me.

“I mean, no thank you, I can take care of it myself.” I say and take the brush from his grasp. I start walking and immediately stop. I still don’t know where I need to go.

“Do you know the way to Laymean Daychi Palace Apartment Complex?” I ask, as I turn towards him while looking at the ground.

“Do you mean Laemian Daechi? It’s just down the main road and to the left. I can show you the way if you..”

“No thank you, I know where it is now.” I hurry past him and start walking in the direction he pointed.

“I didn’t catch your name..” is the last thing I hear as I turn around the corner.

Emergency Commissions: Dumb Bitch Edition!

Yeah, so. Long story short, I’ve got a couple things between military, scams, saving accounts, and car accidents stacking up this week and normally I’d be able to handle it, but this paycheck I can’t :( after doing some guesstimating math, i’m going to $375ish short this paycheck and if im luckly, only have about...20? bucks for gas and food

Mostly it’s because I’m a dumb bitch :’)

If you want to read all the things in slight detail that are making me do this it’s below the cut, but I mean. hey. art :D

ANYWAYS

$15 bust - only humanoids

From the time I start working, it might only take me roughly an hour to an hour and a half to finish a bust*

$30 Waist up - humanoids only

I can pump these out in roughly two-three hours once I start, depending on the level of detail. Armor and complex will cost between $5 and $15 dollars more, on a TBD basis, so make sure to ask!

*I’m probably going to be working on these Monday and Friday mostly, but maybe one or two on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. If I get enough that I have to go into the weekend, then I’ll be able too do them

1 - This one isn’t my fault; Every third Wednesday of the month, I’m supposed to meet up with my Air Force recruiter and the other AF recruits. However, our recruiter got stationed over at the MEP station and they wouldn’t let him go early. I also typically work Wednesdays, but I scheduled off every third Wednesday, because, c’mon. The government makes me go. I’m pretty much owned by the government. Ain’t got much of a choice. So, it got rescheduled, so I’m now missing TWO Wednesdays in a row, which are usually my longest days, which means I’m missing out on about not eight but sixteen hours of pay. ow.

2 - my fault but i’m trying to be somewhat responsible. my paycheck deposits $100 dollars into my savings account every time, which is usually 1/3rd to 1/4th of my paycheck. this time it’s probably gonna be closer to 1/3rd and that’s ow. ‘but why can’t you pull it out?’ you ask. cuz. i’m a babey (17) and my mom is the holder of the savings account and i can’t actually see my savings account, and because she’s trying to teach me responsibility and fun stuff like that, since I now have a job, she wants to see at least $75 dollars each paycheck in that savings account

3 - i would literally have $200 more dollars if i didn’t let myself get scammed out of it because I was trying to sell a dress on ebay, a scammer found it, said he wanted to send his friend gift cards, and :^) you can probably guess the rest

4- the biggest dumb bitch move so far. I rear ended someone Friday. Thankfully and also sadly, my car took all the damage. I was going to start paying mom for the car (she’s got about 2.5k left on paying it off, and then i’d pay her for it until i owned it) but it’s also a 2003 car, and if they deem it too old to bother fixing, they’ll total it out. but if they don’t, I need to replace the front fender? or the thing below it, the grill, the radiator, an oil pipe, and the fans, as well as all the lovely fluid that goes in those. Then the car’s also been needing new tires (as the rear passenger has a nail in it so needs to be aired up every week or so, then all the tires are starting to get dryrot and also worn treads) and new shocks and struts - which are the only thing that would need to be taken  into a shop for because my mom’s a mechanic, she just doesnt have the tools for shocks and struts mom guesstimated that fixing the car and replacing everything would run about $1000 dollars, plus her payment, roughly $3.5k 

plus, with me going into the military, i’m really only going to be using this car for about two more months, and then i don’t really foresee me going off base during tech school that much and who knows how long that will take, so the car won’t see all that much use and i was planning on saving up for a new car anyways. i like new toys >->

but! on top of that. I also have a $165 fine for causing the accident - for following too closely. I’m suprised but very glad it wasn’t more because it was a 3 car accident. I dropped something (don’t even remember what) and panicked, looked down for half a second, slammed into the back fender of another car who was slowing down, who tried to swerve to avoid the car in front of them who was slowing down to make a left handed turn, failed, and sideswiped them. thankfully the first hit car only needed a wash and the sideswiped car really only needed a paint job, but still. oops. >->

June 23, 2018/ Life Updates

Summer solstice! Long, bright days have creeped up on us once more. Foxgloves in roadside ditches. Branches heavy with sweet cherries. Lavender’s slender blossoms swaying in an evening breeze. Bees hop from flower to flower, and I carefully avoid them as I pick a few stems to bring home. Spanish words bounce around inside my head as I ride my bike down winding streets. The exuberance of farming & energy of summer overwhelm my soul, despite a sore back and sunburnt arms.

I bring the farm home with me. Soil spills from my pockets & boots like the thoughts & dreams which overflow from my mind onto paper. I write and stretch and breathe deeply. Vegetables cover the counter tops and fill the fridge to the brim. It all feels very normal, very comforting; as if I am doing exactly what I was born to do.

Howdy everyone! Thanks again for keeping up with the blog. In addition to my (above) recent journal entry, I wanted to share a few updates in my life currently... First, I made it to my college graduation (yay!) and had a grand ole time with my sweet, loving family while they were in town! They were so proud of my accomplishments and my grandpa, with a beaming smile, told everyone we saw: “This is my granddaughter! She is graduating with Summa Cum Laude and research honors! She is gong to be a farmer!” It was so sweet. Their gifts, thoughtfulness, and endless support warmed my heart. I am especially loving looking at our photos together, contributing to our travel savings account with my graduation money, and using my new essential oil diffuser (thanks mom). 

I have officially joined the field crew at the farm 3 days a week, and will continue doing farmer’s markets on Saturdays and irrigation on Sundays, along with many other tasks in between. I also work my Extension job (from home) on my days off and have a couple courses to finish online this summer. Whew! These 50-60 hour weeks are simultaneously tiring and exhilarating, not to mention extremely beneficial for our savings account and bus fund! 

We work on the bus nearly every day off that we have and hope to move into it by late July! The date keeps getting pushed back, but hey, that’s life! We want to make sure and really do things right the first time, so that we don’t give ourselves a bunch of headaches down the road. Plus, it is nice to slow down a bit and really concentrate on what we want out of our future home!

The roof has been painted with insulative paint and solar prep/install is FINALLY on the horizon! I just yesterday started on the interior bench/couch that pulls out into a twin-sized slat bed, and also has storage underneath. It took quite a bit of research & planning to engineer that one :)

In addition to the whirlwind that is the farm, the bus, and school, I have been doing a lot of reading and writing lately. I am currently reading The Diary of Anais Nin (wonderful suggestion by the talented @wethinkwedream). It is one of those books you can’t put down. I am continuously enthralled by Nin’s extraordinarily unique and innovative writing style, which so perfectly captures “the poetry of life” while living among 1930s French writers and artists, as well as the process of personal growth and discovery.

I have started on volume 1 (1931-1934), but have already read halfway through in just over a week! I will definitely be getting a copy of volume 2 and recommending this to anyone interested in art, poetry, literature, self-reflection, or just a damn good story. One of my favorite quotes, which I really think captures some of the ineffable essence of this book:

“I am dropping my shell. I love those long nights of talk at the cafe, watching the dawn arrive, watching the sleepy workmen going to work, or having their white wine at the bistro. Children are going to school, with their black aprons and their bags of books on their backs like mountain climbers. I carry away my red journal, but that is only a habit, for I carry away no secrets, as Henry reads the journal. I carry a few pages of Fred’s book, delicate as a water color, and a few pages of Henry’s book which is like a volcano. I feel like a flower or a fruit. The old pattern of my life is shattered. I live by improvisation, impetus, surrealist whims. Great things are going to grow out fall this. I feel the fermentation.”

Anyways, I hope all the good energy is coming your way! Summer is time for creativity, energy, and exploration! Get out in the wilderness, out in the garden, or into a good book under the afternoon shade of a big tree. 

Until next time, 

Logan (Farmer V)

Circle Image No. 25

She just wants to look nice for Larissa, really, even though neither of them have said it’s a date. It feels like a date, maybe.

Ford/Lardo, Late Night sequel, 3.8k, ao3

11 days left

Ford and Larissa meet up a few days later, during the day at Larissa’s parents’ house while her parents are out at work. It’s like being in high school, listening out for if they’re arriving in the driveway. Larissa’s childhood bedroom is pasted floor to ceiling with posters and the kind of scraps Ford would reserve for scrapbooking, the squat bookcase crammed haphazardly with kid books and some YA and academic texts and comics and a tonne on art techniques. Larissa reaches up and knocks a painted wooden mobile near the door when she comes in without even seeming to think about it, making the bells on it tinkle cheerily.

Not that Ford gets much time to look around Larissa’s room. This time Larissa is the one that goes down on her, licks broad and firm until Ford can’t catch her breath and she knows she must be getting loud, her orgasm stretching on and on when Larissa finally focuses on her clit. Ford barely has to touch her in return before Larissa’s shaking apart under her with a long groan, coming down just in time for the sound of keys in the lock.

Her and Ford scramble to look presentable and occupied but Ford isn’t sure Larissa’s mom is fooled. She leaves soon after with her cheeks still burning.

9 days left

They arrange to get lunch two days after that. Ford somehow feels more self-conscious about it than the two times they’d had sex, fiddling with the way she’s knotted her headband and second-guessing her lipstick choice in the mirror by the door. Her aunt pokes her head out of the living room to see what’s taking her while Ford applies an entirely unnecessary third coat of lipstick.

“Weren’t you going for lunch?” she asks. “You know you’re just going to lose it all to your food, honey.”

Ford puts the lipstick in her purse. She can reapply between bites, dammit. “I know, I just,” she says but leaves it there because she isn’t sure. She just wants to look nice for Larissa, really, even though neither of them have said it’s a date. It feels like a date, maybe.

“Well you look very cute,” her aunt says. “You’re growing up to be such a stunning young woman, you really are.”

Ford feels a mix of pride and embarrassment. “Thanks, auntie.”

Her aunt beckons her over to give her a pinch and a kiss on the cheek, like she’s a great-aunt, but the knowing look in her eye betrays that as she says, “Now go before you’re even later than you already are for your date.”

“Auntie,” Ford whines but she goes. She hates being late, has the feeling Larissa doesn’t have much patience to spare for it either, and she still needs to get the T and figure out the walk from the stop to get to the little café Larissa had suggested.

It’s hot enough outside that Ford feels uncomfortably sweaty by the time she makes it to the café with the help of Google Maps. Larissa looks impossibly cool and collected in comfy looking shorts and a tank top, waiting for Ford just inside the boundaries of the shade.

Ford feels no small amount of relief when Larissa pulls Ford in for a one-armed hug and Larissa’s skin is just as overwarm and tacky as her own. At least they can both smell like a combination of oh-no-it’s-sweltering sweat and half-heartedly applied deodorant without fear of judgement.

Ford leans in and kisses Larissa’s cheek, because it’s not a date but cheek-kisses aren’t just for dates and, besides, Ford doesn’t know how to contain the dizzy rush inside her for the whole lunch otherwise, if this is just how she’s feeling half a minute in. It’s hard to tell with the shade, and with the way she faux preens and leads the way into the café, but Ford is pretty sure Larissa’s cheeks go slightly pink.

8 days left

Larissa comes to visit Ford at the theatre after she’s done interning for the day.

There isn’t a show on that night so Ford shows Larissa around, leading her by the hand because she can as she explains the history of the building and tries to remember just how many injuries there have been to do with the orchestra pit. She doesn’t know its stories quite like those of the ones back home but that doesn’t seem to bother Larissa, who listens intently all the way.

They end up making out in one of the dressing rooms, just for a little bit, and there’s not enough time for food after but they walk along Charles River for a while. Larissa talks about when she was sixteen and obsessed with painting water and came to the river as often as she could, just to end up with nonsensical page after page of blue green white brown grey smudges.

“It’s was the most boring and pretentious-ass shit I’ve ever done,” Larissa says, laughing a little at her past herself, “But I for real thought I was revolutionising art at the time, so at least I was having a blast.”

Ford thinks, privately, that she’d like to see some of the paintings anyway, just to get an idea of how Larissa sees things.

6 days left

They go to a poetry night, because they’re both terrible like that. Neither of them are particularly fond of poetry, or know any of the technicalities of it, but it’s a pleasant evening. Ford finds that even when she just doesn’t quite get the poetry, she appreciates the signposting of some interesting themes for her to think about in her own time.

It’s nice, too, to be a bit mean and trash poetry as a discipline with Larissa afterwards.

“Like, who needs words for that kind of shit, you know? You don’t gotta articulate every feeling you’ve ever had, you can just feel it and that’s legit,” Larissa is saying in the too-bright light of the much tackier café they’ve relocated to. Then a moment later, with an air of revelation, “Plus, poetry actually makes it all harder to understand? So literally what is the point.”

If Larissa hadn’t proved herself deeply capable of handling her alcohol, Ford might have thought Larissa was on her way to buzzed from the drinks she’d bought them both at the bar to make the poetry palatable. She’s starting to move loose-limbed and easy as she talks, the way she had been when Ford had first spotted her under the switching club lights.

It’s entirely too enthralling to focus on for long.

“Some people would say they don’t understand the point of art,” Ford points out instead.

“Some people are wrong,” Larissa is quick to state. “Or do you want me to start picking at theatre, too?”

Ford has nearly come to blows with people over the importance of theatre before. It’s a conversation that definitely needs to wait until she’s known someone longer than a week. “Let’s go back to why poetry’s bad,” she says, taking a sip of water to ease her drying mouth as Larissa gets back into the flow of her poetry opinions.

5 days left

They meet up after Larissa finishes her shift and eat fast food on the back steps, accompanied by a bored co-worker that smokes his cigarette all the way down to the filter before sighing heavily and going back inside.

Larissa eats her fries three at a time and Ford loses half their sauce misjudging where the packet had ripped. They swap their milkshakes halfway through because they’re too big for the flavors not to get boring otherwise. Ford catches Larissa looks lingering more than usual, but neither of them say anything and it just stays there, hovering between them.

If Ford wanted to make Larissa laugh, she’d make some crack about the tension being like so much oil in the deep fry basins the other side of the wall behind them; just waiting for a catalyst to really start sizzling. Sex as a basket of French fries or chicken drumsticks in spitting oil may be lacking somewhere in the sensual imagery department, but Ford thinks she’s getting to know what kind of things Larissa likes.

But then sometimes whatever tension it is – the sexual, of course, but the other bit, too – feels too fragile for that. Ford catches Larissa looking, and Larissa doesn’t look away but there’s no come-hither smirk or look in her eye that has heat spooling in Ford’s stomach, there’s just an honest looking, a searching. Ford doesn’t want to poke that tension too much, in interest or in humour, in case it breaks in an unfixable way under the focus.

She slurps the last dregs of one of their shared milkshakes obnoxiously loudly instead, and Larissa groans and tries to shove Ford off the step for her crimes before slurping the remains of hers even louder, grinning around the straw when she breaks for air.

4 days left

They go to an art museum. It’s a lot, because Ford likes museums in their own right but has little opportunity to go, and because Larissa is in her element. Ford falls for the five postcards for $3 trick in the gift shop and lets Larissa pick whichever ones she wants to take for herself; she takes one of Castle’s Ducks and Schanker’s Circle Image No. 25, tucking them into her bag with care.

2 days left

They have sex, one more time.

They’re at Larissa’s again and they press close and fumble messily like they’re drunk or entirely new to this. Ford likes Larissa a lot, probably too much, and it makes her feel new to this, makes her gasp and shudder into Larissa’s mouth as her fingers press inside. It’s a tricky arrangement with both of them using their hands on the other without looking, and it takes longer than it would if they just took turns with each other.

It feels like a fair payoff when they come within seconds of each other, sweeter for the build-up and Larissa’s mouth open against the crook of Ford’s shoulder, Ford breathing heavy through a face full of Larissa’s hair. Her hair smells of equal parts grease and shampoo and is all in her mouth but Ford doesn’t move away.

1 day left

They go to the park near Ford’s aunt’s in the evening.

It’s quieter than it’s been when Ford had gone there in the day before, children shepherded home by their parents for dinner. The sun is still high enough for it to be warm, but the swing seats aren’t burning-hot against their bared skin when they sit on them. They just talk and relax, migrating from swings to climbing frame to the cool grass. Ford makes a passable daisy chain and Larissa makes her wear it.

When they kiss it’s much later and the park is starting to get cold, the sun fully hidden behind the buildings all around.

Ford knows they should probably talk about it, but she’s scared and Larissa’s comment that giving voice to things doesn’t make them more real echoes in her head and it just feels too fragile and fresh and new. She has to go back to Madison tomorrow, and then she’ll be back at college all the way across the country from Larissa, and she just wants to get some kissing in now while she can before it all gets difficult.

Within the limits of what can reasonably be done in a public park, that is, even though it’s dark. They reach those limits pretty quickly and Ford knows she has to stop it there; her travel criteria starts too early for her to be up all hours getting some.

“So, about tomorrow…” Ford starts, once she thinks she’s cooled down enough.

Larissa finishes for her, mock sombre, “I know, you’re back into the wilderness.”

“It’s not the wilderness, it’s Wisconsin.”

Larissa shrugs. “Same difference.”

“Come visit me sometime,” Ford says, “and you’ll see it’s a city, just like here but probably better.”

Larissa just blinks at her and Ford realises she’s just invited Larissa to visit her actual house and doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“I’d rather come visit you in Seattle,” Larissa says, taking mercy on Ford. “It’s not in the Midwest, for one.”

Ford laughs at that. “No, you wouldn’t. The cost of living is the price of your soul for, like, three days.”

“Just three days? Kinda shitty deal,” Larissa says, but she doesn’t invite Ford to Samwell. That’s fair enough, Ford thinks, but it leaves them at the awkward junction of a goodbye they had been at before.

They’re still sitting in the grass and it’s getting uncomfortably cold. Ford can only see bits of Larissa’s face in the light of the distant streetlamp, but it’s enough to see Larissa’s watching her back, like before behind Larissa’s fast food place.

Ford wants to say something, something honest and from the heart enough that she isn’t quite sure what it’s going to be when it comes out of her mouth yet. She’s still scared, but she doesn’t want to regret not saying anything at all. Better to have whatever tension break for good, here where there’s a natural ending anyway if it comes to that, than to never know.

“Larissa, I–”

Larissa jumps to her feet, brushing grass and mud off her legs. “This has been good. I’ll see you around, right?”

Ford feels a little horribly turned around with Larissa’s abruptness and she gets to her feet too but it’s still too dark to see Larissa’s expression. The cool night has turned clammy, and her hands feel all fiddly like she’s a little kid impatient in nursery classes again. “Of course it’s been good,” Ford says, because that’s true at least. “But shouldn’t we…?”

Larissa’s mouth twists unhappily but she still says, “Ford, let’s not– this has been good, right? I’ve had a great couple of weeks. But you’ll be there and I’ll be here,” and here Larissa shrugs, like that’s that.

“So you don’t want…?”

“No,” Larissa says, and then, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Who knows. I wanna stay in touch, okay? And we’ll see.”

Ford’s chest feels a little tight and for all they weren’t dating their entire conversation feels way too close to a break up for comfort. “Yeah, sure, me too,” she says because there isn’t anything else to say.

She can’t be very convincing because Larissa reaches out and takes Ford’s clammy hands in her own. Being earnest with words isn’t Larissa’s strength, but it’s comforting to see her try as she says, “I’m being for real, Ford. I have had a great fucking time. It’s been… it’s been swawesome.”

Ford nods. It has been swawesome, a little bit of Samwell slang for her to take home with her as a memento even if she doesn’t know what’s going to happen with Larissa. She squeezes Larissa’s hands back, tells her as steady as she can, “Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

Larissa smiles, echoes it back to her. They walk together quietly until they reach the street corner where their routes diverge, and Ford doesn’t know their boundaries now – if she ever did – so she just waves and turns down the street to her aunt’s house, staying firm with herself.

Hey, Larissa, it’s Ford! Just thought I would let you know I got back home okay. Thank you for such a nice time showing me around Boston :) [Sent: 8.12.15, 21:19. Delivered]

So how have you been? [Sent: 8.13.15, 23:10. Delivered]

Saw this duck in my friend’s front yard :) [Sent: 8.29.15, 15:42. Picture attached. Delivered]

HEy its my BIRHDAY and it was REALLY  F uN. we had lalcojhol even tho Im ONL y 20!!! Shhhh don’t tell. U should HAVE COME!!!! i mad e out with theis REall y nice gil brut lik e Remebmbre when i fuirst went d o urn on y and hthrat ws SO  h ot [Sent: 9.7.15, 4:22. Delivered]

Hey, Larissa. Really, really sorry about that, drunk me is a mess and shouldn’t have access to phones evidently! Back to the grindstone at UW soon, hope you’re doing okay if you’re already at Samwell. [Sent: 9.7.15, 12:58. Delivered]

hi ford, it’s larissa [Sent: 9.26.15, 18:01. Delivered]

sorry i’ve been awol [Sent: 9.26.15, 18:14. Delivered.]

im back at samwell and it’s chill. hope uw is treating u well [Sent: 9.26.15, 18:17. Delivered.]

Ford watches as each text arrives, eyes flicking between the lit-up screen and then back again to her work each time. Her heart is beating double time somewhere in the area of her throat but actually getting a response from Larissa after all this time hasn’t actually soothed any of Ford’s hurt; if anything, it’s brought it back with a stinging vengeance.

A month of silence and then ‘sorry i’ve been awol’ is all Ford gets? ‘hope uw is treating u well’? That doesn’t even call for an answer. Ford should just leave it – their thing was fun, and it was sweet, and Ford still thinks about it a lot, but it was two weeks, a literal summer fling. Larissa had agreed not to be a stranger but clearly she hadn’t meant it because friends, or whatever they were or are, don’t leave each other hanging for a month.

Ford tries to focus on her readings again with little luck. Her room suddenly feels itchy on her skin, the walls to tight, her perfectly condition desk chair all wrong. She wants to get up and do something, not sit here having all these feelings she was just managing to push aside come tumbling back.

Feeling petty, she opens the messages, so Larissa will see that she’s read them and has no intention to respond. Let her wait.

She watches the little three dots bubble pop in and out of existence on her screen for a few minutes instead. Whatever it is Larissa’s been stewing on for a month seems to still be a struggle to get out. The longer Ford watches, the more the pettiness and the anger fades and the more the sadness settles in.

It had hurt to be so thoroughly ghosted. Ford had felt stupid and needy and clingy, but Larissa had agreed they should stay in touch and there had been nothing from her. Absolutely zero for Ford to go on, no feedback of any kind. The messages hadn’t even been read last Ford had checked.

And before she’d hit hurt, she’d been on a sickly journey through every variety of worried that something had happened to Larissa. Only a shameful Facebook search that showed some recent activity under the name Larissa Duan had given Ford answers, and then she’d been hurt that Larissa hadn’t cared about making her worried on top of hurt that she’d been rejected entirely.

It had sucked.

And watching Larissa labour over whatever she’s trying to say sucks too. Ford doesn’t want to stretch it out into some kind of endless grudge match of hurt feelings, to waste another month not talking. Ford loves her friends at UW, loves the life she has here, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t missed Larissa and the sudden stalling of whatever it was they had.

But all the theoretical emotional maturity in the world still doesn’t stop her feeling hurt.

Flipping her phone face down, Ford turns up her study playlist and forces herself to finish her assigned chapters for tomorrow. She tucks her phone into the inside pocket of her bag without checking the screen when her watch and her stomach tell her its time for the dining hall, and she makes a concerted effort to focus on her friends at the table with her, relaxing into it for real as the meal goes on.

It’s late by the time Ford gets back to her room and ready for bed and finally looks at her phone screen again. There are about a million notifications, but none are from Larissa. Ford flicks through her email for a bit, between social medias, thinking.

If there’s one thing Ford hates, it’s the feeling of regret from missing the opportunity for something amazing just because she was too unsure, or unprepared, or scared. She feels plenty of all of those things when it comes to whatever is going on between her and Larissa: she’s never had a real relationship before, and it would be long distance, and they’re both busy all the time, and there are probably a thousand issues Ford isn’t even considering. She doesn’t know if Larissa even really wants all, or any, of the things with her that Ford wants with Larissa.

But she’ll never know if she doesn’t go for it.

Ford carefully considers the artiest way to capture her (cliché and faltering) fairy lights over her notice board with only an iPhone and Snapchat filters at her disposal. She goes for the simple look, in the end: a straight on photo with the UW Snapchat filter across the bottom of the screen, the caption reading ‘it’s treating me pretty good’.

She scrolls through the suggested contacts from her phone to the one she can tell is Larissa’s from the bitmoji alone, since she doesn’t get what the username ‘Lardo’ is supposed to mean.

Ford takes a deep breath, checks over the snap for anything embarrassing one last time, and hits send. She immediately bundles herself up in her comforter and shoves her phone away from herself, willing herself to fall asleep as soon as possible so she can forget the churning in her stomach.

There’s the ping of a new snap being sent her way from her phone.

Ford’s arm is snaking out the covers to grab it on automatic, and her heart is racing, and she nearly pokes an eye out shoving her glasses back on, and it’s all worth it when there it is:

Snapchat from Lardo

Ford opens it with her breath held like her phone might explode in her hand from it.

It’s Larissa, tired-looking and washed out with only laptop light in an otherwise dark room, a blanket pulled up over her head. The caption reads ‘it’s chill’. She’s added the temperature, which is ridiculously cold for the time of year, and makes Ford feel ridiculously warm in her chest.

She screenshots it, because she can. Larissa sends her a bitmoji in the chat function that involves Ford in a cat suit purring and being spooned by a much larger Larissa.

Ford has no fucking clue what it means, but her cheeks hurt from smiling. She’s already searching through the endless varieties for something equally absurd to send back, buzzing down to her fingertips with the new opportunity - whatever it will mean - opening up all over again in front of her.

Being an Entrepreneur: A Child Opportunity

I just watched a speech by Cameron Herold about raising kids to be entrepreneurs and a flash of light came before my eyes. Wow, I thought! What a great idea! People that know me a bit know how passionate I feel about changing or revolutionizing the educational system. Watching Cameron, I understood more about the small entrepreneur that could not wait to get out there and so, how much that proves him right successful single mothers in india.

As a child, I used to always hang out at my parents pastry shop. Actually, at one point, they had four branches and, at the age of eleven, I was asked to semi-manage one of them. I never realized until tonight how much that single little event affected me in never being really able to work for anyone but myself.

Interestingly enough, although my parents were entrepreneurs, all they wanted me to be was a professional. Any profession that would make them real proud: a lawyer, a psychologist, an engineer, a biologist, a physicist; name it. At first, my mom, as a small town immigrant would even dream of me being a secretary. She used to buy me cheap polyester clothes so I would look the role. I hated it.

As an eleven year old, I was passionate about plenty of other things. Since I had an hourly wage for my managing one of the pastry shops and for my semi-accounting of the business. (yes, I was a bit gifted and my parents required some of my services in finances and secretarial work). One thing I loved doing, I loved to paint. Another, reading and lots of it. A third, puzzles; the more pieces the more thrilled I was. I would do all in my room, which became my playground. That is what I call the place I live in now, as well. A playground. I love with passion all I do so there are no "offices" accepted in my environment.

Fourth thing I loved doing and was really passionate about: I used to love building houses. I was about ten, eleven. The small amount of friends I had, talked about their Barbies. I preferred building homes. I used to go to the hardware store below our apartment and purchase all I needed to build dream homes. The wood, of course. The paint, evidently. I used to save the wrapping of the Babybel cheese I ate to create dishes, cutlery, bottles. I always loved cheese and I can honestly say, I really ate Babybel only for the wax. That's how much I was passionate about building my homes. And for those that know how much I love cheese, they will understand how much of a sacrifice that was. I used soap to build bath tubs. I thought it was clever since you wouldn't need any soap. I used coffee stirring sticks to make outdoor fire escape stairs. I used straws to make handles. Anything was good enough.

I feel I was extremely lucky. My parents were so busy running their pastry that they didn't have the time to cut me off from my passion. I spent days and nights working on floor plans and designs on how I would build a home. I didn't have Internet or books on the subject, I had to go by my only experience in these small projects.

I was lucky because, if my parents had had more time to spend with me, they would have definitely convinced me to do something else. Instead, my room was my paradise. On my real days off (when I didn't have school and when it was too late for me to work at the pastry shop), I would bring all I loved doing in bed. I had books to read, and crayons to draw and paint for my oil paintings and puzzles to finish. Multi-task? The least we can say. I was doing it all while watching "beep beep", the coyote show.

I am lucky to have lived in those years. When Michael Jackson was a famous pop singer and I could listen and watch all I wanted on my almost new television set (that I had also bought with my small earnings). I am lucky that I lived then. Today, if I was the kid I used to be, and the parents I see a lot around me; I would have been given some bi-polar disease medication to stop me from just being.

As girls were playing Barbie, I was building houses to fit their needs. Since I was too shy to speak to any boy, I was photographing them instead, which led me to another passion: the one of photography. Actually, I even got orders from other shy girls to take pictures for them. Like a teenage school paparazzi.

I was alone. Most of my life. Most of my childhood and teenage years. And I am grateful. I had very little people to tell me what not to do so I had the opportunity to develop a lot of different skills. I couldn't be bored and I was over active so I always searched for ways to please both sides of my brain.

I also did sell whatever I could to make a buck. Not because I needed to but because I had time on my hands and selling stuff was fun. It created more money to buy more wood therefore more homes.... In those days, fun kid television shows were either early in the morning (like 6 to 10 for the Warner Bros) or 6 pm (for the Muppet show special) or 8 PM (for family drama movies). That gave me a full twelve hour to go wild and do whatever my heart desired (when I was not at the cash working as a semi-business manager).

Twelve hours when you are an over active kid means: a couple of paint by numbers paintings done (I didn't know I could paint without the numbers then), a home developing project started, a few hours swimming at the pool (which sometimes would be a full day), reading a book (200 pages would easily be devoured in a couple of hours), homework (I was somewhat gifted so learning was even boring), and some television in the middle of it all. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I was a folklore dancer performer which meant 3-4 hours practice weekly and when shows would come around, 8 hours daily of very painful to bleeding stage practices that I would have not missed for the world. Being able to control our bodies in some difficult group formations and be artistic at the same time was worth all the bruises and indescribable physical sufferings; that's when a body is painfully pushed yet again and again beyond its boundaries.

Entrepreneur? Attention disorder? Bi-polar disease? Overly acting yet extremely silent? I don't know what I was. Possibly all of the above. I know what I have become. I was cleaning the toilet of one of the buildings I own and it hit me. I was happy. In the most unexpected moment of all. And I realised, I always loved the homes for my barbies. And I thought how lucky I was to be doing all that I always loved doing all the time. I write, I read, I paint and own homes. Thank God my parents were too busy to see what I was doing because they would have stopped me blocked by their own negativity.

Anime Forum

I stumbled upon something yesterday in my mom's "remem'ry drawer" that has been both endearingly funny and insightful. This kind of drawer that most mothers have Anime Forum somewhere within their houses is where they place what to "remem'ry" about their children's lives. At the very least, that's what my siblings and I (there are 6 of us) named this drawer once we were much younger - a mix of remember and memory - which was actually positioned in the underside of my dad's dresser.

This special drawer holds report cards - good and bad alike - sweet and tender notes written in crayon for Mother's Day or birthdays, shockingly bad grade school photos that only a mother could love, and other such charming mementos of a boy or daughter's childhood to cherish from time and energy to time. The funny and insightful object I mentioned earlier was my signature when I was about 12 written in neat cursive with the letter "F" in Flynn in the traditional boat-with-a-cap-on-it style and it read: "Lizanne Flynn, The Great Artist ".I think I was typical in my desires at that time in my life as is every other girl - to really have a horse and be an artist. Our young feminine fantasies are the stuff of gossamer and lace and gifts of roses from adoring fans who marvel at both our talent and the merchandise of the talent, be in it art or horseback-riding.

I've dabbled in lots of kinds of creativity over the years - watercolor painting, crocheting (I still do this), jewelry-making (I still do that) to name a few. Others, such as for example pottery and painting with acrylics or oils I've yet to attempt - maybe someday. Each of them pale in comparison to the richness of color, complexity of medium, and daunting challenge of completely finishing an item that's the essence of the art of animal communication. You see, energy is my medium and specifically the power created by both human and non-human animals, sentient beings alike, filled with spiritual lives and lessons to be learned together. The masterpiece of design co-created and facilitated by an animal communicator has a life-long ripple effect for both animal and guardian as it is gilded with love and compassion for self and one other at the exact same time.

Focus on technique might be involved at the start of a skill project for instance, utilizing the correct mixture of clay and water as in pottery. There can be the preparation of the canvas with water or other substances. There's the selection of colors and paintbrushes, or yarn and hook or needle. Last however not least is, of course, subject matter. "What will be created, what meaning can it have and how do I are interested to be interpreted? What type of emotion do I need my visual piece of creation to Anime Forums call forth from the observer? Am I trying to call focus on a social issue in your society or do I simply want to produce a picture of fall because it's my personal favorite season?" Yes, the scope is that broad and oftentimes just like formidable. Still, the creative voice within the artist perseveres and knows no rest until it's released from within and outwardly shared.

Once the equipment are assembled the creative flame sparks and catches fire. In the beginning the flames are small and low in number needing fuel from within the in-patient to continue burning. It's selection of talents and skills which are called forth perhaps unconsciously by the artist to supply the very breath the fire craves. These exact things lie dormant within an "other" space existing in all of us that's capable of such great feats of creativity it would have been a shame not to go to it from time to time if simply to reveal to ourselves our deep and divine potential. It's through this "other" space an animal communicator works in creating their unique piece of art consisting of the interpretation of pictures, words, and feelings from non-human sentient beings, the animals.

Discover Downtown Series – Four Corners Framing Gallery

A Beautiful Business Vision:  By Kelly Sopp

When Kim Saragoni moved from Florida to Mooresville in 1990, she brought an abundance of sunshine and determination with her. Jumping into the community with both feet upon her arrival, she’s made a big splash ­– especially with local artists and downtown small business owners.

During her first couple of years in town, Kim was focused on her job as a stay-at-home mom to three kids. But soon, her passion for artwork (and her talent for displaying it) fostered the idea to open a business of her very own. Having previously worked in a frame shop, Kim had acquired plenty of training in art restoration, preservation and framing. But she understood there was more to opening a successful business than simply having a dream and being good at what you do. So she spent the better part of her nights and weekends doing her homework. She put together a business plan, searched for used equipment, established relationships with vendors, and she took the time to get to know the other small business owners in town.

The Dream Takes Shape

The community of Downtown Mooresville is a family. I never dreamed they would be as supportive as they are,” said Kim. “Not only do they embrace you personally, they support your business.” Based on her fondness for the tight-knit community, as well as her appreciation for small-town historic architecture, she knew that Downtown Mooresville was the only place she wanted to be. In 2006, a space became available on Broad Street, so Kim took the plunge and was finally able to hang her shingle, calling her shop Four Corners Framing Gallery.  

Word spread about Kim’s frame shop and her talent for turning any precious memento, treasure or keepsake into a complete work of art. Clients started bringing in their children’s drawings, christening gowns, family photographs, autographed jerseys, oil paintings, and Super Bowl tickets to trust to her expert care.  “We are very excited about the things that come in the door,” says Kim. “At any given moment, there are 10 stories on the counter…stories behind these objects that we have the privilege of framing.”

Turning Trinket into Treasures

As an independent frame shop, Kim’s services can include everything about your project from A-Z. “We have the ability to see the finished product even if the client hasn’t gotten there yet,” she smiles.  “We pull out samples of what they might be looking for, show them possibilities which don’t limit them, cost it out, and we let the client decide how they want to invest in their piece and how they want it to look.“ In fact, Kim and her team have gone out of their way to bring all kinds of customer ideas to fruition from traditional wood frames to fabricated steel frames, from birch bark frames to leather wrapped frames. “If I don’t know how to do it, you can bet I’ll be figuring it out,” she smiles.

Creating a Creative Space

Kim and her team spend between eight and fourteen hours a day in the shop. And because of that, she has made it a very comfortable and inspiring place to be. Her two small dogs, Roo and Gracie, lie next to the table where she works. Of course, they are the official “greeters” with tiny tails wagging. You’ll see pictures of Kim’s family artfully framed and on display, as well as other meaningful mementos, her favorite paintings, and even her kids’ achievements. She has an antique bar off to one side in the shop (resourcefully repurposed from the previous merchant) and she often serves clients a cup of coffee or a glass of wine while discussing their project. She has incorporated other fixtures and gifts from business friends into the space too, which gives it a personal feel. On Friday evenings, you’ll find local merchants and loyal Downtownies gathered here to officially start the weekend and say hello before an evening out.

Art for Everyone

Four Corners Framing Gallery doesn’t have a typical customer. Kim works with everyone from art collectors, to farmers, to NASCAR drivers. She believes every person has something special they’d like to hang on the wall. Collaboratively, Kim and her artistic team (Jennifer and Valerie) have forty-five years of experience at handling all types of projects. “I take a lot of pride in offering a range of affordability for people,” said Kim. “I buy closeout materials, as well as high-end and custom fabricated materials. So whether you have a budget of $50 or $5,000, we can deliver something that’s going to fit your budget and make you happy.”

Talent and Tenacity

Like any smart business owner, Kim is always looking for ways to enhance her service for clients. She invested in a state-of-the-art matte cutting machine, and she has moved her business to more accommodating spaces as the demand from her customers has grown. In 2017, a larger Main Street address (one she had always hoped for) finally became available. Once again, she jumped at the chance. She added an impressive art gallery in the front of the shop and she hasn’t looked back. “Part of our dream has always been to have an art gallery in order to support the arts, to grow the arts culture in this community, and to be surrounded by beautiful works all day,” said Kim.

A Little Help from Her Friends

Incorporating an Art Gallery required a lot of planning and little help from her handy friends. They constructed display walls that move and store canvases, they installed lighting which spotlights the artwork, and they configured work counters that slide to create additional space when needed. The result is a completely versatile space that’s just right for hosting private events and art classes, as well as showcasing the works of art for sale by both established and emerging local artists. The genres of art include oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings, alcohol ink drawings, fiber art, pottery, ceramics and more.

Sharing the Spotlight

Kim’s face lights up when she talks about her featured artists. She is their friend, their sales rep, and their biggest champion. “On this 10-year journey, I’ve worked with amazing artists from throughout the region,” she said. “And now, I have the chance to give them exposure, and to give something back.” Within the first month of opening the gallery, Kim sold fourteen pieces of original art for her artists. “My clients are happy, my artists are happy,” she smiled. “It’s completely a win win!”

When Kim isn’t in the shop, she is volunteering for numerous organizations. She serves on the MDC (Mooresville Downtown Commission), she provides framing services for the Dove House fundraising events, and she provides space for local high school art shows, to name a few. Stop by her shop and you’ll find her positive energy is infectious. “I can’t imagine myself doing anything else,” said Kim. “I absolutely love what I do.”

Four Corners Framing Gallery is located at 148 N Main St, Mooresville, NC 28115   Phone: (704) 662-7154 Hours: T/W 10am-6pm, TH/F 10am-8pm Sat 10am-4pm. Mondays by Appointment. Website: http://www.fcfgframing.com