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expatesque · 11 months

Note

Referring to your recent post, would love to see some of the fun things you’ve bought! You have the best taste 😊

Aw thank you.

So the main categories of things have been home stuff and fashion stuff. I do have a tag (of course) but haven't posted everything so to summarize...

Home stuff

Living room: The swan table (an icon, a queen, the inspiration for the room), the insane green velvet chair (we love her, gotta keep it eclectic), snake rug (hiss hiss), a fundamentally impractical sofa (Ikea, concessions had to be made somewhere. I'm going to restuff to make it look more fluffy and expensive). I'm keeping my vintage curio cabinet, 1960's referencing 30's circular bar cart, black arched lamp, and big rubber plant. The inspiration is somewhere between this 1930's Thorne miniature room and hummusbird. I need some paintings, a little table for under the window to display a great vase (got this one in ivory, tbc if it's the right size), and some big new throw pillows (I'm thinking dusky pink). Oh also I'm getting a fish to go in the bookcase (I wanted a white Betta but my dad has said that's a bad idea and suggested a gold fish instead).

Kitchen: An oval marble topped cast iron bistro style table. Keeping my black bistro chairs (2x) and will also use 2 of my armless ghost chairs (like these). Likely to get a small floating island to get a little more counter space. Also bought an insane copper kettle ala my man Rajiv recently.

Main bedroom: I've got a new headboard for my bed (this one), I'm getting rid of the wardrobe in there (using the one in the 2nd bedroom) and will replace it with a vintage dressing table and mirror (I do like this one but would rather not spend that given... everything else) to display my great great grandmother's silver mirror, brush, etc. Need some big Euro shams and perpetually looking for a navy woven blanket that's big enough (I want it like, almost duvet sized).

2nd bedroom: Currently is an office / video game room, turning into a proper 2nd bed. I'll use my meh existing bed, need bedside tables, maybe a new desk chair.

Fashion stuff

It's been a lot of big skirts (my love the Prada one, a really full white canvas-y one, this crazy pink one, a beige cashmere Theory one), a set of heavy ribbed tops with high necks in black and browns (for autumn, this is one of them), a few cropped cardigans (can't find any specific ones that I've bought right now, but short enough to wear with the skirts), a totally sheer cream colored top (that is proving surprisingly versatile already), two cheap Zara wrap vests that I'm waiting to arrive (one in cream and one in black, we'll see the quality when they get here), a Victorian gold charm bracelet (+ a charm of a monkey holding a pearl), a pair of really gorgeous silver and mother pearl earrings from the 50s, some rag and bone soft leather mules, some baby blue Mary Janes, and a set of tiny kitten heels that I really like but am not sure I'm keeping (they're a little narrow but I think I could stretch them). I think there's more but if I think too much about it I'll be stressed (rip my budget). Pro tip: Laura Riley has an incredible fashion newsletter that rounds up what's new and what's on sale -- I've gotten almost everything I've bought on 50%+ off.

#the sofa is the gransel natural with no arms #yes you heard right #no arms #the gold fish is because i kill things #also bettas are apparently too high level for me #(my dad had a tropical fish breeding situation in his youth something i only found out last week)#so anyway RIP my budget #truly been a few weeks #gonna be a monk after this #batch cooking and sitting at home with my crocheting #and of course i will post photos once it's all in place #just waiting for the old things to be collected #I'm like... it's all making me feel more like myself and everyone says this is a period of change #ill find out more about myself #blah blah (I know they're right but like... i would rather have been happy and simply not known lol)#so i am trying to give myself a kittle ~grace~ with this #after all what is the point of money if not to spend it #oh also i need a grey big skirt for fall #then I'm basically done #maybe a black one too...#s shops

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kenovele · 1 year

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Bogs Blog - 4

As I write this I am shaded from the sun, sitting out on the deck in the Far North, listening to our playlist and just soaking in the peaceful holiday vibes of the beach. The view is framed by the New Zealand Christmas tree, the Pohutukawa trees, red blossums, vibrant blue skies, reflecting the colours of the sea, a light breeze just cooling me down the right amount. White sets of waves washing into shore, the bliss of the weekend ahead of us and the treat of having summer just around the corner. There is so much to look forward to and we, like Nanie, are living life in celebration.

Days have been going quickly this last week, we have been busy and constantly on the go, I guess getting back into the Robinson way of life, with lists, projects and one hundred and one things on the go at the same time wasn’t all that hard after all. We have been busy, but we are loving it.

We are both feeling stimulated that our projects are advancing. We have been on window pickups, door pickups, framing timber pickups and big-time planning. In every free minute we are talking plans, where should the kitchen go, where should we put our plugs, ideas, colours, tiles. It is exciting but there is a lot to plan and a lot to think about. We are very very lucky that we have a builder who is constantly able to offer us advice, give us practical tips and also bring us home presents that have been left over on the building house. We are feeling very happy to have Jamies help, to be advancing in our projects, it really helps us feel that little bit more anchored here.

On Monday, we had a tough start to our week. Our day was full of disappointments, we woke up at 6am and headed down to Tauranga to pick up the last door that we needed before we can start on the house framing plans. We arrived after two and a half hours of driving and picked up the door. While we were there, we looked around their shop and also bought a window for the bathroom we were happy because it was the last thing we needed. So we thought we were in for a good day, however, as we were filling up with gas we noticed that for one the door wasn’t double glazed and secondly that the exterior of the door wasn’t looking as tidy as we were hoping. So it was a bit of a fall from grace, as the rest of the windows that we have bought have been bargains. It was tough to realise that this time, maybe we hadn’t made as good of a deal as we had hoped. We got home a little bit tense and a little bit grumpy. Luckily Mum, Dad and Jamie, all helped us relativise and realise that maybe it is not as bad as we had initially thought. We pulled the moral up from our socks and carried on with our afternoon. We headed to Gran and Deedas to watch the Belgium soccer match, hoping that the Belgian team would lift our spirits, however it was just another disappointment to our day. Monday for us would have been better off forgotten as soon as possible. For the rest of the week, we continued on as normal, Mum and I went to work in Pukekohe, Jamie went building and Benoit and Dad went to work together. After work we were busy, Tuesday night my friend Josie came over for dinner while Mum and Dad were at pottery class. Wednesday we once again had art night although it was mainly just Benoit and I who participated, Benoit worked on the tiny house plans and I started my next crochet project, hats for Christmas presents. (I am starting with a practise one for Benoit as I am not sure if the pattern, I found will be any good, so fingers crossed). Thursday night Benoit and I made our famous burgers, thanks again to our favourite chef Jamie Oliver, everyone really enjoyed them, and I think we have now been dedicated to the burger cooks for as long as we are still living at home. The Friday, the long-awaited start to the weekend. This weekend, Mum booked the batch up north and so we headed up to the farm on Friday afternoon. I went with Mum and Dad, and Benoit went a bit later with Jamie and Jasper (my cousin). We arrived at the farm around 9pm, Jill had made us a big lasagna for dinner. One of the good things about arriving home is that everyone has been making my favourite dish for us. So, a delicious lasagna dinner and then we were off to the bach to set up the beds and relax after the big drive.

Up north. What a place to live. There seems to be a mircoclimate up here, sunshine, suntans, big smiles and island time. The stress of the city hasn’t really seemed to arrive in the far north and we are lucky enough to live this experience. There are some places in New Zealand where I really can just sit and enjoy the beauty of the nature around me, the good company and the refreshing cool of a cold beer in your hand after a big day, and in Ahipara, it is one of those magical spots. You can turn off your brain and just enjoy. Our first day here it was all go, we woke up, went for a walk on the beach with Sparrow, had a delicious breakfast before heading into the Kaitaia markets, where we wandered around getting some fresh produce. After a few hours in town, we headed back to Jacks to pick up the batteries for the torpedo before heading back to the bach for lunch. After lunch, Grant, Benoit, Jamie, Jasper and I headed up the beach to put the long line out. Unfortunately, we didn’t get any fish, but there beers were freely flowing and we enjoyed the time out on the beach waiting and hoping for the fish to come in. By the time we headed back it was already 6pm, so Benoit and I made the burgers for dinner while the others continued to party and catch up as we always do in the evenings of the far north. Discussions on politics, saving the world and climate change are constants after a few drinks and the debates are always full on.

It was a dusty morning on Sunday for most of the Robinson crew, but after a big walk to pick up supplies for a big kiwi breakfast everyone was feeling reenergised. Jasper and Benoit spent a good few hours playing on their boards in the surf while Jamie and I chatted on the beach and played with Sparrow, a lovely start to the day. It is always too short no matter how long we stay up here. Luckily Mum, Dad, Benoit and I are staying until tomorrow, so we have the luxury of another night here and another morning in paradise. Relaxing on the deck in the sunshine are on the agenda, not a bad plan if you ask me. Until next time, Love Kate and Benoit xxx

Sorry I haven’t re-read this, the pull of the good weather is too tempting!

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years

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Lemongrass

So this was nominally supposed to be about a cooking lesson (loosely prompted by a post from @dr-ladybird), but it came out much more bittersweet and melancholy.

Thanks to @pushingsian for the beta!

NB: In my version of Mass Effect, Nathaly Shepard is vegetarian, and Kaidan Alenko's mother is Thai.

Lemongrass

The haunting quiet of a Canadian night along the Sunshine Coast still kept Shepard awake, even after two months. She missed the endless creaking of the ship, the muffled voices coming through the hatches and decks, the hum of the drive core lulling her to sleep. Everyone thought space was silent. She snorted and wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered on the porch, drawing a blanket close like a shawl. This was silence, this… lonely wilderness.

Footsteps fell soft on the cabin’s wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw Kaidan padding barefoot to the door, still rubbing his eyes. Her face broke into a smile despite herself, quiet, tired. “Hey.”

“It’s cold out here tonight.” He rubbed his arms. “Can’t sleep again?”

“You don’t need to get up,” she replied, sidestepping the question.

He glanced out over the property, towards the coastline a half-acre away. “It wasn’t this quiet when I bought it.”

This was where he’d sunk his L2 reparations, into this piece of earth, though the house came after the war. His neighbors weren’t ever sitting in his lap, exactly, but a fair number either hadn’t survived or hadn’t returned. But the lack of people wasn’t the problem. “It’s a planet. It’s never going to be—”

Shepard stopped herself just in time. But her startled guilty glance, at the near slip, said it all anyway. His shoulders sank. “Come inside.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He put his arm around her and gave her a tug. “Come inside.”

The door swung shut. The main room was cozy in a hand-made sort of way. Kaidan’s mother had sent a seemingly endless stream of crocheted blankets, which now hung off every chair back and piled across the couch. Shepard made the metal-framed furniture herself in their own backyard. Kaidan spent his free hours scouring local extranet ads for books, and a coffee maker, lamps, cushions, anything anyone was selling or trading in the mostly cashless post-war economy. Earth could barely manufacture essentials, much less everyday comforts.

Now he walked over to the small corner defining their kitchen and lit the stove. She hiked one of those blankets higher on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll sleep better with something warm in you.”

She joined him, putting her hand on his hip, leaning towards his ear. “I can think of something warm you could put in me.”

That got her a quick snort of a laugh, as she hoped. “That just wakes you up more.”

But his brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the slumbering house.

She heaved a sigh, but pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear, and switched gears. “Need a hand?”

Flirtatious interest turned to surprise. “You want to help me cook.”

“Come on. I haven’t boiled a pot dry in weeks.” A touch defensive, but hell, she had been trying. It wasn’t her fault she never had reason or opportunity to learn to cook. At this point, her molecular composition verged on 100% military-issue freeze pack meals and MREs.

“That’s true.” He jerked his head at the cabinet. “Find me the coconut milk, and the stock.”

Kaidan’s kitchen staples came as something of a surprise. Beer and bacon she expected. His mother’s influence, not so much. Not that she knew a whole lot about Thai food to start with. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“My mom is friendly with every southeast Asian family in Vancouver.”

“Sure. But… citrus?”

“You’d be surprised how many people keep a tree in their condo. I’m negotiating for one, but nobody wants to give it up.”

“It’s just as well.” She pulled out a box. “I’ve killed every houseplant I’ve ever had.”

“You’re doing all right with the herb garden.” Kaidan said it with a straight face, despite them both knowing he did most of the work, especially after he caught her burying leftovers in the dirt to fertilize it. Gently, he explained about compost, but it still seemed like a load of middle-man work to her. He also explained about raccoons, which she had to admit had the weight of evidence behind it, in the holes and broken plants they left behind. But Shepard had learned to water and prune, even fuss over the plants, here and there. They seemed to enjoy the attention.

What was the other thing? Stock. Right. She opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic jug, the remains of a giant batch Kaidan made last week from all their vegetable scraps. It had been an experiment, but somehow, all of Kaidan’s kitchen experiments seemed to work out.

“Put that in the pot,” he said, pointing.

She complied, with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t you think this burner is up a little high?”

“It needs to reduce.” He gave the pot an expert swirl and set it back down. “We still have mushrooms?”

“I think so.” They’d stored up too much in the lower drawer. She sorted through the items. “What’re we making?”

“Soup.” He declined to elaborate, and began to slice the mushrooms. “We’ll also need lemongrass, cilantro, and some of those tiny peppers from outside.”

“You’ll send me out in this cold?” she griped, but she was already reaching for the scissors.

He put down the knife. “It’s summer, Nathaly. It’s almost ten degrees outside. And the garden’s right beside the back door.”

“Anything south of twenty is fucking frigid.” Pulling the blanket tighter, she headed out.

The moonlight gilded the leaves in silver as Shepard sorted through the huddled plants, trying not to drop the blanket. Cilantro reminded her of home, the first home she ever had. Her grandmother grew bales of it in window boxes. Bending to cut some, she might have been six again, and smiled to herself in spite of the cold. Or maybe because of it— the Arizona desert took on its own chill at night.

Lemongrass was more foreign. Its pungency stabbed through the air as she cut it near the dirt, gathering several stalks. A side of Kaidan she hadn’t known, like the cooking, until recently. Sure he fixed a few meals in the apartment, back when the apartment was habitable. Seeing him now, it was clear he’d grown up watching his mother, and absorbed everything she had to teach. That added new depth to her understanding of the damage BAaT did to his family. It was easy to sense, lurking there even today, in every interaction between mother and son, but harder to interpret.

When she was done, she returned to the kitchen, and found he’d added tofu, galangal (not ginger, she reminded herself, firmly), the aforementioned limes plus some kaffir lime leaves he’d obtained god-knew-how, and fish sauce to the waiting ingredients. He smiled as he heard the door shut.

“Here you are.” She dumped her handful of fresh produce beside his pile.

“These look great. Take this.” He handed her the spoon.

Shepard held it like a dead mouse. “Wait a minute—”

He took the lemongrass to the sink. “Nope. This time, you cook, and I help. Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

Everything about this read imminent disaster. Kaidan noticed her frown, and pushed her arm towards the pot. “Add the coconut milk.”

It trickled in, aided by her tentative stirring. She put the spoon down. “Kaidan, look, cooking… My biggest accomplishment is getting a microwave burrito thawed the whole way through without drying it out. I know you want to do this whole domestic thing—”

He picked it up and put it back in her hand. “I have never known you to admit defeat on anything. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

She stared into the pot, expressionless face flickering in the burner’s flame.

Kaidan tried another tact. “You’re not sleeping. You barely eat.”

“I…” She let the spoon go, and slumped over the stove, tiredly. “I didn’t expect winning to feel like this.”

His face softened. “That’s because we didn’t win. We just beat the reapers.”

She brushed some of the hair out of her eyes. He rubbed her shoulders, left a kiss on her neck. “Let’s just make soup, ok? Lemongrass is next. Smash it first.”

The damp stalks left small puddles on the board as she ran the knife through them, and then upended it and brought the butt of the handle down on each piece, thump thump. Then the same to the peppers. The motion was almost comforting; Kaidan made this soup a lot.

Kaidan slid sliced galangal into the pot. “Your turn.”

Picking up the lemongrass with the blade, Shepard watched it disappear into the white broth, only to bob back up again, filmed with coconut milk. Already leeching all its intensity and leaving the herb softer, milder, spent; having sprouted and fought through the dirt to the sun, grown tall and proud, only to give up all it made to this. Because she declared that this was its purpose and its end.

A fistful of bright leaves fluttered down over the lemongrass pieces. Shepard started. Kaidan’s brow furrowed, and he touched her arm. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah,” she said, distantly. “I’m just tired.”

He watched her a few moments too long for comfort. “Even the squirrels know that.”

It caught her off guard and she laughed, as he clearly hoped she would. Just one chuckle. But it helped.

“Tofu and mushrooms next,” he prompted. Shepard gathered them up and dumped them in.

She just about remembered to stir it every so often as they juiced limes and chopped cilantro. To her endless gratitude, Kaidan took it back to finish it when it came off the burner; she never could get the amount of fish sauce just right. Somehow, he’d gotten the rice cooker going while she messed with the soup, too. She liked dumping it all into her bowl with the soup, a practice that never failed to earn her a look of mock-disappointment that was half the reason she kept doing it.

They settled on the couch. For a few minutes, they ate in the quiet dark of the cabin, lined in moonlight, wrapped in blankets. Shepard had spent all her life in motion. Now she was trying to learn how to live with stillness.

The soup-soaked rice felt good in her mouth, something she could bite down on. Something solid and warm in her stomach. She hadn’t realized exactly how cold she’d gotten, or how hungry; each spoonful brought a little more color into the room.

Kaidan sipped at his own bowl, smaller than hers, with a slight smile. “Feel better?”

She looked down into her nearly-empty bowl, and back up at him. “How did you know?”

“You skipped dinner. And lunch.” His tone just a little too light. “This isn’t easy for me either, but regularly crashing your blood sugar isn’t helping.”

There was nothing to say to that. “I don’t know what to do with myself up here.”

“Yeah.” He set his food aside and inched closer to her, settling his arm around her waist. “You’ve got a stack of requests piling up.”

“Busy work,” she scoffed.

“There’s never going to be another reaper war, and that’s a good thing.” He gave her a squeeze. “You’ll just have to subsist without the adrenaline and cortisol, high blood pressure, constant small injuries, and all those other things.”

“Tomorrow.” It was too complicated to unpack right now. She set the empty bowl aside.

“Tomorrow,” Kaidan agreed, and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s sleep.”

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #nathaly shepard #shenko #fshenko #post-war #fanfiction #pigeon writes

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aclamclriver · 6 years

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start from scratch

he can’t find a babysitter.

daniel’s spotted a cat sitting on the doorstep a few houses down though he doesn’t pull forwards, the enthrallment is enough to afford jude a moment to bunch the phone more comfortably next to his ear, his breath hurried out of him as he struggles to hold his composure. traffic is slow on the little street; the sound of leaves crunching underfoot heralds their pace as the father and son make their way home in uneven stride.

“ been talking about this for weeks, jude ”

“i know, i know you have, but you didn’t mention me and i need to be home to pick daniel up by three, i need to, there’s no one who can watch him ”

“one late night is not going to kill you, jude, considering how much this project means there’s a ton of daycares in the area alone that you can drop him off. you need to plan for these things. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

he can’t cuss in front of daniel, but it’s on the tip of his tongue the words curdle like spoiled milk as he shoves his phone back into his pocket, fumbling for his keys to unlock the door to their apartment. it’s a far cry from before ( but then, of course, wasn’t that the point? ), and it’s got more neighbors than he’s used to, but it was close to work, close to school, and far away from everything else.

“okay?” daniel asks; his voice is pitched soft, his eyes wide and inquisitive it discomforts jude, sometimes, to think of the baby who once was, and the young child just becoming.

“okay,” jude replies, because he’s not going to unburden himself on his five year old son. the key is proving to be more elusive than he thought; he’s practically ripping his pocket inside out.

“i’ll stay at patrick’s tomorrow?”

“no.” it’s so automatic, so absolute, that he flinches, even as it snaps off his tongue mina couldn’t have done it better herself. in the one night where he lost damn near everything, he’s learned to be cautious; he can’t risk anything happening to daniel. not ever again. “don’t worry about it, i’ll where is my damn key!”

it bursts out of him, a flurry of anger that isn’t really anger; a cocktail of something he’s sick of, forcing him to drop daniel’s hand as he roots furiously through his pockets. it’s the hours, and his boss, and not being able to find a babysitter because he doesn’t trust anyone in this fucking city, can’t risk letting the one person he has left go with just anyone, and his goddamn key is missing

“hey, jude?”

his head snaps up to see the door to the right opened you’re already out on the landing. neighbors, though he’s only spoken to you once or twice; you always smile at him if you cross paths. there’s a pretty crochet owl on your purse that daniel always points out when he sees you.

“are you looking for your key? i think you dropped it this morning on your way out i found it after you left. it’s yours, right?”

and it is miraculously, fortuitously, offered in your hand like some gleaming artifact of religious significance. he wants to weep as he takes it from you, stammering thanks and apologies as he jams it in the lock, twisting it open far enough to let daniel scamper inside.

“you seemed to be pretty frazzled,” you say, when he pauses for breath. “is everything okay?”

( when was the last time someone asked him that? )

“i need to work late tomorrow,” he offers, hands fiddling with the strap of his bag. “and i don’t have a babysitter for daniel. my boss won’t reschedule.”

“that’s awful! he really won’t let you reschedule?” you lean against the doorframe of your apartment, frowning in sympathy; the action puts a tiny furrow between your brows, an expanse of emotion he has long forgotten. “getting a babysitter for a tuesday afternoon ... it’ll be tough, too.” you hesitate; he watches you tilt your head in thought, working on an offer that takes some time to reach your lips. “if you really need the help ... i can always pick him up?”

something in his expression has to give you insight to what he’s thinking: you’re hasty to add “i understand if you’re not comfortable with that, but since you’re in a bind i work from home, so i’m here all the time anyways. my cousin just had a baby, and we’re quite close, so the apartment is baby proof i know we’re pretty much strangers, but i’d like to help, if i can.”

beggars can’t be choosers, he knows; he’s out of options as it is.

he stills waits until the last minute next morning, to knock on your door, and take you up on your offer.

the whole day is a bust he can’t concentrate, beyond imagining what horrible things you’re doing to his son. visions of anti-nutritional oil and empty plates seem to dance behind his eyes, and when he’s finally released, jude sprints out. he’s home in record time, practically racing up the stairs to your door, heart hammering in his chest.

he’s shocked, in the split second before his fist hits your door, to hear laughter.

when you open the door, daniel is right at your heels; he shouts “daddy!” and throws his arms around jude’s legs, hugging tight. your smile is bright and reassuring, warm, as daniel immediately begins a detailed description of his day.

“he was just fine,” you remark, as daniel pauses on a breath. “picked him up with no problems, brought him here he’s been drawing for you all afternoon! i started making dinner, just because he was so easy to watch; did you two want to stay a while?”

and it smells so good in this little apartment, with the little lavender candles splayed out on a bookshelf, and your dinner cooking in the oven; it’s warm, and safe, and daniel is shifting through a number of drawings to show jude his latest batch.

“that’d be great,” jude says at last, and you two share a smile.

daniel is your biggest fan, now. he likes how soft your carpet is, how nice your paintings on the wall are. you help him with his homework, and read to him he brings you books that jude has started, and you pick up easily where he left off. you’ll even do voices.

he doesn’t mean for this to become regular, but his boss is demanding, and the hours are picking up, and you wave off his apologetic request with a smile and “you’re both welcome here any time.”

something in how you talk to daniel makes it easy to leave him, though it wrenches jude apart, every time. you lean forward, bend down you always talk to him at his own level. you offer your hand for him to take, but never grab his own; you laugh at every silly joke he makes, even if he tells it six times in a row. you run an editing business from home, and there are books aplenty on your shelves: jude never knows what he’ll find, if he were to go perusing.

smalltalk occurs, as smalltalk tends to do. you went to school here. you worked there. you joined up in editing because you loved words. you know italian, but you’re better at spanish. you like the idea of starting a garden, but love the vegetables in the farmers market.

( you’re not like mina. )

you ask him how his day was, as soon as he’s on the landing; you smile when he tells you. daniel is wonderful, engaging, funny, bright: he loves to tell you stories.

jude talks about mina. we were married. she’s dead. we were separated. i don’t know. daniel doesn’t really know. it’s a confession and a scrutiny: if he tells it enough times, maybe he can find where it all went wrong. married. pregnant. unhealthy. confused. separated. out of love? out of patience. out of time. out of options. we got married in a little italian diner. i sang for her. you’ll never believe how we met yeah, it’s as gross as it sounds.

you share your own. engaged, okay, but wanting more. broke it off two years ago. don’t fret for you! you don’t regret a thing. “when it’s time to move on, and you do, you know it’s the right thing. it’s peaceful. it’s good.”

he wonders what that must be like.

you’re worried about daniel one night, when his temperature is high; when jude comes to pick him up, you’ve already iced him for an hour. “it’s probably that bug going around,” you fret, wringing out the towel draped across daniel’s forehead, “but i don’t know. i wanted to take him to the doctor, but that’s your call, jude, really.”

they’ll go in the morning, jude reasons it’s late enough as it is. daniel offers a tired whine and a sniffle, once lifted in jude’s arms, and you can’t help but follow them back into their apartment, compelled by the tired little eyes that peer blearily at you from over jude’s shoulder.

somehow jude isn’t quite sure how he wakes up on the couch, sometime after midnight. daniel is sprawled out, his head resting on jude’s knee, fast asleep. he’s breathing easily, fever dissipated. on the floor below, your head tilted against the cushion, you doze. your hand is raised just enough for daniel to grasp it in his sleep.

his mother is furious.

“i didn’t go to prison so you can do all of this all over again!”

he knows what she’s thinking. he’s always been easy to push over, easy to cow; he let mina push too hard, too far. if he had a backbone, it never would have ended here but he shoves that thought away, as far as it can go.

“it’s not a romance,” he tells her, placating, the peacekeeper. “she’s just babysitting.”

and it’s the truth! he doesn’t need to justify that. he doesn’t need to quantify it: does it matter that the three of you have dinner, almost every night? that you ask him how his day was noticed when he got his haircut? does it matter that you have a key to his apartment? emergencies happen, and it’s best to be prepared he’s got one to your apartment, too. you know the name of his boss, his best friend; he even put your number on a form for school, surreptitiously listed under “emergency contact.” it’s just being prepared. he knows what book you’re working on, how you like your coffee; it’s just the nature of the beast.

“it’s not like before,” he says, thinking of the other night, when you and daniel baked cookies: he was smeared with chocolate and beaming, when jude came through the door. “it’s not like mina.”

and there’s no greater truth than that.

“i came in her,” he tells you one day, while daniel plays in the next room. “she told me not to. i fucked up. i knew she was leaving. i don’t know ... i thought maybe, if she had another reason to stay ... it was awful, what i did. it was stupid, and selfish, and awful.”

he hates that you think less of him he can see it in your eyes, the purse of your lips as you nod in agreement. somehow, the truth never gets easier, no matter how often he tries it; he knows that it’s followed with grief.

“goodbyes are hard,” you say at last, and your shoulders bunch forward as he watches you. “trying to hold off on them is harder. no one ever wants to let them linger.”

“i was never good at goodbyes,” he admits, and there’s more truth in that than he can fathom.

he misses adulthood. drinks in the bar down the street, with the dingy neon lighting, and bad art galleries with his friends where they laughed themselves sick. he misses casual conversation that revolves around nothing, and minutes you don’t have to count on the clock.

he’s lonely, is all: he can’t be faulted for that. daniel is his boy, but only a boy still, and when he’s put to bed, he falls asleep immediately. nothing wrong, jude reasons, with seeing you for a moment. you make him a cup of tea, and sit on your couch, and talk about everything and nothing, and jude finds himself laughing with his whole belly, like he hasn’t done in years.

he’s bold enough to ask about your fiance, the one you left behind; you correct him on the wording. “people change,” you explain, eyes out of focus, thinking on the memories. “but you don’t really know a person, really know a person, until you’ve seen them panic. he was everything i thought i knew, and then, one day ... he wasn’t. and i realized i didn’t know him at all.”

it’s the lateness of the hour, he thinks: the flow of good conversation, that urges him forward, has him saying, “i don’t know i haven’t seen you panic, and i know you pretty well.”

and everything is innocent until it’s not: that he’s suddenly so close, so close, with lips just an inch away from yours, heart hammering in his chest as he looks at you. you, and everything that isn’t mina, but more importantly is you: the laughter, and the warmth, and the way you smile when you don’t realize jude’s looking at you.

just you, and just him.

and suddenly, just is too much, and you’re on your feet; so discomforted is he, that jude doesn’t see your hand shake as you set your teacup down.

“i’ll pick up daniel tomorrow at three like always,” you say, and there’s distance there, a separation. jude doesn’t argue.

later that night, in his own bed, he thinks on how long it’s been, since he’s had butterflies in his stomach. it’ll be best to quash out every one.

this is how the story works: that daniel is the baby, and you the babysitter, and jude the father who longs to come home. mina is the mother, and that’s without change: you don’t pass stories and smiles with a man who lost his wife. you in your home, and jude in his, and daniel as the interloper, four times a week, and jude buys you a bottle of wine at christmas for your trouble.

but stories have a way of changing, and it’s only three days after tea on your couch that you call him from the hospital.

“daniel’s fine,” you say, adamant and reassuring. “everything’s okay, don’t worry. we were rear-ended coming home, and it was a minor incident. daniel is completely fine, but i got a tiny scratch on my leg, so they drove me in. can you come pick him up? he’s absolutely fine.”

and he believes you, even as jude breaks about every traffic rule in the book as he speeds to the hospital; believes you, even as he nearly smashes the doors off their hinges. daniel is fine, absolutely fine not a scratch on him. the miracle of seatbelts, and good driving besides.

your scratch is more a cut, is more a little more than nothing: you had to get stitches, almost as soon as you arrived. despite your protests, jude sits and waits for you to be signed out, with daniel snoozing in his arms; he drives you both home, hands at two and ten. he puts daniel to bed without fuss, and kisses his forehead goodnight; his boy is asleep before jude has even left the room.

in your apartment, the lights are off: you’re struggling in the kitchen. he finds you there, leaning against the counter, catching your breath as you move your crutches out of the way. it’s only for a week or so, but you already hate them they’re in the way more than anything else.

“i’m okay,” you tell him, with your eyes drooping from exhaustion. “i’m just glad daniel wasn’t hurt.”

in answer, jude cups your face in his hands, and kisses you.

are you cold? you can’t stop shivering: jude’s body presses against your own, careful not to jostle your leg as he holds you. he’s so much taller than you, so big and broad he leans in and tilts your head to better receive his kiss, nose brushing against yours. warm, and solid, and real.

“i panicked,” he admits, when at least you break for air. he rests his forehead against yours, hands sliding to your waist, offering you warmth as he stays close against you.

“so did i,” you admit, and pull him in for another kiss.

this is how the story works: a kiss changes nothing. two is irrelevant. you keep your promise to take care of daniel, and jude learns everything about you. dates are played out on the living room floor, as daniel shrieks with laughter from a flurry of tickles; it’s snatched in the kitchen as jude helps you with dinner.

daniel turns six and you bake him a cake: his friends gather in your living room, wild and excited. jude takes too many pictures; he only thinks of mina once.

i guess we did something right.

it’s the next night, when daniel is sleeping soundly in the other room, that jude slides his hands between your legs, and kisses your neck with an air of worship. he parts your thighs and curls his fingers inside your cunt, marvelling at the curve of your throat when you throw your head back. it’s everything to him, when you roll your hips against his; it’s everything, to hear the way his name falls from your lips, when he slides inside you with a groan. it’s too much, too much after too long, and he can barely focus on the rhythm of his breathing as he feels you tight around him: it takes a moment to realize how you’re kissing him reassuringly, warm and solid in his fluster. he makes love to you, slow and purposeful; he discards the condom afterwards with a little gleam of pleasure.

this is how the story goes: where the leaves are crunching underfoot, and there’s a cat on the front step a few houses down. daniel is singing about the man on the sea, and jude wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close enough to kiss. “i love you,” he whispers, and you smile at his touch. daniel starts another verse, dancing in the sunlight.

#jude #jude x reader #hungry hearts #I KNOW I'M POSTING THIS AT FOUR AM NOBODY @ ME #someone is going to @ me #i couldn't get the damn movie out of my head so i rushed this out it is SUPER unedited #why am i doing this !!!#they literally never name the baby in this movie so i'm sticking w/ daniel

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punkpsychologist · 2 years

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haHAH

WELL DAMN. I haven't been here in a hot sec. SO. Let me lay it down for everybody, here's what I've been up to for the last 6-7 months.

- doing really well, getting only 90s and above on my psych work

- had a mental break down and a major emotional downswing after finding out my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer

- distracted myself with class work and crochet and got through finals

- KICKED ASS AT FINALS

- HOMIES I MADE THE DEAN'S LIST

- first semester of college was completed with a 3.800 GPA, I have never looked at my GPA before but my mother was losing her shit over it. I think I was in the bottom 50% of my class for high school and considering how much I was enjoying college I felt really accomplished :)

- new batch of classes fall into my lap during January

- went to go see Machine Girl

- had another breakdown due to issues with my friend group, I pretty much went multiple months without having a stable emotional support system that existed outside of myself. I learned that I don't really get lonely as long as I have two or three people that I legitimately connect with and can confide in, like if I have that I'm good forever. Since then my friend group has mostly come back together minus one person and every one is seeming to heal.

- I drop stats because of complications with the professor as well as the program that they were having us use instead of actually teaching

- rest of my classes go extremely well

- I have a great relationship with my english prof, she gives legit critiques, and doesn't explicitly hate on my work for my writing style

- I enter a lifetime and development psych class and the professor is WONDERFUL. I LOVE HER SO MUCH. This is going to be the first time in a very long time that I will actually miss a teacher. I will mourn not being in her class I stg.

- went to my first Ghost B.C. ritual and had a fucking blast, I LOVED seeing Twin Temple they were amazing. There is no greater catharsis for a jaded Texan than shouting "Hail Satan" at the top of your lungs with a group of likeminded people lol

- Now I mentioned earlier in this blog that I was in community college and was planning to do that for two years before transferring to a university. I've been at home with no license taking mostly asynchronous classes. And as much as a loathe to admit it, I have been so fucking envious of my friends who are at universities. I want to be away from home. I want to make new friends and to be somewhere where people have no predisposed idea of who I am.

This is where shit might get a little interesting. So like I said, I wanted to be at a university. I spent an unholy amount of time fantasizing about what my daily life would be like if I wasn't at home, better yet if I wasn't in Texas. I felt pretty confident that once I got there I would feel great and that I would acclimate nicely. I could socialize more fluidly and could tap into some wanderlust around campus. There is a pretty nice university nearby that I had my eye on as my transfer place and I even have some trusted friends there who have been trying to convince me to go sooner.

I'm cooking dinner one night and my mother is sitting on the couch and I hear her mumble the name of a scholarship that I have been somewhat avoiding due to anxiety. This scholarship applies to me BIG TIME and covers the costs for everything aside from housing (which includes a mandatory meal plan) and books. Which is fucking sweet. I would like to emphasize, that I am terrified of going to the dorms. But I want to go to the dorms, very badly. So my mom kind of tries to carefully ask how I would feel about transferring a year early, and I"m like LETS FUCKING DO THIS.

I have never felt this motivated to try and get somewhere as far as colleges are considered. I actually want to do this. Due to my grades I apply for multiple organizations that provide scholarships and things that look good on applications and yadda yadda so. I'm really fucking excited. If all goes well- aand I hope it goes well. By time September rolls around I'm going to be here a LOT more. I want to try and do a nightly mental health check in and to include cool photos that I got around campus. Naturally this will include me actually telling you what university I'm attending so that will eventually be a thing.

And my grandfather recently got a surgery that has removed just about all of his cancer :)

things will always get better at some point

#update #college #university #psych student #mental health #life update #I turned 19 btw #jolyne years old #netflix needs to release the next batch of episodes already #on the other hand one of my friends whos been trying to get me to transfer is SUPER into jjba so maybe he and I can #watch the rest of part 6 together :)

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