I’m in Japan. I’ve traveled halfway around the world to be here and I’m standing in the corner of a dark, dingy factory watching hot carbon steel cool on a bed of bricks. Just minutes ago those were cold, characterless pieces of steel, and now they are knives. In the course of the coming weeks those knives will be touched by many skilled hands in this small factory. The knives will be tempered, sharpened, polished, and sharpened some more. A wood handle will be attached to those knives, they’ll be boxed up, and shipped out. People will pay handsomely for these knives (they are some of Japan’s finest), and with any luck they will continue to make the knives better. Through years of use, and care, what was once faceless and impersonal will have soul.
Stay tuned for tomorrow as I learn to forge my first nail…
BOOKS MEME | (5/9) nine otps. → Feyre Archeron and Rhysand from A court of thorns and roses by Sarah J. Maas.
My heart stumbled a beat. I didn’t know what to do with my arms, my legs, my face. I gulped down the rest of my wine and discarded the glass beside the bed, steeling my spine as I said, “I’m thinking that I can’t stop thinking about you. And that it’s been that way for a long while. Even before I left the Spring Court. And maybe that makes me a traitorous, lying piece of trash, but—”
“It doesn’t,” he said, his face solemn.
“SHH! Be quiet, they’re attracted to bullshit.” “The true monster is within us all.” “What do I do with this?” “Do I shove it up my butt?” “I’ll throw a rock in your goddamn face, don’t even test me.” “This monster isn’t scary, it doesn’t even have a lower jaw.” “Look into my cold, dead eyes and tell me I’m not serious.” “*pterodactyl screech*” “I’m just going to stay here in the closet forever.” “I can totally fit through there if I lather myself in oil.” “I’m not your daddy!” “I’m not your weird uncle!” “Eww, humans.” “What am I looking at right now?” “WwwoooOOOOoooOOOOooo spooky.” “I’ve walked so far, I must have calves of steel.” “Nice bed head, dork.” “Shhh shhh, go to sleep.” “I’m a redhead, of course I’m sexy.” “I’m a ladder champion. I see a ladder and I conquer it.” “YOU’VE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME.” “What’s up dead people?” “My mom believes in me.” “I will fuck this tree.” “Your butt looks magnificent today, just sayin’.” “Can you stop with the grossness? ‘K, thanks.” “Am I good or am I good?” “I’m the worst.” “Look at me, I’m fucking adorable.” “I want [character’s name] to read a phonebook to me.”
INFJ: I’m thinking about life after college…do you have a plan?
INFJ: So no?
ENFP: Kinda…not really a plan but a lot of random ideas and feelings…
INFJ: I’m just trying to figure out what to do. I think I want to get an apartment.
ENFP: ME TOO. There’s this stainless steel bowl I want to get from Bed Bath and Beyond and eat popcorn out of with my mom when she visits my apartment OMG MY BED BATH AND BEYOND COUPON EXPIRES IN FOUR DAYS THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME
INFJ: I want to buy a bunch of neat stuff for it but I also want a roommate person and I’m worried like what if we don’t have the same taste! I just don’t want to live by myself…are you gonna live alone?
ENFP: Who knows? No one does, I’ll find out when it happens.
INFJ: Now I really want an apartment oooh I want one on the fifth floor.
ENFP: I’M LIVING ON THE FIFTH FLOOR OF MY DORM NEXT YEAR I’M SO EXCITED
The night after they sleep together for the first time, John wakes up in Sherlock’s bed, to the scent of butter frying. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, works out the kinks in his body, catalogs all of the areas that are sore after a night of patient, intense shagging and levers himself up to sitting.
Confused and nervous-both at the delightful scent and at the prospect of having to talk about the happenings of the night previous-he tosses his legs over the side of the bed, steels himself and pads into the kitchen.
Sherlock stands at the stove, shimmying this way and that, to a tune only he can hear, cooking something that John can’t quite see.
John takes a step forward, the movement causing the boards beneath his feet to shift and whine.
Sherlock spins, a rare moment of being caught off guard, holds the spatula up at his side like a lance. “Oh. John,” his cheeks color a rosy pink, and an embarrassed little half smile tips the side of his mouth. “Good morning.”
John smiles, nerves leaving him in a sudden shiver. John is delighted to see Sherlock, delighted that Sherlock appears to be delighted. Morning. What are you-“
"Pancakes!” Sherlock says, closing his eyes at the loud proclamation, his cheeks coloring further. “Chocolate chip. After… well, last evening I though it might be best if… that is, I thought you might be hungry.”
John doesn’t know what to say. A million things flit through his mind, admissions he wants to make, sentiment he wants to put name to. But he does nothing but step forward and press a light kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. “I am hungry, yeah.”
Sherlock’s face morphs into giddy happiness. “Good. Sit. I’ve just put the kettle on.”
Modern AU Hange is definitely the sort to own a cat for the sole purpose of calling it Schrödinger. She’s made his bed out of a steel box. He isn’t overly fond of her. Strangely, Schrödinger the cat has chosen Levi, his owner’s roommate, as his favorite human. He’s one of the rare cats that love being groomed by people, and Levi’s cleaning habits keep him cleaner than ever. Less time for Schrödinger to groom himself means more time to spend sleeping. Schrödinger the cat is a rather lazy cat. And that steel-bottomed bed is surprisingly comfortable.