Let Me Know If You Want Me To Change Anything - Blog Posts

Winter rolled her eyes. "Does this mean you're kicking me out?" She asked, raising a brow not even bothering to explain herself.

"You realize that this is considered breaking and entering right? Just because you're my friend doesn't mean you can steal room cards and help yourself to a room for the night."

Zach barely spares her a glance, leaning back with his arms crossed. "Dunno, just figured I'd give you a chance to complain since you seem to love doing that," he says dryly. His tone isn't exactly cruel, but it's definitely not warm, either. He shrugs, eyes flicking away like he’s already lost interest. "But hey, if you don’t wanna talk, that works for me."

cassidy couldn't help the irritation on her face when the other was asking her what was wrong. the two hadn't gotten along and yet here they were seeming to fake sympathy for her. a brow raised as she tries to pull herself together in this moment. "why are you even asking me?" she says her voice not quite laced with venom this time - more like confusion then anything. // @littledaydreamers

WHO: @parkskylar WHERE: bun intended

The air still smelled like lavender and old spellbooks—clinging to Irene like second skin even after she’d stripped off her apron and locked the shop behind her. Most nights, she’d go straight home. Avoid people. Avoid…everything. But tonight, the sharp edge in her chest wouldn’t settle, and the idea of silence felt louder than usual.

So she walked. Not far. Just enough to find herself in front of Bun Intended, its neon sign buzzing faintly above the patio lights. The smell of grilled onions and toasted buns curled around her like a hook.

She didn’t even like burgers that much.

Still, a milkshake and fries sounded like something that wouldn’t ask anything of her, so she ordered both, tucked herself into the far end of one of the outdoor benches, and tried to lose herself in the happy chaos of dogs chasing each other through the patio. It helped. A little.

She was halfway through her fries —shoes kicked off, milkshake balanced dangerously on the edge of the table—when she noticed the figure hovering nearby. Looking for a place to sit, scanning the filled tables. Irene didn’t recognize her at first. Just saw someone standing alone, holding a tray like she didn’t know what to do with it.

Irene’s voice came before she could stop it.

“Seat’s open.”

She nodded to the spot across from her, then adjusted her legs to make space, even if she didn’t quite smile.

WHO: @miyazakit WHERE: Goju Dojo

The dojo was quieter than she expected. Not silent, exactly—there was a hum to it, like a held breath or something waiting to begin, but quiet in that grounded way that pressed against her ribs and forced her to slow down. Think. Breathe.

Irene didn’t usually come to places like this. Places where people had rules and forms and discipline built into their bones. But she needed something, and she’d heard just enough about Tetsuya Goju to know he didn’t waste time asking questions.

The soles of her boots didn’t quite belong against the polished floors. She stood near the entrance for a beat too long, coat folded over one arm, eyes scanning the empty mats. Nothing sacred in these walls, she’d been told. Still—it felt cleaner than most places in the city. Like someone had fought for the quiet here.

She'd booked the session under a fake name. Just in case. People remembered Irene too easily.

When he stepped into view, she straightened. Didn’t smile. Just nodded, curt.

“I’m not here for enlightenment,” she said, tone flat but not unkind. “I just need to hit something.”

A pause.

“A few times.”