4ajbukoshka

+++TW: waste of time+++TW: tried to put the mood of this one into a story+++TW: You won’t find what you’re looking for+++
- What if I didn’t want you to be involved in that?
There came no answer as a familiar looking dark eyed child just picked up the bag of raspberry soda.
"Look at diis, it tickles n foams!"
Its curls bounced as it looked up in awe only to be pushed to the side and ignored.
- Don’t you think of me strong enough to survive? I've made it this far. And nobody expected.
“U pwawmissed us!“
Again, they were pushing it to the side, out of sight.
‘I do, I really do believe in you. But consider the costs. They want you broken. Run as fast as you can, that would be my advice. They never cared about destroying you as you could always be replaced. Come with me or run. Please.’
„Can I caaam wit yu? Pweease?”
It came softer this time without it being less pleading.
- But… What if they do care after all?
The response came without even a flinch.
‘I should be pitying anyone they care for. Never came good from evil. Those monsters would be the most terrible thing to encounter indeed.’
…
- I’m sorry that I let you down.
It’s not as if no one warned that poor thing.
‘I couldn’t tell you why I watched it make the same mistakes. Again. And nobody cared.’
“I aawayz do!”
…
Don‘t fit in? This is for you. Noone might see the struggle, the way you’re wrapped in pain and grief.
“But me I do!”
Let me be the first one to hug you this year. No one loves you.
“Why no one love me? Whut I did? Can I be better? I pwaamiss, I can!”
I make you feel as if you‘d drown but at once make sure it won‘t be in sorrow this time. I am every single part you hate about yourself.
“Why shoot we hait awself? What did we do?”
I am your flaws, your insecurities, everything you’d change though you shouldn’t even consider. Let me change the color of your aura. I’m not the darkness, I’m light.
Remember that happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to light the candles. Let me light those candles for you. Sit down, have some tea.
“It whorm an nice. I laaw tea!”
It will help against your stomach pain, too.
“Can I haff sum candy pwease?”
Take a candy. Close your eyes. Everything’s going to be alright and if you ask me to, rather than consider buying you a mockingbird I would gift you the world.
…
I might never have been close to any of their kind, but every person who understands my language feels like home.
’So what if I told you that home was no house - with keys to lock it and ban you to sleeping in a cardboard box. What if I told you there won’t be anyone stabbing your back with a fork anymore. What if I told you that you could just love yourself the way you are. Don’t ever let no one tell you you ain’t beautiful. Be proud of who you are. That’s what a wise man once told me. It is about time you discover it yourself.’
- Want some honey in your tea?
“Faiive spoooms pleath!”
And there went the honey. Only this time no one shouted, no one threatened, no one cried. How easy it could be to not pass toxic behaviors and healing oneself.
- I love you.
“Laaw you too!”
What a tangled mess of curls they made being wrapped up in a hug that could have last a lifetime.
What time was it? Lost track of it.
“It’s time for biskitts!”
‘It always is. Let’s go find all sweets and candies around this place. Might not be here tomorrow anyway.’
“But me I want to stay.”
- Please stay with me. I want you to never leave my side.
“Am I don’t wont to leaf.”
What a re-leaf. Sorry little one. Couldn’t keep it to myself.
“I laik whem you laugh!”
Us too, little one, us too.
———————————
1st note: Sorrynotsorry.
2nd note: You might have guessed two wise men inspired me some way while writing this.
3rd note: If not, it were Dumbledore and Eminem. So if you ever considered my texts subliminal, keep in mind who I got it from and be glad it didn’t turn out worse :’).
4th note: Might be a little bit sorry anyway.

One day, in order to prevent Lord Voldemort from becoming immortal, Albus Dumbledore and his honorable friend, non other than alchemist Nicholas Flamel, decided to destroy the Philosopher's Stone once and for all.
Hah! That’s what YOU thought.
We all know that Albus Dumbledore never fully told anyone about his plans. Albus Dumbledore with an ace up his sleeve, one who doesn’t care whether one’s dead or alive. Still, he wants to tell us he wants nothing more than a pair of knitted socks while he keeps dirty secrets (which aren’t socks by the way).
This is one of them.
The Philosopher's Stone, which confers immortality, was disguised by Albus Dumbledore. Disguised so that Voldemort would never find it.
Disguised as a green malachite, so that after a week I can smell this scent on my scarf. I wore this scarf every day - on trips that went much farther than nearby Hogsmeade - and gave it a single spray of this green stone, right now admittedly to the chagrin of my nose.
Where’s the problem in that: I don't wear the stone every day, and have now been walking around the world with two different scents on me for a few days.
Wingardium Leviosa didn’t work, the scent wouldn’t go away.
I wonder if I should go to Professor Flitwick and ask him for an effective spell. Or could herbalism help? Madame Sprout doesn't like me too much, and the feeling is mutual. The pungent smell of flowers is just not my favorite one.
But this stone...
This stone is light and dark at the same time, mysterious yet seductive.
I’m standing in front of the cauldron... and I throw a lot of lily into it. Lily like Lily Potter.
A flash of inspiration! Maybe Dumbledore developed this stone to hypnotize Snape, or to make him compliant if he needs to be. This could work. Before the mixture of lilies becomes a stone, add a pinch of other green stuff and some orange for color. Fizzles out into vapor.
What remains is... with a hint of vanilla dancing in the background…
The green stone.
The stone of infinity.
Bliiiiin*, I would not have expected that and haven't found an antidote yet.
Perhaps I'll visit the Thinkarium again soon and see if Dumbledore has provided me with an antidote thiiiis way.

The scent is supposed to be a tribute to Russia. Well... my experience is: Russia doesn’t smell like that. It didn’t smell like that all the times I was there - although there’s still hope that one day… people will wave with flowers instead of… you know.
Russian women would or will love this fragrance for sure. Opulent, floral, elegant and of an INFINITE, ever lasting charisma.
I'm not really a floral type who loves to smell like soup made of 1000 or a million flowers. But this one got me enchanted.
Longevity: 13 out of 9 3/4 - at least on clothes.
Sillage: 11,11 out of 10
Flacon //okay, I don't like the top, but I love angularity and simplicity//: 9 3/4 out of 10.

Enemies of the heir, beware!
If you don't like flowers, a radius of =< two meters from this stone is your personal chamber of secrets. No escape.
Is it Amortentia's work or am I still in control of myself? I don't like to judge it. So: keep your noses open, this one will not pass you by without a trace.
------------------

*Note: Blin - Russian for "pancake", can also be used as a swear word and is then a friendlier version of "damn".

He sauntered. Slowly. Leisurely. Not "through the Omani market" (MCPS), but through a small town, his town. And to the limits of his being. It was just after midnight and from the last shop, the shisha cafe, which had now closed, he had just been kindly escorted out the door. He frowned. People seemed a little afraid of him. Or was it disgust? He wasn't sure as he let his nose wander unobtrusively towards his armpit. Did he stink? The day before yesterday was the last time he'd had a chance to shower. To stink would be hell on earth for him. (He didn't believe in a hell in heaven anyway.) Other than that, he didn't care about almost anything. As he walked on, lost in thought, towards the city forest, looking for a warm place, a familiar face came closer and closer to him. Karl, on his way to his park bench, had apparently stocked up once again. Karl was an alcoholic, but one of the kindest and friendliest people he'd come across at this hour, when he'd better not be seen outside. Who knew where he'd be sent. (He knew, and he was determined not to go there. One day, he was firmly convinced, everything would be better anyway and there was no way he would end up like Karl) He paused for a brief moment, lifted his head and waved at Karl. "Hey little one! I didn't even recognize you, it's so dark out here!" he apologized. (Little one. If he heard that already. Hopefully no one else heard that.) "I brought you something." he pulled a can and a bottle out of his backpack. Karl's eyes twinkled and a third probably couldn't look as fast as he put on and drank the potion. "You don't know what you're missing. Boy boy, it's cold as sh*t out here." He knew that. He was incredibly cold in his jacket, which he didn't take inside with him to anyone's house for fear it would reveal where and with whom he spent his nights. He'd like to be that one guy who didn't freeze in shorts in the winter. But he wasn't. Karl gave him a hint as to where he should go now. "What about you?" - "I'm not welcome there. But you can say I sent you. They know." Poor Karl. One more time he rubbed his hands together over Karl's little campfire that the had made in a metal public trash can. Then he sauntered on. The snow didn't stay yet. But it was still freezing. The plumes of smoke rising from the chimneys spoke for themselves-and against a mild winter. It would be his last out here. First and last. Arriving at the address Karl had given him, he took his hands out of his pockets for the first time. No frostbite. It wasn't that bad yet. He knocked the appointed beat and an older gentleman opened the door suspiciously. "What are you doing here? Looking for someone?" - "Karl sent me. He said I could stay here."
He was eyed up and down.
"Little one, how long have you been out there? And why, anyway?"
He was about to leave again. Who knows if these people could be trusted and he could get a wink of sleep tonight. Better not. Karl had forgotten who he was sending where. He looked around and was surrounded by hulking figures. And he could give them nothing. I wish he hadn't given all the provisions to Karl.
"Now leave the poor child alone. Come on in. Here, we have some soup. Eat, child, eat."
He didn't take two words for that. He was given food and a blanket. A soft blanket. The fact that he was still scared was probably evident on his face. When he was done, heavy hands suddenly rested on his shoulders. Hopefully he wouldn't just fall over. He wasn't going to keel over. He lay down to sleep, using his backpack as a pillow. That way no one could take anything from him. He thought. The next morning he woke up. His head hurt a little, his back as well, and he was suddenly far too warm in his jacket. One of the gentlemen was sitting by the fireplace, grinning at him as he carried the contents of his backpack into the fire.
"I don't know what you're dragging these things here for, but without the plastic covers, the booklets make good firewood." How could anyone have pulled his backpack out from under him during the night? "Those are my school books! Give them back to me please, I have to go now."
He grabbed his belongings before the older man could even say "School? How old are you anyway?!" could cross his lips.
He was seventeen. It was the 23rd of December. Christmas was just around the corner. It was winter. Perhaps the most humble winter of his life. He set off, heading for the school where the janitor had washed his clothes together with the rags the day before yesterday. They should be dry by now. Then he would change and no one would think of noticing where he was coming from.
Arriving at the school as arranged, the janitor opened the door to the large auditorium for him. He still had pastry pieces left over from yesterday. "Don't you want to know what it is first?" laughed Sir Hausi, a little embarrassed.
No, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Tomorrow was Christmas and the school would be closed. There had to be a solution.
Because real life was not a fairy tale. In his case, it told the story of a young person who was a little too old for his age.
And yet he continued to believe that everything would be all right.
One day

"I have a package here for W. Puch! Can you please accept it?"
- "Winfried Jedediah Puch. That's me. Thank you very much!" opened the other side of the intercom in a deep, bass-bottomed, grumpy voice.
"I wonder how long this will take? I still have sooo many packages to deliver! It's not my fault, is it?" mused the delivery boy. He rang the doorbell again, just as the door opened and an imposing figure appeared.
"Oh, hey man, sorry. Here's the package. A signature please!"
- "Nuuun, I just had to take 64 steps upstairs, please forgive the wait."
"Alright, guy. You still have the pesto on your face. I know you just ate. And what's that smell all over the hallway? Any herbs for bolognese?" He didn't speak it. He had been admonished to be polite with the clientele.
With emphatically casual paw, Winfried Jedediah Puch took a small bill from the shiny leather wallet in his jacket, then stroked his mustache with the same and adjusted his monocle.
"Hey, thanks a lot! You didn't have to do that! But...man, I know you from somewhere. Aren't you..."
- "Winfried Jedediah Puch, young man. You're doing a fantastic job!"
Was there any honey on the banknote? Something was sticking here. But what did it matter, money doesn't stink.
"Oh, sorry! You just remind me so much of someone, someone from my childhood. And of honey, funnily enough."
- "Haha, yes. That is indeed funny!" A paw, there was no other way to call his oversized, hairy hands, landed in his mouth and he licked his lips almost unnoticed afterwards. Almost, anyway. Kind of a strange guy. But what the heck, at least he wasn't as 'friendly' as the other 573 customers I had to deliver to today. How old is he, anyway? 50? 16? Something was not right with the.
"I have to go then, have a nice day, dude!"
- "Young man! That's no way to talk!" but that he was visibly flattered, even a blind man with a cane could see, "thank you very much, I also wish you a honeyed, um, wonderful day! Because today is my favorite day!"
"Oh yeah, what day is it?"
- "It's today! My favorite day."
Frowning, he hurried back to his van. What the heck, off to work. There was to be no dawdling for the rest of the day. But he was still relatively new at his job, so he hoped his boss would forgive him.

In the meantime, Winfried Jedediah Puch was back in his apartment and joyfully opened the package.
He laughed to himself, because to outsmart this young man had been easier than to open a honey pot. "Mhhmmmm, Hoooonig!" He lit his second cigar with relish.
That should ensure that his voice would deepen by at least a seventh in no time, at least that's how Chris had warned him about smoking. "Good old Christopher! I'm sure he'll be delighted with this delivery!"
Winfried Jedediah took in the contents of the package weighing about half his body weight. "Hach, what a noble drop!" He adjusted his monocle and made some notes in the table on the rum and bourbons he was still recommended to test. He had marked all those containing honey with hearts in pencil, but then - he was, after all, already 16 years old - erased them again.
He wanted to finally get rid of his honey-sweet image and make a name for himself as an adult, even if he secretly had no idea whether he had just ordered bourbon or whiskey or rum.
It was just part of being an adult.
He toasted his reflection in the mirror above the hallway.
"Here's to you, Winfried Jedediah Puch. Here's to people welcoming you into their world as warmly as your alter ego Winnie Puch!"

They would. Even still in the FSK16 version of a Winnie Puch or Pooh, he was an affable, warm guy.
Or a young woman who likes to wear men's perfumes, hihi. If she could generate one of the images you get when you type "Winnie Pooh Gentleman Sticker" in the image search of your search engine, she didn't do so much wrong today.

Alice: Hey, thank you, dear, for stopping by! I don't even know where my head is.
Tshajbukoshka: Kaaaiin problem. (warbling, slightly smug in the face of huge mountains of laundry and clutter piled up in front of her) Wooozu are friends for, after all?
Narrator: And so they stand there, picking up one thing after another, putting it on, putting it away, packing it, putting it on, and this goes well for quite a while. A couple of glasses of wine do the rest.
T: Ohaaaaaa. How cool is that? A mini vase made out of vulvas? Is that one of your art projects?
A, irritated: I'm sorry, what?
E: Tshajbukoshka points to a small vial with her index finger splayed away from the wine glass. At this point, you realize that she doesn't have stereoscopic vision. Or does she really think there are such small vases?
A (is she embarrassed? outraged?): That's perfume. That YOU don't know that?
T: No, why? Doesn't look like it's from Guerlain (hurries over a pile of clothes, wine glass in hand, almost reaching her stately height of nearly one meter seventy).
E: What comes now, at least one of the two present did not expect.
T: Urghs! Pfläh. Is the still guuuut? (coughs up briefly)
A: Let me. (Fanning the air dramatically, her performance is almost Tshajbukoshka-worthy) Can't you smell that delicious compote and pear hovering over everything?
T: I guess I should have asked differently. Has this EVER been good? Let's air it out. Otherwise, everything we wrap up will smell like this later.
A: ...
E: You do not ventilate. After a few minutes, Tshajbukoshka's din subsides. In the meantime, her friend Alice has poured her some wine, the ladies' subtle way of saying "oh, shut up".
A: Smell again. Floral gentle. Like this, when I'm meeting up with friends? For college? I don't want to use that one for dating.
T: If you love your friends, you continue to keep your distance from them with this stuff, me included. Your little flowers are just as real as the bouquet of Lego technology - just unfortunately not beautiful. Why don't you make it into a vase for daisies or an art project.
A: No. Not from my Biebs. This is THE perfume of my youth!
T: Joaaaaah, then leave it there, in your youth. Why am I here again? MUCK OUT, Signorina, we wanted to clean out. Off with it to the "to give away" box. (Shaking her head, quietly, more to herself) Biebs. Ohjemine, where did I end up here?
E: In an entertaining synthesizer performance of pop music.