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ashestoashesjc · 5 years

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Bad Witches (0.3)

Some towns sleep more than they’d care to admit. They claim to be the town that never does, but they sleep. They bustle until the wee hours when even the traffic lights must catch shut eye. (This is the leading cause of late night car accidents, in fact). But not in Riverwake. No matter the hour, Riverwake is alive and in motion. At the peak of dawn, the rumble of mechanized street cleaners is something of an alarm: A new day is here. The only challenge is survival. The road is now adequately shiny.

On a day this beautiful, a person would be mad to waste even a second of it inside. This is why when the coven meets at their favorite restaurant, Giorgio's, for cocktails and gossip, they ask for outdoor seating, beneath a veil of dark gray umbrellas.

After the waiter brings around the first tray of flutes, Bev flags him down and whispers in his ear. When he returns, he has a pitcher filled to the brim with a hazy, dim yellow. He places it at the center of the table and walks off to attend to other diners.

Shrugging, Bev says, "Save him some trips."

During a third round of mimosas, Kate off-handedly mentions her father-in-law and his rocky relationship with his son, but that he thinks gifting Dan membership to their familial country club is effective enough as tension relief. Dan's typically too busy to take advantage of it, she says.

"But you still want to," says Bev, drinking from her orange-tinted glass.

"I didn't say that," says Kate.

"You didn't have to," Bev says, swatting at the air, "Does anyone else hear that buzzing? What is that? Do you think a WASP snuck in?" The other witches attempt to stifle their giggles.

Turning bright red, Kate leans back into her seat, clutching at her glass and bringing it closer to her face so as to slightly cloud the next words she mutters, "I can invite guests, by the by."

The witches' ears perk up.

"You know, I don't think I've ever been to a country club," Matt says, "The wealthy have historically neglected basic hand-washing techniques. Seems like a petri dish, but in a higher tax bracket.”

"I'm from the country. And I've been to a club. Does that count?" Haley asks, still nursing her first mimosa.

"What should we wear?" Bev asks.

Kate sets her glass down to refill it from the orange pitcher, "Dress for spring."

So, they do. The next morning, they are all casual shorts and solid-colored polos and white visors. Only, it's a month away from the dead of winter and it's the middle of Massachusetts. Bev, Matt, and Haley stand outside of the given address and, with their miserable shaking, resemble a group of very posh street urchins.

Kate arrives in a cozy-looking fur-lined parka and upon seeing the other witches' bewildered expressions, snuggles affectionately into the mink hood, "Teach you to mock me."

The other witches follow Kate into the almost intimidatingly large, red-bricked building. What are presumably wings stretch nearly a kilometer in each direction.

"One of you couldn't have ch-checked the weather before leaving the house?" Bev admonishes, one shiver away from legally qualifying as an icicle.

"T-throwing a lot of stones in that g-glass igloo, aren't you?" Haley asks.

The combination of central circulated heating and at least two fireplaces (one in the den closest to the club's entrance; one in the more formal of the two dining areas) nearly melts the witches as they linger with Kate at the front desk.

"Okay, we're approved," Kate says, shaking hands with the attendant behind the desk, "Just don't touch anything."

"Damn. There goes my Grand Theft Itinerary," says Bev.

Looking at her sternly, Kate says, "Don't even joke about that. They will absolutely kick us out."

The witches huddle at the end of the entrance hall, dissecting the list of offered activities. Bev is interested in exactly none of them, but does wish to examine their stock of spirits. Matt begins spraying himself with hand sanitizer the moment he notices how many of the items have a "Group Activity" label.

A woman in a calf-length Houndstooth coat walks past the group but stops to gaze at Kate's jacket, fawning over its charm and subtle glamour. She asks if Kate also bought her coat from Nordstrom. She then asks if Kate plans to play in a tennis match later.

Kate happily confirms that, yes, she will be playing. They chat for a little longer and Kate is still smiling when the woman bids her farewell and walks further into the club's interior.

"How are you going to play?" Matt asks, pointing to the tennis poster pinned to the cork bulletin board at the lobby entrance, "It's Doubles and three of us will likely solidify if we venture outside."

"Oh, we're still playing tennis. Do you know how much I had to bribe the babysitter to come on such short notice?" asks Kate, "They have a heated indoor court," she says, taking off her coat to reveal a sensible, pale beige skirt and thin, rust red pullover.

"Oh, they're fancy fancy," says Haley.

Kate finds the sports center in the left wing, guided by the rambunctious sound of middle aged aerobics. It is a vast gymnasium filled with varied exercise equipment and a bounty of helpful regimens: elliptical trainers, stair masters, Homeless Person Avoidance Training, medicine balls, etc. There's even a rock climbing wall mounted in the back. There are no cables attached to it for fear that people may actually wish to use it, but it has its scenic benefits. She then sees the tennis court, a green square girded with a chain link fence. She spies the sign-up sheet on a plastic folding table at the entrance and begins scrawling her name.

As she flourishes the Barston-ending 'n' and admires her penmanship, an unexpected voice takes her by surprise.

"You're in the way," says the voice and Kate notices that it belongs to the robust, older gentleman looming behind her. He is accompanied by a smaller, leaner fellow and together they look like a before and after advert for malnutrition.

Kate nearly leaps out of the man's direction when she notices her folly. "Sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Never seen you here before," says the shorter, wheat blond man.

"Yes, I'm a new--" begins Kate, holding out her hand in anticipation of a handshake.

"Who's your husband?" interrupts the other man, a gray halo of hair situated on the perimeter of his scalp.

"I'm not sure how--" starts Kate, slowly lowering her hand.

"That's how you got in, right?" he asks as he bends down to add his own name to the roster, "Bring the 'Girls' for a 'Fun Weekend' at the country club and then fuck off to whichever Wellness Spa you crawled out of?"

"That's--" Kate tries to interject.

"We promise not to beat you too badly later, okay?" the blond interrupts as he saunters off, followed shortly by his friend.

She is left standing alone at the front of the sports center, not entirely sure she has correctly interpreted the preceding events. In her mind, she loops through their meeting again and again, wondering what she did wrong. When she does realize that she, in fact, ‘Just Got Dunked On’, grim is not the right word to describe the aura she emanates. It's pretty close, though.

Kate staggers into the common area and, seeing the rest of her coven lying haphazardly across an island of recliners, plops into one of the vacant chairs. Her entire demeanor is a haggard sigh.

Trading concerned looks, the witches aren't sure who should handle this. They play "Rock, Paper, Sigils" while Kate slumps further into the padded leather. The agreed upon worst candidate for helping someone through distress is also apparently really bad at games of chance because when she loses, Bev swears under her breath.

Bev very tepidly strokes Kate's back and whispers, "Now, now. Emotions are..." she gulps, "Perfectly normal. I have them all the time." She retches.

Taking Kate's hand, Matt asks, "What happened?"

A full body sigh later and Kate appears to have summoned the drive to retell the tale. By the time she's through, the witches bear the expressions of those personally wronged. How dare anyone make fun of Kate? And not even behind her back like a decent person. WASPS have feelings, too.

"You should've led with that," says Bev, cracking her knuckles, "I'll kill them."

Matt nods, "I don't know about getting someone else's blood on me, but yes, murder seems in order."

Haley can't believe what she just heard. She really can't. She stopped listening halfway through to stare at someone she thought might be her Little League coach. But why would they be here, ten states away in this country club common area? It just doesn't make sen-- Oh, no, that's someone else, nevermind. Oh, god, now everyone's looking at her. Make something up, make something up.

"Like a flock of crows in V-formation," says Haley. Nailed it.

"You guys... you have no idea how much this means to me," says Kate, a welling in her eyes, "I know with you by my side, Bev, we can--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I don't want to play," Bev corrects.

Clearly disappointed, Kate's face sobers a little, but she looks to Matt with hope.

"Sorry, me either. I didn't mean to mislead you," says Matt, sincerely apologetic.

Kate feels as though the dinghy she just acquired footing in has capsized beneath her.

Haley smiles.

Kate looks to her nervously, but the smile only widens. "Have... you ever actually played tennis?" Kate asks.

"Sure, I played a little at home," Haley says. Kate sighs.

"Of course, we had wooden rackets and the strings were made from goat guts, but how different could it be?" Haley asks. Kate sighs again and internally resigns to her fate, but still intends on having a very fun, very non-competitive time.

On the court, shortly before their starting match, Haley tests the weight of the carbon fiber racket. She tosses it from hand to hand and gives a few practice swats. Once, she sends the racket flying, leaving her to run to the middle of the court and retrieve it.

Their first few matches - one with a couple from Denver and the other with the woman they encountered in the lobby and her "chiropractor" who is definitely only half her age because it helps to be young and limber in his profession. Definitely - are nothing to write home about. Haley's home, in particular, is where you should not be writing to. Because they would not be very impressed with her performance. But after getting used to how light this inferior plastic racket is, the aerodynamics of its slender frame, the whistle of its whip through the air, she feels a touch more comfortable.

This comfort is promptly squished like a windshield mosquito when their next opponents enter the fence. Kate's heart falls when she recognizes the sheen of one man's head and the smarm on the other's lips, but her face is unflinching steel.

"Didn't think you'd still be here," the blond says, his eyes a sneer.

The walking comb over assumes his place across the court and, beginning to stretch, says, "They wanted to lose to real men. I don't blame 'em."

Haley exhales. The match begins.

For the first set, the court is a frenzy of movement. Rhythmic thwacking echoes across the gymnasium. The squeaking of sneakers, the breathy grunts upon each impact, the flicked beads of sweat as they dart to strike the racket. All four are giving it their all.

But Kate and Haley are just too accurate. Too fast. Too relentless in their fury.

Nearing the end of their third set, Kate and Haley have dominated the game, easily leading over their opponents' hefty score of one. What was only meant to be a playful diversion sees the girls one favoring play away from taking the whole kit 'n' caboodle. Reigning victorious. But, like, in a fun, non-competitive way.

This is what it all comes down to.

"They would be good at this," huffs the gray-haired man to his partner, "Chicks and tennis." He serves the ball, and Haley, in her distraction, swings and misses. A green blur zips by her head.

The gray-haired man chuckles, "I think that's our point."

"One of them even looks like Serena," his blond partner wheezes hoarsely. They burst into ill-concealed snickers.

"One more round?" Kate asks, bouncing a tennis ball.

"One more round," Haley concurs.

They trade the tennis ball back and forth with their opponents, the net flapping with every pass. For a few tosses, they are very light swings, measured and contained. But in one of her connections with the ball, Kate applies a considerable amount more force to the racket. The tennis ball responds with equal vigor, shooting from her racket's wired face and careening toward the other side of the court.

But it never hits either of the men's rackets. Or makes contact with the ground. It simply floats and whirls at a standstill just past the net.

No one moves a muscle.

The silent stillness of the moment is broken when the blond man appears to muster the confidence to approach the green rotation. He seems to have descended from glaciers with the time it takes him to close the gap. Mere inches away, he stares up at the tennis ball in the exact way that you're not supposed to stare at the sun.

He lifts his hand and reaches slowly upward with an extended finger.

The ball, still in a rapid spin, yet frozen in mid-air, comes undone and pelts the blond directly between the eyes. He goes to the ground and rolls onto his back, his scream slightly muffled by the hands now covering his face.

Exclaiming his name, the gray-haired man runs over to kneel and assist his partner.

Focused on tending to his friend, he is blissfully unaware when, under Haley's intense stare, his shoestrings loosen and then intertwine, lacing together.

"I think that's our point," says Haley.

The man clambers to a stand and starts off toward her with a warning, huffy "Why, you little..." before tripping and spilling to the ground like a freshly slingshotted Goliath.

The blond, a red burn at the center of his face, goes to help him, but his shorts sink quickly to his feet and he falls in a tangle to the green mat.

"That's set," says Kate.

"And match," says Haley.

They grasp hands in a high five and make their way to the fenced door.

As they exit the court, Haley shouts back to the groaning men, "And I would love to look like Serena! She's a goddamn Amazon!" Even after they've exited, Haley can still be heard shouting, "An Amazon!"

They've made it halfway into the main house when they run into Matt just outside of the kitchen, wearing a black apron, stamped with the country club's logo.

"Why are you--?" Haley begins before Matt raises a hand and cuts her off with a sharp breath.

"I went to the restaurant to sample their Chateaubriand," he says, pulling the apron strings over his head, "But someone mistook me for a waiter and one thing led to another, and I report for duty at 9 am."

Slinking down the hall to join them, Bev says, "That's really going to confuse your students."

"Where have you been?" Kate asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about," she says.

Occasionally looking over her shoulder to ensure she's not being followed by any of the club's staff, Bev leads the coven to the rear section of the expansive building. Despite the recently watered ficuses, it doesn't appear as though this area of the club receives much visitation.

Taking another cursory look, Bev waves the witches into a room and closes the door behind her. Once she flicks the light on, an old ballroom comes into focus. The dusty, white grand piano, tucked in the room's corner, has uneven keys. The floor is cedar coated in a thoroughly scuffed varnish.

At the center of the room is a freshly painted and ornamented circle, surrounded in thick, off-white candles.

"You've been busy," Kate says.

"Since we got here, I've sensed a mass of souls, trapped just beneath the floorboards," says Bev.

"I felt it, too," says Matt, "I suspected it was just the unease that comes with being in a country club."

"There's that, too," Bev says.

Bev stomps on the floor and a chorus of weak groans ekes up, "That's at least 30? Maybe 40 unhappy ghosts." She locks eyes with Kate, hesitates for a moment, and says, "We have to do something."

Kate, all out of sighs for the day, brings her hands together and lets them go with a deep breath. "Okay," she says, "What do we do?"

There's no boom box available to blast "Wannabe" while they work, so their preparation lacks a distinct Spice, but they each have their jobs and they each complete them with an expected diminished enthusiasm.

Once Kate's finished lighting the candles, Haley flips the light switch and they take their positions.

Because it was her idea, Bev heads the ritual, and thus initiates the throaty, guttural chanting. As she nears the end, like a musical round, another witch starts from the beginning. And the cycle continues until, thrumming like a locust swarm, the coven is in overlapping cacophony.

As their chanting increases in volume and an impossible wind whips their hair to and fro, the candle flames grow into angry blazes. And in an instant, they extinguish.

And the room goes dark.

Then, suddenly, light returns as a host of faint, blue-white specters encircle the witches. As a few seconds pass and they regain more human forms, a great variety of age among them, the "Leader" of the group, a weathered man in an eagle feather-adorned headdress, nods to the coven. One by one, their forms dissipate. Soon, they've all faded, leaving one little girl, clutching a small toy bunny. She waves at the witches and too disappears.

The candles flicker back to life.

"So good of you to release them," Kate says, laying her hand on Bev's shoulder, "The afterlife will be kind to them."

"Right. Release," Bev says, tapping Kate's hand.

From outside of the ballroom there comes a scream. Looking a smirking Bev in the eyes, Kate pulls her hand away and makes for the door.

The chaos encapsulating the country club can be heard in its full intensity the moment Kate cracks the door open.

It's difficult to decipher exactly what is transpiring: a typhoon of well-clothed, well-fed patrons bounds in every direction. They wail and beg and stumble over each other, flown after by a roaring cavalcade of translucent figures.

The witches watch as the little girl who thanked them earlier flies through the bottom of a couple's table and into their roasted duck, chasing them with scornful, flailing drumettes as they scream for mercy.

Kate's face gets in the way of her palm.

"You know, I saw a hand sanitizer dispenser in the bathroom," says Matt, "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."

#i'm sure i'll catch a bunch of typos and things i want to edit later #but here's snippet 3 #Bad Witches

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doubutsu-no-hayashi · 4 years

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UPDATED list of what I’m selling in my latest storage purge. More things have been added since last time since I found more furniture I don’t need and I added all of the other types of items I’m getting rid of.

Offer whatever bells or NMT you want. It doesn’t have to be a lot. Everything not claimed by this Sunday is getting Nook’d.

Furniture

Air circulator (green)

Analog scale (yellow)

Ant farm

Baby chair (green)

Baby panda

Basic teacher’s desk (standard)

Basketball hoop (green)

Bingo wheel x2

Blue corner

Board game (simple path game)

Brine-shrimp aquarium

Camp stove (green)

Candle (gold)

Cartoonist’s set (pink)

Cassette player (red)

Champion’s pennant (red)

Champion’s pennant (green)

Climbing wall (natural)

Climbing wall (white)

Coffee grinder

Cone (red)

Cone (blue)

Cooler box (yellow)

Cordless phone (white)

Cordless phone (black)

Cordless phone (yellow)

Cute tea table (white)

Digital scale (green)

Den chair (green)

Exercise bike (black)

Exercise bike (white)

Exit sign (left arrow)

Exit sign (arrows both ways)

Floor sign (warning)

Folding chair (white)

Glass holder with candle (green)

Homework set

Imperial bed (red)

Imperial chest (red)

Imperial low table (brown)

Incense burner (sandalwood)

Incense burner (forest)

Lecture-hall bench (light brown)

Lecture-hall desk (light brown)

Marimba

Monstera (brown)

Mrs. Flamingo (natural)

Nail-art set (pink)

Oil lamp x2

Pants press (brown)

Pants press (black)

Paper tiger

Plasma ball

Plastic canister (red)

Plastic canister (gray)

Protein shaker bottle (plain)

Pull-up bar stand (black)

Punching bag (red)

Rattan bed (brown)

Rattan bed (white)

Rattan table lamp (reddish brown)

Rattan table lamp (white)

Rattan table lamp (black)

Rattan wardrobe (brown) x2

Rattan wardrobe (white)

Red corner

Revolving spice rack (brown)

Rice cooker (white)

Rotary phone (yellow)

Safe (gold)

School chair (beige and green)

School desk (natural and silver) x2

Serving cart (natural)

Shaded floor lamp (yellow)

Simple panel (light gray)

Sleeping bag (green)

Sleeping bag (yellow)

Smoker (black)

Smoker (green)

Soup kettle (corn soup)

Soup kettle (minestrone)

Speed bag (red)

Spinning wheel

Telescope

Throwback hat table (red)

Treadmill (blue)

Upright locker (black)

Vacuum cleaner (red)

Wasp-head model

Weight bench

Whiteboard (sales meeting)

Wallpapers

Beaded-curtain wall

Beige art-deco wall

Black perforated-board wall

Blue shanty wall

Brown-crown wall

Construction-site wall

Dig-site wall

Groovy wall

Imperial wall

Mossy-garden wall

Orange-paint wall

Pink blossoming wall

Flooring

Aqua tile flooring

Arabesque flooring

Beige desert-tile floor

Birch flooring

Brown iron-parquet flooring

Construction-site flooring

Crosswalk flooring

Kitschy tile

Scramble sidewalk

Ship deck

Sidewalk flooring

Zebra-print flooring

Rugs

Aluminum rug

Black-design kitchen mat

Blue argyle rug

Blue-design kitchen mat

Modern wavy rug

Red blocks rug

Red-design kitchen mat

Red message mat

Rubber mud mat

Simple small avocado mat

Simple small brown mat

Yellow argyle rug

Yellow-design kitchen mat

Clothing

Academy uniform (gray)

Animal-stripes tee (tiger)

Antique boots (black)

Argyle sweater (white)

Athletic jacket (green)

Athletic jacket (blue)

Baby romper (baby orange

Baby romper (baby yellow)

Baggy shirt (gray)

Baseball cap (navy blue)

Baseball uniform (orange)

Baseball uniform (navy blue)

Basketball tank (purple)

Bell-bottoms (green)

Cargo shorts (camel)

College cardigan (orange)

Comedian’s outfit (purple)

Comedian’s pants (red)

Comedian’s pants (blue)

Concierge uniform (white)

Coveralls with arm covers (green)

Cycling cap (red & green)

Cycling shirt (red & green)

Cycling shorts (green & purple)

Firefighter uniform (brown)

Flower-print dress (pink)

Groovy shirt (green)

Hand-knit tank (orange)

Humble sweater (green)

Jester’s shoes (black)

Jockey’s helmet (white)

Kilt (green)

Ladder shades (green)

Layered socks (red)

Mesh cap (orange)

Mesh cap (purple)

Mod parka (green)

Mountain parka (red)

Muscle tank (purple)

Paisley bandanna (green)

Pajama dress (brown)

Patchwork tulip hat (pink)

Poncho-style sweater (orange)

Printed fleece sweater (purple)

Printed layered shirt (white)

Pullover jacket (nave blue)

Relay tank (black)

Relay tank (purple)

Ribbon sandals (yellow)

Soft-serve hat (gold leaf)

Spangle shorts (pink)

Spangle shorts (navy blue)

Sprite costume (pink)

Sprite costume (green)

Sweater-vest (beige)

Three-quarter sweatpants (yellow)

Torn pants (black)

Torn pants (brown) x2

Visual-punk wig

Wrestling singlet (red)

#Animal Crossing #Animal Crossing New Horizons #ACNH #ACNH trade #ACNH community

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grbeatrice · 4 years

Photo

Here's a wasp that I'm too lazy to identify... . . . #naturephotos #nature #nature_captures #naturephotography #lithuania #lithuania🇱🇹 #lithuanianature #close_up #flowers #flower #wasp #insects #insectsofinstagram #insectphotography #hymenoptera #nikon #d3400 #nikond3400 #nikonphotography #70_300mm (at Žagarės regioninis parkas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBUv9a4Jn0R/?igshid=1pxpu1vd6m6kh

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mercutioswriting · 6 years

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WIP1; Pt. 5

“When? Where? Why?” Bee demanded, louder than he’d meant to. His hands hit the granite counter and everyone flinched.

“Did he…” Peyton spoke gently, worry creasing her forehead, but Jazz quickly shook their head.

“No, I--” They reached out and took her hand, and whispered, “It wasn’t like that.” Peyton let out a long breath.

“Jay, what the fuck,” Bee said, still too loud. He waved his hands around in frustration, ignoring how they stung from slamming onto the hard surface. “He-- You-- Why?”

Andy’s mouth was dry, but Bee’s incoherent speech got his thoughts across pretty well. He didn’t know the right name for his feelings. Angry? No. Upset? Not exactly. Confused? Very. Jazz covered their face again, but they weren’t crying.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” they said. “Goddamnit, Bee, leave me alone.”

Bee looked at Andy, who placed a hand on his arm. His words weren’t going to come out right, Andy knew, so he tried to communicate through his expression. Let it go, man. Too much right now. To his relief, Bee understood, and simply picked up his mug and took a drink.

“I--” Peyton began hotly, but Andy reached out to her as well. He was good at nonverbal communication, but Bee was sometimes left wondering if it was Andy’s politeness or his looks that helped him get what he wanted. An inch of charm could bring him a mile, and Andy coasted. Peyton couldn’t resist anyone’s puppy-dog eyes, but Bee never gave in to them. Except for Andy. Had he ever tried it on Jazz? No, Andy never asked anything from them. At least, not that Bee knew of.

“Let’s go see a movie,” Andy said, gathering the now-empty mugs.

“We just got here,” Peyton said.

“You’re pouting,” Bee said to her coolly.

“I am not—”

“Go to your girlfriend and make up with her,” said Jazz, waving her away in a move reminiscent of Bee. “Don’t take it out on us.”

Peyton’s fair skin was rosy from the cold outside, but she flushed a deep pink at this. They were right. But she wouldn’t admit it. “Fine. See you later.” As she opened the door, she turned back to Andy. Her voice was quiet when she said, “Don’t let— Don’t let Jazz do anything stupid, Andy.”

“I don’t control them,” he said. But she was already gone.

They had spoken quietly, but Jazz and Bee could hear that Peyton had said something, and it wasn’t difficult to guess what. The music upstairs started back up. A girl— around thirteen, skinny, with straightened auburn hair— ran into the kitchen. Annie, Andy’s sister. She smiled at the two people she found in her kitchen as she gathered food for her friends upstairs, then awkwardly made her escape. They could hear her giggling with her friends hanging over the banister.

“Does she still like you?” Jazz said without real interest.

Bee rolled his brown eyes. “She’s a kid.”

“That’s not an exclusive statement,” Jazz said. “She is young, though— do you know why the gap between them is so big?”

“My parents had some issues after I was born,” Andy said, startling them. He’d come back in without them noticing, bringing a stream of cold air into the warm house. “They were thinking of adopting, actually, and then Annie happened.”

“Can I—” Jazz’s phone rang, interrupting them. Unknown caller— they declined the call. It rang again. And again.

“Might as well answer,” Andy said.

“I’m blocking whoever it is.”

But Jazz’s phone kept going off, enough that Bee pried it from their hands and answered the third strange number with a blunt “Hello.”

“Can I speak to, uh, Jazz?” A boy’s voice said.

“Who are you?”

“Uh— Sorry, wrong number,” the boy said, and hung up. Bee raised his eyes to heaven and blocked the boy from Jazz’s phone before handing it back to them. As he let go, though, a text showed up.

Miss me?

Bee’s suspicions moved him before his conscious mind did— flipping the phone backwards in his hand, away from Jazz and closer to his own body.

“Hey!” Jazz complained, reaching for their phone.

“What is it?” Andy asked as Bee held the phone away from Jazz, pushing them back with one hand. “Dude, what’s going on?”

The text was from Albright.

“Give me back my phone, you— you— wasp,” Jazz said, infuriated. They crossed their arms as they sank back down on their heels. What was the point in wasting energy trying to get it back by force? Bee was at least half a foot taller than them, and Jazz was no athlete.

“Bee, give it back,” Andy said. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he suspected. Bee’s fingertips were tapping at the screen of Jazz’s phone, his other hand entwined in their purple hair. He looked up at Andy. A grin cut across his face.

“We’re all good, Andy-man,” he said. The stolen phone buzzed angrily, and he looked at the text as if it were his own correspondence. Taking his hand off of Jazz’s head as they swiped at his arm again, he said, “Relax, dude. No one you want to have to deal with.”

“Bee,” Andy said again, his voice rising, “Give it back.”

“Give it back!” Jazz said, their voice high with . That’s why they turned quiet when they fought, he realized. Rather than sputtering to a stop like Andy, Jazz chose to avoid hearing their voice become shrill. They hated having a higher pitched voice, although they’d never admit to disliking any part of themselves. “I can deal with whoever it is.”

“You can,” Bee said, smiling down at them. “But I do it better.” Jazz glared at him.

“Bee, don’t start fights on other people’s behalf,” Andy warned. He had risen from his seat. He no longer suspected— he knew. And whatever was between Bee and Albright, Jazz would get the worst of it.

Bee hit send for the final time, the nasty grin on his face fading away to his customary bored look. He gave the phone back to Jazz and they scrambled to read the exchange. It was mostly Bee and Albright telling each other to fuck off in various creative ways, and Jazz had no wish to read any more into it. The hostility between Bee and Albright was its own entity, like a poisonous snake snuck into a locker room. No, not a snake— a bear. An angry bear fighting a swarm of hornets. Between Jazz and Albright, though, they struggled to put a name to. Bullying sounded childish. Bickering made it seem harmless. Perhaps it could simply be called a struggle. A complex, regret-ridden, prejudice-driven struggle.

Andy was part of none of this.

__________

“You should get home soon,” Andy said as he watched the snow fall outside his window. He was speaking to Jazz, who was sat in the center of his bedroom, flipping through a stolen photo album and cooing at pictures of Andy as a ginger-haired toddler. Bee lay on Andy’s bed, shoes kicked off to reveal mismatched winter socks, headphones firmly blocking out any conversation. Andy suspected he wasn’t even playing music.

Jazz made no reply, then sighed. “Time?”

“Quarter to six.”

“Damn.”

“Bee? You coming?”

Dark lashes fluttered, but his eyes didn’t open. He could have been faking being asleep— actually, he probably was faking— but the message was clear. Bee would remain as he was. The others could go.

Jazz’s parents would be waiting. They had to go.

Andy put on a black jacket before leaving, having learnt his lesson from earlier, only to realize halfway down the stairs it was Bee’s. Whatever. He wouldn’t care. Andy wondered if Jazz would notice.

They did, but they wouldn't comment.

Left behind, Bee was deeply asleep— but he wasn’t. He was lying on his back underneath a set of gym bleachers. The linoleum was gravel, because he was on a road. No, in a car. A car driving down a bright white hospital hallway. Bee stopped trying to understand where he was when he comprehended the weight on his face, a weight that was his arm— his arm was over his eyes and he was in a bed Andy’s bed because he was in Andy’s room and what was he doing there?

Being left behind. He withdrew his arm from his face and propped himself up, elbows sinking into the mattress as he looked around the sparsely decorated room. Did he take my jacket? Fucker. The thought crossed his mind that Andy might not have a proper winter jacket, but a glance into the half-open closet revealed the dark blue sleeve of a parka. Dark blue was nice on Andy, with his fair skin and richly colored hair, but then again, most people look nice in blue. Bee’s vision blurred momentarily as streams of color began flowing from behind the door. Dark blues and purples swirled across the room, blending with shadows and becoming translucent as the streams crossed the light. Sometimes red orange danced with the darkness.

“Monsters in the closet, or does my fashion sense offend you that much?”

Bee, sitting upright on Andy’s bed, scowled at him. He didn’t mind. Bee was usually scowling, when he wasn’t disinterested or smirking. “Both.” Andy shrugged off Bee’s jacket and tossed it at him from the doorway. There was melted snow on the shoulders. There were snowflakes in his hair. “Will you stay for dinner? My mom and dad are at some party with Annie, so I’ve got the house to myself.” The jacket fell to the floor.

“Let me check.” Bee texted his mother, knowing what the answer would be. Of course he would stay. Bee’s mother loved polite, put-together Andy, hoping he would be a good influence on her brusque, disheveled son. And if her reply was no, he would ignore it and stay anyway. “Yeah. Who’s cooking?”

“Like I’d trust you with a stove,” Andy said, rolling his eyes despite the smile tugging at his lips. “Chinese?”

“Fine,” said Bee. He looked out the window, only darkness behind the glass. His foot had fallen asleep, and he had to spend a minute getting it in working order before he could get up. Jogging downstairs, Bee cursed his foot, his missing foot, his prosthetic foot, his underlying fear of nerve damage, and the entire concept of ‘pins and needles’.

When he came into the kitchen muttering, Andy scowled at him, pointing to the phone pressed to his ear. Right. He had that thing about talking to strangers. Andy let out a breath after he hung up, hopping up from his chair to turn on the television. “You choose a movie, I’ll make the popcorn.” “Popcorn before dinner?” Bee raised an eyebrow at him, flipping on more lights in the kitchen before taking the remote. “Jazz is right, we are influencing you. What’s next, not brushing your teeth twice a day? Forgetting to study for a test? Oh, I know— you’ll get yourself involved in drama. Go sleep with three different people, Andromachus.”

“Shut up and press play,” Andy said. Did he make that name up? Probably. Andy stayed far away from the ‘drama’ Bee abhorred so much, having little real involvement in other people’s relationships. He had none of his own, despite a few people showing interest over the years. He’d once asked Bee what he thought would happen if Andy did start dating. Bee had looked at him, face perfectly blank, and said, Don’t you dare leave me, you pretty boy bastard.

“Speaking of all that, do you think Charlie and Peyton made up?” Andy risked asking.

Bee shrugged. “If she needs something Charlie can’t or won’t give her, then it’s not going to work out. But she can’t be a control freak about everything. Charlie will come out when she’s ready. It’s a personal thing, even if it’s— I don’t know, objectively reasonable.”

Andy was startled at Bee’s smooth, succinct reply. He’d expected him to be annoyed at Andy for bringing up someone else’s conflict. “So like, if you were gay, you wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable telling people, even if you know they’ll take it okay?”

Bee shrugged, something twitching. Maybe his eye. He wasn’t looking at Andy. “I mean, you can never really predict what somebody will say, even if you think you know.”

Andy opened his mouth to ask another question, then closed it and nodded. Usually, he was the one analyzing people’s actions. It’s kind of nice to have someone else explain people to you, he thought. God knows we don't make much sense.

The doorbell rang. He went to answer it, apologizing to the delivery man for making him come out in the snow. When he opened the door, outdoors was icy cold, the air was clear, and it appeared the last snowfall would not be so terrible after all. The man assured him it was alright.

Andy didn’t believe him, and guilt weighed him down as he brought the food to the living room. The boy already there had his hand on his leg, but shifted to sit normally when Andy came in. He sat down next to Bee, putting the bag on his lap and taking the remote to press Play. “Is your leg bothering you?” he said quietly. Facing forward, Bee shook his head. His face was half blue light, half shadow, the lashes framing his eyes and the curve of his nose and lips defined. His hair hung down, a spiral resting on his forehead like a jewel hanging from a diadem. Andy didn't believe him. Jazz, insisting they could handle Albright. The delivery man, ten feet away from his heated car. Andy never believed reassurances.

But he had to let it go.

#WIP1 #writing #teen angst #i have so forgotten how to tag this i need to update more often #but no one freakin reads it so why bother??#mercutio writes #wip 1 #non binary character #disabled character #bullying #harassment

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danzameccanica · 3 years

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Una parte di me continua ancora ad avere una reazione di repulsione nei confronti dei Deafheaven. Sunbather era un disco che mi aveva in qualche modo disorientato ma anche se non riesco a dire che sia un capolavoro non riesco nemmeno a dire l’opposto. Quello che non mi è piaciuto sta negli album successivi. Ormai non riesco più a mandare giù quelle chitarre alternative-shoegaze; quelle sonorità alla Editors post 2007. Produzioni bellissime, cristalline, delay e chorus nella reinterpretazione contemporanea dello shoegaze rigorosamente mischiato col dream-pop. E se prima del 2010 mi meravigliava ascoltare gruppi come Alcest, Lantlôs, Les Descrets ecc. ora ci sono alcuni suoni che mi rimangono sul groppone. In particolare nei recenti Deafheaven odio ancora questo passare dalle parti più sognanti al canone blackmetal così, di netto, senza sfumature. Ammetto che ancora mi viene di prenderli a schiaffi quando vedo le loro foto promozionali pieni di odiosi sincretismi contemporanei (felpa dei behemoth, t-shirt di Morrissey o dei Portishead, giacca di lana, chiodo di pelle, parka, occhialini da hipster).

Però quello che hanno fatto con Infinite Grain non è un salto di qualità ma sono finalmente a far quadrare un cerchio. Possiamo dire che hanno quasi fatto cadere totalmente la maschera del metal estremo per creare una configurazione ibrida fra alternative rock anni ’90 e le atmosfere dream-pop anni 80. Ci sono influenze che vanno dai Chameleons, ai The Wake agli Slint, ai Sunny Day Real Estate. Ma nelle ispirazioni contemporanee si possono carpire pure gli A Perfect Circle o i Nothing. “Great Mass of Color” è tanto perfetta quanto orecchiabile; si sente in fondo alle strofe che il batterista viene dal mondo hardcore perché sicuramente un batterista più rock classico non le chiuderebbe così. Fraseggi e assoli vengono direttamente dal mondo alternative rock anni ’90 mentre la classica accoppiata voce calda + chitarre da sogno attinge a piene mai dai Piano Magic o dai Porcupine Tree (”Lament for Wasps”). Other Language, per gli ascoltatori più vicini al mondo gothic metal italiano, richiamerà tanto i Klimt1918 quanto i Novembre, ma la scelta delle sonorità dei Deafheaven strizzerà l’occhio sempre più agli anni ’80. E poi, quell’ibrido che vira sulla musica estrema si rivela alla fine di giusto un paio di brani (”Mass of Color ad esempio ), aumentando piano piano gli overdrive; giuro che compaiono anche gli screaming ma sono lontani, dilatati, rarefatti… ed emergono in maniera naturale quando alla fine, il brano, si è completamente disvelato. “Mombasa” ha perfino un accenno di leggero synth moroderiano in sottofondo, bisogna andare a cercare sotto gli strati sonori, dove i Deafheaven hanno nascosto le loro foto del passato. Emergono ancora, per un’ultima volta le urla e la rabbia delle origini, ma ora questa feralità emerge in modo organico, alla fine del viaggio (stupendo il fraseggio di chitarra verso la fine, sopra i blast-beat), quando abbiamo smosso piano piano la sabbia intorno a noi, fino a farci cadere nel buco, scavato quasi a forza di carezze.

#deafheaven #usa #2021 #post-rock #dream-pop #metal #altenative #90s #sargenthouse

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kingteeshops · 5 years

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Beautiful Marvel The Wasp Halloween Costume Graphic shirt

For anyone familiar Beautiful Marvel The Wasp Halloween Costume Graphic shirt . with Canadian fashion, the name Linda Lundström should set off alarm bells ringing. From 1974 to 2008, Lundström was one of the country’s biggest outerwear designers, pumping out 800 styles a year with a team of over 150 employees. Beautiful Marvel The Wasp Halloween Costume Graphic shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

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Unisex After being forced to shutter during the 2008 financial crisis, wasn’t too keen on restarting her business – until she received a phone call from her daughter Mosha Lundström Halbert, a former editor at FLARE and Footwear News, suggesting they create their own brand of upscale luxury parkas Beautiful Marvel The Wasp Halloween Costume Graphic shirt .Together with sister Sophie Lundström Halbert, the trio founded Therma Kōta in 2016, bringing their shared vision for fashionable coats warm enough to withstand the Canadian winter to the market. The line features show stopping holographic coats and lush shearlings meant to appeal to women of all ages. “What’s so amazing is that we are able to design styles that feel multi-generational,” says Mosha.“I am in my 30s, Sophie is in her 20s, my mom is in her 60s, so we try to make sure that all our styles have that appeal that transcends age.”Though turning family connections into business connections may seem odd to some, Mosha describes it as very normal for their family. “We grew up with our mom and dad working together,” she says. Mosha and Sophie both took summer jobs at their mom’s stores growing up, which sometimes had unintended consequences.“We’ve both been fired multiple times by our own mom,” she laughs.Despite past blunders, the Lundström clan agrees that working together that only improved their ability to communicate with one another. “I find it very refreshing,” says Mosha.“We’re family so you don’t get away with things, but at the same time, you never question anyone’s intentions.”Lundström adds: “Does that mean that we never disagree? No it doesn’t. We have some very fierce conversations sometimes. Being a family, we work through it.”Lundström lives in Caledon, Ont., Sophie lives in Dublin and Mosha shuttles between Miami and LA, so business meetings often double as a way for the trio to catch up. “We talk everyday. It’s 50 per cent business, 50 per cent ‘oh Sophie I like your haircut,’ just mum and daughter stuff,” Lundström says.Not only do they work together, family forms the very essence of what mother Rebecca Henry and daughter Akua Shakubar have created with their label House of Aaama. Their second collection, Bloodroot, told the story of Rebecca’s maternal heritage in the Antebellum South. Part of their mission as a brand, beyond creating lacy prairie dresses that wouldn’t look out of place in Julie Dash’s epic 1991 film Daughters of the Dust, is to carve out space in fashion for Black Americans to have a nuanced conversation about the bonds with family and home country that were stripped away because of slavery. “By working together, me and my mother have been able to strengthen our bond, and in a way, break these family trauma cycles,” Akua says.Day to day, Akua studies strategic design management at Parsons School of Design in New York while Rebecca works full-time as an attorney in Los Angeles. “It’s a lot of late night phone calls. We will have meetings at 12am – well, for me it’s a 12 am. Right now it’s like working 9am to 5pm, and then 5pm to 1am on House of Aama,” says Akua.The duo agrees the most surprising thing about running a fashion label as a mother and daughter is how little their roles at home have factored into their personal relationship. “I don’t really think that I pull rank as the mother,” says Rebecca. “Just because she’s my mother, she never makes me feel like her ideas are better than mine or vice-versa,” echoes Akua.However, they are perfectly comfortable divvying up duties based on who might be better suited for the role. “Before we had this business I didn’t really realize that Akua is like a hard-as,”says Rebecca. It can be infuriating, but it can also be wonderful, because I am not that way. I’m a Pisces, and I don’t have that skillset to just grind things out on a day-to-day basis.” That said, they’re still grinding pretty hard. House of Aama is gearing up to launch their third collection at New York Fashion Week in September. You Can See More Product: https://kingteeshops.com/product-category/trending/ Read the full article

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tshirtfashiontrend · 5 years

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Beautiful Marvel The Wasp Halloween Costume Graphic shirt

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nayialovecat · 2 years

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Portion of bugs' portraits...

Members of the Sozo's royal family: royal consort Helob, King Sozo himself, Sozo's firstborn and most beloved son, Prince Hami. Plus bonus: Parka the wasp, slave hunter and seller.

#Cult of the Lamb #Cult of the Wrath #Helob the Spider #King Sozo #Sozo the Ant #Prince Hami #Hami the Ant #Parka the Wasp #bug love #Mushroom #Parka is also smiling - somewhere inside

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revengersepic-blog · 7 years

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Colt, “Well boys, it looks like we’re in luck, not only is Antarctica the coldest place on earth, but this happens to be their winter season. There currently is no sunrise in Antarctica for the next 2 months and the average temperature is around -30 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Nick, “I was able to lock down transportation, but I feel like I spent most of my share of that reward money in the process. I also got us arctic gear, and confirmed that the prototype helmets that we’ve been running with are tested at -60 degrees Fahrenheit and our night vision will work fine at that temperature. The helmets even have temperature regulators built for both heat and cold.”

Dave, “That all sounds fine and dandy, but what’s the plan once we get there?”

Colt, “From what I can tell by looking at the thermal imaging photos that the NEA sent over, they were right about the 5 terrorists but they failed to mention that they’re sitting on a B61-12 bomb.

Nick, “So we’re talking Nuclear?”

Colt, “Right, the radius isn’t huge but they’ve been known to be extremely accurate. It hasn’t been activated, but we’re obviously dealing with some heavy hitters”

The three of them arrive at their take off destination, everything is loaded into the plane and wheels are up within a couple minutes. The flight is spent going over details and confirming everything they need will be there when they land. The pilot, the only other person on the plane, doesn’t seem to be privy to much so they do their best to keep their planning session between themselves.

As they get off the plane and step foot onto the South American pavement, they notice what looks to be a massive black helicopter on the other side of the small airport. A short bearded man in army fatigues approaches their plane, before Nick can get a word out Dave asks, ‘Nick, this guy with you?”

Nick, “Yup, that’s my guy.”

The man proceeds to shake all of their hands and assume that they all speak spanish, as he jumps into a 5 minute breakdown of their new prototype helicopter. Since Dave is fluent in spanish he does his best to translate.

Dave, “He says that it can make the trip to Antarctica no problem.”

“Now he says that it has enough firepower to hold the entire Argentine army at bay. It was developed in order to fly small military units into hostile environments and extract hostages from hot zones. He says it’s called the Tarantula Hawk”

Nick, “Ask him why”

Dave, “He says that the tarantula hawk is a spider wasp that hunts tarantulas. It’s sting is considered to be the second most painful insect sting in the world, plus it sounds scary”

Colt, “That’s awesome.”

Nick pays the guy as Colt and Dave make their way to the Tarantula Hawk, when they get to the chopper, they start looking it over and see all of the arctic gear they requested waiting for them inside. Colt start sifting through the gear, he pulls out some arctic parkas, and sees some thermal underwear in sealed bags marked BULLETPROOF.

Colt, “Is this stuff really bulletproof?”

Nick jogs up, “That’s what the man said, or at least that’s what I thought he said.”

Dave, “I overheard him as we were walking away, he said that it’s confirmed and tested bulletproof thermal underwear that the Russians were working on. A scientist in South America was able to perfect it. He threw that in because he says we’re walking into a death trap.”

Colt, “Well that’s reassuring. Dave, can you fly this thing or what?”

Dave (as he’s flipping switches from the pilot’s seat), “This T. Hawk is pretty intense, but I can fly it.”

Nick, “Good enough for me”

The blades begin to slice through the air as the chopper grows louder and louder. The Tarantula Hawk utilizes a perpendicular rotor that allows it to fly at speeds over 200 mph, making the trip to Antarctica a little more tolerable. The team is slowly lifted into the air and with what feels like a gust of wind behind them, they shoot forward towards their destination.