#but there’s also always people saying you can’t spot reduce fat?

[flowachild]

any of y’all good at fitness or nutrition tings 🥺 because why do I have abs and a v line but still have back rolls omg

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 5

Walking down the street is harder without your own personal Radio Demon parting the crowd for you, but you make do as you near your sister’s boutique. At first you wanted to be alone, but that’s kind of hard in the most crowded place in the universe, and as you continued on your mindless walk through the Pentagram you realized that being alone might not be the best thing. What you needed right now was a hug and someone to tell you that you deserved far more than whatever Alastor could give you. You couldn’t be alone with your thoughts right now.

The neon from Molly’s sign hurts your eyes from a block away, and like moths to a flame shoppers flock towards the pink light. Molly’s Miracles is the place for those in Hell with an eclectic style and a preference for the sexy. It’s very rare that you find yourself actually stopping by for a reason other than checking in on your sister, but that excuse will have to do for now.

Just like the sign, the amount of glossy white furniture and sequined clothing forces you to blink and adjust your eyes. There aren’t too many people inside, thankfully, just a moth demon posing for her friend in a red dress with the deepest v you’ve ever seen. Not your thing, but the friends cheer and squeal at the sight of it, so Molly must know her clientele quite well. 

“(Y/N)?” Molly emerges from the back, her arms full of some green, glittery fabric. She all but drops them on the checkout counter so that she can properly engulf you in a hug. It’s scary how fast she can traverse a room with all those legs, but your desperation for a proper hug is too great to be startled right now. 

“I didn’t know you were coming by today!”

“I just,” you sniff, “wanted to check up on my baby sister.”

“Aww that’s so sweet!” She squeals. “But I thought you were out with a certain you-know-who? Is he here?”

You shuffle out of her arms and embrace yourself with your own.

“Who told you that?”

“Angie did. Text me this morning that you too had a little date,” she coos.

Of course Angel would find a way to blindly inform your sister about your love life. Except that it wasn’t your love life. Just life. Normal, regular, loveless life. 

“He just happened to have some business to attend to at Rosie’s at the same time as me.”

“But he walked you there.” 

“Molly--”

“And he didn’t have to! But he did! That is so cute!”

“It’s really not, Molly,” you grumble and move deeper into the store. You trail your fingers through the silks and tulle, pretending to be interested in something from the wracks when you and Molly know there’s only ever one article in the store at a time that you would actually wear.

“You okay, hun?” She trails you through the store.

“I’m fine, Mol. Just fine. I made a great deal today, dad will be really happy. Things are going well at the hotel.” You turn to her with a sigh, hoping with expulsion of breath you will also rid you of the sobs bubbling up in your throat.

It works for a minute.

“I’m fine. I’m doing fine.” Your voice cracks at the end and Molly rushes you again, except this time you’re also being surrounded by the moth demon and her friends who apparently can’t mind their own business.

“Oh sweetie, did he hurt you?” The moth asks.

“Men are fucking pigs!” One of her friends -- a wolf -- cries.

As these complete strangers surround you with man-hating indignation, Molly rubs your back and strokes your hair.

“I-It’s okay. It’s just a guy,” you gasp.

“That’s right, it is just a guy. You don’t need him and his nasty ass.” Another friend -- a blowfish -- says as the rest of the friends and your sister release you from their grasp but remain in a circle around you like some Sisterhood Against the Radio Demon.

Oh, if only they knew that was the man they were bad mouthing right now. Actually, you kind of wish Alastor was here right now. You’d pay money to see his reaction to the Sisterhood calling his ass “nasty.” Probably confusion, mostly.

"You know what you need,” Molly chimes in. “A new outfit!”

The friends cheer and you really wish you could just melt into the clothing racks. They’re all sweet, impossibly so, for helping out a complete stranger just because of the universal experience known as “guy problems.” But the last thing you want is to be surrounded by eyes scrutinizing your body in new clothing. Your heart feels like it’s about to implode in on itself and if one person says anything about your love handles or your back fat you are definitely going to ignite this entire city block on fire.

“Molly, that really isn’t necessary--”

“I know the perfect thing! You just head back into the changing room,” she says, making her way to a shelf of silk blouses. Your eyes dart to the door, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Molly.

“Don’t. You Dare.” Her eyes flash a brief red, so you shuffle over to the changing rooms.

---

Alastor sits in Rosie’s office, well, it’s more like he’s lying down on her chez, moaning towards the ceiling, and clutching his gift to you tightly as if it were the last piece of you he had left.

Rosie watches him from her desk, looking wholy unimpressed by this display from the all-powerful Radio Demon.

“Why did I even--”

“I don’t know, Alastor.”

“I never should have--”

“No, you shouldn’t have. As intelligent as you are, dear Alastor, you can be exceptionally dumb.”

Letting out another long whine, he grips the gift box harder and rolls over onto his side. He’s an Overlord. He should not be debasing himself like this in polite company. Or anyone’s company for that matter. But this is Rosie, who was for so long the only person in the history of human existence who he could trust with his truest emotions. But even this exhibitionary indulgence is a new milestone in their relationship, one he wasn’t even ready to take right now. He can’t help it though. Not when his heart feels like it’s being gripped and twisted between two fists. Not when his stomach has taken on this horrible, aching feeling, as if he’s being repeatedly kicked there. 

The worst part is the empty feeling that has been growing deeper and wider since you left him at Rosie’s. For so long now it’s been just this nagging little spot that formed when you first met, situated in the center of his chest, reminding him that he no longer owns the piece of himself that once filled it. You do. And as long as you were with him, close to him, that hole stayed the same, was comforted by its close proximity to its missing piece. But now you were gone, and the hole has become so gaping and so hollow without you, with the thought of truly losing you forever.

“You could always go find her,” Rosie implores, shoving away the paperwork she’s fruitlessly been trying to complete.

“She said she wanted to be alone,” he moans. 

“And since when were you one to respect others’ personal space?” She doesn’t get a response. He just rubs his face deeper into her chez, ruining the fabric with his blubbering. Part of her wants to relish the sight of her egotistical, maniacal, normally heartless friend reduced to a weepling in front of her. But the bigger part of her just really wants to get back to her work and Alastor’s need for validation is in direct conflict of that. 

“Alastor,” she sighs, “I know she wanted to be alone, but honestly, this might be an appropriate time for you to tell her how you feel. Or at least to try and remedy the situation a tad.”

Alastor sits up, shoulders hunched.

“Really?”

“Yes, you emotionally obtuse oaf. Go! Be romantic! Be spontaneous!” Get the Hell out of my office, she wants to add. 

Rosie goes over to him and all but yanks him off the chez. She places a jovial arm around his shoulders but is shoving him quickly through her store, past her girls, and outside.

“Good luck, darling!” She calls as she pushes him onto the street. He whips around, eyes briefly flashing her his radio dials but her motherly wave quickly reminds him of the task at hand. 

The dials disappear but he shoots her an uncharacteristic glare before he puts on his smile. He summons a shadow to traverse the Pentagram in search of you. As his shadow wiggles off, he begins his stroll through the streets roughly in the direction you were heading.

---

Molly brings you a red silk blouse and a red and black plaid pencil skirt. They seem modest enough but you dread the way the skirt will make your curves look, the lumps and thickness it will accentuate. The blouse is nice though, if not a bit tight around the stomach, but it makes your chest look amazing. You try looking for the flared skirt you came in with, but not so mysteriously, your clothes seem to be missing. Thanks, Molly. 

You have two options now. Go out into the store in front of strangers and in front of the giant windows Molly has in the front, or squeeze into the skirt, suffer through it for five minutes, and then demand your clothes back.

Once you actually have the skirt on it’s not... that bad. It digs into your waist just a tad, making your back straighten to make breathing easier. The fabric is thick, wool-like, but soft to the touch. It comes to your knees, probably the only skirt in the store that does so, and much to your surprise, it smooths out every piece of pudge even without tights. You look at yourself in the mirror and you look... lovely. Elegant, with a hint of sexy that looks good on you for once. 

Peaking your head out of the room, you see Molly and the group of friends -- Ramona, Hugh, Paul, and Chandler, you’ve since learned -- eagerly eyeing the dressing rooms. They’re all sitting on the pink, crushed velvet couch Molly has set up for shoppers, their knees bouncing with anticipation. 

You move your body out inch by inch, as if to step out of the room too quickly would cause your body to burst into flames. The closer you get to the main room, the hotter your body burns with embarrassment, the harsher the feeling of invisible eyes feel on you. You know that Molly won’t tease you, that she is a constant purveyor of how naturally gorgeous you are. But somewhere in the back of your head, the harsh words of your mother hammer away. You can just imagine that Ramona and Hugh and Paul and Chandler and whoever peaks through Molly’s windows will have some awful things to say. It wouldn’t be anything new, you’ve heard it all. Doesn’t mean you want to keep hearing it.

Molly spots your hair poking out of the doorway and squeals. Your “new friends” squeal in response and then it’s just a chain reaction of everyone squealing and cheering at you. You creep further into the room and Molly pushes you the rest of the way onto the fitting pedestal. 

“Do a twirl!” Molly yells and the rest of them start chanting until you do, in fact, twirl on the pedestal. More squealing. Their joy and support become infectious, and slowly you pull your arms away from their place shielding your stomach. 

You look head on at the three full length mirrors set up opposite the couch, you don’t shy away. You’re loving how you look in this moment, you find it impossible to fixate on the lumps and bumps anymore. It feels as though you made to look like this, still so completely you and yet as beautiful as you always wished you felt. It’s perfect now.

“Go off, girl!” Chandler yells.

“Your man is going to wish he had you back,” Hugh cheers.

“If he bothers you again you call us and we’ll all beat his ass,” Ramona says and her friends whoop in agreement.

Behind you, you can hear the jingle of the bell hanging from the door. Raising your head to stare at the door through the mirror, (e/c) eyes meet glowing red ones, wide with shock. He has a sheepish smile, not all teeth like his “going out” smile, but just as wide. He has that damn box in his hands, his claws tapping the sides. 

Everything goes quiet and you might as well have been the only two people in the room. Molly ushers Ramona and her friends into the back room before the terror can fully set in and you’re grateful. You don’t really want anyone nearby for whatever is about to happen. 

Once everyone is out of the line of fire, you sigh and turn to face him, willing the confidence from your little fashion show to sustain you for just a little longer. 

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t say anything back, eyes still trained on you, because what is he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for taking you to a cesspool of women thirsting after me?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m such a tainted, wretched soul who is so undeserving of you?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m too much of a coward to tell you I love you?’ He pulls the box closer to his chest. 

“You look stunning,” is all he can muster. Not horrible, probably not the best thing either, though.

“I know,” you say back, keeping your face stern.

His smile grows wider but remains sheepish, maybe even bashful, which is impossible because when has Alastor ever been bashful? 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmurs.

“I’m really fine, Alastor,” you lie. “You don’t have as much of an effect on people as you think.” Another lie.

“There are millions of dead souls who would beg to differ but--”

You send him the most seething glare you can muster and he pulls back. He looks back down to the gift, eyeing it as if it has all the answers, the map to getting back what’s been lost between you.

“I apologize if you were uncomfortable. That was not my intention.” 

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you seethe. “I wasn’t anything except tired and overcome with a desire to see my sister.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he says as he starts to roam around the store while remaining a safe distance from you. In the mirror, you catch the red glint in your eyes and blink to force it away.

Words start to pour from your mouth, recklessly and unhinged, “And you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you following me around town after I explicitly told you not to follow me. I don’t need you to “escort” me to meetings just so you can see your girl toys. I’m not an excuse, I’m not a guise. I can take care of myself, lord knows I’ve done so for decades without you.”

“I know.” You were expecting the room to burst into flames and for the sound of radio static to overwhelm you, not for him to remain smiling down at the floor, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

“You know?”

“I know.” He starts to take small steps towards you. “I know you don’t need me, you proved that today. You are more than brilliant and poised and powerful in your own right. I know that. But I’m afraid that what has happened is rather the opposite.”

He makes it to the pedestal and even with the extra inches you are barely as tall as him. But he has never seemed so small to you in this moment.

He is not a man who cowers, he does not beg, that shows weakness and he learned from a young age that you cannot afford weakness. Don’t show your neck, don’t bow your head, stand as tall as you can and bare your teeth. He can’t do that, though, not with you. What you need is openness and vulnerability from him, signs that you bring out something that no one else can.

“My dear, you do not need me,” he whispers and holds out the box to you. Somehow you tear your eyes away to focus on unraveling the bow and peel back the packing paper. There, glittering on a small slice of foam, are two necklaces: one a heart with a keyhole cut out, the other, the matching key.

Alastor dips two claws into the package and takes with him the heart-shaped lock, and to your surprise, he clasps it to his own neck.

“But I, dearly and desperately, need you.” He plucks the key from the box and holds it out to you in the palm of his hand. 

“Alastor...”

“You can say no. You can throw this in my face and I won’t stop you,” he smiles sadly. “But you will always, in a way, have it. You will always have me.”

You’re not an impulsive person, not really, and not compared to your siblings and friends. Now that you think about it, you’ve never actually had an urge like that. Until now. Until the feeling of something glowing and bright moving up from the pit of your stomach, through your throat and your vessels until they reached your chest.

You surge forward, pull him down by his lapels, and kiss him. He tenses initially, and you hear the familiar pop of a radio cutting in and out, before he melts against you. One arm encircles your waist and the other goes into your hair, keeping you securely against him. The kiss itself is a little sloppy on his part, inexperienced and cautious, which makes sense considering his aversion to intimate activities. But there’s a relief in the inexperience, in knowing that you’re one of, if not the, first one to do this with him. It doesn’t go any further than passionate lip-locking, but the way he clings to you and you to him, like two cogs sliding together, is more than enough for you both. 

When you pull away he chases after you and his arms tighten. He’s not quite ready for you to be any less than a few centimeters from him. You release a giddy giggle and lean your forehead against his own, noses nuzzling, heartbeats sharing. You feel cool metal against your neck and look down, spotting your half of the necklace resting against your chest.

“We should go,” you whisper.

“Mm, go where?” He asks as he begins to sway your entangled bodies back and forth.

“Somewhere far away from the eager ears of my sister.”

Alastor’s ears perk up and his eyes dart to the back room, where he can just catch a retreating shadow, presumably belonging to Molly.

“You might be right about that, dearest.”

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease​

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

[alygatorwrites]

Hey baby! This match up event is such a fun idea, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy 🥰

Also sorry for the long answers I just wanted to make it as easy as possible (and not because I want YOU to marry me 😤)

my name is sage

my pronouns or she / her

my sexuality is straight

my sign is cancer

my love language is quality time and acts of service

I love it when my partner goes out of their way to do something special for us, and I much prefer experience gifts rather than material gifts, like a weekend away or taking me to a restaurant or surprising me with a dinner or going for a walk together (pls I sound like a dog)

my hobbies and interests

I love animals with a passion and you will find me volunteering any chance I get! I’m a big fan of travelling and I would do it everyday if I could, my favourite places to go are Italy, greece and Australia. I’m also in love with Switzerland! But yeah anything beachy and woodsy is where my happy place is. I also love to journal about the places I have been, and collecting little souvenirs on the way. I’m like a magpie it’s crazy how much stuff I have from my travels.

my personality

my mbti type is isfp and I’m more of an ambivert, I’m outgoing with friends and family but I’m a bit more reserved when it comes to people I haven’t met before and would prefer if they started the convo first. After that initial awkwardness (which I hate with a passion) I’m good at carrying a convo. Once you get to know me I’m more of an extrovert. Over text I’m the most extroverted person but in person, I’m a lil shy and reserved until I get to know you.

I’m also VERY clumsy, I never seem to finish my day without breaking something or waking up with a new bruise. There was one time I literally broke 3 plates and dropped 4 glasses all in one day…..and the amount of times I trip or fall up the stairs. I seriously need a warning sign around my neck. I’ve also been told I have a bit of a resting bitch face but I swear I’m nice :)

I’m known to my friends as the funny one of the group and very free spirited. I have never been in a relationship and I don’t feel I need to be in one right now. I’m not looking for anyone at the moment, and I wouldn’t go out of my way to find someone (ie dating apps). I’d rather find them along the way. As you could probably tell, I’m more on the independent side and as of right now, I’m just enjoying that.

physical description

It’ll be a lot easier is I just add a picrew for the physical description cause I finally found one that looks like me :)

And OF COURSE I want some nsfw headcanons!! You’re nsfw writing is what keeps me going BABYYY

I’m so excited to see who you pick for me mamas! *BIG FAT SMOOCHES* ilysm 💖

♡ 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧

→ your caring and charitable persona is what draws jean in, along with the fact that you’re pretty as hell. while he can be blunt and stubborn, this man finds himself magnetized toward those who are lively and vivacious — this is you! add in your sense of humor and he is instantly fixated on establishing a relationship.

→ jean finds the lives of others valuable, and he likes how you feel the same, shown by how you enjoy volunteering. this would make you extremely compatible! because you're both dedicated members of society with strong moral compasses, a deep sense of understanding is easily formed.

→ an opinionated extrovert who speaks his mind, jean would take the initiative in social situations. when you're uncomfortable or too nervous to start a conversation with a stranger, he'll be right there to introduce you and get the ball rolling. this balance and support is helpful! honestly, jean thinks it’s super adorable how shy you can be. the way you can go from being extroverted over text to a bashful girl in person is amusing to him!

→ you and jean's personalities form a mutually beneficial relationship! your understanding nature breaks down jean's walls, while his resolve and committed character keeps you grounded. this bond would be unbreakable as it's forged through trust, responsibility, commitment, and affection.

→ your love language of quality time would be respected by jean, and he’d have no problem in giving his undivided attention. as a practical individual who knows that a tomorrow isn't promised, jean finds that each passing minute is irreplaceable. he values being there for his partner. not only that, but jean's love language is also acts of service. this gives him an understanding of how precious it is to show and not tell. he will do things for you such as cooking breakfast, folding your laundry, brushing your hair, taking you to the beach, and even planning over-sea vacations. a little embarrassed to show his emotions, jean takes this as an opportunity to wordlessly express his love.

→ jean has a soft spot for beauty! this is what made you catch his eye. he's definitely a sucker for your curls; the way they perfectly frame your face — the spirals a gorgeous sepia-brown, brushing along each cheek — would make him melt. your beauty marks? he pecks them with a tenderness that can't even be explained. they're too cute and charming.

→ he finds clumsiness sweet. that being said, sasha and connie already keep jean on his toes as it is, so he'd never admit it. despite that, he's always down to help collect the broken pieces of whatever you knock over ... which usually results in him grabbing a broom and saying he'll clean it up for you altogether (those shards of glass can't be trusted!) jean can still be an asshole though, and he snorts out a laugh whenever you fall up the stairs.

→ your love for animals and wildlife would change jean for the better. this man doesn't have an affinity for them until you come along: watching the way you light up around a cat or dog makes him vow that he'll give you all the pets you want.

♡ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

→ the sharp inhales you make when jean fucks you has him bursting at the seams. hearing you moan when he holds tight onto your hips is his absolute favorite thing.

→ as mentioned before, jean loves hair, especially yours. his favorite thing is to tangle his hands in each lock — the brown swirls wrapping around his fingers — and gently tug them as he envelops your lips into a deep kiss.

→ reducing you to a quivering, breathless heap makes jean feel invincible. the power trip has his head swimming every time!!!

→ orally pleasuring you is a must for jean. he likes it even better than he enjoys getting off himself. the primal sensation of you gushing around his tongue can make him cum in seconds if he doesn't control himself.

→ this man has the worst corruption kink. jean will not hesitate to tarnish you until you go from a good little girl to a whore who thinks about nothing but his cock <3

→ really loud, moan-heavy sex makes jean weak at the knees. he adores every breathy whine you make, and relishes in the way your face screws up when he slides into you. he'll push strands of your hair away from your eyes, tucking them behind a ear and fiddling with your piercings.

→ jean can't get enough of the sexual tension before you both hook up. the second he sees your will-power break, and how you strip away your shirt... god, it's so sexy to him.

→ run your fingers through his mullet and jean is a goner 🥴

→ whenever jean carries you bridal style to the bedroom with a smug grin, be prepared for the best sex of your life.

→ 100% a dom. NO IFS, ANDS, OR BUTS.

→ "fuck, sage—" jean frequently whispers, lips brushing along your throat as he thrusts into you. the way your name tumbles from his mouth is always a broken groan. "feels so fucking good."

→ one of his favorite sex positions with you!

[theexleynatureblog]

Tundra Trouble

A dramatic population increase in “Light Geese” is threatening sensitive tundra habitat.

What are Light Geese?

"Light Geese” are actually three separate species of goose named after their mostly-white plumage. They include...

Ross’s Goose

The Greater Snow Goose

And the Lesser Snow Goose.

The main different between these birds is size (which can overlap) and slight variations in color. If they are this hard to differentiate in photos, imagine how it much be for duck hunters to identify them. Don’t worry! None of these birds are threatened in any way. In fact, the problem is the exact opposite...

Tundra Geese

All three of these species breed and nest in the tundra habitat of North America.

The little spots of red on this map signify where the geese nest in the spring. All three geese nest in the same kind of habitat: Tundra.

Now, let’s talk about Tundra.

Tundra is a kind of biome found in cold climate or very high elevations. It is dominated by mosses, roots, and tubes, all ‘short’ plants without deep roots. This is because of a permanently frozen layer of the soil, known as permafrost.

Plants that live here also have to deal with low precipitation, and a growing season that can lasts between 50 to 60 days, or about 2 months. This makes the biome incredibly fragile. If something were to come along and remove all the plants or disrupt the soil, it could take many years for the foliage to recover, if it does at all. Compare this biome to a place with a longer growing season, like the Midwest United State. All the grasses can be removed by grazing and burning, and within the same season, new seeds can take root, and within a couple of years, the grassland is completely back to normal. This is why oil and mining projects in the artic are a big deal, because the kind of damage we see them cause in relatively robust ecosystems will be so much worse in a tundra.

Tundra’s have relatively low biodiversity - there’s only a handful of species that live there in the productive months, and even less in the winter. However, it is a major producer of birds, especially migratory species. Breeding habitat is critical for every species. Tapering with it can directly alter a population’s ability to replace itself with the next generation. It is far more effective to reduce a population by tapering with habitat than removing individuals through hunting.

Light Geese and the Tundra

Like I said earlier, all three species of ‘light geese’ are not threatened. In fact, their population has boomed significantly. Since the 1970′s, the population of light geese has grown by more than 300 percent, and continues to increase by 5 percent each year. According to an article on Ducks.org, waterfowl managers estimate the total population is up around 17million.

Now, is this actually unnatural based on science? It’s hard to say. We don’t really know if this population number matches historic numbers, because we didn’t really take bird surveys until the late 1900′s. Some bird populations, like the extinct carrier pigeon, was so big they would supposedly black out the sky. Maybe, ecologically, we are suppose to have millions of light geese. But there is one thing we do know: they are over-grazing the tundra.

That little square of green once covered a much larger area. Researchers protected it with nets to keep geese out, and all the red in the picture is bare overgrazed soil. Geese don’t just eat the green, the dig up the roots, preventing new growth. Once an area is grazed up, the flocks move to another green space and repeat the cycle. There is nothing much left in terms of food or habitat for other animals on the tundra.

But how?

Nature has ways of balancing populations with available resources. When resources are used up, populations go down until resources go up again. So how did the light geese population rise to the point of environmental destruction? If you guessed agriculture, you’re right!

The later half of the 1900′s came with a boom of farmer productivity thanks to new machinery and chemicals. It helped support a booming human population, and apparently, geese as well.

Usually, migratory birds loose weight during the migration. They have to depend on their fat storage for through the summer and winter to make the 1,000m+ trips. It serves as an important environmental pressure: only the best equipped birds will survive the trip, and have the opportunity to pass on their genes. Lack of food fuels competition between individuals to establish dominance or territory, and at the same time reduces competition as it weeds out unfit individuals. Take the pressure away, and you are a step closer to the light geese problem. Light geese actually gain weight during their migration thanks to all the food available. By the time they return to their nesting ground, a lot of individuals are healthy enough to breed and rear offspring.

The parental habits of light geese are another piece in the problem puzzle. They all practice lifelong monogamy, and both parents are constantly around to guard the young. The young themselves are precocial, meaning the are fluffy and walking around almost immediately after hatching. They can even feed themselves. The only thing the parents need to do is fight off predators - and geese do this exceptionally well.

There are nest predators, like owls and foxes, but they are only able to take so many. Predation alone never has much of an effect on a population - it has to be coupled with a signifanct habitat factor. For example, if you released a fox into a small pen of 10 geese, the fox would immediately reduce the population in the pen. But, if you released a fox onto a large plot of land full of 100 geese, the single predator would never be able kill all of the geese. This is of course, a small-scale example. 

Another problem is the flocking. Snow geese flocks can easily exceed a hundred individuals. This makes it easy for hunters to shoot a large amount of birds, but the thing is, they have to get the birds within range first. Duck hunters lure flocks over a body of water by setting out wooden decoys. Since birds feel safer in large numbers, they are drawn to the groups of fake birds. This works if you, for example, put out two decoys, and it attracts a lone duck. However, a flock of over a hundred is not going to find any reason to join a fake flock of 2. To decoy for geese, hunters need a lot of decoys, which is more expensive and time consuming.

Geese are also uncannily smart. They live long lives and can remember places where they were shot at, so avoid them in the next years. That means that most geese that end up shot by hunters are the younger, inexperienced ones who do not contribute much to the population anyway.

Solutions

Managers and researchers are currently searching for ways to fight this problem and protect the tundra, while also not totally wiping out light geese populations. One of the most effective ways to reduce the population would be to disrupt the breeding habitat, but that’s option is not likely. Remember: the tundra is a delicate ecosystem. No disturbance could be significant enough to affect the light geese and not effect other species. Targeting food supplies isn’t realistic either - we can’t poison the tundra grasses, and we can’t throw giant nets over crop fields.

The usual solution to overpopulation of a game animal is lessening hunting restrictions. Hunters can take over a hundred geese in a season - if they can get a flock within range. But that leads to another issue - who wants to carry, clean, and process over a hundred birds? Ammunition availability and prices are another concern. 

Another factor that makes any management work in the tundra difficult is accessibility. There are few towns and fewer roads that give people access to nests, so sending in people or dogs to collect/destroy them isn’t always a practical option. Article on possible solutions.

Fish and Wildlife’s suggested lists of actions:

Expanding hunting seasons/limits

Expanding hunting methods (allowing electronic callers).

Far north harvesting.

Egging.

Increase incentive to harvest by award programs, donations, market hunting.

Improve private land access.

Information and education programs.

Bird trapping and culling by wildlife managers.

Refuge management.

Sources

https://www.fws.gov/birds/management/managed-species/light-geese.php#:~:text=Ross's%20geese%2C%20lesser%20snow%20geese,to%20remain%20at%20high%20levels.

https://ucmp.berkeley.edu/exhibits/biomes/tundra.php

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13280-019-01308-5

https://www.fws.gov/migratorybirds/pdf/management/snow-geese/light-gooseFEIS-QAs.pdf

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-019-46487-z

https://www.wildfowlmag.com/editorial/whats-the-best-method-to-control-the-snow-goose-population/280168

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 020

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for clicking in to read. Billy and Evie continue to explore their new relationship together. Max's fourteenth birthday party marks a change for the teens, reminding them that danger isn't too far off. TW: Neil being Neil. Mentions of abuse. Something close to an almost assault/abduction off screen near the end. Light mentions of Pica & fatphobia. Sexual themes

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo 

Chapter 20: Rose Tint My World

  “Hold still, I’ll poke your eye again.”

   “I can’t breathe, you’re killing me.” Came a sniffled whine.

   “Such a baby. You asked.”

   “I said I was curious after you put the gunk on my nails!”

   “That gunk was a great color on you. You whine just like your big brother.” Carol had Max’s face clamped in her grip as she applied mascara. “Don’t blink, you'll smear it.”

   “Evie, she’s killing me,” Max lamented aloud. “This is not worth it.” Evie just laughed, setting a bowl of pretzels aside. Carol flicked a mirror up to let Max see her handiwork. “Whoa...It’s not terrible.” She gruffed in a mumble, tilting her head to see each angle. "Kinda like Madonna."

   “I’ll take it.” Carol stole some M&Ms from another dish as they shared a spot on Heather’s fuzzy carpet. A movie rolled on in the corner TV.

   Max about howled when Heather came in from the bathroom, face covered in green.

   “Monster!”

   “It’s a face-mask!” Heather planted her hands on her hips, prompting more laughter. “You’ll be more into them once your body really changes.”

   “Girls are way scarier than boys.” Max poked at her blushed cheek which had Carol smacking her hand away. Evie was draped across the bottom of the bed in her robe and nightie, half-watching the TV. “Can you do a zombie make-up?”

   Carol gave a snort.

   “I can do anything. kid.”

   “Eves, you want another piece of pizza?” Heather crossed with the box.

   “I’m so full.” Evie shook her head.

   “You had like one piece.”

   “I ate a big lunch. And lots of pretzels.” Evie snatched the pretzel bowl again for good measure. Truthfully, her appetite had been up and down lately. Mostly down. What with the pangs in her stomach that always passed and… “You sound like my mother.”

   “She was...extra peppy at the salon today. My mom and I got our monthly trim.”

   “Probably some guy she’s seeing, it’ll pass and another will come. Men are like Kleenex to her. Soft, strong, and disposable.” Evie shrugged to pluck up a magazine.

   “Hey,” Max began as Carol fussed over her, “so I didn’t want to make a thing of it, but my mom keeps insisting. My birthday party is coming. She and Neil saved so I could have it just at the roller rink and...they said I could invite whoever I wanted. But, I can’t ask the guys to come. So I figured I’d ask El. She’s really cool. But, maybe if you guys wanted to come? You can bring boys and pretend you’re not even at my party if it’s not your thing. I just-”

   “Max, we’d love to come.” Heather piped up first. “Evie and I rule the rink too.”

   “I look very cute in skates,” Carol agreed with a twitching smirk. “I'm in. I’ll bring Tommy, he sucks and he’ll fall down a bunch. We'll pretend we ran into each other so your stepdad can get the stick out of his ass.”

   “Billy has to go too cause Neil says it’s a family event.” Max turned to Evie. “I think he’d be happier with you there.”

   “I think Billy and I both are fine being there for you. I had my fourteenth at the rink too. It’ll be fun.” Evie beamed, legs up to sway idly. “Plus we haven’t met the Chief’s kid. She’s home-schooled, right?”

   “Yeah, she might be joining us in school next year.” Max stayed still for Carol’s brush. “Depends. She was uh...adopted under weird circumstances. You’ll like her. I taught her how to do that felting thing because of you and she made this funny one of her dad.”

   “I’ll bet Hopper loved that.” Evie winked. 

   “He’s kind of a babe in like a scruffy, rugged way,” Carol remarked. "Strong mountain man type."

   “Ew. He’s so old.” Max reeled back to laugh.

   “I’m just saying! I like a man in uniform. He rocks the khaki.” 

   “The moms in town do eat him up.” Heather shrugged, joining Evie on the bed with a handful of candy. “We all have our strange crushes. I like high cheek-bones. Guys with a little Bowie. Evie? You got one?”

   “Gia Carangi even if she isn’t modeling any more, I love her face.” Evie was flicking pages without looking. Howls from the TV went ignored through the chatter.

   “I called that. Fenny being into ladies. Try Iman.” Carol winked which earned her a look as if she hadn’t planted a kiss on Evie in a fit of rage.

   “People say Billy’s pretty like a girl.” Max had added which got the other girls giggling. 

   “I like this one, we’re so keeping her.” Carol got up to root for a bag of chips, popping them open. “Like the zombie face better?”

   “I still look too pretty.” Max appeared more goth than zombie.

   “You are pretty. Deal with it. We redheads stick together.” Carol stole Evie’s magazine. “Let us know when the party is, we’ll be there.”

   Max looked at the three older girls squished together on Heather’s bed. Chattering and supporting. Happy to have her around.

   A bright smile touched her face for the first time since Neil Hargrove walked into her home. 

** ** ** 

   Most days, all it felt like was floating. Floating through her house. Through Hawkins. Up and down streets. Through school. A stunning illusion she pulled like wool over her dark eyes.

   A woman in rippling silks walking endless halls toward a great, cherry red door at the end, but the door gets farther away and she's thrilled to continue on even still. Feather wings glittering to unfold from her back because heaven's light is beyond the door. Crystalline eyes with their hold. Waiting for her. The sky awaits her with caressing clouds. Opulent gold sun rays and twinkling stars when the world lies down.

   Evie knew she was too big for her wings most days. Too heavy to leave the Earth.

   Knew in her beating heart of hearts that was the first thing people think when they see her. This magnificent soul with drive and neon and talent reduced to a single shrewd glance. And they don't think twice until she's something vaguely sexual. Something marketable you can package and process and sell to the last drop.

   Easier to stomach something uncomely if you can slide into it ruthlessly to rut. They always come like animals, wailing as a banshee would to get off better than they ever will in their small lives. They eat it up. Cover it in sweat and regret and blame.

   These things that hang as little weights on her heartstrings swinging back and forth. They make her not want to attempt extending those wings to fly. Fear of heads shaking in judgement. Fear of looking uglier. More foolish for even trying. Poor thing.

   All because of one glance that couldn't be bothered to see worth in another human life. Sometimes Evie wanted to be skinny not because of beauty, but because she'd get a privilege pass to exist in this world.

   They think she shouldn't dress the way she does. She's probably lazy and self loathing because of added pounds. She has no real aspirations or means to achieve them. Those eyes that watch her eat. That shift away before they decide on another seat because the one open next to her just isn't right. They glare because of the extra room she might take up. Even sharing a few cordial words with fat girls seemed to be a task.

   Evie always notices and does the polite thing pretending she doesn't. She knows what her body looks like, no need to point out the obvious.

   Strange, how these snap judgements, these eyes that don't look twice; can villainize a body utterly. A body. Flesh, bone, and muscle. We're all made in heaven's image. All destined for paths we seek to control. Superiority should have been an illusion. But no, too much or too little, your worth dips low. Fetishes and internalized hatred for things that were shaped and colored differently. Blame.

   But, some days, when the wind soars just right...just strong enough...Evie can spread and illuminate. See the births and deaths of a million stars. Drop the little weights to feel the winds between her fingers. In her curls. In her wings. Feel her feet leave the floor for just a few fleeting seconds.

   The fleeting seconds of soaring always seem so worth it against a world of unsightly aches. Against snap judgements she can toss back to live in a flower petal haze.

   Evie tried hard to live in those moments when they flashed into her. Spotlights. Butterflies delicately landing on her flesh to open and close their stained glass wings for kisses. Evie felt crushed utterly in the most decadent way.

   Billy's soft lips on her neck to get lost in the pulse. Deft fingers that would push up her clothing as he moved in her. Eyes that wanted to see her. All of her. The prayers he could whisper against heating skin.

   A lot could be said about him. But, Billy was always happy to see her and that alone was air spinning into gold. His eyes would light up. Lips twitching. She could hear the single beat that his heart skipped. Even if they didn't speak, they felt this awareness for each other in the vicinity. Truly magic.

   Those eyes. That love of a face. Always staring pointedly to read her up and down. Always plucking the weights from her heart by listening. Always unafraid to touch her. Evie hoped she returned that. She really did.

   Fleeting seconds began to linger between them. Seeping slow and saccharine as fresh pouring honey.

   Sneaking away on walks while he let her hold his hand. Flirtation against school lockers that ended in several 'just one more' kisses. Double dates to the movies with Tommy and Carol. Sitting separately to make out.

   Driving up near Lover’s Lake to kiss in a parked Camaro while the sun laid itself down to sleep. Fumbling playfully to undress and explore. Watching the construction of a coming mall with Slurpees from the gas station. Tongues and lips colored all artificial cherry and strawberry.

   Evie would stretch her wings completely. Let Billy admire them until the world was all satin rose-tinted. She could forget her urges and worries and insecurities. All together. This was fine.

   She was fine. More then fine.

   He so liked to admire her wings. Pleasure crushed in as she moaned. Let his fingers explore contours and notches untouched before. Billy would take those prayers on his lips and drape them over her body. Spell them between fleshy thighs. Pulling more fleeting seconds for himself too.

   They could roll around under sheets and not worry about anything else. Have conversations that always felt silly and wonderful and weighted because they both mattered to someone so ardently. That alone was an ocean both could sink into.

   Something beautiful to behold. The real vision behind the great red door. Your soul mattering.

   Evie was in a bubble with Billy Hargrove. A stupid, dopey look on her face when Mona settled dinner down one evening. Steam rising from a huge pot.

   “Going out later?” Evie began to create sound or she'd be lost. "You colored your hair brown again."

   “Needed another change. Ah, I'm going out just with Karen and Claudia. Dessert and wine night. I asked Susan but that poor thing keeps standing me up. Did you finish Max’s gift for her party?” Mona scooped up huge portions in a bowl that Evie would only be prodding at.

   “Yeah, it’s set. Turned out perfect. She’s not much for jewelry but I think a personalized tie dye shirt will be fun. Might look cool while skateboarding. I also have that goody bag of sweets for her to fill up on we made.” Evie reminded herself to pick up her spoon. Took a few bites.

   “You’re not scarfing it down like usual, you love my crawfish soup.”

   “It’s delicious, I just had a big lunch.” A lie. Evie pressed herself to eat quicker, tearing a piece of fresh bread to chew. Thing was, she wanted to eat. She wanted to eat so badly despite the sickness welling inside her. The heavy ache made it a task. Mona eyed her daughter there. “My stomach's in knots a lot, just school stuff.” 

   “Well, you are a senior.” Mona pushed her own soup around. “I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. Just the salon and I met-”

   “I get it.” Evie’s lips spread in a flash, not wanting her mother to finish that sentence. “I’m with friends a lot and I keep busy with my music and the cat. I even wrote a new song.”

   “That’s two this week, you. Strumming along blissfully.” Mona gushed. “Whatever has you all creative and dewy, chase it.” Silverware clicked around and Evie stared at her dish. A broader smile crossed.

   "I will."

   “What’s it called?”

   “Ocean Eyes.” 

   Evie could be pretty transparent in the early stages of a relationship.

   These short weeks in with Billy. Lyrics flooded free. Sometimes he liked to watch her write and strum when they hung out. Trips to the lounge where she worked other nights got him a full show, but not of her original stuff. Songs marched forth.

   “Ocean Eyes.”

   “Cupid and Psyche.”

   “Honey Stardust.”

   “Neon-Tinted Hearts.”

   Rock. Pop. Lush and obscene with her glowing heartstrings. She wrote them for Fredrick too when they got together.

   “Doll Joints.”

   “Lollipop Lolita.”

   “Prince Charming.”

   After dinner, Evie stole a notebook filled with her every sinful lyrical confession of her time with Fredrick Bowers. Burnt it in an empty pot out back until Billy wandered out the back steps of his place. Asking her if she was trying to set the neighborhood on fire.

   “How can I help?” He’d snarked while the sky went all pretty peach fuzz. Evie just laughed and never explained what she’d burnt or why it felt this cathartic to watch the smoke rise toward a falling sun. She figured maybe this was the day she'd stop eating foreign and sharp objects. She could do it. She was happier. Lighter. It had to stop.

   It had to. She couldn't think about this haze shattering, it hurt too deep.

   Billy used the flame to light his cigarette comically and kissed her before inhaling the smoke. 

   “Can we take a drive? Or walk if you’re low on gas?”

   “Let’s walk, I got some cash doing my odd jobs for the damn neighbors, but I need it to last a bit longer with Max’s birthday. Got her this new board she was too chickenshit to beg our parents for.”

   “Aren’t you a darling big brother?” Evie crossed her arms to follow him when the flame dwindled low. They went around the house to the front, started down the street. “Iris has some hours for me that next Saturday night.”

   “You going to tell your mom about the secret job thing?” Billy inhaled and let smoke billow up into the afternoon light. They walked along Cherry Lane. Not touching. Counting steps while their shadows cast and the streetlights came up. A brisk night loomed, spring begging to creep through the month of March. 

   “I figured I could this summer. Around graduation. Just say I got something bigger since I’m eighteen and Iris can get me steadier hours. Gigs day or night. Maybe I’ll get to host a couple more drag shows. I miss those damn girls, the funniest performers know. I'll just let my mom down easy about the receptionist thing, hopefully she’s fine with it. Make it sound like I took initiative cause I'm a big girl.” 

   “And your grand singer plans?” He liked to ask about her and hang upon the syllables.

   “Still up in the air. I’m taking the year off to work and write. Try for a talent agent or manager. I can record maybe...try to get airtime. There’s this contest thing, they do it every year and the winners always do well. But, I’m honestly too afraid to ask my mom about it just yet. I’m saving though here and there.” Evie beamed. “You? Summer and on.”

   She was clearly asking if he was sticking around for summer. 

   “Odd lawn, house, and car jobs are getting me by. This whole street is a mess and the moms in town like to watch me work."

   "Yikes." 

   "It means better pay and tips. I’m taking Heather up on her lifeguard offer this summer. I'll save up, Dad's already going to be asking for rent when I graduate."

   "Shit."

   "Yeah. Don’t wanna bank on that mall they’re opening with all the other little shits trying to get jobs first.” Billy leaned back to let the cooler air kiss his face, sighing before he tossed his smoke out. 

   Evie came to the end of the street near the forest, swayed around a streetlamp like she was in an old Hollywood flick. Dreaming long and endless. Sometimes she worried so often that she wasn't living. Just dreaming it all away. Maybe a center line was possible.

   Maybe she'd be able to soar over it all.

   Billy waited for her to swing back around it before he pressed into her for a slow, lingering kiss. Even better, maybe they both were sharing a dream. Making it of something stronger.

   “So, how am I doing?” He joked lighter. Evie gripped the lamp to stay level, head tilting. “Two weeks in, almost three. This whole situation.”

   “Situation.” Evie mused, slyly hiding half her face behind the lamp to hum. The shadowy starlet of a femme fatale she loved to watch on television with her mother. Glinting. Dangerous. "This whole situation?" She lingered to sigh it even slower.

   "You and me." He'd sounded out, drawing nearer. "Us..." Evangeline, always the playful nymph, flitted off playfully. Spinning the other way to walk along so Billy came to her side easily.

   “I think you’re doing fine." She tapped her chin. "What about me? Evaluate my performance.” 

   “Ah. In a sea of slithery tadpoles, you’re a goddamn firecracker.” He’d laughed and Evie followed, covering her lips with one hand.

   “I don’t know how any of that correlates or makes sense, but I’ll take it.”

   “Neither do I. Just made it up to see you do that. The scrunchy thing you do when you’re too happy or upset with me.” Billy’s nose crinkled as he grinned there. Evie came up to peck his freckles.

   “You’re a total sap, Hargrove.” Evie continued, hands clasped behind her back before she inhaled the air. “Let’s hit that mini mart nearby. I’m craving a Dr. Pepper. Buy you a soda. It’s my turn.”

   “No, it isn’t. You’re just being too nice again,” Billy remarked, feet shifting slower as they crossed the street. “I can’t take you fancy places.”

   “I don’t need to go to fancy places, I just like hanging out with you wherever.” Evie turned her head to see him. “We’re both poor, we make due. Summer will be better. We can just work and...figure this out. I like it right now though, so don’t worry because I know how you shiver in those boots.”

   She pondered it.

   “Do you like it?” Evie offered quieter, earning Billy’s eyes searching her expression. Lip twitching, he tossed his arm around her. Brought Evie taut into his frame with an easier grin so they could keep walking toward the whirling, illuminated sign in the distance.

   “Yeah, I like it.” He decided. “I like you plenty. What's not to like, Evangeline?” His free hand gestured out and Evie beamed to point at that darling face. Her Eros. Encouraging her wings to unfold without pressure.

   "Wow, you're getting better and better at that." A beat. "Making me blush without rolling my eyes."

   "Please, Angel, your knees quiver every time I hit you with this smile. You might as well toss off the panties for me." For good measure, he flashed it and Evie hid from his absolute burning charm. Cheeks felt that fire bloom and billow.

    A car hurried past them. Sweeping budding flowers and loose leaves about. Delicate, they danced. Trees wobbled back and forth to the wind picking up. Evie stayed looking away to smile that time. Knew this wind would carry her easily.

   "Did you have a best friend back in California?" She moved her arm around his back as they went. 

   "I don't know. Guess I had a few in orbit."

   "Am I your best friend here?" She piped back up and Billy slowed to glance, chuckling.

   "I thought you and I were avoiding labels."

   "It's different." Came the protest.

   "No, it isn't." He paused. "Heather's your best friend."

   "Yeah, but I figured I could have more than one. Perfectly carved places for each." Evie shifted in front of him, hands smoothing up Billy's shoulders to clasp fingers round his neck. Blue eyes glittered to search.

   "You trying to push some admission outta me, Fenny?"

   Lashes batted with all the innocence they could hold.

   "Just admit it, Hargrove," she pulled him down for a lip lock, pecking his jaw and cheeks until he broke to laugh and hold her at bay. One brow lifted. "It'll be our dirty little secret."

   "Fine. Only cause you twisted my arm about it and it gets you hot. You are my very," he palmed her bottom to make her gasp in one motion, "very best friend. Happy?" Billy stole a kiss when she was still dumbfounded, molding their frames together.

   "Maybe I am." Evie sighed, sounding too raw and honest about it. She came out to see his eyes there. Tried to read them. Billy blinked to say something else.

   “So, you're already thinking about graduation and summer, huh? Moving quick.”

   “I’m optimistic is all. It’s a rare thing with me so I'm just enjoying it. I’m not used to happy and good.” Evie got cheeky to hide anything else, winking over her shoulder before she went inside the tiny store.

   Fluorescent lights washed out too many colorful packages. They picked cold cans of soda and bright yellow packs of Jujyfruit candies to curb a sweet craving. Billy gripped the paper bag in one fist and Evie snatched his free hand when they got outside.

   “C’mon!” She picked up the pace. “Let’s catch the bus to the other side of town.”

   “Billy Hargrove doesn’t take the bus. It’s all full.” He’d complained, still rushing after her to the stop.

   “Try something new.” Evie was giggling, tugging at him to get on.

   With the bus full of residents leaving work, they took some standing room with a group up front. Fingers curled into the handles above, swaying closer together due to the rocking and crowding. A hard turn sent Evie into Billy’s chest, her hand sprang out over his shoulder to catch the bar just above his head.

   “Trying to jump my bones in public, little Miss Fenny?” He feigned a look of awe, brows lifting playfully. His free arm slipped around the small of Evie’s back, bracing her there into his marble frame. “You know how much easier it is if you just ask, Angel?”

   Evie wanted to scoff. Wanted to scrunch that annoyed look she was known for. Wanted to send him to the floor and kiss him for miles and miles. But, she just stood there in the dim, flickering bus lights. Watched his expression relax. Not really breathing until she reminded herself. 

   Billy seemed to remember as well. At the back and forth shifting of the vehicle, they squished together. Forcing looks away to see the path again. Billy pushed his thigh further between her legs. Both of them idly rubbing together now. Evie felt the heat crawl up her cheeks, lungs tremoring. Billy’s fist holding the bag shifting a little lower on her back, firm and scalding hot. 

   She peered up at his jawline. Looked away. Felt Billy’s eyes wander back after before he flickered elsewhere. Denim pushed against denim. Billy hitched this breath as if he might whimper. Swallowed it down. Hips swaying back and forth and back again. A thumb pushed deftly into her back. Evie shifting in, lips parting. Trembling as Billy turned his head to see her centimeters from him. 

   “This is our stop.” She’d said in his ear. Leaning flush into him to pull the cord down. Billy inhaled the amber. Brushed his nose into her own while she came back out.

   “Don’t wanna stop.” His freckles looked especially glowy outlined in a rare blush. The bus skidded and Evie veered back with some amusement. Brown eyes casting Billy up and down before she skipped off in a hurry, leaving him to chase her because he’d always chase her. Bag still wrinkled around Billy’s fist, he caught up with her. Under the streetlamps surrounded by dancing moths. 

   “We near Lover’s Lake?”

   “Yeah, the park nearby. Figured some loitering would do us good.” Evie stepped across the grass and sand. Listened to the dark structures creak. “C’mon. I love the swings.” 

   She plopped back into one, legs kicking some before Billy joined her. He cracked one can of soda to offer it, feet shifting over the sand to sway closer together. Chains creaking. 

   They clicked drinks and guzzled fizz before Evie snagged the candy out. Stealing a few chewy pieces. The bright box got passed back and forth during a comfortable silence. Billy watched Evie as she observed the moon there. 

   “Do you know any constellations?” She’d asked quieter, forcing him out of the daze. Curls caught the illumination with stars dotting her dark eyes. 

   “Not really.” He took the candy back as she swallowed a piece.

   “You see that crooked line? Those four little guys, they call that...Salem’s Lot. And...” Evie touched her lips, pointing again. “Those two bright boys there. Called Shawshank. Oh, and that one-”

   “These are Stephen King references.” He pushed her.

   “No, I’m very smart and they’re real-life constellations. Listen and learn, Billy boy.”

   “So, are you gonna call that grouping, The Shining or The Overlook?” He pointed to a cluster and Evie snickered.

   “Obviously that’s Carrietta White’s Constellation. Duh. Cause it looks like a rain of blood.” Evie snorted and Billy joined her, heads pressing together as they giggled like school children.

   “You know she wears a crushed red velvet dress in the book? Not pink as seen in the movie.” Billy stretched out, finishing his soda.

   “You know she’s fat in the book, too?” Evie winked at him, eyed the trash, and tried to toss her can at it. Missing badly, it smacked the rim and fell in the sand with a clatter. “Damn it!” Billy laughed at her louder.

   “Don’t try for a career on the court, Evie.” He watched her pout as she plucked it up to throw it away properly. “Now, watch the master work.” He aimed as she sat down. One deft hand reeled back and launched it only to have Evie’s palm smack it easily the other direction. Almost falling out of her seat cackling, she got the candy pushed into her arm before he gawked and went to get it.

   “Oh,” she kept up without air, “I thought you were the master? You should have seen your face!”

   “Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, dunking it in the can with an echoing clank. For some cheery consolation, she offered the rest of the box to him. Tiny candy pieces fell into his palm before he pushed them all into his mouth at once, eyes lifting to the sky again. Billy made a face and turned to go to push her swing. “Gimme another constellation.”

   “Hmm.” Evie held the chains, began to swing properly at his coaxing. Felt like they were in a secret garden together. Water rippling against the air distantly. Cold chill not bothering either of them. “Those two stars. The little one and the big guy. See?”

   Billy gripped the chains, keeping her swing up against him to follow the gaze

   “That’s Neverland. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.” She snickered again as Billy pushed her forward. “Bet I can beat you there. I’ll jump from the swing.”

   “You’re on.” Billy stole the seat next to her, both of them pumping higher. Curls fluttering. Laughing. Happy because they were together and that mattered.

   “I’m going to overthrow Pan and Hook. Become the most fantastic Lost Girl with a siren song to command the island and you’ll write your stories.”

   “Think so?” Billy pushed himself higher. Actually thought he might fly with Evie there.

   “Yes! You’ll tell the greatest stories ever heard through the land and they’ll echo back down here to be loved too.” She proclaimed that. Not having heard Billy’s stories, but believing what was in his heart. 

   Time slowed. Wild laughter crackled toward the sky. Utter sparks as they jumped together and collided to roll around the sand. Evie was still alight with joy under him, hair splayed everywhere as Billy snapped up to check her over, hovering. Evie’s giggling tapered off against the night air. She stared up at him. Framed in twinkling stars. He said something she didn’t catch.

   “You have beautiful eyes,” Evie sounded out slower, lost in the endless crystalline blue. “Did you mean it?”

   “Mean, what?”

   “What you said when we were lying in bed together. You said I was the best thing about this place. People never say things like that. Not to girls like me. I believed it when you said it though and it was easy too.” Evie skimmed her fingers over his jacket. Watched Billy’s eyes flicker to recall that moment and the clouds he floated upon like lily-pads in a pond.

   Billy swept down. Planted a hot kiss that was all lips. Swelled her mouth when he pulled out. He left Evie fluttered and came to her ear.

   “That was a yes.” He pushed up, eyes too sly. “By the way.” Evie took a hand when he offered one and got pulled to her feet, bodies stumbling together. They tried to brush the sand off fabric. 

   “Do you think about that night? The dance, I mean. Not...the sex. Well, I guess it’s okay to think about the sex actually.” She blushed there when Billy’s lip quirked. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Before all that went down with Brock. It was-”

   “Not terrible.” He finished.

   “Not at all. The first part of the night, sometimes I wish we could go back and-”

   “Rewrite it.” Billy looked around, giving Evie a tug. He pulled her up on the metal roundabout, painted red and blue that was chipping away. “Hold on.” Another smile had curled as he braced to get it spinning.

   “Billy!” Evie jerked to hold tight to the bars. Hair flying up. Curls coiled out. Fire billowing gracefully. “What are you doing!”

   “Turning back the clock,” he charged and jumped on with her, wobbling to hold something, "to redo it.” Evie grabbed for his coat. Fisting the fabric when they locked eyes. Wind rushed in a thrill with memories tumbling together and apart. 

   Her wings sprang forth.

   Billy made Evie the still point to his turning world. For just a moment. Knew, if anything, that meeting her was something truly important. An unseen force that would twist his heart forever.

   Spinning round and round. He recalled the metallic confetti dancing and the way the music pulsed. The carousel began to slow, both teens holding the bars and each other to say level.

   Slower, Evie pecked a kiss upon his lips to mirror the first. Unable to come out far, Billy was already closing the distance for the second. Trying to pay her back with a thousand sweet kisses. 

   Cheers rang and fireworks burst. She remembered it all too. How dizzy and still the world seemed to be. How it hushed for her too sweetly. Billy’s hands on her face, cradling delicately to angle the second kiss a little deeper. They felt the metal clink to stillness under them and inched back out.

   “I want to go home with you,” Evie said the words she wished she had that night. Huge dark eyes glittering. She found his lips again. Not worried about air or what the future held for them. Lost on a rosy haze and perfectly fine for these stolen fleeting seconds. “Can we go?” Billy searched her, thumb sweeping a circle into her jaw. He smiled fully.

   “Only if we can take the bus again.”

** ** ** ** 

   “Happy Birthday!” Evie gushed, offering a gift to a small pile. Max had her arms around her before she’d gotten a chance to turn. One hand shifted to the shorter girl’s back. Music whirled with a campy light show, made the horribly patterned carpets glow. “Carol and Heather are on their way in. Tommy’s around but he won’t hang near the table.”

   “Neil’s going to be late. Work stuff.” This explained why Max’s smile was so bright. Evie nudged her chin, head cocking. “You brought your own skates.”

   “I know it’s dorky, but they’re my babies.” Evie gestured to the red skates swung over one shoulder. “Evie Fenny doesn’t rent her skates.”

   “That’s El, come meet her,” Max pulled Evie off after she got one wave at Susan behind the table setting up. “Billy’s grabbing stuff from the car. He drove us.” 

   El Hopper was a tiny thing. Almost like a little bird compared to Hopper’s hulking frame behind her. She peered around and seemed at instant ease upon seeing Max.

   “El, this is my neighbor, Evie," Max introduced them, "she’s cool.”

   El made this gesture like she had a needle and poked at her hand.

   “Yes!” Max got it, tugging Evie’s arm. “She taught me the felting thing.”

   “Hope the sharp objects weren’t a bother in your house, Chief Hopper.” Evie perked up at Jim with a sheepish expression. “I should have asked you, I know it might seem a little dangerous.”

   He actually laughed at that. If only she knew the danger these kids had gotten into prior.

   “Believe me, crafts are a welcomed change.”

   “El, nice to meet you. I’m Evie. Max talks about you all the time.” Evie held out her hand and the young girl looked shocked. “Good things.”

   A slower smile crossed. She took Evie’s hand to shake it. Awkward about her navigation but trying to take everything in. Clearly never been to a party like this one. Kids of various ages circled the floor on skates. Laughing. Holding hands. 

   “Max...talks about you too. I like your hair.” El mirrored. Peered to Hopper with a pleased expression he matched. She offered Max a wrapped gift. Evie grinned and touched her curls, pulled up into two high, rounded buns.

   “C’mon, let me show you the table they’re setting up.” Max took El’s wrist to usher her off.

   “Are you...staying to skate?” Evie turned to the Chief.

   “El’s, ah, not used to crowds. She came from some unfortunate circumstances. I’d like to stay close. First party. Maybe I’m hovering.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. Not in uniform. Evie beamed a little.

   “She’s young, you’re worried. It’s sweet, actually. You’re just being a good dad.” The smile seemed to dither in her eyes. Even when Jack was married to Mona, he wasn't always around. Work and trips kept him busy, but he stayed to close to Evie the moment he arrived home with his little gifts and endless stories. “Don’t come running over if she falls, we got her.”

   “Yeah, uh, if you could keep an eye on El when you see her around. That would mean a lot to me. I know you babysat the Henderson kid. El doesn’t need a babysitter, she’s just… This is new for her.” Jim gestured. Digging for a smoke he couldn’t have in the immediate area. 

   “Heather, Carol, and I will keep an eye out.”

   “Carol?” He chuckled. “Perkins?”

   “Oh, yeah, we made up. Funny thing.”

   “Almost as funny as you hanging out with the Hargrove boy through winter.” He quirked his brow.

   “What can I say, Chief...” Evie shrugged. “I’m...branching out.”

   As if on cue, Billy paced in a side door. Bag clutched under one arm. He caught Evie’s glance instantly. Both of them locked in and back out on cue. Blue eyes shifted up and down because she was wearing his denim jacket over a little lacy, floral top tucked into her jeans.

   Neil would arrive and they had an act to keep up. Ignoring each other.

   “I’ll sit far." Jim offered. "Pretend I’m not here.”

   She about cackled, lost in thought still.

   “I’ll just pretend you’re my real dad,” Evie winced at herself, saw him pause with some subtle awe, “oof, I’m not sure where that came from. Ouch. Okay. Walking away now. Sorry, Chief.”

   “Evie.” He eased a gentle hand toward her. “What I said. If there’s...anything going on. You can talk to me. On or off the record.”

   “Yeap. Right. I’m okay. I’m...I’m gonna...skate. Yeah. Sorry. Oh, my…” Evie whirled to hurry off, cringing all the way to the table. “I think I just had a mental break.”

   “What?” Heather had chuckled.

   “Nothing. Time to skate?” Came Evie’s begging. Agreement followed.

   Hopper made himself scarce with a cigarette and plate of cheese fries in the corner. Billy plopped himself into a chair behind the decorated table, looking disinterested. Not catching Evie’s eyes while she sat with the girls to put her skates on. Just watched Susan set out plates for pizza and cake. 

   Evie went out with Heather first for a lap, both of them giggling and pulling little stunts to show off for Tommy who was on the ground as Carol pulled at him. Max jumped over his leg, cackling before she tried to get El to come out with them. 

   “Kinda reminds me of us. They’re too cute.” Heather quipped, whirling to skate backward. They joined the younger girls, hoping to get El relaxed and away from the wall she seemed to cling to. Every turn, Evie shot Billy a look. Got his lips quirking before he ruefully was peering away. 

   “Do you want to skate, Billy?” Susan had asked after a beat, weary of the music already. Bit of a glittery disco mess. That same dreamy rose haze in the air.

   “About as much as I want to give my old man a sponge bath, Susan.” Billy frowned for effect and dropped it when she actually laughed at him. It was an easier thing for them to talk without Neil’s shadow. 

   “Well, the offer is open if you want to.” Susan thought to tell him Evie looked beautiful today when she caught him staring at her for the third time but decided not to be obvious. Not yet. 

   “You’re supposed to tell me I’m being inappropriate and I’m going to send your only daughter down with me.” He recited easily.

   “I was your age once, Billy, I know how to laugh still.” Susan seemed surprised at the revelation herself. Slowly, she took a seat next to him. Not leaving another chair as a buffer like she usually did. “It might not be so bad. Her following you, you know, after this. When she’s older. She still looks up to you.”

   It became clear what Susan was asking him. Max would resent her one day down the line. For the choices she made. The things she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Billy and Max didn’t always get along, but he’d be a safer place for her than whatever was leftover in that house. Susan would always be under Neil Hargrove, but she could ensure her daughter would not be. One day.

   Billy leaned forward on his elbows, palms rubbing. He felt for his ring and remembered it was hidden under Evie’s dipping sweetheart neckline. He didn’t say anything, but met Susan’s eyes.

   “Evie’s been a good friend to her.” Susan crossed her legs and sat back to watch the girls laugh. Slowly easing into the conversation. El wobbled, holding hands with Max and Evie to gain some speed. Heather was trying to help Carol steady poor Tommy. “Don’t you think so?”

   “I haven’t noticed.” Billy turned his head aside.

   “She’s very pretty. Kind. That’s all I’m saying. She and her mother, they’re nice neighbors to have on Cherry.”

   “Jesus, Susan, why don’t you date them both?” Billy shot up to go to the snack counter. Susan ghosted this smile after him, hands clasping. “Cheese fries. Jalapenos...Extra jalapenos.” He got his plate and turned to see Chief Hopper’s cigarette glow red. “You got any more of those? My pack is out and they don't have a machine in this joint.”

   Jim just eyed him.

   “I’m legal.” Billy puffed before a stick flicked across the table. “Camels. Unfiltered. Disgusting. Are you a flannel hobo of some kind with those?”

   The Chief gawked at him.

   “Don’t you smoke Reds? Baby’s first cigarette.”

   Billy matched him. Offended.

   “I’m smoking with the big boys, Hop. You should try it.”

   “You in a place to complain, kid?” Jim reached to take it back before Billy swiped, lighting up to puff. 

   “No, sir.” His lighter snapped shut. “You unable to cut the cord or is dressing like a lumberjack to hang out at a 70s roller disco a hobby?”

   “Haven’t seen you down at the station in a while. Few months, in fact. Turning over a new leaf this year?” Jim remarked instead, leaning forward on his elbows.

   “Aw. You miss me or something? Your boys finally get tired of chasing me down? Or trying to.” Billy gave this comedic pout, head turning to eye Evie again. Graceful swan that she was out there. His jacket hanging off her shoulders, exposing that neck. Little wisps of curls swayed about from her space buns decorated with matching glittery star barrettes, loose hair framing her face. Brown eyes flicked up and he snatched his gaze away. “Guess I found something else to get into that isn’t trouble. You guys bore me down there, I like to be amused.”

   “The real crime-stopper, boredom. Color me impressed and shocked.” Jim seemed to like that, eyes rolling. Billy puffed and swept a piece of tobacco from his mouth. “I guess whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He watched Billy crunch on some salty jalapenos, plucking five gooey fries at once to swallow them down. Almost starved.

   “I intend to.” Billy flicked his greasy fingers to his brow. “Chief.”

   “William.” 

   Billy mumbled as he went off, finishing the smoke to flick it out a back door. Eyes shifting to watch the girls plus poor Tommy. El was already better than him.

   “Man, I’m dying out here. Help me. I’ll tag you in.” Tommy scrambled up the sidewall and clung, out of breath. Freckles all dewy.

   “You wanted to be a good boyfriend,” Billy cackled for good measure, "that'll teach you."

   ��Feed me a fry,” Tommy begged over the barrier.

   “Fuck out of here, they’re mine. My dad will show soon so you can disappear to a corner and get your own damn fries.” To make it a point, Billy stood there and fed himself.

   Behind Tommy, Max skidded and fell with Evie barely catching her. Both girls had gone down in a fit of giggling.

   “We’re fine, go on!” Max waved to Heather and El ahead of them. Carol came to steal Tommy back as Billy craned to see his step-sister.

   “You alright?” Evie was picking her up when Max’s shirt slipped closer to her pale shoulder, flashing a burst of purple there the size of a softball. “Oh, my god.” It slipped out before she could stop it.

   “That’s-!” Max cut herself off and fixed her shirt. Spring was creeping and all she donned was long-sleeved and frumpy. Dressing almost like Susan. “I fell, you know, on my board.” Evie tried to give her the dignity of a look that said she believed it. Must have cracked. “Evie, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Please.”

   Dressing like Susan. Sounding like Billy.

   “Max, my house is-”

   “I know, but don’t… Don’t say anything. Not to Billy or my mom, ah… Neil’s here.” Max put her head down and skated around Evie to go away. 

   There was something particularly helpless about watching a young girl flee obediently to her monster. Evie wondered if this was what she looked like to Billy headed to Fredrick's place.

   Small. Scared. Lost.

   Neil Hargrove started with words. Lots of horrible words that whittled Max down to a hard pit. Then pushing. Then some grabbing. Then shoving. Into walls mostly.

   The hit didn’t bruise Max. It was more of a swipe to make her go to her room for talking back. Whatever that meant to Neil. But, he was drunk and he caught her jaw with an open palm. That stayed red for the day until she snuck a pack of frozen peas, not wanting Susan or Billy to know.

   But, the swipe sent her into the dining room table. Left the violet petals bursting under her skin. Evie lost the urge to skate and came out. Saw Billy’s eyes again and paused to help Heather usher El out for food. 

   “You’re a natural.” Evie complimented which earned a full smile. El opened her mouth to speak before Billy appeared in front of them.

   “They’re making us sing.” He cocked his head, peering at El. “You’re the one with the funny name, aren’t you?”

   “Jane. But,” she seemed to have trouble staring at him for more than three extended seconds and pointed to her chest, “El.” Red crept across her cheeks. Billy towered over her, cocking a wider grin to play up the fact that she was all blushy for a pretty older boy.

   “El?” He raised one brow. “What’s the L stand for?”

   “Ignore him.” Heather pulled the younger girl around Billy as he chuckled, pausing to see Evie. Her colorless expression.

   “You okay?” He said it hard with a furrowed brow.

   “Fine.” She tried to make it sound cold but it came out near silent. Head turned down as she flitted around him to join the party.

   Neil, stiff and stoic, pressing his lips like he was at the damn DMV. Susan plastered a broader grin to dote on him after his long day, lingering close to his side as they set out pizza and readied the cake.

   It was all so routine. Like getting your shots. 

   Pizza. Sing. Candles. Wish. Cake. Gifts. Thank you.

   Billy and Evie took the farthest seats from each other. Played a game of glance and ignore that they’d made up on the spot. They both were either losing or winning.

   “Strange,” Neil remarked as he pulled Max aside for another slice. “You and the high school girls.”

   “Oh, I invited El too, she’s my age. I didn’t want to leave Evie out and the girls...they’re nice to me.”

   “They don’t dress like nice girls.”

   Heather and Carol both donned perfectly normal tees and jeans. Nothing would suffice for Neil Hargrove. Max shifted her cake around. No longer hungry for it.

   “Maybe we’ll talk about the type of girl you should hang around at a later time. The Fenny girl is nice enough, even if her shirt is a little too...low. Dresses kinda tight. Bit of an odd one. She’s different. Her friends, well...I’m just not sure, Maxine.”

   “Yes, sir.” She looked at her birthday cake like it was infested with worms. Carefully forced a bite and set it aside. 

   Max hung around. Smiled and thanked everyone after each birthday present. Even hugged Neil only cause he opened his arms at her. She said bye to El then Heather. Carol seemed to be turning in as well so Tommy went out back to get the car. 

   As the party went on and dwindled, Evie caught Billy’s eyes gesturing to the rental counter. He slipped around the corner into the many shelves and Evie turned back to see Max and Susan at the table. Neil seated in a chair not helping them clean up, eyes elsewhere. Casually, she skated around and got her arm snatched. A gasp snuffed against a pair of lips. Kisses hidden away from the world. 

   “Paid the kid a few coins and a threat to leave for ten minutes."

   Music vibrated the shelves. Evie put her arms around Billy.

   “I still have skates on.”

   “Even better. I might have a thing for girls in red skates.” Billy was all hands, holding Evie steady. Pulling one leg around his hip. Pushing denim into denim. Hot friction might have done her in any other day.

   “We are not hooking up with all the smelly rental skates.” Evie laughed into his lips, still pecking back and peering over her shoulder. She paused to see his eyes. Wanted to blurt what she’d seen on Max’s body. Even to Billy now, it felt wrong. So, she said something else.

   “Hey, we should…keep an eye on your sister, you know. It’s her birthday. She’s...She needs her big brother.”

   Billy huffed into her neck.

   “Fine, fine, but you’ll regret not taking the adventure on here.”

   “Yeah, I’m sure.” Evie shifted. “My feet hurt and we can make-out in my bed later.” She kissed his neck. “I’ll do that thing you like if you promise you went easy on the product down there.”

   “Only dotted the gold crown. Scout’s honor.” Billy winked and she rolled her eyes. He peered out first. “Give it a second then follow.”

   “Wait.” Evie thumbed her red lipstick from his mouth. “Now, shoo.” Billy licked his lips and snuck out. She waited a moment. Let the happy butterflies land in her stomach then followed. Pausing, her skates came off for more comfortable tennis shoes.

   “Evangeline, do you need a ride home with us later?” Neil had asked. 

   “No, thank you, I was getting a ride with Carol now.” She smiled and looked for red hair to say her goodbyes. “Where’d Max go?” Evie collected her coat and Susan paused to peer around.

   “She was here a second ago. Neil?” Hands dropped a stack of plates into the trash.

   “Probably went to the bathroom.” He shrugged, squinting at all the moving lights that were making his head pound. “Billy, go find your sister.” 

   Billy seemed to notice the look on Evie’s face and feel the same chill before he hurried off without fighting. Susan looked through the sea of kids and teens meandering as Evie passed her to check the ajar side door. 

   "Max!" The one flickering light at the exit made her skin crawl. A cry echoed distantly followed by a dull crash in the dark. Like a bag of trash hitting the dumpster.

   Evie dropped her skates to follow the hollowed-out sound. Exhaust swept up her nose and tires gave a harsh wail, horns sounding while a faraway car disappeared around a row of trees to get to the main street with the rest. 

   “Max!” Evie charged out. Heart painfully thudding within her ribs. 

   “Evie?” Carol heard her and footsteps echoed around the building.

   “Max!” Evie was near tears now. A shift in some fallen trash bags made her pause when two sneakers appeared around the side of the dumpster. This odd scratching sound left her lips. Evie threw herself over the tiny body there, turned Max’s limp frame over. 

   Her shirt collar was ripped open where someone grabbed her. Or tried to. Dragging then dropping her when she put up a fight. Bleeding scrapes and dirt scuffed all over her pale freckled skin from the rough tumble. Carol got to them first and pulled off her sweater to cover Max’s torso while Evie gathered her up. 

   “Help!” Carol called because Evie couldn’t. More bodies arrived. Tommy. Susan. Billy. Neil. 

   “Neil, she won’t wake up.” Susan pulled her daughter out of Evie’s arms, shaking her. Moans filtered out, but nothing else. “What happened?”

   “I don’t know. I saw...a car. It was too dark. I just found her here on the ground. Someone tried to...” Evie wheezed out and never finished, gesturing aimlessly. 

   “Susan, give Maxine to Billy. She needs a hospital.” Neil swept down as Billy urged his sister’s tiny body away. This hard. flamed expression on his face as if he wasn't really here.

   Max looked broken. Not real. A doll left under the bed for too long without love or cherished stories to comfort it. Evie felt the knees of her jeans soak through from the wet pavement. Too many words hit the air and Evie’s eyes dropped to where that harsh car had gone to.

   Evangeline wondered what kind of monster would grab up a little girl and throw her out into the trash.

   And why the world bore so many of that same design.

~~~~~

Mad Max :( Her story line is gonna start to push toward the front here and there with Evie's in pieces. Thanks again for following the fic, I really appreciate it! Please please leave some words if you enjoy the fic. XOXO Taglist open

TAGLIST:: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown @lukespatterson @arkhamasylumpatient-blog1

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MBTI: Star Wars

Written by Ryan (archive post from January 30, 2019)

It’s the gift that just keeps giving! And it will, forever, and ever, and…….ever, because of Disney. I can see both good and bad in that. Anyway, here’s another daunting list of characters, this time from Star Wars. Major characters have gotten their own articles. Rey: ISFP (https://goo.gl/p5TKP4) Finn: ENFP (https://goo.gl/bXp2fU) Kylo Ren: ESFP (https://goo.gl/Fh2cSa) Poe Dameron: ESFP (https://goo.gl/rFc6ob)

Luke Skywalker: INFP (separate thread pending) Han Solo: ISTP (separate thread pending) Leia Organa: ESTJ (separate thread pending) Lando Calrissian: ESTP (separate thread pending) Obi Wan Kenobi: ENFJ (separate thread pending) Yoda: INFJ (separate thread pending) Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker: ISTJ (separate thread pending) Sheev Palpatine/Darth Sidious: ENTJ (https://bit.ly/2B8rzk4) Darth Maul: ISTP (separate thread pending) Qui-Gon Jinn: ENFP (separate thread pending)

Ahsoka Tano: ENFP (separate thread pending)

More Below

PREQUELS

Padme Amidala: ESFJ Padme is the most prominent ESFJ in the saga (aside from C3PO), and she’s portrayed by Natalie Portman with……..wooden acting. How ironic. The basic white girl of the saga is reduced to a monotone delivery in the first film. Who knew the Queen had to act like such a dingus so that her body double would have an easier time imitating her? If you think about it, it’s pretty genius. That being said, Fe is the name of the game here for Padme, as she’s primarily concerned with the needs and wants of those around her, and often champions for social causes due to her role as a senator later on in the films. The Clone Wars series amplifies her primary Fe and secondary Si, as she fights to restore the Republic to its glory days.

Count Dooku: INFJ No one got tricked harder by Palpatine’s schemes than Dooku did. Darth Tyranus himself wanted nothing more than for the Separatists to restore a rightful order to the galaxy (in his eyes), free from the corruption of the Jedi and the Republic. Even as he was in on most of Palpatine’s grand plans from the start, he was unaware of his master’s true deception towards him until his final seconds.

It’s only fitting that the gentlemanly villain of the saga, and even more fitting that he wanted Obi-Wan as his apprentice (another xNFJ), to usurp Palpatine. Count Dooku is basically the Ra’s Al Ghul of Star Wars.

Jar-Jar Binks: ESFP My favorite character! Just kidding. But really, Jar-Jar ain’t all that bad; he’s just an annoying ESFP. Jar-Jar lives primarily in the moment as a comic relief goober that bares little-to-no importance to the plot, except for the crowning moment where he facilitates the senate to give Chancellor Palpatine emergency powers. Oh, now you’ve got a reason to hate him.

Mace Windu: ENTJ “George……I want a purple lightsaber. Pleeaaaase?”

Unfortunately, Samuel L. Jackson himself never got to utter his catchphrase as he portrayed a more stoic ENTJ this time around. Mace Windu, known in the Legends continuity for his infamous Shatterpoint technique (very Te-based), gifts a strategic mindset to the Jedi council. He’ll often say things for how they are in a Te-based manner (but with a little more tact), such as when he states that Anakin is too old to be trained when Qui-Gon presents him to the council. And then he’ll sometimes give us some one liners, such as “this party’s over.” But the signifier of Te-Ni? When he proposes to execute Palpatine because he is too dangerous.

Jango Fett: ISTP Jango Fett? Neevah houd uf ‘im. But what about Boba? Rest aside, Jango Fett just cares about the fat stacks he gets from being a clone template so he can be the best dad in the galaxy there is, and he don’t care who pays him. Sounds pretty ISTP to me.

General Grievous: ESTJ Hello there! Our favorite coughing cyborg general turns out to be an ESTJ. Through primary Te, he barks out orders to his subordinates, often impatiently. It’s like he knows you knew how to do it but screwed up, which is a superpower that ESTJs have and will use to pounce on you and your failures.

Grievous himself is a natural boaster, like any ESTJ. Your GIFs will make a fine addition to his collection!

ORIGINAL TRILOGY

Tarkin: ESTJ Roll your R’s! Heighten your received pronunciation! Peter Cushing is here to add some Britishness to your Star Wars! Tarkin stands as one of the most brilliant tactical minds the Empire has known (rivaled only by Grand Admiral Thrawn). But he is also one of the governors/administrators of the Empire, and it is because of this reason that he has become known for his Te, dishing out orders with an elegant terror. ESTJ it is, folks.

Boba Fett: ISTP Fact: Boba Fett survives the Sarlacc Pit in both continuities. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. Everyone’s favorite character, Boba Fett, is just like his father (an ISTP); his allegiances do not matter as long as his employers pay him fat stacks. Unless he has to work with Han Solo. Archenemies do not get along that well. The everchanging neutrality of the ISTP is displayed most importantly in the Legends continuity, in one story where Fett himself turned on Vader and dueled with a lightsaber (successfully), when it wasn’t in his own interests to side with Vader.

R2D2: ENTP I’m always under the theory that if we could hear R2D2 speak, he’d be swearing ¼ of the time. This wisecracking little astromech droid always comes up with creative solutions when in a bind, all the while wising off to C3PO in the process. Sounds like Ne to me, right? But more importantly, the moral of the story for most ENTPs to learn is a little common sense and to sit back and think things through a little more. Sure they have excellent reasoning abilities on the spot, but would R2 have ended up in a Jawa sandcrawler if he hadn’t smarted off to Threepio in the desert and abandoned him? He may have had a “mission,” but he could have let Threepio in on it.

C3PO: ESFJ Like a true ESFJ, goldenrod here never learns to shut his mouth. The ESFJ will blab on and on about small talk and things no one cares about, which is often why C3PO gets interrupted all of the time when he explains what he does or where he has been. Much to his annoyance, too. Because he’s a protocol droid, his Fe is slanted to please others, and this is why we have the perfect ESFJ in this galaxy far, far away.

Chewbacca: ISFJ Can Chewbacca really be typed? I think so! Just because we don’t hear him speaking anything, doesn’t mean he can’t be! Solo: A Star Wars Story did a really good job of fleshing out Chewie’s character, giving him motives and ambitions. Such as, his desire to free his people in the spice mines of Kessel. That moment signaled one of the few times that Chewie would act impulsively, to me, and it reeked of ISFJ.

Jabba the Hutt: ESTP Big shot gangster, you say? That’s pretty clear-cut, ESTP. And we see this in Return of the Jedi; Jabba just sits around on his butt indulging in sensual pleasures, changing his mind in deals quite often. He’s a reasonable man, since he uses Ti. In A New Hope, we see the way he deals with Han Solo, and he restrains his displeasure in the hopes of giving him another chance to pay him back. ESTPs, with their tertiary Fe, can often do this, although their patience will ultimately wear thin in the long run.

Wedge Antilles: ISTJ Wedge is your basic everyman, like any ISTJ there is. Does he have much of a personality to him? Not really, but from what I’ve seen of him, he reeks of ISTJ.

THE CLONE WARS

Asajj Ventress: ISFP Ventress has been burned in life before, so it’s easy to assume that she could be an ISTP based upon her cold, sarcastic exterior. However, upon further examination, ISFP seems to fit far better. Ventress lives wholly for the moment, so it would be easy to think maybe she could be an Se-user. However, her biting comebacks that she displays are a very common trait from many other fictional ISFPs, who, when unhealthy, can show a lack of morality when it comes to their enemies and this is displayed in their inferior Te which manifests as either a childish outburst or a calm and collected burn. Her primary Fi is displayed with her sense of purpose with the Nightsisters, fueled by revenge against Dooku. In the New Canon novel Dark Disciple, we see the cold exterior melt a little bit in Ventress’ newfound romance with Quinlan Vos, and we finally see her inch toward becoming a healthier ISFP.

Captain Rex: ISTJ Rex is a simple man, and our main conduit upon which to view the clone troopers who chose not to obey Order 66, all due to a little thing called tertiary Fi. ISTJs are like big cuddly goobers sometimes, and Rex is quite the example sometimes, especially in his appearances in Rebels.

Mother Talzin: INFJ All Talzin wanted was her revenge on Palpatine for double-crossing her and taking her son Darth Maul, ultimately for the Nightsisters to prosper. She wanted power in the galaxy, but even Palpatine saw through her lunacy and said nah. Sometimes, because of their imaginations getting the best of them through Ni-Fe-Ti, the INFJ can seem a little bit delusional. And Mother Talzin seems pretty INFJ to me.

Hondo Ohnaka: ESTP Hondo Ohnaka loves to party, and he loves making material gains out of any situation possible; this only proves that he is ESTP. He’ll ally with you, and then betray you if the reward is greater, and this is fueled by Se as he sees infinite possibilities in the present moment. With secondary Ti, he’ll always choose the right words for the right purposes to weasel his way out of situations, and with tertiary Fe, he’ll also treat even his enemies in a cordial manner!

Cad Bane: ISTP The most grizzled and seasoned bounty hunter there ever was between Jango and Boba Fett’s dominance, Cad Bane means business and business means credits. And if you eff it up, he’ll get mad, because he only cares about himself and his payday, which is a common stereotype of many ISTP bounty hunters in fiction. The severely underdeveloped inferior Fe that he has explains his cold personality toward not only his enemies, but his fellow bounty hunters. And with his quick strategical mind informed through primary Ti, which also fuels his own sardonic wit, Cad Bane is an easy ISTP.

Savage Opress: ISTP There isn’t a whole lot of character development for Savage Opress, but he makes a terrible user of Fe (with the exception of his brother Maul), which is the inferior function of ISTPs. So I’m just going with ISTP here for Savage.

SEQUELS

Captain Phasma: ISTJ Phasma, portrayed by the lovely Gwendolyn Christie, has always managed to keep this air of coolness to her character despite being punked by Finn twice and surviving the explosion of a planet (and possibly a spaceship; we’ll find out in episode IX). Phasma herself is an ISTJ in the best possible way, and we find this out about her character in her work ethic which is displayed in the novels and comics of the new Disney canon. The wild extents of her tertiary Fi is explored more vividly in these new-canon works.

General Hux: ESTJ General Hux hates Kylo Ren (secretly) for his whining, immaturity, and overall terrible leadership skills, and the fact that Snoke clearly favors Ren compared to himself when it comes to leadership. What can we learn from such an ESTJ character? Well, we can learn that unhealthy ESTJs are prone to loud, angry outbursts and shouting matches when their patience wears thin (that which they run low on almost daily). The unhealthy ESTJ is also known for sucking up to their superiors while they ironically continue on to treat their subordinates terribly, such as the case when Hux sucks up to Snoke, or Kylo Ren when he usurps leadership. It is only because of Snoke’s protection that Hux was allowed to say whatever he wanted to Ren, and now that Snoke is gone, well……that’s an interesting dynamic to see in Episode IX to come.

Rose Tico: ISFJ Booooo! An ordinary type for an ordinarily character in Rose Tico.

Snoke: ENTJ We still know literally nothing about him, and quite honestly, I’m fine with that for the next few years. In The Force Awakens, he seemed quite the INTJ in his tiny amount of screentime. However though, he shows a much more charismatic side more indicative of a loony ENTJ. Those gold bathrobes……utter tertiary Se. And what differentiates Snoke from Palpatine, is a slightly more charismatic side that manifests itself in his speech, almost like he can’t get enough of his own voice (a trait also manifested by unhealthy ENTPs, but in a slightly different way), signifying ENTJ more than INTJ.

Maz Kanata: ENTP Maz Kanata is quite the character, being the leader of a den of space pirates and other equally colorful characters. And Han and Chewie seem to love her. Maz is ENTP; making quips about Chewie being her boyfriend, being the “guy who knows a guy” (like Cosmo Kramer of Seinfeld, another ENTP) with the Master Codebreaker, and going on wacky space adventures in her free time, as seen in her hologram in The Last Jedi. Mature ENTPs can add a large amount of wisdom to variety of experiences they’ve seen in their long lives, and it’s no wonder the screen sizzles when Maz is on it.

ROGUE ONE

Jyn Erso: ISFP It’s becoming a real trend, isn’t it? Female ISFPs in Star Wars? Never tell me the odds! Jyn Erso, like many other ISFPs, exhibits a “once burned, twice shy” mentality that often causes her to be reluctant to declare loyalty to anyone or even be involved in conflict. Like The Dude (an ISFP) from The Big Lebowski, and almost all other ISFPs, Jyn Erso doesn’t want to take a stake in any side of any conflict. She just wants her dad.

Cassian Andor: ISTJ It’s a pretty simple conclusion that Cassian Andor happens to be an ISTJ. As a higher ranking official in the Rebel Alliance (I presume?), it’s no wonder that he wants to follow orders first and foremost and eliminate Galen Erso, because his very own Si-Te is on overdrive. But then, the Fi hits. Oh, what the hell, Rogue One it is. Hello, Scarif!

K-2SO: INTP He’s the droid with the sassy wit! He’s gotta be ENTP, right? Nah, I think K2 is an INTP. Because most of his dialogue and humor revolves around skepticism, I’m going to stereotypically label him as an INTP. It just seems right, and I’m getting quite lazy right now.

Orson Krennic: ENTJ He’s the director of a project. That almost immediately indicates ExTJ, right? It does. And boy, what a massive amount of Te he has. With the amount of balls it takes for him to stand up to Tarkin, let alone run off to Darth Vader to tattle on him, I would say that it only signifies Krennic as an ENTJ, because an ESTJ would never have those balls unless they were given them by a higher up or through experience (ex. Tarkin). And why does he have Ni? First of all, he has a vision, and he’s sick and tired of a bureaucrat such as Tarkin taking credit for his accomplishments and then also taking control, something the ENTJ never wants to relinquish. And also, he’s got quite the fiery-hot temper.

Galen Erso: INTJ Galen is a bit reserved and dad-like (his purpose in this film too), and very healthy INTJs, like Galen, are kinda like that. He’s a very realistic portrayal of one that’s closer to real life INTJs. That being, his tertiary Fi is well-developed in that he was willing to betray the Empire and build a flaw in the Death Star.

SOLO

Tobias Beckett: ESTP “Didn’t I tell you never to trust anyone, Han?” Spoken like a true ESTP mentor, through tertiary Fe. As TV Tropes would put it, Beckett is another character that exemplifies the “Heel Face Revolving Door” trope, in which the character constantly switches allegiances throughout the story. A common stereotype of many slimy ESTPs are their tendency to switch sides for their own benefit, due to their primary Se and Ti. Just look at Lando in the beginning. That old scoundrel.

Qi’ra: ISTJ While not so mature as a youth on Corellia (is anyone ever, actually?), Qi’ra later comes into her own type over the years as she matures and we get to see her primary Si in action as she makes reasonable, considerable choices amongst the entire Millenium Falcon crew through the film. And Si is one for order and loyalty; that is, until the ISTJs Fi eventually gets the best of them in the second or third act and they have a change of heart. In this case, it’s her turning on Vos.

L3-37: INFP Freedom for droids! Sound like anyone you know? Probably that Social Justice Warrior or extremely passionate Fi-user that you know in real life. You know, like an INFP or an ISFP (morely likely an INFP though). The rest of you that are just as knowledgeable in MBTI, you can fill in the blanks and you’d probably agree with me on this one.

Dryden Vos: ESTJ Again, all he cares about is the money and the pleasures. So, another xSTP crimelord/bounty hunter stereotype? Actually not this time. Initially, I thought he was an ESTP due to this. However, the scene where Beckett reveals his true colors in the con and Vos temporarily offers an implied allegiance to Han to get him, only to turn on him when Beckett leaves, signifies a key difference between the ESTP and the ESTJ. While the ESTP may go forward and stick with the allegiance, the ESTJ will more than likely feign it. And the ESTJ will sometimes do anything and accept any methods to get the job done (tertiary Ne), but ultimately dish out order in the end after the parties and dust have settled, returning to the old status quo (or rarely, starting a new one). To be honest, I’m still thinking about this one. I might go back and change Vos to an ESTP. Who knows, in time.

GENERAL

Darth Plagueis: INTP Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the INTP? I thought not. It’s not a story Enneagram would tell you. It’s an MBTI legend. Darth Plagueis was an INTP so powerful and so wise he could use his primary Ti to influence the midichlorians to create…… life. He had such a knowledge of MBTI that he could even keep the ones he cared about from calling themselves an intuitive when they were a sensor, or convince an INTJ that MBTI was not baloney. The dark side of the INTP is a pathway to many abilities, some consider to be unnatural. Eventually, he became so powerful… the only thing he was afraid of was losing his Ti, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his ENTJ apprentice MBTI, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Ironic. He could save others from death, but not himself.

Iden Versio: ISTJ I swear, this series churns out ISTJs like an assembly line. With Iden Versio, I hadn’t played Battlefront II, but I’d only seen a few cutscenes on YouTube to know that she’s another ISTJ. For my reasoning, just like at Cassian Andor above; it’s pretty much the same, except for an even greater amount of tertiary Fi from Versio.

Grand Admiral Thrawn: INTJ And now for the last but not least, most interesting character in the entire saga: Thrawn. And while his type is nothing but obvious, it’s interesting to delve into. Unfortunately, I don’t have all the time in the world to grant him his own separate post, so a paragraph or two will do. As an INTJ, what separates him from an ENTJ is tertiary Fi, and as small as it is, it’s still there. Versus being almost non-existent in unhealthy ENTJs. This allows him a more suave, cool demeanor, almost gentlemanly and noble, versus the ENTJ’s “I’ll only display that attitude because I’m sociable and charismatic, but I won’t be it” demeanor. In the Thrawn trilogy in Legends, Thrawn is more considerate to his subordinates and his partners, such as Jorus C’Boath (giving him Luke Skywalker), than Palpatine ever was to anyone. More often than not, when an INTJ makes a promise, you can bet they’ll stick with it.

CHARACTERS WITHOUT DESCRIPTIONS

Alright now, for the sake of brevity of this article, here are the characters I will not type descriptions for, just because either they explain themselves, they don’t warrant enough of an explanation, they’re minor, or they aren’t as relevant anymore (Legends characters). In regards to

SEQUELS

BB8: ESFP DJ: ESTP Unkar Plutt: ESTJ Lieutenant Connix: ISFJ Admiral Holdo: ISFJ

ORIGINAL TRILOGY

Uncle Owen: ISTJ Aunt Beru: ISFJ Greedo: who knows Lobot: ISTJ Bossk: ESTP Dengar: ISTP Zuckuss: ISTP IG-88: INTJ (even more of an awesome character in Legends) Wicket Warrick: ESFP Nien Nunb: ESFP

ROGUE ONE

Bodhi Rook: ESFJ Chirrut Îmwe: INFP Baze Malbus: ISTJ Saw Gerrera: INFJ

SOLO

Val: ISTJ Rio: ESTP Enfys Nest Leader: INFP

PREQUELS

Watto: ESTJ Sebulba: ESTP Nute Gunray: ESTJ Zam Wessel: ISTJ Captain Tanaka: ISTJ Captain Typho: ISFJ Boss Nass: ESFJ

THE CLONE WARS

Plo Koon: INTJ Luminara Unduli: INFJ Aayla Secura: ESFP Kit Fisto: ENFJ Bariss Offee: INFP Fives: ESFJ Duchess Satine: ENFJ Pre-Viszla: ENTP Quinlan Vos: ESFP

REBELS

Kanan Jarrus: ISFJ Hera Syndulla: ISTJ Sabine: ISFP Zeb Orrelios: ESFP Ezra Bridger: INFP Chopper: ESTP

GENERAL

Bail Organa: ISFJ Mon Mothma: ENFJ Iden Versio: ISTJ

LEGENDS

THRAWN TRILOGY

Mara Jade: ISTP Jorus C’Baoth: ENFJ

JEDI KNIGHT

Kyle Katarn: INFJ Jan Ors: ISFJ Jaden Korr: INFP Rosh Penin: ESFP Jerec: ENFJ Sariss: ISFJ Desann: ENTJ Tavion Axmis: ENFP

THE FORCE UNLEASHED

Galen Marek/Starkiller: ISFP Rahm Kota: ESFJ Juno Eclipse: ISTJ

MISC.

Durge: ESTP Dash Rendar: ESTP Carnor Jax: ENTP

KOTOR

Revan: INTP Darth Malak: ESTJ Darth Bandon: ISFP Bastila Shan: ENFJ Carth Onasi: ISTJ Mission Vao: ISFP Zaalbar: ISFJ Juhani: ISFP Jolee Bindo: INFJ Canderous Ordo: ISTP HK-47: ENTP Kreia: INFJ Darth Sion: ESTP Darth Nihilus: INTP Meetra Surik: ENTP Satele Shan: ENFJ

OLD REPUBLIC/TALES OF THE JEDI

Marka Ragnos: INTJ Naga Sadow: ENTJ Exar Kun: ESFP Nomi Sunrider: ISFJ Ulic Qel-Droma: ENFP

25 ABY - 45 ABY (and others)

Jacen Solo (Darth Caedus): INFP Jaina Solo: ESTP Lumiya: ENTP Vergere: INTP Ben Skywalker: ISFJ Jagged Fel: ESTJ Tahiri Veila: ESFP Anakin Solo: ESFP Abeloth: ENTP

LEGACY

Darth Krayt: INTJ Darth Talon: ISTP Darth Wyyrlok: ENTJ   Cade Skywalker: ESTP Ania Solo: ISFP K’Kruhk: ISTP Darth Wredd: ENTJ

MBTI CHART

Key = Bold - Important (separate article), Italics - Major, Asterisk - Legends

ESFJ: Padme Amidala, C3PO, Bodhi Rook, Boss Nass, Fives, Rahm Kota* ISFJ: Chewbacca, Rose Tico, Admiral Holdo, Kanan Jarrus, Bail Organa, Captain Typho, Zaalbar*, Nomi Sunrider*, Jan Ors*, Sariss*, Ben Skywalker* ISTJ: Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker, Captain Phasma, Qi’ra, Captain Rex, Wedge Antilles, Cassian Andor, Iden Versio, Baze Malbus, Uncle Owen, Lobot, Val, Zam Wessel, Captain Tanaka, Hera Syndulla, Carth Onasi*, Juno Eclipse* ESTJ: Leia Organa, General Grievous, Dryden Vos, General Hux, Tarkin, Unkar Plutt, Nute Gunray, Watto, Darth Malak*, Jagged Fel* ESFP: Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron, Jar-Jar Binks, BB8, Zeb Orrelios, Aayla Secura, Quinlan Vos, Wickett Warrick, Nien Nunb, Exar Kun*, Tahiri Veila*, Anakin Solo*, Rosh Penin* ISFP: Rey, Asajj Ventress, Jyn Erso, Sabine, Galen Marek/Starkiller*, Mission Vao*, Juhani*, Ania Solo*, Darth Bandon* ESTP: Lando Calrissian, Tobias Beckett, Jabba the Hutt, Hondo Ohnaka, Bossk, DJ, Rio, Sebulba, Chopper, Cade Skywalker*, Durge*, Dash Rendar*, Jaina Solo*, Darth Sion* ISTP: Han Solo, Darth Maul, Boba Fett, Jango Fett, Savage Opress, Cad Bane, Zuckuss, Dengar, Mara Jade*, Canderous Ordo*, Darth Talon*, K’Kruhk* ENFJ: Obi Wan Kenobi, Duchess Satine, Kit Fisto, Mon Mothma, Jorus C’Baoth*, Bastila Shan*, Satele Shan*, Jerec* ENFP: Finn, Qui-Gon Jinn, Ahsoka Tano, Ulic Qel-Droma*, Tavion Axmis* INFP: Luke Skywalker, L3-37, Chirrut Îmwe, Enfys Nest Leader, Ezra Bridger, Bariss Offee, Jacen Solo/Darth Caedus*, Jaden Korr* INFJ: Yoda, Count Dooku, Mother Talzin, Saw Gerrera, Luminara Unduli, Kyle Katarn*, Jolee Bindo*, Kreia* ENTP: R2-D2, Maz Kanata, Pre-Viszla, HK-47*, Meetra Surik*, Lumiya*, Carnor Jax*, Abeloth*, Darth Wyyrlok* INTP: K2-SO, Darth Plagueis, Revan*, Darth Nihilus*, Vergere* ENTJ: Sheev Palpatine, Orson Krennic, Snoke, Mace Windu, Naga Sadow*, Desann*, Darth Wredd* INTJ: Thrawn, Galen Erso, IG-88, Plo Koon, Darth Krayt*, Marka Ragnos*

[arysafics]

Running Into You

Summary:  Clarke’s new year resolution of picking up running is made a LOT easier by her constantly running into this really hot runner who always greets her with a smile when they meet. Because she’s awkward, she has to come up with contrived circumstances to introduce herself.

Rated T, ~2.6k words

for @ragingserenity and @bellarkebingo (for the strangers to lovers trope)

Clarke doesn’t normally make New Year’s resolutions. She thinks they’re stupid. If she wanted to make some dramatic change in her life, she could just do it any time of the year. The fact that people wait until New Year to do these things only proves to Clarke that they really have no intention of seeing them through, and she can’t roll her eyes enough at all the Instagram posts tagged #newyearnewme.

She only made a resolution this year because Monty was having a New Year’s Eve party where he forced everyone to write down a resolution and put it in a jar, which he’s now keeping on the bookshelf in his living room, where it glares at anyone who goes to visit him, reminding them of the promise they made but probably won’t keep. He says anyone who keeps their resolution by next year’s New Year’s Eve party will get free alcohol from him at said party.

Truthfully, Clarke had a million things she could write down, things she wants to achieve, not necessarily this year, but just in general. She even considered writing find someone to date me, but that just felt pathetic, and also a little too out of her control.

In the end, with Monty rushing her, and all rational thought leaving her brain, Clarke had scribbled down take up running. A decision she’d sincerely regretted on New Year’s Day when she woke up with a raging hangover, her head pounding.

Still, she kept her promise, if only for two reasons – the promise of free alcohol, and all her friends telling her that she would absolutely fail to keep her resolution. She’s nothing if not stubborn, and she’s going to make it to Monty’s New Year’s Eve party at the end of the year as somebody who runs.

Except it’s day three, and she’s already ready to give up. She’s up at the crack of dawn, because she actually has to go back to work today, and she knows she absolutely will not do it if she doesn’t do it now.

She grumbles to herself as she pulls on her workout pants, and pulls a large t-shirt and a hoodie over her sports bra. There are people who actually do this for fun. People who like running are definitely psychopaths.

She’d run in the afternoon yesterday and the day before, when the park near her house had been full of people, and dogs, and children. At this time of day, there aren’t many other people around, and there’s this kind of soothing silence, the only sounds she can hear are birds and a distant hum of traffic. It’s also nice that there are less people to see her looking like a sweating, panting, mess. She’s far from in shape.

She does a lap of the lake, which is more like a pond, actually, and isn’t really that far, but Clarke already feels like she’s dying. She pulls her hoodie off as she approaches the drinking fountain, where a man is filling up his water bottle, and she’s not so fatigued not to notice how attractive he is. She notices his ass first, and it’s probably the nicest ass she’s seen in a while, maybe even ever. The kind of firm, round, ass she’d like to sink her teeth into. Which is not a thought she’s had before.

She finds herself turning red as she realises she’s ogling the stranger’s ass, and quickly raises her eyes, only to set her sights on his massive biceps that his shirt does nothing to hide. She’d been parched before, but now her mouth is watering.

He switches off the water, and turns around, putting the lid back on his bottle. He must notice her staring, or perhaps he’s just being polite, because he gives her a smile as he passes her, and Clarke feels like she might faint. She feels like one of those girls in Beauty and the Beast who fawn over Gaston.

Face still burning, she steps up to the drinking fountain and splashes water over her cheeks, though it’s absolutely freezing. It does the job though, and she feels a little less flushed as she gears up for her second lap around the pond. She’s half hoping she’ll see him again as she runs, but he must have left already. It’s probably for the best. Knowing her, she’d just manage to make a fool of herself in front of him.

 -

 She gets up even earlier the next day, and it’s not even a chore. She also maybe puts just a teensy bit of make-up on, just in case hot water fountain guy happens to be there again. She’s not going specifically because she’s hoping to run into him again, but it is an extra motivator.

She looks around as she stretches by a park bench, her imagination conjuring up a scenario where he shows up and joins her and they run together, and then he asks her on a date. That doesn’t happen, obviously, because when have things ever worked out the way Clarke wants them to?

She assumes yesterday was a one off for him, or maybe she’s missed him, or maybe he’s coming later. So she starts her run, and she doesn’t exactly forget about him, but neither is she actively looking out for him. Which is why she doesn’t notice him running towards her until he’s right in front of her face, and he smiles at her, and she almost trips over her own feet.

She doesn’t think he notices her stumble, since he’s already passed her by then, but she stops and turns to watch him go, checking out his ass again in the process.

He smiled at her. Does that he means he remembers her from yesterday? But he smiled at her yesterday too. So maybe he thinks she’s hot. Or maybe he’s just polite and smiles at everyone he passes. Or maybe he thinks she runs funny, or he’s laughing at the way her hair sticks to her sweat-covered forehead.

She takes a deep breath, and starts running again. She’s overthinking this.

She passes him again on her second lap, and he smiles again, wider this time, and Clarke doesn’t smile back, mostly because she’s puffing too hard, and running is the worst, and she couldn’t smile about this god-awful experience if her life depended on it. But she does like seeing his smile, so she does another lap, even though she’s dying, and sure enough, she’s treated to another of his breathtaking smiles.

She’s still thinking about it as she trudges home, wishing she brought her car so she didn’t have to walk the three blocks back to her apartment.

 -

 The logical thing would be to just walk up to him and introduce herself. Even if he’s not into her the way she’s into him, she could at least make a friend out of it. She’s fairly confident he recognises her by now, after five days in a row of casually running past him, or standing near him, or watching him pet an old man’s dog. And he always smiles when he sees her. Still possible it’s just because he thinks she’s weird, or he’s noticed her staring at him every chance he gets, but she’s done enough staring to know he doesn’t smile for everyone. For the old man and his dog, yes, but not for every random person running through the park at six in the morning. Just Clarke. And the old man and his dog.

But somehow, in Clarke’s mind, it’s past the acceptable point where she can just introduce herself out of nowhere. It would have been fine on the second day, or third day. But the sixth day? That’s out of the question.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Monty tells her, after she’s explained to him her current predicament, and informed him she’s in dire need of his help. “Why is there a time limit on when you can introduce yourself to a hot runner in the park?”

“There just is.”

“You’ve never had trouble introducing yourself to people before,” Monty points out. “He’s not going to think it’s weird.”

“Monty, you haven’t seen this guy. He’s so hot, okay? He’s so hot I want to die, and I just know he probably has girls fawning over him all the time, introducing themselves to him out of nowhere and trying to flirt with him. He’s probably sick of it. And if I just walk up to him and go hey, I’m Clarke, he’ll know that I’m just another one of those mindless bimbos who wants to get into his pants.”

“So much for feminism,” Monty mutters. Clarke ignores him.

“And that’s why I need your help, because I need to look like I don’t want to lick his balls, okay? Or at least look like it’s not the first thing I want to do.”

“Gross, Clarke.”

“This is what I’m reduced to.”

Monty sighs. “So you want me to what? Write you a list of conversation topics?”

“No,” Clarke says. She looks to the fat, golden Labrador laying at their feet, who immediately starts wagging his tail as soon as he realises Clarke’s attention is on him. “I want to borrow your dog.”

 -

 The plan is simple. Hot running guy clearly likes dogs, right? Clarke had watched him as he’d literally changed course as soon as he spotted that old man and his dog. And then he spent like five minutes gushing over the mutt. Not that Clarke can blame him, it was a pretty cute dog. But Monty’s dog, Einstein, is even cuter. And the Labrador could do with a workout just as much as Clarke.

She starts her run around the pond, which is even slower than usual because Einstein isn’t really capable of keeping up with her usual pace. She hasn’t seen the hot runner yet, but she’s still hopeful.

She makes it a lap and a half before Einstein has had enough. The Labrador stops mid run, almost pulling Clarke’s arm off as she tries to keep running, still holding the leash. She stops, panting, tilting her head at the dog.

“You’re worse than me,” she mutters. Einstein ignores her, and instead starts making his way towards the pond. “You’re thirsty, okay, fair enough.” Clarke follows him to the edge of the pond, but instead of taking a drink like she expected him to, Einstein keeps walking, straight into the pond.

“Einstein, no!” Clarke yells, but the dog keeps going, pulling on the leash, which Clarke hastily lets go of, lest she be pulled into the freezing water too. “Great, just great,” she huffs, watching Einstein wade through the water, gathering mud and reeds on his fur. “Einstein!” she calls. “Here, Einstein!” He continues to ignore her.

“Need some help?”

Clarke whips her head to the left, heart pounding, because she already knows it’s him, because his voice happens to be just as hot as the rest of him.

“Oh,” is Clarke’s intelligent response.

“Is that a yes or a no?” He looks vaguely amused by her situation. He’s obviously paused mid-run to help her, because he’s covered in sweat, and Clarke has never found sweat so attractive. Licking the sweat off a stranger’s body is a normal thought to have, right?

“I’m not sure you can help,” Clarke says, finally managing to find her voice. “Unless you want jump into a freezing pond to pull out my friend’s dog.”

He grins. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for that yet,” he says. “And it’s not even your dog?”

“I was borrowing him,” Clarke says. The hot stranger raises an eyebrow, and Clarke realises her mistake. “I mean, I was looking after him. As a favour to my friend.”

“His name is Einstein?” Clarke nods. “And yours is…?”

Clarke almost laughs. She ducks her head to hide her smile. So maybe her plan hadn’t worked out exactly like she rehearsed it, but he’s talking to her, and asking her name, so it kind of worked, right?

“I’m Clarke,” she says.

“Bellamy,” he returns, and then she knows his name.

“Pretty name,” she says. He laughs, and her heart squeezes. God, he’s adorable and hot. She’s so screwed.

“Yours too,” he says. “Glad I finally know it. I’ve seen you around a bit here recently.”

“Why’d it take you so long to introduce yourself then?” Clarke teases, as if she hasn’t just manufactured an excuse to talk to him so she wouldn’t have to do the same thing she’s admonishing him for not doing.

Bellamy shrugs. “Thought it might be weird. I didn’t know if you’d taken any notice of me.”

Clarke’s eyes bulge. Is he serious? “You literally smile at me every day,” she points out. “How could I not notice you?”

“You never smile back!” Bellamy says defensively. Oh. Is it possible she’s accidentally been putting out please don’t talk to me vibes?

“That’s because running is the worst,” Clarke says. “I promise if I had the ability to smile while running, I would have smiled back.”

Bellamy beams, and true to her word, Clarke smiles back.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, and she feels like she may have accidentally let on that she likes him. But seeing as he seems like he might like her too, it’s not the worst thing in the world. She’s just not sure what happens next.

Einstein makes his way back towards them then, clumsily dragging himself out of the pond, wet and muddy. Monty is going to kill her. Einstein looks very pleased with himself, tail wagging, dripping with water. And then he gives himself a good shake, sending water droplets and mud splattering all over Clarke, and to her dismay, Bellamy as well.

She grimaces. “Oh god,” she says. “I’m really sorry.” She quickly picks up Einstein’s soggy leash before he can run off on her again.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy laughs. “I have to shower anyway.”

“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “We should probably do that.” They meet eyes for a moment, and she realises she’s inadvertently implied that they should shower together. Which she does want to do, but it might be a bit much to admit to him when she doesn’t even know his last name. “Oh my god,” she says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean, you know—together.”

“I mean, we should probably at least have coffee together or something first, you know?” Bellamy says, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, not caring anymore if she sounds too eager.

“Maybe not today though,” Bellamy says, looking down at his mud-stained shirt.

“Agreed,” Clarke says. “I have to get Einstein home to Monty anyway… he’s going to be so annoyed I let his dog get all muddy.”

“Tell him it was my fault.”

“He already knows it’s your fault. I may have—borrowed this dog so I could get you to come and talk to me,” Clarke admits. To her relief, Bellamy is amused by her confession, rather than scared off.

He hands her his phone and she puts her number in, and Clarke tries to tone down her giddy happiness when he immediately texts her that he’ll see her at the park tomorrow.

One year later, Clarke is wishing she had written find someone to date me as her New Year’s Resolution—even Bellamy couldn’t motivate her to keep running for an entire year. He does, however help her write her new resolution, something a little more realistic – get a dog of their own.

[theateared]

What’s Wrong With You? ❜

 Summary:  There's a reason that Murr’s career is almost entirely self-made. Warnings:  N/A.

    His eyes were drawn to the sticky mess covering the floor.  What was left of his pudding cup had been smacked out of his hands, plastic spoon snapping painfully under the weight of a hefty palm.  With disbelief, Murr shifted his gaze to look his  manager  in the face.

    “What the hell?  What’s  WRONG  with you?!  I was just tryna enjoy a snack befer gettin’ back t’work!”

    “What’s wrong with me?  What’s wrong with YOU?!  You know that stuff will only make you fat.  We’ve had this conversation a million times!”  

    The words stung more than he cared to admit--  not necessarily because of their implication, but because of his own struggle with an eating disorder.  It had taken him a hell of a long time to get into good habits, and though he wouldn’t fall back into bad ones for the sake of one comment, it did make the gears in his head turn in that all-too-malignant manner.

              Maybe he’s right.  Maybe one cup won’t matter, but one cup everyday?                                                       Maybe that will matter.

     After taking in a subtle breath, steadying the slight incline of his heartbeat, he replied in a calm but firm tone:   “Yer bang outta line, Zach.  However ya feel, ya can’t just go hittin’ shit I paid fer outta my hands.”   He cut his manager off with a tut as he spotted a dark stain forming on his shirt.   “Yeesh, y’owe me dry-cleanin’ money...”

    The sound of the dressing-room door slamming shut made Murr look up at him.  Only now was he beginning to feel slightly worried.  

    Zach hadn’t been his first choice for a professional opinion.  However, when they’d met while he was working in Vide, the man had wormed his way into Murr’s good graces with his patience and humour.  On the surface, he was mild-mannered and fun, somewhat quirky to boot, but Murr had soon realised that he wasn’t really the person that he thought he was.  His fuse was short, he was a control freak, always wanting to micromanage every tiny decision he made about his productions, and he was aggressive.  Though he’d never laid his hands on him, Murr suspected that that much would change  -  and he wouldn’t allow it.

    “You’re just so fuckin’ UNGRATEFUL!  You think you can do whatever you want just because some people know who you are!  You eat shite!  You don’t take care of yourself! You drink and smoke like an idiot!  You don’t think that shit’s going to ruin your look? Your VOICE?”

    “Listen, yer not my fuckin’ dad.  Back off ‘n’ mind yer own damn business, alright?  I ain’t yer  DOG,  Zach, y’can’t tell me how t’live.”   He turned his back on the man then, eager for the argument to fizzle out.  Hands searched his desk for his revised script, darting past a celebratory bottle of champagne for after the show.  Part of him knew that it likely wasn’t a good idea to show him that he’d made some last-minute changes to the play, but he was desperate to divert the focus elsewhere.  He couldn’t stand being talked down to like a child.  Not even his father spoke to him that way.   “Look, I have some--”

    “I don’t CARE, Murr!”     He lurched forwards to slap the papers out of his hands, scattering them across the floor.  The star stared at him at a loss for words, mouth half-open in a desperate attempt to neutralise the situation, when suddenly Zach’s hands entangled in his collar.  He pulled him closer with a vehemence that startled the huro, horns bumping against his forehead as he was met with a furious glare.  It smelled as if his manager had been drinking, a hint of whiskey hovering on his breath.   “What do I have to do to get you to fuckin’ listen?”

    “Let go’a me…!”

    “YOU’RE SABOTAGING YOURSELF!”

    “GET OFF OF ME!”     His voice was shrill as he shoved hard at Zach’s shoulders. The man staggered away from him  -  and the momentum sent Murr staggering back into the dresser, an arm stuck out haphazardly to support himself.  The adrenaline had kicked in by now;  he felt like a bird trapped in a cage, one that flapped and cawed and squealed, and his father’s words ran through his head like a strike of lightning.

    You know your worth, son.  Always be kind, always be generous, but don’t bend.

    Murr’s gaze darkened.  You don’t treat me like that.  Nobody treats me like that.  I’m not something for somebody else to control.  Slowly, he straightened his stance, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steel his nerves before he pointed at him firmly.   “Don’t ever lay yer hands on me again.”   His voice dripped with venom so potent that it gave the drunk man a moment’s pause.  He couldn’t tell whether he was affronted by being told what to do or if he was seriously considering the fact that he was wrong--  and he didn’t care.

    At least, he didn’t until Zach squared his shoulders and advanced on him.   “Or what, huh?  What’re you gonna do?  Don’t forget that YOU’RE in MY debt!  Who’s gettin’ your name out here in Vide, huh?”

    “I AM!”   Murr retorted angrily, a thumb jabbing into his own chest as he glowered at him without restraint.  If looks could kill, a glare from Murr would send a man straight to hell.   “Don’t take the credit fer MY hard work!  I’M the one singin’ ‘n’ dancin’ ‘n’ writin’ ‘n’ performin’ like a goddamn grease-monkey!  This shit is MINE!”

    “Like you’d ever get anywhere in Vide without a Vvder’s help!”   Zach bit back, getting closer to him with every step.  I’m going to punch this huro’s teeth in.  I’m going to bend his stupid fucking horns until they snap.   “You’re NOTHING here!  You huros are all the goddamn same--  you’re all so PROUD.”

    “Get away from me, Zach.”

    “You’re all so EAGER to KISS YOUR OWN ASSES!  You all pretend to work hard, but the only things you’re ‘fixing’ are the problems that you made yourselves, because your district is founded on false generosity and LAZINESS--”

    “That’s NOT true!”   Murr barked.  Really, this realm wasn’t a great one.  Though it was wondrous and beautiful, with surprises at every corner, things that could  never  be found on Earth, its people were so angry and hateful.  Though Valor’s quest had done a lot to quell a lot of bigotry, it also wasn’t magically erased in one day.  There was still a lot of work to be done-- which was precisely why Murr felt it appropriate to defend his district.  It wasn’t out of patriotism; it was a direct response to a racist ideology that viders perpetuated every day.  Even in spite of The Crossover, their districts very much conjoined at this point, some viders still fed each other the same dastardly lies like Nazis did with Jews.

    Unacceptable.  Disgusting.  And what makes it worse is that you yourself are doing it.  There’s no  Big  Bad  making you think these things, or say these things--  you’re just terrible, and unwilling to learn.

    Distracted, he fell when Zach’s hands met his chest in the form of a hard shove.  For all of the grace that he possessed on stage, he tumbled to the ground like a sack of bricks, confused and dazed, staring up at him with a stupefied sort of silence.  His manager wasn’t a very imposing man.  He was a little smaller than him, and his stature was nothing to write home about, skinny like a weed;  however, towering above him like that, with the intention of hurting him, Murr’s fight-or-flight response kicked in.  Just as Zach drew back his arm for a punch, Murr hurriedly reached up, fingers coiling around the thick glass of the bottle and dragging it into his lap.  Without even thinking about it, he hit it against the leg of his dresser, splintering the glass and spilling champagne all over himself and the floor.  The jagged end was brandished like a weapon, teeth grit in a furious sneer, malicious intent clear.

    In a fierce scream:   “I SAID GET AWAY FROM ME--”

    The dressing room fell silent then.  The lights surrounding his vanity mirror were the only source of illumination  ( he found it easier to proof-read and edit in dimmer places ), their space bathed in a baby pink glow.  In any other context, one might have deemed it romantic;  instead, Murr regarded it with the same quiet dread that he might a red room.

    Slowly, Zach raised his hands, backing off.   “... I’m drunk.”

    “You’re fired,”   Murr hissed in response, trying hard to hold back the urge to cry.  Far from a crybaby he was, but adrenaline had a funny way of reducing him to tears.  He was overwhelmed when it kicked in;  torn between lashing out in furious anger and crumpling in on himself with unrelenting sorrow.  He’d always been emotional like that.   “Just go.”

    “But--”

    “I said GO!”   He didn’t think about it as he hurled what remained of the glass into the nearby wall.  The noise startled the other into a hasty retreat, the door barely flung shut as he disappeared from Murr’s life for good.

    In the newfound quiet, Murr sat still.  Slowly, he brought his knees up to his chest, chin settling atop them as his arms coiled around them like a snake.  He didn’t cry.  He didn’t yell.  He didn’t work.  He just sat there, willing his heartbeat to slow down, willing his eyes not to fill up, willing himself not to run back home to his parents now that his dream was almost within his grasp. They had too much faith in his ability to abandon the position he’d found himself in.  Manager or not, he’d make his way in this district, and he’d do it despite all of the naysayers that expressed their doubt in him.

    You can’t make it in Vide without a vider’s help, huro.     Fuck that.  I can do it.

    After a few minutes to collect his bearings, hands no longer shaking, Murr slowly unfurled from his position on the floor, hands and knees climbed to as he searched for the pages his ex-manager had struck out of his grasp.  

    His heart sank when he was met something wet and soggy.

    With mounting grief, the star slowly turned one of the sodden pages over.  It fell to bits in his grasp, ink that had formed words now a blurred mess.  He didn’t need to look at the others to know that they had all met a similar fate.

    Tiredly, Murr sank back into his previous position, huddled in front of his dresser, the rosy light only touching the tips of his shoes;  a black mark in the blushing light.

    The show’s tomorrow morning.  I’m screwed.

[carlisle980]

I get in trouble on here for being honest

In fact, I lost one of my first followers ever about a month ago for saying that mothering three kids 25/8 (because homeschool) and living hundreds of miles away from family (not by MY choice) is hard sometimes.

Oh yes. That one still hurts intensely.

However.

I haven’t got anyplace else I can say what’s in my head, which, granted, is not a sparkling, lovely place sometimes. (Cue “Human” by Human League.)

So. Hate me if you want. It hurts, but my grandmother has always told me “You’ve got broad shoulders.”

I have scoliosis. Specifically, I have a double or “S” curvature of the spine that measures 42 degrees on the top and 42 degrees on the bottom. When it was discovered, it was already over 30 degrees and I was nearly done growing. I was told that I was neither a candidate for bracing (the Milwaukee brace was all that existed back then) nor surgery (because I was a Risser 5 at age 14 I guess? I don’t think I really would have wanted to be fused with Harrington rods as it would likely have been my ENTIRE spine, but yeah). I won’t lament about how it feels to live this crooked, but know that there is never NOT pain. I avoid, or have given up, doing (and wearing) a number of things I’ve loved (ballet and modern dance; running; an office job where I had a corner all to myself and a job specially tailored to my strengths; wearing cropped workout tops or high-waisted anything because my waist is non-existent) because my body CANNOT.

I have a daughter. She’s twelve. Just before she turned 10, I noticed a small thoracic curve in her spine. (It’s really easy for me to spot in other people and I drive all three of my kids insane with how often I check their backs). Anyway. Just after her 11th birthday, she began wearing a Boston brace 3D for 20 hours a day. At first she hated it and it was the end of the world (it is a hard, hot, inflexible plastic shell after all), but soon she got used to it and now doesn’t want to take her allotted 4 hours out of it daily. In the time she’s been braced, she’s grown 8 inches. Her largest curve measured 20 degrees at the start. As of today, it’s down to 16. In other words, as she’s grown, her spine has straightened and derotated. Her orthopedic specialist gave her the option to start reducing her wearing hours and see what happens to her curves, or to continue as is, since it’s going so well. She chose —she CHOSE— to keep on going with her current wearing schedule. She’s the only kid I’ve ever heard of who’d rather be in a brace than out.

I am insanely proud of my girl and THRILLED about her prognosis. When she is 39 like me, she won’t sit on one cheek more than the other, or have to hold onto the steering wheel and pull herself into the car. She won’t have a part of her back she doesn’t breathe into, or one hip so much higher than the other that she can feel her legs twisting to compensate when she walks. She will actually look thin (whereas my ribs sit ON my hip bones, so my stomach always looks fat even though I’m a healthy weight for my height). I couldn’t be happier. She will be normal.

I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that I also feel jealous. And ANGRY, so angry about the way I was handled by the “experts” at her age. If I were diagnosed today, at the age I was when mine was discovered (9), I would be on an operating table immediately. It would still be a pretty high and long fusion, but surgery now is night-and-day different to what it was when I was first threatened with it (1990) and subsequently learned it was “unnecessary” (1994). If it were happening now, I’d probably go on to major in dance in college and actually be employable. I would be 5’7-8” and wouldn’t constantly be fighting not to get heavier than I am at this moment because it’s all so damned visible. I would enjoy swimsuit season, wouldn’t avoid clothing styles that highlight my back.

If my curves were caught early and braced now. If my largest curve was 16 degrees. I would not crumble in searing, spasmodic, random pain. I would not experience menstrual cramps as much in my back as anywhere else. I could drive for 7 or 8 hours at a time and not be temporarily paralyzed when I stepped out of the car.

On the other hand, if I hadn’t lived this struggle, I would not wear a beautiful piece of art on my right shoulder blade in tribute. A white pine tree, curved in the middle but persevering. Bent, not broken.

I would not understand the pain that made my grandfather retire at 59 and sit in his recliner for nearly three decades. The pain that ultimately took him last September, at 86. A long life by many standards; yes, but at a premium no one should have to pay. He is the one from whom I, and my daughter, inherited scoliosis. He could have chosen to keep moving and probably been a lot happier, somewhat less in agony on the daily. But chronic pain of that kind, that will never fully disappear, takes its toll over a lifetime. He was tired. I am tired. I have, personally, never felt like ‘... and therefore I cannot go on here.’ But I can see how he did. It wasn’t only physical pain for him; he had his own demons and a whole lot of shit outside of his control that took his youngest son at the age of 40 and the second youngest in March of 2018 at age 59. That was the final straw. After that I watched him slowly die. If it wasn’t for the inescapable physical torment, would he have hung on longer? Would he have stayed to see my kids grow up; would he have made peace with my grandmother? Could they have had a few happy years together for the first time in nearly seven decades of relationship?

I don’t know. I won’t know. I feel his pain even now. It doesn’t justify the poor decisions he made. It does, however, explain some of his harsh treatment of those close to him when the pain was unbearable. You get ugly when you can’t get away from it. I choose stretching and weight-bearing exercise and chiropractic care to stave off the point of madness. I think he reached that point so long ago that those options weren’t there for him then. He turned to alcohol for a long time, and when that wouldn’t do it anymore he chose oxycodone and immobilized himself.

What is my point? Scoliosis kills. It steals beauty and freedom and joy. I cannot express my gratitude for the fact that my daughter will not lose to a deformity.

I just wish I’d had that option, and my grandfather before me.

[schraubd]

If You're One in a Million...

Many of you are familiar with the saying "If you're one in a million, there are a thousand people just like you in China alone." It helps illustrate that while one in a million is certainly very rare, on another way of looking it at it's also quite common. A thousand people! You could fill a high school gymnasium with that! Push the proportion down a bit and things get even more stark. Imagine a political view held by only 1% of the population. That's pretty fringe, right (for reference, 33% of Americans believe that alien UFOs have visited Earth)? But it's also one in a hundred -- in America, that translates to well over three million people. That's a lot! (We explored this dynamic previously in my "how to tokenize with proportions" post.) One thing I often think about is how modernity and modern technology, in conjunction with our decidedly pre-modern lizard-brains, don't always mesh well. We know, for example, that fat tastes delicious because in the primordial environment it was rare and vital, and thus highly desirable to consume -- unfortunately, this doesn't translate well to a contemporary context where calories and fat are plentiful and we can easily over-saturate ourselves. I suspect there's something similar going on with political opinions. One of the oft-proclaimed virtues of the internet is it allows you to find communities of like-minded persons no matter how obscure or random the interest. Obsessed with underwater basketweaving? You can find dozens of people who share that passion with minimal effort! What does it mean when the same is true for political opinions? I suspect our brains have a rough heuristic at the ready that correlates how difficult it is to find holders of a given opinion with how uncommon it is in society. If one struggles to come across individuals who believe ideology X, one assumes that X is rarely believed in a given society. If one comes across X-believers without too much trouble, one infers that X is a common ideology. If 1% of Americans hold a particular political stance, that may be three million people -- but (at least until recently) they're not going to be easy to find via the normal modes of political engagement. If you just read newspaper columns, chatted with your neighbors, watched TV pundits, and so forth, you'd probably come across it rarely, if ever. If one really wanted to find a sizable chunk of Americans who believe this 1% view, one would have to expend considerably more effort. Now to be clear: what I'm describing is only a heuristic, which means it's imperfect -- there are all sorts of reasons why, for example, a rare opinion might nonetheless be easy to spot "in the wild" (it's favored among extroverts or celebrities, e.g.) or a common one might be rarely seen (it's embarrassing). But it has some logic as a rough-and-ready way of telling us which views are common in our social circle and which aren't. It's not quite the same as the availability heuristic, but it is similar. Call it the search heuristic. Something easy to find upon commencing a search for it is common; something hard to find even when searching for it is rare. The problem is that if modern technology makes pretty much any opinion with even a speck of public salience "easy to find", that hijacks our heuristic circuitry to make all of these opinions register in our minds as "commonplace". What is the result of that? One potentially positive result is that it might offset some mechanisms that serve to silence dissident views via the so-called "spiral of silence" -- they learn that they're not alone, and so they're more willing to air their dissident views knowing that there are peers who share their perspective. But there are also some potential upshots that I'm more ambivalent about. One thing that we might experience is the erosion of perceived consensus -- a sense of widespread opinion balkanization and a corresponding vertiginous inability to tell when there is an opinion that carries significant social agreement. There's a push/pull on this -- sometimes, a feeling of "consensus" is dependent on wrongly not perceiving the existence of dissent, and so the elevation of dissident voices corrects a widespread social misperception. But, assuming "consensus" does not require universal agreement, sometimes, a feeling of dissensus is falsely inspired by the presence of high-profile but ultimately negligible dissenters. To the extent that modern technology makes very small ideological minorities loom larger, we might believe ourselves to be far more disunited than we actually are. And if the search heuristic causes a wide range of opinions (many mutually incompatible with one another) to register as "common", we may have trouble grasping onto distinctions between actually common versus fringe outlooks. In a similar vein, it is at least plausible that in a democracy there is a prima facie obligation to consider and give airing to certain viewpoints simply by virtue of the fact that they're common. This wouldn't necessarily mean that uncommon views can be automatically rejected, only that they must "earn" their space on the democratic agenda by means other than "because many people believe it". If this is so, then the perception that more views are "common" mean that more views can claim access to this prima facie obligation of consideration. Perhaps that doesn't strike you as a bad thing -- but consider it in the case of, say, openly avowed racism or extremism -- views which might objectively be as rare as ever, but perhaps feel more common than they've been in recent memory. There are also risks latent even for the holders of the dissident opinions themselves, for they as much as anyone might be mislead into thinking their views are more widely shared than they are. If someone holds a view they know is rare but wish was widely shared, they must endeavor to persuade others to adopt it. If they then, say, run for office on its platform whose tenets are held by only 10% of the population, if (or when) they lose they probably won't be happy but they at least probably won't be confused. Unpopular opinions don't win elections. But things are different if the search heuristic misfires and makes the dissident believe they are actually expressing a very common view. If they nonetheless persistently lose in the democratic arena, they might suspect bias, corruption, institutional barriers, or other forms of foul play are obstructing them. To be clear: there are many cases where such things are at work; I'm not saying that everyone who believes their views are not carrying the democratic day because of various social biases is simply misleading themselves. But sometimes a democratic spade really is just a spade; and there is at least the potential for this sort of self-deception to accelerate -- the result being greater mistrust and resentment of social institutions. It's worth noting that there isn't an "objective" way of declaring whether a view is "rare" or not. Much of it already lies in framing: "held by 1% of the population" sounds uncommon, "held by three million Americans" sounds reasonably common. So we can't quite say that, even if the search heuristic is misfiring, it is objectively causing us to label "uncommon opinions" as "common". But I do suspect that our wider net of appraisals around how we relate to an opinion based on its perceived "commonality" are tied to the same set of assumptions under which the search heuristic should function at least roughly well -- meaning that if we no longer exist in that social world, the whole edifice comes under serious strain (if it doesn't collapse outright). These are preliminary thoughts; they are not wholly hashed out in my mind yet, and I'm curious to hear others' views. Here's the tl;dr

The search heuristic tells us that, roughly speaking, a view that is hard to find upon searching for it is rare, and a view that is easy to find upon searching for it is commonplace.

The social media revolution has drastically reduced the search costs required to find large absolute numbers of persons who hold any particular view, even when they are actually relatively uncommon.

Together, (1) & (2) cause us to mentally code many viewpoints which we'd perceive as uncommon as quite common (since we are able to find examples of them with little effort).

The effects of this are unclear, but may include (a) increased willingness to air dissident views; (b) decreased sense of social consensus; (c) decreased ability to distinguish relatively common versus uncommon views; (d) decreased trust that formal mechanisms for measuring public opinion reliably track actual public viewpoints (even when they are in fact doing so reasonably well).

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2UIHAaO

[thesweatzone]

BACKSTORY and FITNESS PROGRAM

BACKSTORY:

I have always struggled with my weight. I was never overweight to a point where I would have troubles with my health but it did limit some of my abilities and it lowered my self-esteem. I was really overweight as a child but then my rapid growth caused me to look slimmer than before and I was only round. Basically I was and still pretty much am skinny fat.

About two years ago I decided I wanted to become skinnier, so I started working out more. I realized now that being skinny is far from my goal and I truly want to be healthy and have a strong body but working out did give me solid foundation on which I explored my interests in sports, which I never liked before. I found the ones I actually enjoyed and the ones I did not enjoy quite that much. I started losing some fat. But then I became lazy and the fat came back.

This repeated itself many times throughout those two years. I slowly realized my biggest problem were my eating habits. I was really picky when it came to food and I always chose the wrong one. I also binged, then ate very little for a while and binged again. I even contributed to the weight gain with drinking smaller amounts of water than I should have and my sleeping schedule was all over the place. I realized only working out won't do that much. At least not for me.

I slowly started incorporating better foods into my diet and changing up my lifestyle but I never committed enough to see it through until the end and obtain obvious results. I was also very confused where and how to start, because there is so much information out there about what is right and wrong. The main problem was that I didn't give any program I created for myself time so that I could actually see results and see if it works.

 RIGHT NOW:

Now I want to stick to my plan for longer than one or two months at a time. I want to achieve results that will last and work on my confidence too. I am currently 173 cm tall (which is roughly 5,8 feet) and I weigh 65 kg (roughly 143 pounds). Though I am tall I feel like I am quite heavy since I do not have that much muscle mass so the lbs are higher than I wish they would be, because of fat. I have stubborn belly fat while I'm not really visibly round in any other areas of my body as much. Of course you cannot spot reduce (I will write about that in one of my future posts too) so I will have to lower my body fat percentage and gain a lot of muscle mass in general to see the belly fat disappearing too, since I am striving for a stronger not skinnier body.

Right now I'm in a good place, though I still have many things to focus on to perfect my daily routine. I've been working since the start of the year (6th January, 2020) and lost 4,5kg (roughly 10 pounds) in five weeks. I constructed a workout and diet plan for me as well as I could, since I haven't got that much control over a lot of things going on in my life because I'm still in school and have work to focus on besides my fitness goals, though I am trying to make them a bigger priority in my life.

Some people said that this program seemed a bit challenging for a beginner when they took a first look at it. That's why I wrote a short paragraph in which I spoke about my work out habits above. They are not that bad and I tend to work out quite a lot so I’m not in such a bad shape - food will be a bigger issue for me. If the program seems though for you and you do your workouts completely differently, I encourage you to continue doing it your way. The same goes for if you think it is too easy. I designed this the way I did, because I know what I am capable of right now and what I would like to be capable of in the future.

 MY PROGRAM:

Duration: 8 months (until the end of August)

Goal: Build strength and muscle mass, achieve a flatter belly and leaner physique, gain confidence, build better habits

 Workouts:

I've tried many workouts on the internet already and I decided to follow some good fitness channels on Youtube and follow their work out videos, since I don’t have time to go to an actual gym. I will link them in some future posts. I made a weekly workout schedule too.

On Mondays I do half an hour to an hour of yoga targeting my core (abs), on Tuesdays I do body weight exercises targeting the legs and the glutes, on Wednesday I have another day of body weight exercises targeting the abs and on Fridays I have weightlifting to strengthen my arms and back.

I also have one active rest day every week when I am allowed to do nothing or just some light cardio. That is Thursday for me, because I arrive home late (around 7 p.m.) and it's the day that is the most tiring for me in the whole week.

On weekends I have one scheduled full body workout on Saturdays. I usually do pilates or some HIIT workouts. On Sundays I can take a day of if I feel like it, because I don't want to push myself over the edge but if I feel alright I do an hour of cardio.

Speaking of cardio, it is one of my favourite workout categories because I love to run, dance, hike, swim… and these are all workouts that fall into the category. I try to do cardio at least three times a week even if it isn’t scheduled (just because I actually enjoy doing it) but if the weather is nice I take a walk everyday anyway, since I like some peace to think and be alone.

Through the week I work out at around 6 p.m. and on the weekends in the morning or at least before noon.

 Dieting:

For me it is really hard to meal prep since I am in high school and I have a lot of my meals prepared for me by other people. I evaluated my eating habits and realized I consume too much sugar and carbs and my diet lacks fiber. I can’t completely follow a low-carb diet but I will be aiming towards consuming less carbs and try to eat food which is low in sugar and high in protein and fiber.

I also challenged myself to eliminate all sugar I could from my diet for at least 40 days but I can happily say that I'm already on day 45 (I started on the 6th of January) – I decided to just continue with it and try to reach 70 days. I planned it for a long time and I can say I am quite satisfied with the outcome. I've tried including a lot of healthy foods, vegetables and high protein foods and minimize foods with a lot of carbs but there are days when I just don't have the option to eat anything but something high in carbs or not as healthy as I would wish it would be. 

If you want to, I will definitely write a post about what I eat in a week after I test it out, see how effective it is and perfect it completely. 

I have already tried intermittent fasting (will be explained in future posts) in the past once and it worked miracles for me. I felt more energized, way less bloated and I felt better in general. I will incorporate it into my diet again I decided to do a 16:8 ratio – I eat in a time frame of 8 hours. That equals 16 hours of fasting where I don't consume any food I just drink a cup of green tea in the morning.

 Drink:

I used to drink very small amounts of water throughout the day but I carry my water bottle with me everywhere I go now and I try to drink as much as possible. These are my main rules for drinking:

-drink 2 water bottles of water a day

-one cup of green tea in the morning (or lemonade)

-don't drink milk in the evening

 Sleep:

I try to go to sleep before 11 pm and get up around 6 or 7 am. For me it is pretty hard, because I am a night owl, but I do try, since I see a big difference in my energy and ability to work efficiently throughout the day.

…

That is how I designed my workout and diet program. All details will be specified in further chapters since it is still a bit rough around the edges (especially the diet part), but I cannot meal prep since it is really hard for me to prepare my own food. 

I thought I should explain what and how I'm doing everything, since I will be writing about it. This is a basic overview and I didn't really go into detail. If you want me to be more precise, especially about my eating habits and how I'm trying to change them, I will make a post about it. This is just my story and my program. I can't guarantee any of these things would work for you or your body but maybe you will get any idea or find some useful information. You now know my story and my goals.

I always struggled with my self-esteem and body image but I am on the path to changing everything and I want to share the lessons I'm learning and my story with you. I hope it motivates you and you can see you are not alone. You should also remember that even though my measurements and fitness goals don't match yours and you maybe see different numbers than me, you aren't working any less hard or doing anything wrong nor should you be discouraged. We are all on our individual journeys and you have the exact same chance of reaching your goals as I do or anyone else reading this blog.

Whenever I start doubting myself I just avert my thoughts somewhere else because I am positive we all can do this. Remember to love yourself no matter your weight. We are all beautiful and what we are doing and the changes we're making are only to better ourselves physically and mentally but our weight or appearance doesn't define us nor does it define our worth.

Thank you for joining me on this journey!

-M

[jjonassevilla]

“What’s a good conversion rate for my landing page?” [New AI-Backed Research]

Imagine you’re an ecommerce business using landing pages to sell sweaters for miniature pigs. Recently, you’ve done a round of A/B testing—adding a little more oink to your calls to action, let’s say—and tweaked your social ad targeting to reach the hardcore piggy people on Instagram. 

After all your optimization efforts, your landing pages now convert at 3.57%. 

But actually…even if it’s a big improvement against your personal baseline, how do you know you should stop there? How do you know that your hard-earned conversion rate is worth celebrating? Heck, how would you even know if a 30% conversion rate is any good for pages in your industry? (Maybe everyone’s getting a fat return off of pig sweaters but you.)

It’s hard to be confident in the numbers when you don’t know how everybody else is doing. Doubt settles in. Maybe you’re missing out on reaching your conversion potential without even knowing it.

Well, we feel your pain. That’s why, at Unbounce, we’re on a continuing mission to answer the big question for you. It’s the one we hear time and again from our customers:

“What’s a good, bad, or average conversion rate for my landing pages?” 

That’s where industry benchmarks come in—and that’s why we’re thrilled to bring you a fresh (and free) new version of our Conversion Benchmark Report. 

Benchmarks can energize your digital marketing strategy in three big ways:

They’re a form of competitive intelligence. They help you identify gaps between your performance and what the rest of your industry considers to be a good conversion rate. 

Our benchmarks reveal data-supported best practices, and you’ll waste less time and traffic testing unproven optimizations that our machine learning analysis shows don’t necessarily work. 

They help you build a culture of continuous improvement in your organization. It’s harder for your marketing team to be happy with “just okay” if they’re seeing something to strive for.

Sure, some folks like to pooh-pooh industry benchmarking—“Why should I care how other marketers are converting? Why don’t I just focus on how I’m doing?”—but they’re your best window into what success really looks like. Going forward blindly, when you could have both eyes on the prize, is just silly. Oh, and these benchmarks were generated with help from an honest-to-goodness AI crunching millions of conversions, so the results are far more reliable than the anecdotal best practices often found online. As part of the Unbounce Conversion Intelligence approach to digital marketing, these machine-derived insights help you pair your hard-earned expertise with AI to create the highest-converting campaigns of your career.

Introducing the 2020 Conversion Benchmark Report

This year’s Conversion Benchmark Report uses machine learning to assist our data team in analyzing 186.9 million visits to 34,132 Unbounce-built landing pages. In terms of sample size, we analyzed more visits to these pages than the populations of Canada, Hong Kong, Mexico, Laos, and Ireland combined. 

For full context, the previous (2017) version of this report was also built on machine learning insights, but in three years we’ve refined our approach to provide tons more real, proprietary customer data to feed the machine. Now we have even better, more reliable outputs—as well as a few new ways to break down our findings, like by conversion goal. (These are boundaries we’re going to keep pushing, too.)

But what kind of info does the report contain? For one thing, you’ll find median conversion rates broken down to 16 key industries. In many cases, we’ve got wide enough sample sizes to sort them into subcategories too, so you can see how your brother’s pest control service measures up against your sister’s HVAC company. (Or how your uncle’s cybersecurity software converts against your great aunt’s cloud accounting platform.)

The Conversion Benchmark Report includes 16 industries broken down into dozens of subcategories.

Why do we report on median instead of average (mean)? Our goal is to provide you with a realistic picture of where you stand, so this year’s report lists median conversion rates as our measure of central tendency instead of the mean. We found this reduces the impact of outliers (like pages that convert five times better than the rest) on the final benchmarks.

Not clear enough? Then imagine you want to find out, on average, how many eyes people have. The median tells us they have two eyes. According to the mean, though, they have slightly less than two. Because outliers (people with one or fewer eyes) bring that number down.

Both these measures are correct, but which one would you prefer to rely on if your business is selling sunglasses?

What if your industry doesn’t appear in the report? For this year’s report, we’ve tried to be even more representative. With machine learning helping us to sort thousands of landing pages in a logical way, we’ve increased the number of industries covered from 10 to 16, and we’ve even added subcategories whenever sample sizes allow.

If you still don’t see yourself represented, though, compare your conversion rates to industries with similar audiences and conversion goals. While we don’t actually recommend comparisons between very unrelated industries (except for fun), let your judgment be your guide. 

A note on COVID-19. The conversion data in this report comes from 2019, so we realize it shows norms that have been disrupted for some vulnerable industries—like travel, events and leisure, restaurants, and medical practitioners. These benchmarks show what you can expect in stable periods, and they provide insights about how your visitors typically behave (and why they convert). We hope they’ll help you set up your digital campaigns for success—and inspire your rebound. If you face uncertainty, though, please also check out the COVID-19 Small Business Care Package for a roundup of useful resources to help lessen the impact on your business.

Below, I go into more detail about the findings and insights we’ve been able to pull from them. But if you’ve got an itchy mouse-finger, you can jump right into the Conversion Benchmark Report now. (It’ll open in a new tab.)

Going beyond the benchmarks

Benchmarks are tremendously helpful, for all the reasons I talked about above. (If you work for an agency, you know this already. They’re a baller way of showing the value of what you do—and helping clients determine their true conversion potential.) 

How do I best communicate with my target audience? 

In copywriting circles, the received wisdom is that clarity comes above all else. If you’re looking to put up the fewest hurdles possible between audience and offer, it can make sense to keep your vocabulary basic and your sentences tight and untangled.

Our data, however, complicates this equation. Is simple always better? Nope. It turns out that different industries tend to convert more often at different reading levels (and some see weaker relationships between conversion rates and readability than others). 

There are even cases in which it’s good to sound sophisticated. B2B companies offering lead-gen consulting or instruction, for instance, appear to benefit from more challenging language. We see a drop in conversion rates as pages become easier to understand. (Frankly, that’s not what we expected.)

When it comes to reading ease, pages for lead-gen consultants appear to benefit from being harder to read.

Our machine learning analysis enabled us to look at copy from 34 thousand pages. Each page is assigned a Flesch reading ease score based on the average number of syllables per word and words per sentence. More syllables and more words means more…harder.

Here’s roughly how the scoring breaks down:

What’s the perf word length for my landing pages?

While it’s true that shorter pages tend to convert better, many industries have sweet spots that break the rule—which means, if you’re going to create a long-form landing page, you should go this long. This is especially true in the wild territories beyond 200 words, where unexpected correlations between length and conversion rate have led many a marketer astray.

At what length do landing pages for family services convert best? The graph provides answers.

Depending on your offer and industry, you may find that you need to use more words to get your point across, but graphs like the one above can let you know what’s ideal. For family services, that’s 300-500 words (if you can’t get it shorter than 150 words). For other industries, it can be more or less. Whatever the case, creating variants based on our findings can definitely be a good candidate for A/B testing or Smart Traffic.

What emotions might relate to better conversion rates?

You likely know in your gut that people’s feelings can impact their decision to buy, but which ones actually drive conversions on your landing pages? To find out, we ran an ML-powered sentiment analysis that looked at emotion-associated words that might relate to healthy conversion rates—and which might even be slowing you down. 

(Spoiler: using trust words isn’t always advisable. “Trust us.”)

For SaaS, the concentration of anticipation words on a landing page correlates with its conversion rate.

When it comes to SaaS conversions, for instance, it turns out that language that conveys anticipation (words like gradual, highest, improve, and launch) sometimes correlates with better conversion rates. Or, to put it another way: as we find more of these words, we also often tend to see better conversion performance.

You can explore this example, and many others, in the report.

A good conversion rate is one you can improve upon.

When it comes down to brass tacks, all this benchmarking is valuable insofar as you can use it to build a better conversion machine from what you learn. How do you do it?

Explore the insights in this report. The report is broken down into 16 industries. How are your landing pages stacking up against the baseline? Are you way out ahead? Are you falling behind? Start with your industry, sure, but take a look at others too. There may be insights that are worth exploring outside your own arena.

Apply the data learnings to your own campaigns. Create a variant (or more than one variant) of your page that applies some of the insights we’ve provided. For example, you might dial down the jargon until you hit the optimal Flesch reading score. (You can use the free readability formula tool here to test it for yourself.)

Optimize and test. Keep in mind that data analysis reveals trends and tendencies rather than absolutes. You’re making informed decisions when you apply these learnings, but testing is still your best way to confirm. Run A/B tests or, if you’re short on the time or traffic to do so, just publish your variants and turn on Smart Traffic in the Unbounce Builder. It’ll use machine learning to automatically decide which variant is right for which visitors, and it’s otherwise hands-off. (If you’re looking for more ideas on how to build variants, I’d recommend this post from Garrett too.)

In short, this year’s report uses ML to identify opportunities you simply couldn’t spot without the processing power of a machine. Optimizing your pages doesn’t have to be aspirational. We believe this is the future of digital marketing—and, going forward, you’re going to see more and more efforts like this from Unbounce to help you enhance the skills you already have. (If you’re curious about what else we have planned, you can read more about our push to bring you Conversion Intelligence.)

Whether you sell pig sweaters, chicken harnesses, or something altogether more practical—are you confident enough to swagger into your next meeting, snap your suspenders, fire those finger-guns in your boss’s direction, and let everyone know about your team’s big win? “Soooooooo-ie!”

Take a gander at the 2020 Conversion Benchmark Report, and let us know what you think in the comments below.

from Marketing https://unbounce.com/conversion-rate-optimization/what-is-a-good-conversion-rate/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[dhill202-blog]

10 Tips for a Better Travel Experience

Hitting the street once will change your life forever. Fact. You will become more flexible and thinking on your feet will become second nature. Confidence and self belief will blossom as you overcome the trials and tribulations engendered by life on the street, and you'll evolve. Interaction with other people, from all walks of life, will become a daily event. The people you meet and the situations you encounter, both good and bad, will gradually start to define you. Some days may be magic, others could be tough - but every day will leave its mark, and the cumulative impact is life altering.

Whether you travel for a month, a year, or ten years, you'll have an experience unlike any other. But pause for a moment and ask yourself: - is it better?

Here are ten ways to improve your travel experience.

Go Slow - You have quit your job or got time off work, flown half way round the world, and are now desperately excited to see firsthand all you have read and dreamed of. However, by racing though too many nations in a given time you may lose out on much more. Not only will you learn less about the places you've longed to see, but you'll tire quickly and become travel weary. A couple of nights in each place also spells out buses, boats or trains at least ever other day, and packing/unpacking will become a daily event. Tiring? I should coco.

With more time spent in fewer areas you will start to live in your new environment. The extra time in every place may encourage you to explore under your own steam instead of being shackled to a guidebook and its top ten tick off list. Worries about wasting time won't be a problem, leaving you free to go drifting and raising the chances uncovering a lesser known delight.

Have Faith - Be a bit more trusting. Everyone isn't out to steal your money, or cheat you. Traveling with this unhealthy mindset will cause someone to become detached, cynical, bitter, and a very bad ambassador for their country. Do not be dismissive or rude when approached - after all, it is wonderful to be nice.

Ok, sometimes an unsavory cookie can cross your path, but this can be taken care of upon consciousness; but, overall, those who approach you may fall into other categories: people like you and I wanting to earn a living (and assisting you with a service in the procedure ), and the ones which are either interested or favorable (or usually both!) Thus, let the guard down a bit and listen to people out. Judge situations on their unique merits and occasionally be a Yes Man, you can't know where it might lead.

Get Involved - Keep a look out for opportunities where you can make a difference. We learn so much from people we meet and places we see, but all too often its one way traffic. Get prepared to help others and attempt whenever possible to give back something. Perform to your skills and expertise, you might have something valuable to offer. 

Learn the Lingo - Even just the basics will lay the foundation for a better experience. 'Pleases' and'thank you's go a very long way, and, even if they're not delivered properly or understood, they show that you're willing to make the hard work and communicate a respect toward the people you meet. If nothing else it will raise a smile or two, and that is always a bonus. Furthermore, in the event you still need encouragement to acquire a phrase book, some of the local lingo can get you a better price for transportation, accommodation, and the little knick-knacks you can't pass up.

We attempt to taste all the regional delicacies, so why not sample all of the regional modes of transport, also? Ok, the railroad system might be the preferable method of travel for any particular state, but find out for yourself . Moreover, even if the bus station is in walking distance from the accommodation, throw financial caution to the end at least one time by splashing out 50 cents for For the ones which are still worried about value for money, I say sit at the front bucket of a Vietnamese Cyclo and get taken across a busy Saigon intersection - for the purchase price of one beer you'll have a vision etched in your mind for all eternity. Then, for the hardcore thrill seekers amongst you, invite your Cyclo Jockey to sit at the chair of death as you peddle him across the intersection...

Adopt the Weird and Wonderful - Do not miss a chance to try something a little out of the ordinary, be it fresh food, local traditions, children's games, or anything else of barbarous tobacco from Javanese street sellers. Get in the swing of it and make somebody's day.

Stay Alert - Little can ruin a trip and taint your view of a nation and its populous more than being careless with your possessions and learning the hard way. Opportunist theft is a simple fact of life, but you can reduce the danger by staying aware of your surroundings and possessions rather than playing to the minority's control.

Be a 1 Bag Wonder - Travel light, travel joyful. Decrease your possessions and life will become so much easier. Firstly, it makes the mechanics of getting from A to B simpler and less stressful. Easier because it is less fat to be humping around involving transportation and accommodation and less size and weight to be swinging around inside the limits of a densely populated bus. It becomes less stressful since the smaller your bag is, the less probable it is you will be separated from it during journeys- and, judging everyone by my pitifully. Additionally, it is more likely you'll be allowed on an already packed bus out for those who have less luggage. This doesn't ring true in Guatemala however, because you can always fit one more person on the bus, however full it is.

Walk the Path Less Trodden - Now that you've got extra time on your hands in each destination, why not explore a bit? Getting off the beaten path doesn't have to mean single handedly paddling a handmade dugout canoe 500 miles through the Amazonian Basin, it might be something as straightforward as forsaking the guidebook recommends for the day and rather scrounging a map or fliers and opting for an aimless wander in a new town. Some of my greatest discoveries have resulted from doing just this.

Terrific sources of info include Tourist Information Offices (though, where available, they vary tremendously in quality), What's On guides, local papers, handouts, fliers, and, of course, fellow travelers, to mention but a few. Spending less time at the well known and'popular' hangouts will also do your budget a huge favor, too.

Keep a Journal - Writing reams of pulp is not for everybody, but it does not have to be like that. A journal can mean many different things to different individuals. It could be a complete scale daily diary or only a kid's notebook from the marketplace where you place labels from local beer bottles (maybe with drunken scribbling below) - the option is yours. For the geeks among us (me included) there is the choice to travel site, and for the idle geeks among us (again, me included) it is even easier to cut and paste excerpts from emails home to family and friends and keep those as your diary.

Whatever form your personal creation may take, the final result is identical. 

Freelance travel writer and fanatical backpacker Nathan Richards desires nothing more than to inspire and encourage other people to satisfy their wanderlust.

Eclectic and Exquisite Gay Travel Experience

Your work has been preventing you from seeing new terrific things out of your comfort zone. You've been working so hard that you tend to forget there are more to life than your job. Why don't you take some of your time to pull yourself from a thousand paper functions and maintain an adventure you'd treasure in a life? Why not put aside little by little some money for a holiday that will teach you exactly what your job can never endow you with? Why not book yourself for a gay vacation and encounter what's meant by life?

Gay travels have been the cure for tired and weary spirits that wander from the corners of shallow fantasies. These journeys with your fellow beings will certainly open an opportunity for you to look into yourself and find greater things concerning you. Through these exquisite homosexual holidays, you'll be privileged to belong to a community of loving and accepting individuals composed of men, women, lesbians and gay. Not just you'll be communing with nature, you will basically be joining with yourself that you've missed during your hours and hours of tedious work.

Dwelling on some diverse gay travels will bring you into a world of discovery. Some packages will provide you with the opportunity to be showing the presents inside you and using these presents for the benefit of the planet as a whole. What use it is to be true to yourself and the world is instructing you in every manner of not to be ashamed of who you are.

Other offers for homosexual travels include an enlightening about your erotic potentials. Through some enticing team activities, you'll have the ability to spot your sensual facets and nurture them for sexy travel experience. This sort of involvement work your way to your ultimate sexual liberty and unblock sexual inhibitions and doubts. By means of breath, body and hand motion and the soothing magic of audio you will eventually get a real feel of sexual satisfaction. These gay travel experiences on sexual accomplishment and realization are lively and enjoyable to your erotic improvement.

Take more than an isolated island off a exceptional shore or indulge in sensual play activities as you travel your way to revival and rejuvenation of the self. Gay travel experiences are specially made for couples abound who'd want to spend romantic evenings in their communion with love, peace, serenity and dedication. Gay vacations help you explore the hidden and breathtaking views of nature as well as yourself.

At each end of fulfilling gay vacations is a brand new you.... virtually more intelligent emotionally and mentally. The revival of your missing self drained through hard work is invaluable benefit from a journey with your loved one. A week-long time out in the complications of life is a unique opportunity for you to renew your vow for the betterment of yourself and for s more powerful relationship with your spouse. So what are you waiting for? Get booked and travel your way to transformation!

[jojanteresh-blog]

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[doomedandstoned]

Top 10 Albums Of The 2010′s

~By Calvin Lampert~

I think it is safe to say that underground metal has enjoyed a period of unprecedented growth and popularity in the last 10 years. But when I am saying this I am not only thinking about the heavy underground; those adherents of the Sabbath sound and this whole new wave of doom metal bands. I am thinking of the fact that (underground) metal has undergone a change in image, too.

Though frequently maligned as hipster bands (or metal for people who don't like metal), acts like Deafheaven have brought metal to a whole new audience and raised awareness of the genre as a genuine form of art that does not just exist for its own sake; that metal fans only go for gore, beer and self-referential horn-throwing. Not that Neurosis and Godflesh haven’t been ambassadors of this mindset for more than three decades already, but it feels that the understanding of metal as art seems to have finally broken through to an audience outside of the traditional metal subculture in the past decade.

I think it is in no small part thanks to some of the bands on this list I have assembled (though I may have forgone obvious picks like Alcest and Deafheaven for more personal choices). And in retrospect, it should’ve been a list of bands rather than records, as most of the artists on this list would’ve have had a claim to a spot on here, with any record they put out. Take that as a hurray for consistency. So, without further ado, my picks for the best and most remarkable records of the decade.

10. Akhlys – 'The Dreaming I' (Debemur Morti - 2015)

The Dreaming I by Akhlys

I can’t help but wonder if Naas Alcameth of AKHLYS (also of Nightbringer, Aoratos and Bestia Arcana) set out with the express intent to create what is essentially a nigh perfect atmospheric black metal record when he started working on The Dreaming I. It damn sure feels like, each strum, syllable, and beat sits at the right place; the pieces of this nightmarish puzzle fit with an unsettling ease.

Photograph by by Kuba Leszko

The sound really does justice to the underlying concept of dreams and nightmares, as you’ll rarely find a record with such an impenetrable atmosphere. Once you hit play you’re soon enveloped by countless layers of swirling guitars, all at the command of Naas Alcameth, and he seems hellbent on suffocating you with them. The Dreaming I is about as close as you can get sleep paralysis-made-music. If you put off black metal as spooky noise made by a bunch hooded esoteric nerds you might’ve found your match in Akhlys. They are just that, they’re dead serious, and the results are impressive.

9. Elephant Tree – 'Elephant Tree' (Magnetic Eye Records - 2016)

Elephant Tree by Elephant Tree

I’ve observed myself growing increasingly apart from most stoner rock as of late, sometimes even antagonizing the genre. I’m afraid I’m just burned out on it and grown embittered, so a record from those genres ending up on my Albums of the Decade list should give you a hint of just how special it really is.

That is not to say that there haven’t been some real stoner rock heavy hitters this decade, such as Gozus Revival, Valley of the Suns Sayings of the Seers or Lo-Pans Salvador, but there’s something to ELEPHANT TREE's self-titled record that just so narrowly sets it apart from the others.

Photograph by Phil Smithies

What that is I am still not quite sure, and I had my fair share of relistens. Maybe it is the tasteful balance act of the production that makes this record so wonderfully ethereal but also ridiculously crushing. Or the sleek as all hell songwriting where every hook fires but the flow remains impeccable. Or the gorgeous harmonic interplay of Jack Townley and Pete Hollands vocals. Or maybe really just the sum of it all.

Whatever it is, Elephant Tree get it so very right and it is a true joy to behold such a well-written and fine-tuned record in a genre that has become all too prone to shoddiness and idle Kyuss worship. If there is any justice in the world, Elephant Tree will be looked back as a classic of the genre.

8. Oranssi Pazuzu – 'Värähtelijä' (Svart Records/20 Buck Spin - 2016)

Värähtelijä by Oranssi Pazuzu

So many have tried to do it. Countless chonged out Hendrix worshippers. Australian neo-psych darlings. But they all failed. Turns out the holy grail of psychedelia was dug up by a bunch of dudes in the frozen wastes of Finland when they decided to throw together black metal and almost every imaginable psych rock permutation under the firmament. Absolute insanity inducing balls-to-the-wall trippiness ensues.

ORANSSI PAZUZU is their name, ego-death squared in hyperspace is their game and Värähtelijä is the latest in a slew of attempts to smear your brain across the event horizon, and their most accomplished one so far. Think Hawkwind trying to interpret the soundtrack of Interstellar with a guy being spaghettified by a black hole screaming on top of it. Huge, plodding riffs and spacey synth fuckery abound.

Film by Shelby Kray

This madness extends to their live shows, yours truly (being completely sober) suffered a sensory overload when they launched into the crescendo of the album opener "Saturaatio" at Roadburn 2016. This band is taking things to the next level, and something tells me that Värähtelijä is just another chapter in an increasingly maddening venture.

7. Conan – 'Blood Eagle' (Napalm Records - 2014)

You can’t really draw a picture of the doom scene in the '10s without CONAN. And I do mean that in quite the literal sense, as seemingly every self-respecting doom fan seems to own at least one Conan shirt and you can’t really go to a gig without seeing one.

By all accounts the band probably could’ve retired years ago and just live off those rad merch designs. But Conan knows no rest -- always writing, always touring, always scheming. Thus the band has fed a steady stream of releases to a cult-like following over the years and narrowing down the output of such an important band to just one record is no small task. My choice eventually fell on the fan favorite, 2014's Blood Eagle.

Photograph by Sally Townsend

Conan had already pretty much established themselves as the emergent sludge-doom act of the decade at that time, but as we know they’re not one to rest on their laurels and Blood Eagle was just them driving the point home and the stake deeper, solidifying a grasp on the scene that hasn’t waned ever since, and they did it oh so righteously, by the primordial might of tonal displacement and drop F glory.

Conan might have the closest thing to a universal doom appeal because they speak to your baser instincts. Songs like "Foehammer" or "Total Conquest" seem like trebuchets aimed at the synapses of your reptilian brain, and I can’t help but admire these noble DIY barbarians, who so deservedly have carved out their place in the canon of the genre.

6. SubRosa – 'More Constant than the Gods' (Profound Lore - 2013)

More Constant Than The Gods by SubRosa

SUBROSA was one of a kind. If one band calling it quits this decade broke my heart, it was them. But before doing so they gifted us three outstanding post-metal records, whose folk and chamber music flourishes felt completely unique, intimate, and anachronistic in a genre dominated by more vast and spacious narratives. They reached inward rather than outward and did so with a no-parts-wasted mentality.

In a world rife with one-trick bands, SubRosa's employ of multiple vocalists and two electric violins felt natural and unabashedly non-gimmicky, and they would reveal the true potential of their sound on 2013's harrowingly beautiful More Constant than the Gods.

Photograph by Alyssa Herrman

More Constant is remarkable for its elegant and restrained way of instilling dread. Hardly any harsh vocals, the tempo never goes beyond a steady stride, just those horrific and yet also beautiful violins, plodding guitars, and downright poetic lyrics. And SubRosa seem to feel right at home on either terrain, be it the skin-crawling lead guitar line of "Affliction" or the grandiose outro section of "Fat of the Ram." One can only hope that SubRosa will return one day. A band that was truly novel, and not just a novelty.

5. Tchornobog – 'Tchornobog' (Fallen Empire / I, Voidhanger - 2017)

TCHORNOBOG is many things. Among others, a dark, ancient Slavic deity. In the world of music, a monolithic amalgamation of extreme metal, some Eldritch chimera of cavernous black, death, and doom metal. And the beast of one Markov Soroka, though him stating that the Tchornobog inhabits his head begs the question who might really be in charge?

Photograph by Nona Limmen

Soroka does indeed seem to be guided by spirits since he started the project at the age 14, and eight years of gestation and arduous work culminated in one of the most engrossing, all-consuming records I have come across this decade. Far be it from me to reduce Tchornobog’s remarkability down to the young age of its creator, but Sorokas ambition and execution of those ambitions could run circles around a lot of veteran extreme metal bands. The man is just flat out talented. And that is not even taking his various other projects (Drown, Aureole, Krukh) into account, or his curation work through his own label, Vigor Deconstruct.

As such, Tchornobog ultimately is, among many other things, a bright spotlight shining on a young man who has all the makings of being the next big underground metal mastermind. I’m sure you’ll be inclined to agree as soon as Soroka brings out the grand piano and saxophone on "III: Non-Existence’s Warmth (Infinite Natality Psychosis)" to perform what I’d like to call Lovecraftian Lounge Music. He must have a thing for Demilich too, judging from those song titles.

4. Hell – 'III' (Lower Your Head / Pesanta Urfolk - 2012)

Hell III by Hell

There is a subtle power in melodies, particularly melancholic and sad ones. Doom, and more specifically funeral doom, have long since sought to harness the power of the melody, but I think nobody has been quite as effective or moved me so profoundly with a simple plucked melody as MSW, the singular mind of HELL.

Just one minute into Mourn, the opening (and penultimate) track of Hell III), I am already instilled with a deep sense of melancholy, but also foreboding doom. However, few songs can just thrive from having a good riff or lead -- and there’s 17 minutes yet to go. I’ll spoil you and say that in this time Hell shifts between doom, black metal, neoclassical music, and dark ambient. That’s a lot of territory to cover and it becomes apparent that for how meticulously well crafted its individual parts are, MSW never loses sight of the bigger picture and the transitions between these different sounds are seamless.

Film by Billy Goate

At the danger of sounding like a huge fucking nerd, I really am more inclined to refer to "Mourn" and its follow up "Decedere" as movements rather than songs and if the songwriting doesn’t clue you in you’ll be persuaded by the time Decedere breaks out the operatic vocals and a flute accompanied by a string ensemble. And no matter if he’s performing a contemplative acoustic piece or pounding you in the ground with some absolutely hellish (the band name is apt as can be) blackened doom, MSW always manages to maintain an aura of grandeur. MSW is not just a great songwriter, he’s a veritable composer, and III is his magnum opus.

3. Mizmor – 'Yodh' (Gilead Media - 2016)

Yodh by מזמור

If whatever has come before was bleak, then Yodh is pitch fucking black. This decade hasn’t lacked in dark records (not even taking metal into account -- Mount Eerie's A Crow Looked at Me, Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree, or The Caretakers Everywhere at the End of Time), but taking on existential dread specifically (and thereby becoming a vessel for it) MIZMOR's Yodh remains unsurpassed in its sheer effectiveness to instill said dread in the listener and is possibly the most harrowing record of the last 10 years.

Photo by Kento Woolery

As befits the theme, Yodh genuinely sounds like the work of a broken man. A miserable slab of glacial funeral doom and grimy black metal, but delivered with a brute strength and conviction that really suggests more defiance than self-pity. I’d be remiss to not point out ALN's incredibly varied vocal performance, ranging from wretched snarls and air-starved bellows to what I can only describe as pterodactyl shrieks, all carrying the same biting vitriol as the instrumentals.

Film by Shelby Kray

Yet for all its doom and gloom, Yodh surprises with occasional moments of tenderness and outright (if melancholic) beauty, too, such as the acoustic intro of "II: A Semblance Waning" or the massive main riff of "III: The Serpent Eats Its Tail" that feels like the sort of thing Pallbearer would’ve come up with if they had been more into Mournful Congregation than Warning.

All these things combined with thoughtful, introspective lyrics make Yodh into an incredibly powerful and downright visceral record, and if for you the main draw of doom metal lies its emotional potency (as it does for me) then Yodh is an essential listen. Let ALN shout down the very pillars that uphold your personal beliefs of life’s meaning.

2. Pallbearer – 'Sorrow and Extinction' (Profound Lore - 2012)

Sorrow And Extinction by Pallbearer

Warning was the first band to try to bridge the gap between traditional and modern doom metal, and while Watching from a Distance might have a fair claim to be one of the saddest metal records out there, in my eyes it was PALLBEARER who took that formula even further and perfected it with their 2011 debut Sorrow and Extinction. To me, it’s a classic record in both senses. A landmark of post-millennium doom and a throwback to the days of yore, when Saint Vitus and Candlemass were in charge of bumming everyone out; while still maintaining the larger-than-life-feel and sonic heft of modern doom championed by bands like Yob or Neurosis.

Photo by Sally Townsend

But Sorrow and Extinction isn’t just some roided up epic doom sans the operatic vocals, Pallbearer are far too clever to suffer such a pitfall. Granted, Sorrow sounds huge, and while there’s plenty of the heavy stuff to go around what makes Sorrow so great is how catchy it is. There is no weak song on this record (admittedly there’s only five), and while most bands could only hope to one day write a riff as good as "Devoid of Redemption's" main theme, it seems like Pallbearer just comes up with them on a whim, and their ability to do so doesn’t seem to have faded three records into their career -- not even to speak of Brett Campbell's soulful lyrics and passionate delivery.

Film by Billy Goate

Then, of course, there’s the amazing guitar interplay between Campbell and Devin Holt, chiefly on the casket closer "Given to the Grave," whose second half essentially boils down to them constantly trading dramatic leads with each other like the world's most woeful ping pong game.

Sorrow and Extinction is not only a deeply moving yet utterly anthemic record, but also one that successfully marries the past and the present of doom. In that regard, it is a preciously rare and so far unsurpassed record.

1. YOB – 'Clearing the Path to Ascend' (Neurot Records - 2014)

Clearing The Path To Ascend by YOB

Writing about metal without resorting to superlatives is hard. Try to practice restraint in the presence of something whose very nature lacks restraint. I am definitely guilty of that lack of restraint; one has only got to scroll up again to confirm it. But luckily some records are so very superlative that I do not have to take that editorial high road and can fire all the “mosts” and “-ests” at will. In fact, they almost require you to use them. Clearing the Path to Ascend by YOB is one such record. Even among all these preceding superlative records it stands above and beyond.

Photo by Angelique Le Marchand

Clearing the Path to Ascend is so vast, it feels singular. It is one and it is all. When I think larger-than-life sound, Clearing comes to mind first. It has become the very benchmark with which I measure other records. Yob's big and beautiful only consists of four tracks, but they made each feel like a distinct part of a greater journey. "In Our Blood" opens with a recording of Alan Watts telling you it is "time to wake up," before the song slowly rises into a stretched-out draw and crash, eventually unfurling into a manic guitar line.

"Nothing to Win" feels like Yob's own take on Neurosis’ Through Silver in Blood. It is an unrelenting, steady 11-minute march down a highway of broken glass, utterly windswept and viciously hopeless. "Unmask the Spectre" seems to tread similarly bitter paths but manages to wrestle itself free into two grandiose spiraling crescendos.

Film by Billy Goate

The death knell of an album closer that is "Marrow" shouldn’t really need much of an introduction at this point. It still feels like I’ll see a link, post or share of it every other day. It has become an omnipresence in the doom scene, and deservingly so. Yob dials back on the gloom and shines all the brighter. "Marrow" is not just hopeful; it is downright ecstatic and by the time Mike Scheidt launches into the grand solo of the track (so very gracefully accompanied by a Hammond organ played by producer Billy Barnett) has ascended to a genuine sermon.

Though Clearing had its fair share of dark moments "Marrow" closes the record on a remarkably conciliatory note and I really think that speaks of Yob as a (metal) band. Call it a big move to offer closure -- a fitting end to such a big record. One that suits the title of ‘Album of the Decade,’ and embodies the spirit of metal that wants to be just more.

Calvin's Choice: 100 Best of the Decade

YOB - Clearing the Path to Ascend

Pallbearer - Sorrow and Extinction

Mizmor - Yodh

Hell - Hell III

Tchornobog - Tchornobog

SubRosa - More Constant Than The Gods

Conan - Blood Eagle

Oranssi Pazuzu - Värähtelijä

Elephant Tree - Elephant Tree

Akhlys - The Dreaming I

Clutch - Earth Rocker

Merkstave - Merkstave

Gozu - Revival

Chelsea Wolfe - Pain Is Beauty

Valley of the Sun - The Sayings of the Seers

Inter Arma - Paradise Gallows

Thou - Heathen

Om - Advaitic Songs

Bell Witch - Mirror Reaper

All Them Witches - Dying Surfer Meets His Maker

Horn of the Rhino - Weight of Coronation

Boss Keloid - Melted on the Inch

KALEIKR - Heart Of Lead

Jeremy Irons & The Ratgang Malibus - Spirit Knife

Woman is the Earth - Torch of Our Final Night

Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

LINGUA IGNOTA - Caligula

Queens of the Stone Age - ...Like Clockwork

Messa - Feast for Water

Anna von Hausswolff - Dead Magic

Mamiffer - The World Unseen

Samothrace - Reverence to Stone

Primitive Man - Scorn

Fórn - The Departure of Consciousness

Khemmis - Absolution

Bongripper - Miserable

High on Fire - De Vermis Mysteriis

UN - Sentiment

Cult of Luna - Mariner

Slomatics - Future Echo Returns

MISTHYRMING - Söngvar elds og óreiðu

Dvne - Asheran

Earth - Primitive and Deadly

Mars Red Sky - Apex III (Praise For The Burning Soul)

The Midnight Ghost Train - Cypress Ave.

Panopticon - Panopticon - Roads to the North

Mare Cognitum - Phobos Monolith

Sólstafir - Ótta

Have a Nice Life - The Unnatural World

Furia - Księżyc Milczy Luty

Tardigrada - Emotionale Ödnis

Yellow Eyes - Immersion Trench Reverie

Stoned Jesus - Seven Thunders Roar

Höstblod - Mörkrets Intåg

Ulver - The Assassination of Julius Caesar

Zola Jesus - Okovi

Funereal Presence - Achatius

Wormlust - The Feral Wisdom

Daughters - You Won't Get What You Want

L'Acephale - L'Acéphale

40 Watt Sun - The Inside Room

Vilkacis - Beyond the Mortal Gate

Bossk - Audio Noir

Carpenter Brut - Trilogy

Sumac - What One Becomes

Death Grips - Exmilitary

Red Fang - Murder the Mountains

Lo-Pan - Salvador

Whores. - Gold

Truckfighters - Universe

Greenleaf - Trails & Passes

Bölzer - Aura

Monolord - Vaenir

Dead to a Dying World - Elegy

The Body - I Shall Die Here

Mutoid Man - War Moans

Neurosis - Fires Within Fires

Opeth - Pale Communion

Planning for Burial - Below the House

Triptykon - Melana Chasmata

Graveyard - Hisingen Blues

Saor - Aura

Windhand - Grief's Infernal Flower

Egypt - Endless Flight

Emma Ruth Rundle - Marked For Death

Deafheaven - Sunbather

Kadavar - Kadavar

Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats - Blood Lust

Vanum - Ageless Fire

Dai-Ichi - Dai-Ichi

Lord Mantis - Pervertor

Ne Obliviscaris - Portal Of I

Loss - Horizonless

Tome of the Unreplenished - Innerstanding

Elder - Lore

Witch Mountain - Cauldron of the Wild

Ahab - The Giant

Alcest - Kodama

The Dillinger Escape Plan - Dissociation

Sleep - The Sciences