#combined with the low threshold for human contact

[teaboot]

do you have a special someone? any other person really, I really enjoy your drawings of people and your non yourself drawings are hard to come by

I used to think it was weird that I didn’t, since everyone I know is either engaged or married or whatever, but like…

I’ve only ever really loved a handful of people in my life, and those people… waking up and getting to see them was like every day was Christmas morning. Thinking about losing them someday made me cry. When I was with them, I wanted to stay awake all night so we could have a little more time together. I wished, sort of like a little kid, that our houses had a secret tunnel connecting them so we could sneak over and visit each other whenever we wanted.

It’s pretty much always been a familial or platonic love, yes, but that’s the only kind of love I think I’ve known, so that’s the kind of love I imagine.

And people like that… I desire comfort, and attention, and company, yes, but I want to provide for them, too. I don’t just want someone to support me- I want to make someone else feel supported. And. That’s a lot of work. And it’s the kind of work I don’t really have the energy for right now

So I figure, I’m not in any particular rush to find long-term partnership. There’s no deadline. So I’m going to just keep working on myself, and when I meet someone who makes me feel excited like that, who’s special, and thinks I’m special too, then maybe I’ll be the kind of person who’s worthy of their regard.

but for now- in terms of company, and hobbies, and casual time spent together- I think I’m doing okay. I think I’m pretty happy

[dragonsareourfuture]

Mammon/GN!Reader — Safe

⚠️Warnings: emotional distress (caused by Lucifer) and swearing. If you are sensitive to these, please do not go further.

Sometimes I get fed up with how the brothers, mainly Lucifer, treat Mammon. I hate the “punishments” Lucifer gives him and how it’s just brushed off. I desperately want to hold the poor man when it becomes too much for him, so here’s possibly the most serious Obey Me oneshot I’ve ever written to help me cope with not being able to do just that. Begins as angst and evolves into fluff.

You feel terrible, but there is really nothing you can do but clean up the pieces.

Another night, another sleep interrupted by shouts echoing off the corridors of the House of Lamentation. You wish Lucifer would dial it back at least some nights. Hell knows that you’re not the only one whose sleep schedule is suffering just so he can punish his younger brother — then again, only half of the inhabitants of the house actually have a sleep schedule. Curse this entire house for its innate ability to let sound travel so fucking easily.

You groan, rolling to the other side of the bed in a feeble attempt to distance your body from the noise at least a little. It, unsurprisingly, does nothing and you can still hear the incessant booms of Lucifer’s thunderous voice. A pang of guilt bubbles in your chest. How could you be complaining when poor Mammon is the one who has to endure it all? It just doesn’t sit right with you, especially knowing that if you interfered you might have the slightest possibility of putting a stop to the ill treatment of the second born.

Even so, you can’t exactly blame yourself for being wary. Lucifer has tried to kill you on multiple occasions for doing just the thing you are contemplating. You figure you can let yourself off the hook for that one, just this once.

Miraculously, that one conclusion fails to ease that feeling of uneasiness lingering in your stomach. Fists clench around your pillowcase, nose digging into your soft mattress, your patience wears thinner by the second. Your limbs even twitch in an attempt begin rising and deal with the situation after all — but then the noises cease.

The room sounds eerily quiet. Not even the air conditioning is blasting anymore. You yawn, wondering if your ears had just popped. They had not. You snap your fingers. You can hear that just fine. So, you’re not going deaf. Okay, that’s a good sign, at least. You sit up and gaze around the pitch darkness of your bedroom. Nothing stirs — inside the room, that is.

Outside, however, you can hear the distant clomp of footsteps growing closer to your sealed bedroom door. You know who it is immediately, not bothering to lay back down and attempt to sleep, not even considering it. You sit up, feet hitting the floor soon after as you pad your way over to the door. You swing it open just as the footsteps stop right outside your room.

Mammon stands, fist held up in the air as if he was just about to knock on the polished wood. He blinks a couple of times, and you notice the gentle shine to his eyes and eyelids.

“Ya said that I could come...if I needed anything,” the demon croaks. All power that he ever seemed to hold over you had vanished all too suddenly and, rather than relishing in the feeling, all you can do is nod and step aside to allow him passage into your room.

“Of course, come on in,” you say delicately. The last thing you want is to be too coddling, for he might sense that as a personal threat and duck out. But you allow your instinct to care for him shine through with your soft tone. He apparently doesn’t feel that you are babying him too much, as he trudges through your threshold like a defeated puppy. It sincerely breaks your heart.

“I want you to know that you’re welcome to stop by any time you need to,” You had told him earlier that week.

The intrusive demon had never used your welcome for anything besides barging in to hang out at any and all hours, but now, with this clear predicament weighing down on him as heavy as the earth, you feel deeply touched that your words actually got through to him back then. He felt that he could trust you, which is why he is here now and not sulking in his room as he used to do after a particularly brutal scolding.

You shut the door behind him as he makes his entry, watching carefully as he shuffles around your room as if confused on what to do next. His hesitant nature directly contrasts how he would usually waltz in and make himself comfortable. You contemplate locking the door. It would be completely counterproductive if Lucifer or one of the other brothers forced their way in and made the situation way worse. But, at the same time, you would hate to make him feel uneasy, like you’re trapping him in with no way out. You opt to keep the door unlocked.

You pay close attention to Mammon’s features now, shrouded by the dark, sure, but you can make them out almost perfectly. You like to look at his face — it’s pretty, and you don’t bother to keep yourself from doing so. As a result, you can see all his ticks no matter how difficult it may be from the angle, lighting, etcetera. He often scrunches up his nose when he’s irritated, or on he verge of tears. So, seeing his nose twitch as he looks around your room is no surprise to you.

You step closer to his shifting form, and Mammon seems to get even more uncomfortable, so you move back. You rest your arms at your sides, making their positions known so that he won’t fret about the possibility of you hitting him by surprise. You would never, you know this, but Mammon isn’t aware that loved ones shouldn’t ‘lay down the law’ as harshly as Lucifer does.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask slowly, keeping your voice steady and calm.

Mammon’s hands slide into the pockets of his jeans. He shakes his head, the snowy white fringe covering his eyes shaking along with the movements. You nod, understanding his silence. Understanding that if he so much as opened his mouth to answer, a sob might find its way through instead. Even though he trusts you, you suspect that The Great Mammon isn’t keen on letting his human see him in tears.

“Mams, I won’t judge you if you cry. We all have to let off some steam every once in a while,” you reason, voice straining to keep from pleading but failing as your emotions get the better of you. “I love you all the same.”

Mammon hides his face from you, but the telltale sign of his shoulders bouncing up and down tell you that you need to step in. Your hands brush against his shoulders and he jolts. Though a shock runs through your heart at the sight, you simply have to make sure he knows that you’re there for him. You’re not going to let him cry alone in your bedroom when you’re right there beside him. Your grip becomes a bit more forceful now, only enough to turn the Avatar of Greed around by his broad shoulder and pull him close to your body.

With the contact, Mammon feels free to let go completely. Sobs wrack his entire body as you hold him steady. The intensity of them startled you but not as much as the volume. His head is buried in your shoulder, right next to your ear and you are spared no shout nor whine that comes out of the demon’s mouth. This combined with his heavy weight pressing you down tells you that it’s time to change positions.

You gently nudge Mammon into standing up straight, leading him by his hands to your bed, still warm with your body heat from when you had tried to hunker down earlier. He wastes no time at all in pulling you down with him, arms locked tight around your waist while his tear-stained face nuzzles itself into your chest. It’ll leave stains, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. Instead you marvel at how much pent-up emotions Mammon let sit stewing in his head before now. Clear sorrow, evident by the tears now soaking into your night shirt. Anger and desperation, demonstrated by how tightly he clamps around your body, though you can tell he is still somehow holding back, determined not to crush you even in this fit of pure, raw emotion. And all of this caused by a family member. It’s enough to make you seethe, but revenge for Mammon’s sake is not the focus. Right now, his comfort and consolation is all you need to worry about.

You rake your hands through Mammon’s head of ivory hair, brushing it out with your fingers and noting the softness. You plant a frenzy of kisses atop his head, the last one lingering before you lean close to his ear. “That’s it, let it all out...you’re alright now...I’m here.”

Your demon’s cries have, at the very least, calmed a smidge. He shakes less in your grasp but his head remains pressed flush against your chest. You take it upon yourself to ease him further, the hand that held his back sliding down and slipping beneath his ebony-colored shirt. You trace the curve of his spine, relishing in the way it feels against your fingers. He’s more slim than the majority of his brothers, and you absolutely adore it. You get to the dip of Mammon’s lower back and your fingertips nearly move on their own to run over the dimples back there. Warm breath spreads over your chest as the demon cradled in your arms lets out something delightfully close to a laugh.

Your lips quirk upwards in a smile at your accomplishment. Mammon has calmed down enough to where low whines and wheezes are all he emits now. These eventually transform into hums, then snores. You keep Mammon’s face pressed against you — you grew to appreciate his radiating body heat in that area — but moved his mouth and nose away to be sure he wouldn’t suffocate.

Before lying back and drifting off yourself, you wipe some of the excess tears from his cheek and under his eyelids, pressing the gentlest kiss you can produce onto his tanned cheek. Mammon’s eyes only crinkle for a second before his features flatten again with the tranquility of sleep.

Opting to get some sleep of your own, you rest your head finally to your pillow, huffing a great sigh with the contact. As sleep pulls you in, you silently curse the monster that could do this to your baby, dreaming up the most vile plots for your revenge during your outwardly peaceful slumber. But that could be handled another day, preferably whenever Lucifer least expects it.

You wake up before Mammon’s eyes ever begin to crack open. Your position had changed slightly over the course of the night, but most factors still remain the same. Your demon’s face is now in the crook of your neck, steady and cool breaths fanning over your skin, making you shiver. His arm is draped over your stomach as you lay on your back, the other arm tucked underneath him. You want to pull it out from under him — the pins and needles should be bad when he wakes — but you’re determined to let him sleep longer after the night he just had.

Your goal is met, and you lay with him for what feels like a few more hours. You aren’t completely conscious, fading in and out of the realm of sleep every few minutes it seems. Noises begin to sound off outside your bedroom — doors opening and closing, footsteps on the staircase, and eventual chatter from the first floor. People are starting their days like nothing ever happened.

You hope it isn’t the noise that stirs Mammon from his heavy slumber. His eyebrows furrow and a light groan seeps past his parted lips. His head shakes, as if his sleepy self is wondering why his movements are so restricted. If that is the case, you loosen your hold around him. After a few seconds, the Avatar of Greed’s snowy white eyelashes flutter against your neck as his eyes force themselves open.

You pull away to greet him with your smiling face. “Morning, sunshine,” you say, voice coming out in less than a mere whisper as your throat is still rough from sleep.

Mammon’s features flood with realization, an alarmingly dark blush spreading across his nose and cheeks, some even reaching his ears and neck. You wish you could wake up to this face every single day.

“M-m-mornin’...” he tries, stuffing his face in your pillow in an attempt to quell the blood rushing to his face. Your chuckle at this action only makes it worse.

“Everyone’s getting up right about now,” you tell him, your hands finding their way up to his incredibly soft head of hair, twirling a couple strands around your index finger as you speak, “Do you want me to go make you some breakfast and bring it up here for you?”

“Gah!” Mammon jolts, eyes losing their sleepiness immediately to stare at you in disbelief. “Y-y-you’d do that!?”

“Of course!” You pull your torso off the bed, accentuating your declaration, and leaning on your elbows for support. “I’m not gonna make you go down there and face your brothers if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Oh...yeah...yeah, that sounds real nice. T-the Great Mammon appreciates your service!”

You jokingly roll your eyes, heaving your body all the way up to start dressing yourself. “I’m sure he does.” You halt all movements when pressure suddenly builds around your wrist, constricting and pulling you back before you can stand.

You look back, a worried-looking Mammon staring at you with wide eyes and upturned brows. He seems to catch himself, hanging his head a bit and sinking into the bedsheets. “B-before you do that...do you think you can stay a bit longer?”

You are about to comply with Mammon’s request, positively falling victim to the pleading look he shoots you, when a loud rumble breaks the brief silence. Mammon whines and clutches his stomach, concealing his face with your sheets.

“How about I get you some breakfast, then I’ll come back and we can cuddle all morning. Does that sound good?”

Your demon peeks an eye out from under the covers, white hair bobbing up and down in an affirmative nod. You smile, getting up and slipping on some shorts to go with your nightshirt. You make it to the door, hand on the handle when you turn to ask your sleepy demon a question.

“So, did you have anything in mind? You’ve got your spicy noodles—“

“Wait! I’m saving those! It’s my last cup and Lucifer says we’re not going to the store in a week! Not...ya know, not that I’m scared of him!” He perks up, sheets cascading down his torso.

“I can always make a quick run to the store. Lucifer’s words aren’t law.”

Mammon looks hesitant. He shakes his head and grabs at the sheets to pull them back up his body. “No, no, I’ll take a sandwich. Beel bought some Melancholy berry jam the other day and hasn’t eaten it all yet. Some of that with peanut butter would be great...”

“Not a problem. Oh, and do you want toasted bread?”

Mammon hugs your pillow. You suspect he’s getting weirded out by being asked all of these questions about his own preferences. Not a lot of demons seem to take them into account on a regular basis, after all. “U-um, that sounds good... and ... ugh, never mind!”

“What is it?”

He struggles with his words for a moment before asking, rather rushed, “Could you cut off the crusts, too?”

You have to brace yourself on the door handle to not collapse at how incredibly adorable that request is. Nevertheless, you can tell he is embarrassed and decide not to tease him too much. That could be done later, when he isn’t in such a vulnerable state of mind. You nod, chirping a quick ‘Sure, sweetheart’ before exiting and closing the door behind you.

Heading downstairs feels like squaring up for a fight. Deep down you know you can’t do much, Mammon would be crushed if you got in trouble with Lucifer for his sake, but you won’t be pleasant, either. You cringe at yourself, unable to handle the empty threats you seem to have in abundance inside your brain.

You can’t give most of the brothers the cold shoulder, that much you know. It wasn’t them that forced Mammon to tears the previous night with nothing but their words and whatever other hells Mammon was forced to endure. No, only Lucifer deserves your passive aggressive wrath today.

Luckily for you, there are only a few of the brothers remaining in the kitchen instead of waiting at the table already, one of those few being Lucifer himself who stands against the counter with a mug of coffee pressed to his lips. Satan and Beel are present as well, Beel rummaging through the pantry and fridge while Satan watches with what looks like mild amusement.

“Morning,” you greet the two younger brothers, going out of your way to make as little eye contact with Lucifer as possible. Whether he picks up on this, you can’t tell, but you can sense the change in atmosphere as you open the fridge and dig around for the jam Mammon wants.

“(Name). Is something wrong?” A deep voice inquires and, as you deduct that voice to be Beel’s, you look over your shoulder, offering a smile.

“Can’t possibly imagine why there’d be something wrong.” Wrong with you at least.

“Are you sure? You seem...off,” Satan inquires, as curious and considerate as ever.

You head over to the pantry, now with the jam in hand, and search for the peanut butter. A soft ‘ah!’ escapes you as your hand closes around the jar as well as a loaf of bread and you make your way over to the cutting board.

“I’m cool,” you deadpan. The younger brothers remain silent after you hear them shift a bit.

You begin to prepare the sandwich, daring not to turn around when the sound of footsteps approaching you invades your ears. All too suddenly there is a looming presence behind you, peering over your shoulder and radiating the most intense energy you’ve ever felt.

“What.” You say. It is not a question, but a demand. You still do not meet the eldest brother’s eyes.

You hear fabric shift and body heat warm your skin as Lucifer leans down to speak quietly enough so that his brother’s can’t hear. “It is for his own good. He will never learn if he is not properly disciplined.”

Your blood begins to boil. You raise your voice to him, completely disregarding Lucifer’s attempts to keep his brothers out of the situation as you do. “You know you can ‘properly discipline’ him without hurting him, right? What kind of brother are you?”

You leave it at that, throwing the rest of the sandwich together quickly before storming out of there. But wait...you stop in your tracks and stare down at the sandwich with defeated eyes. You forgot to cut off the crusts, dammit!

So, throwing your opportunity for a badass exit out the window, you march right back into the kitchen, tear open a drawer to grab a knife, and chop every single crust from the bread — all while the three brothers stare at you in both confusion and awe.

As you go to leave again, Satan finds the will to speak up. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.” You hold up the now crust-less sandwich. “The Great Mammon’s gotta eat.”

“But it’s your turn to make breakfast for everyone!” Beel whines, clutching at his stomach helplessly.

Again, you pause. Your fight leaves you and you approach the gentle giant upon seeing him look at you with such sorrow. You know how important food is to him.

“I’ll call for delivery from Hell’s Kitchen. Just round up everyone’s order and text it to me. Is that okay?”

Beelzebub nods enthusiastically and you pat his head, then turn on your heel to head back up to your room. You feel eyes on you as you walk away and, if you weren’t so fired up right now, you might take that as a compliment. But you know it’s Lucifer. You know it’s him even as the presence behind you follows you out into the hallway.

“I don’t like being followed.” You state in a bored tone.

“You don’t have to treat him like a child, you know. He can take care of himself.”

“I don’t want to let him take care of himself. I’m gonna be there for him when his brothers are being assholes.”

Lucifer looks taken aback. You don’t curse at them, you just don’t. Unless you’re joking, you never speak ill to them no matter what. And you didn’t to Beel or Satan. Even in your fired state you calmed enough to treat them as you normally would, with kindness and compassion. It is him you have the grudge against right now, and Lucifer’s brain can’t seem to accept or handle the fact that this is because of your protectiveness over his younger sibling.

“You won’t be here forever, you know.” Lucifer knows he crossed a line, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “He will need to fight his own battles eventually.”

“How about you give him less battles to fight, hmm?”

Lucifer seems to have nothing left to say. Taking his silence as an invitation to leave, you do just that and start up the stairs to your bedroom.

“Oh, and by the way,” you begin, stopping midway up the staircase to address the short circuiting demon you left in the hallway, “I may not be in this world as long as you guys will, but if you even touch him after I’m gone, my ghost will fuck you up.”

You make your final leave, Mammon’s breakfast in hand and a smile lining your face as you prepare to greet your greedy little demon.

[sorryimanon]

Character: Katsuki Bakugou

Warnings/tags: heart warming fluff, language, and suggestive themes

Word count: 2.5k

In which your boyfriend takes it upon himself to pamper you on his day off.

Author’s note: some self indulgent fluff. this is a continuation of dad!bakugou and torch daughter. there will be more. enjoy :)

D/N= daughters name

-

Katsuki heavily relied on you to babysit your rambunctious four year old daughter during the days when he'd be on patrol from dusk till dawn. Very rarely would he be home before the two of you tucked yourselves in for the night, leaving him to eat the leftovers from dinner alone at the table. As sad as it is, it didn't bother you in the slightest. In fact, knowing Katsuki was keeping the crime rate of Japan low, you were more than happy to become a stay at home mom. Most of your friends tried to talk you out of it, but you were already settled after giving your two weeks notice at your low paying job. Waking up and seeing your daughter first thing in the morning is better than staring blankly at a bright screen all day behind a musty wall, running on nothing but decaf coffee, and sluggishly going to and fro like a zombie.

Ever since your daughter manifested her quirk, you’ve been trying your best to maintain her sudden outbursts while at home. The doctor prescribed it as Torch: the ability to become a human torch and ignite flames throughout your body and fingertips. For now d/n is only capable of setting herself on fire, using the flames as a barrier to protect her from any harm instead of combating. However, sometimes she'll forget to extinguish herself, having you to manually use an actual fire extinguisher on her. Burn marks would litter the outskirts of your shirts, the aftermath ash smudged on your face, and the tiny hairs on your forearms long gone after handling d/n.

Your boyfriend appreciates the way how you compose yourself around d/n, not allowing the temptation to fling the little gremlin out the window prevail, because if the roles were reversed it'd be a whole different story. Sometimes he sits back in his desk chair, after a long night of meandering around the city, and tries to remember the last time you were properly treated. Of course, Katsuki never fails to remind you day and night he loves you through his actions, some including selfish indulgence late at nights, but all in all he didn't lack being the hopeless romantic counterpart for you. He wanted you to take a break from it all, have him handle the at home duties and the slimy daughter. Leaning back against the chair with his brows furrowed slightly, he began to mentally plan out your day already.

It was a Friday when Katsuki forced himself out of the comfortable security that is your arms and walked with light feet to his daughters bedroom. Today is his day off, so he has to make sure everything goes smoothly or else he's going to have more burn marks on his office desk.

He didn't bother knocking first and saunters in the familiar space, the faint snores from d/n somehow relaxing him. Her walls were freshly painted a light shade of blue, the contrast not too saturated to peel the attention away from her posters that covered every inch of her room, all of which were pictures of his prohero colleagues. D/N had to beg for her father to purchase a Deku poster, one of which she saw don display when the both of you brought her to the mall for a quick trip. He internally cringes every time he makes eye contact with the lifeless eyes of Deku when he enters her room.

Katsuki neared his daughter and kneeled down to where his head was leveled with hers, chuckling lightly when finding a small pool of drool collecting on her cheek.

"Wake up little shit," he whispers, nudging her uncovered shoulder with his knuckles, startling her eyes to flutter open. D/n nearly gasped at the sight of her father. The covers that were wrapped snuggly around her fell at the foot of her bed when she jolted up in surprise, eyes brimming with excitement.

"It's today right? Mommy's day!" Katsuki covered her mouth with his abnormally large hand, not wanting her obnoxious voice to blow their cover.

"Yes, but you're gonna have to be quiet for daddy. Don't want to spoil the surprise for mommy, you understand ya little brat?"

Hand still attached to her mouth, d/n nodded her head feverishly, hands clenched into tiny fits. Once he thinks she's shimmered down a little, he finally removes his hand and motions her to follow him.

Meanwhile in the other room, you were still fast asleep, limbs not once switching from their position over the cozy blanket. The chill breeze from the propped window regulated your body temperature nicely, along with the beautiful songs sung by the birds that reside in the trees close by. You stirred awake momentarily, feeling the loss of a presence that's usually laying beside you during these times of slumber. Katsuki's side was empty, the indent from his body molded onto the foam mattress, leaving you to believe he woke up not that long ago.

After convincing yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, you decided to search for the missing blonde. You crack open the door to a weird combination of radio music blaring throughout the house, and the delicious smell of something cooking in grease. It's no doubt your boyfriends doing. He always likes to impress you with how skillful he is in the kitchen. He hasn't made a dish you disliked yet nor will he allow himself to do so.

Standing side by side, minus the height difference, d/n and Katsuki both were too immersed in their cooking to notice you leaning against the island counter, trying very hard to not cry instantly at the sight in front of you. Watching them interact together was definitely something you'd be treasuring for the years to come.

A rush of savory and sweetness infiltrated your senses, the scent strong enough to knock you back to sleep. As if he read your mind overnight, Katsuki took it upon himself to prepare your favorite breakfast dishes. The dinner table made for three already set by none other than d/n, who currently looked proud at her work and craftsmanship. A large vase was propped in the center, a collection of vibrant flowers stuffed to the brim, the water inside almost overflowing. Attached to one of the stems of the flowers was a tag, the handwriting sloppy and hard to decipher.

To my dumbass, love ya - K.B

You felt the delicate touch of your daughter wrapping her hand around yours, giving it a slight tug before pulling you into the kitchen again. Katsuki flicked his gaze to you now, flashing the same mischievous grin you grew to love. his hands simultaneously worked on the food while taming the animal, that is indeed your daughter, from bumping into the pan handles.

"What's all this for?" You asked, the question directly appointed to both your boyfriend and daughter.

"Oh, so I can't treat my sexy girlfriend to a good meal?" he teased while setting the burners to low, letting the food cool off before plating it. Your daughter audibly gagged at the comment and swatted Katsuki's arm.

D/N's tiny legs were faster than yours and reached the cabinet where the plates and cutlery were stored at. To her dismay, the cabinet was higher than she anticipated. trying her best to waiver down the disappointment as she climbed on the sleek marble counter top, losing her footing here and there. Katsuki caught her in time before she misplaced her footing and almost toppled onto the floor.

"May I need to remind you not to climb on the damn counter tops anymore d/n?" he scolded as he put her down before grabbing enough plates for everyone.

Pursing her lips tightly, she crossed her arms and said, "But if I'm going to be a future hero then I have to battle my way through tough obstacles!"

U.A's immense training and work studies came in handy when dealing with d/n's hard headed ideologies. It's been a stressful reoccurrence, having to constantly teach her the importance of being a hero at such a young age. Her impulsive tendencies mirrored the blondes old habit of taking action before thinking. But there was always a saying when storing away your fear and facing danger head on.

"That's true, but sometimes a little teamwork wouldn't hurt. Your father should know a thing or two about that when he was a young U.A student," you said as you patted her head.

"What'd you say shitty woman? Talking crap so early in the morning already?" a strange popping sound alerted you to turn around, only to find Katsuki flaring his flashy quirk with a glare that could splice you open.

But his alarming gaze wasn't the thing that was scaring you at the moment.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT USING YOUR QUIRK IN THE HOUSE! YOU'RE GONNA SET OFF THE FIRE ALARM AGAIN, IDIOT!"

-

You thought the smorgasbord of a breakfast was the last of your boyfriends romantic gestures, but you should've known better once he demanded you to change out of your sleep attire and into something to  wear outside. Not thinking twice about where he was dragging you to, including daughter, you decided to play it safe. He approved on your choice of ripped jeans, synthetic tank top, and thrown on cardigan once heading off to the car.

The car ride to the mysterious destination was short lived as your boyfriend pulled up into the driveway of his old house. Mitsuki stood waiting by the threshold of the doorway, waving her fingers sweetly to whom you can only assume was you and not her only son. She stepped off the porch once Katsuki shifted the car in park, unlocking the doors as well. His mother reached the side where d/n stayed strapped in her seat and yanked the door open.

"Ah my little princess! How have you been? I missed you so much!" She unbuckled d/n's seat belt and flattened her in a tight hug, squeezing till her eyes popped out. "I can't wait to spend the weekend with you baby girl! Are you excited to have a little fun with grandma?!"

"Calm the fuck down, you're gonna kill her if you keep squeezing!" Katsuki's voice boomed out of the window.

"Oh pipe down you little shit I'm not harming her! Also don't talk to me like that! You're old enough to treat me with some respect by now!"

"SHUT UP YOU OLD HAG! JUST TAKE THE LITTLE GREMLIN AND GO!"

After the heated exchange, Katsuki eventually calmed down and drove the two of you back to the house in complete silence. It was quite a shift in a sense of environment wise. By now d/n would be begging you to make her some pudding or pour her a cup of lemonade, then place yourselves in front of the tv watching a random kids program till evening. Tonight you lend the torch to your boyfriend, allowing whatever devious plan he conjured up to unfold.

Before you could shuffle into your shared bedroom, Katsuki placed his calloused hands onto your cramped shoulders. Merely centimeters from your ear, he laid a chaste kiss on the area beneath it, smiling at your innocent reaction to his sudden actions and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You smelt the familiar scent of caramel and men’s soap, both of which you undoubtably loved when combined.

“Suki?” Upon hearing his nickname, Katsuki quirked an eyebrow at you. “What’s with all the romantic gestures lately? Cooking my favorite breakfast, the flowers, and our daughter. Don’t get me wrong, I love her! It’s just nice not to worry about if she’ll set the curtains on fire again.”

You felt the vibrations of him chuckling behind you.

“Isn’t it obvious? I just want to fuck the shit out of you,” you sat paralyzed by his bluntness. his tuft hair tickled the underside of your chin, earning him an acute giggle from you. “I’m just kidding, pretty face. I figured you needed a weekend where you just relax and did nothing. Let me do all the work. That’s including getting rid of the brat.”

Shifting in his arms to where you can face him, you can now see the adoration oozing from usual heated glare of his vermillion eyes, the scowl long gone and replaced with a soften feature not so many from the outside can witness. To think this was the man you devoted yourself and love for, to allow him to bare witness anything and everything you endure. He’s a man of showing his compassion through his actions, not lousy words of affirmations that anyone could sputter out and proclaim its love. No, he reflects back everything right with the world, even when you felt the weight of it searing through your system, dragging it down with you. The same explosive blonde awaits patiently by the opening for you to enter, no matter how long it’ll take for you to accept his love. Because he’ll be there. Waiting.

And here he is waiting. In your arms to repeat those three words you made out from watching the movement of his lips.

The words leave your mouth effortlessly, the proclamation hanging in the air between you two.

“I love you too, Katsuki. Thank you so much, for everything.” Like so, you kiss the plump flesh of his lips, the same inflammation of your heart burning as before. The strong muscle of his tongue prods your entrance, practically begging by licking your bottom lip. Katsuki grabbed your chin as gentle as he could muster, titling it for a better leverage to explore your mouth in return. Your hands trailed across the defining shape of his collarbones, rubbing any part of his body so that your fingers remained busy. Both of you hum in satisfaction, relishing in the feeling of the intimate moment. To your disliking, he removes his lips from yours and hovers instead, panting from the mini-make out session seconds ago.

“I’m going to marry you some day, mark my words. So don’t act fucking stupid when I pop the question,” he hotly proclaims, not once removing those piercing red eyes from yours. That’s when you knew he wasn’t bullshitting. If there’s one thing you learned about Katsuki over the years of dating, is that he doesn’t throw out promises in the air nonchalantly without keeping them. You can vaguely hear the ominous sound of wedding bells in your ears.

“Sounds intriguing. I always wanted to see you in a suit and tie.”

“Ya know, maybe someday might be tomorrow-.”

You cut him off with a scorching peck, making his eyes widen and dilate with every given second you laid your lips onto his. “Shut up babe and ravish me already.”

A mischievous grin forms on his mouth as he links his arms around the back of your knees and hoists you over his shoulder. He erupted into fits of laughter after hearing you squeak from the abruptness. The door to your shared bedroom came into view, your boyfriend kicking it with his free foot before entering through the threshold.

“You’re in for a long night sweetheart. Now that our daughter isn’t here, I’m not holding back on anything,” he threatens as he lays you down on the comforter.

Another thing you learned from your relationship. Katsuki is always true to his word.

-

[dustedmagazine]

Keith Rowe — Absence (Erstwhile)

There are instances in which a piece of music emerges from our preconceived formal boundaries. It opens into an area, or onto a vista, unanticipated and completely alien to everything preceding. Whether prog, classical or post-punk, the moment inaugurates a space putting the lie to classification. There, supplanting tonal and modal superficiality, pure sound and environment facilitate the experience, draw the listener into a landscape of forbidding immersion. The crux is the moment of change, a shift of ambience, perspective, a portal-thrusting beyond which only the unknown is certain. Keith Rowe’s solo work is a permanent resident of that area, but he has revoked the license to employ those eschewed categories. This performance from November 6, 2015 evokes that altering instant on many levels, both as audio document and artistic statement.

Along these dualistic lines, Rowe’s solo music could be described, with acute clumsiness serving grains of truth, as layers within layers supporting moments of rhetorical alteration. His is a language because of which every conventional descriptor is necessarily jettisoned; affixing meaning becomes an imperative, a trial and a joy of comparison and heuristic discovery. As with all art but more overtly, the relationship is transmuted into the object. The instants themselves might involve looped repetition, the caressed gentility of a single plucked note or a sweeping aside, along strings or whatever other items Rowe employs during the performative situation. These instants are then combined and bolstered by parabolic layers of radio static, heightened, frozen and liquifying injections of various local and world music in tandem with the disparate sound-altering effects and via the contact microphones he uses in constructing his sound paintings. Often silent until key moments, the guitar is the centerpiece of a conglomeration of sound devices and speakers, a nexus of signal carriers enhancing and enhanced by acoustic and electrical domains. Then, there are the silences, the moments where sound drops below audible thresholds to be felt rather than heard. The combined effect is a visceral and hypnotic amalgamation of arc and point, sometimes in conflagration but always transparent.

Rowe has had two solo projects in the Erst Live series thus far, Cultural Templates and September, the latter recorded on the 10th anniversary of the 9-11 attacks. Of these, it is the closest in spirit to Absence in that he makes stark and insistent use of the sweeping motion that begins this solo performance. It occurs with increasing vehemence, a point of separation, possibly of negation but certainly of demarcation. Rowe says as much in his written commentary to Cultural Templates, where he simplifies and obfuscates by calling the gesture “drawing a line.” The essay should be mandatory reading for every Rowe enthusiast, as it presents, moment by moment, the multivalent artistic implications behind each sounding gesture, often afforded heft by historical allusion and Rowe’s auditory predilections. In this shed light, each gesture rings with a gravitas in isolation, a strangely ironic contrast to the unity of this now-trilogy of releases.

Listening to Absence after Cultural Templates and September demonstrates a Joycean progression, a portrait of the artist in varying stages of personal and communal reflection. That drawing of a line inhabits each performance in different ways. Like Messiaen’s motivic recurrences, its symbology reflects and is reflected by sonic context or lack thereof. That’s what makes its appearance at the beginning of Absence so poignant, so devastating. Unlike most Rowe recordings, the 2015 performance unfolds against a highly reverberant backdrop, rendering each sweep somehow final and not simply separate but alien. The opening several minutes are dominated by its iterations, with objects, on guitar string or in combination. It is both a call and a response, sent into and reflected back by a space that can barely contain it. Its pitch shifts are timbrally proximate both to Rowe’s timeline motive and the death motive in transformation, as outlined in the aforementioned essay. It leaves room neither for “false hope,” nearly reached in captured snatches of a Paul Simon tune, nor for its static underpinning. It’s elastic components snarl, growl and query, momentarily dissolving to atoms before evolving against the low hum of room ambiance.

The accustomed layers of Rowe’s syntax emerge with a glacial certainty, Even within them, there is the point-and-line relationship that delineates the first five minutes. Have two guitar notes ever sounded with more poignancy than at 15:12? Even they emerge from strain as atoms from the stresses of boundaries stretched. Each timeline is frayed at the end, but all is imbued with a sense of deep and abiding humanity, each controlled voice, sob and clearing of the throat in those radio captures that always seem to be so perfect, such stunning synchronicities. How else can the perfectly timed trans-genre juxtaposition at 29:50 be explained? As the 18th century revolutionary music of Haydn intersects with the quantized rhythms of popular technologies, temporal staticity is foundational.

What is there, finally, to say of endings? Rowe’s note, published with this recording, speaks of his decision to cease performing solo concerts in light of his struggles with Parkinsons. How is one to review a partial conclusion? Is the cadence perfect, and, as Rowe intimates, of what ultimate significance? When the pain of absence abates, what supplants it? The room that witnessed this event is as palpable as any space in which Rowe has recorded, maybe more so in that we are privy to the applause and a moment of the mundanities immediately following. I’m left with a vision comparable to that of performers like Emil Gilels, whose traversal of Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier” sonata glows with the calmly insistent warmth of experience supplanting overt virtuosity. Here, Rowe inhabits a similar space. Each signpost is also a summation, the myriad histories and their attendant discoveries transmitted through scrubber, radio and, obviously, guitar. The fact that The Room Extended would follow, that Rowe remains musically active and innovative, neither negates nor mitigates the feeling of eras in simultaneously bittersweet juxtaposition and completion. The recording ends with a brief snapshot of raw environment, the spaces Rowe’s solo performances highlighted and opened for our exploration, a moment of the temporal continuum into which the lines he interwove are etched in lasting influence.

Marc Medwin

[thearistocratsblog]

 The adoption of a memory should lead us to spend reflex in the brain act itself. We have in this case reached the automatic reflex as it is found in the dog Piraux as well as turtles Grey  Walter, the perception Commander automatically action, as well as in the human reflex we know that the perception does not go to the brain: in the spinal cord itself is in fact a summary of the present and the past, its behavior depending what he sees and what he has seen. Thus it is apparent that we reproduce a model elementary artificial brain true if one was sure that at any moment the decision is a result of complex sensory impressions of this cutting and memories stored in a memory , and it is this problem that we tried to address with the fox-mail.

 The anatomy of the motor is classic. Three-wheeled support it based on the model of tricycle, the front wheel is director and  Driving while "taking turns" are associated with one of the rear wheels. And the front wheel is below the neck of the animal, the latter bearing at the end of an insulating support a set of bodies constituting the head of the fox. The head in question has a field of exploration of 180, demanding course that the engine is crawling with an inverter walk. The order is automatic when the head is at the end, completely turned to the right or left, or when the animal is in a period of exploration, an obstacle comes oppose the lateral movement of his head. As for the running engine mounted on the front wheel, we have chosen powerful enough because of both the relatively high weight of the fox (4 kg) than in the interest of obtaining a device with no moving too slow to that the observation is not tedious. The capacity of batteries is modest (8 volts; 6 AH), but luckily this engine running works only so discontinuous: when drilling, the total consumption of the fox is in the order of only 1 amp, and it even fewer in times of "reflection".

 In this case, the basic body movements deciding fox is a "reverser system" that directs the flow of battery to the motor running or sends in a circuit where the engine is mounted exploration in series with another engine, said "character", which we will shortly explain the role. Such an inverter system is obviously controlled by a relay inserted at the exit of the posts that make up the electronic brain of the fox.

  This one is fed by the circuits from the sensory organs, according to a "combination" as broad as possible impressions gathered. Admittedly, it may not be complete. Suppose that the fox advance in a certain direction and that  Suddenly be an obstacle placed in his path: he must necessarily stop. This means that the tactile sense is "priority" over others. That was the formula adopted in all the past achievements. On the contrary, for the hearing and sensory impressions, it is mechanically possible for the animal to walk as well as to explore. In other words, if we consider the five senses that owns the fox, the combination may only refer to three of them, the tactile sense to be a completely autonomous circuit, while the flair we have adopted an intermediate. Such a situation is not devoid of interest: the combination of impressions from three senses is indeed a complex reproducing judgment. For example, assume that the fox track and a light comes up in a state such as a current 0.51 milliamp circulated in the relay. Accepting that this relay has been closed and it opens to a current of 0.50 milliamp, it will remain closed. The animal has "decided" to walk, but only just a little intense it will indeed be able to bring down the current plate momentarily below 0.50 milliamp, and the relay will then remain open, because for the "close "a current of 1 milliamp is necessary. The "critical areas' of his behaviour and lie around 0.50 and 1 mA, amplifiers have been resolved in such a way that these areas may correspond to" case "easily achieved in practice. In addition, regardless of the concept of judgement, we can say that the tactile sense ensures reflex, ie, as in higher organisms, the behaviour of both the fox depends reflex that acts brain. In practice, the five senses were made in the following manner: 1. The view is provided through two photo electric cells fitted with blinkers. Through this way, the sensation is not the same with a light four times more intense, at a distance twice less, as would be the case with a single cell. In other words, it can be argued that this gives to some extent the fox the perception of the terrain. 2. Hearing consists of a microphone, it is a rudimentary model, but sensitive, with a pellet shot at using the current Battery and feeding a transformer coupled to an electronic amplifier. 3. A sense of direction is represented by a potentiometer housed in the neck of the animal. He then brought to the polarization of a certain lamp L ', while the sight and hearing are ordering the lamp L, the main one being sensitive relay inserted in the circuit plate Joint L and L'. We see that this assembly performs well a combination of three types of sensory impressions so far considered. 4. The touch is ensured by the papillae tactile housed in the head, the animal it is that close contacts as soon as a body outside touch this head. The contacts in question were inserted into a circuit directly controlling the inverter system. 5. The flair is a metal plate which forms the nose of the fox, the principle being that the papillae capacitive raised about Miso. The Capacitor they excite a relay special command that may act on the reverser system like the taste of contact, but this relay is also linked to the "post character." [Note RH – This is the so-called “sense of smell” – not real smelling at all.]

THE MEMORY AND CARACTÉRIEL INTEGRATIVE However, under the previous scheme we have not yet seen the memory integrative, element number 1 of the Act cerebral. Note well what fundamental difference between memory and integrated memory simple, commonly known recording. This formula corresponds to the recording of a sequence of signals on any media, as a result of which there will subsequently recover from this simple scroll which we find illustrated both with the wire with the conventional magnetic disk phonograph. Instead, the memory is a true integrative synthesis of memories: one can, in this case, imagine under the appearances of a surface initially plane, in which the various events just make as many small deformation. Thus all the events in which man has witnessed since its birth as they mark his mentality can be achieved by the appearance of its surface mnémique as a result of all its strains, each of which has been forgotten in detail. Thus with the character that we tried to reproduce such a principle integrative memory. It is, as we have said, with an engine of exploration, and so is likely to be turned on whenever the sensory impressions of fox reach the threshold of excitement that toppled the regime reverser. This engine is in this case coupled with a knob that controls the voltage of the grid auxiliary tube '. If this tension is very high, the current passes through L ', even though the main gate is biased negatively. Instead, a low voltage of the auxiliary gate has the effect of blocking L '. Through this mechanism, it appears that the sensory impressions at the same time they control the movement of foxes change the setting of its amplifiers, ie, faced a similar situation, his behaviour is not the same from one day to another, since the fox has "lived" in the meantime. However, we felt it appropriate that this character is not turned on at all times. To this end, we did it depend on a command post capable of short-circuiting. He makes himself the synthesis of several phenomena, it depends on three contacts controlled by the movement of the character itself (which means that, in itself, the character hangs at the end of a time Operating determined), by the movement of fox (an inverter is controlled by the rear wheels), with the relay of Inductor. When the character is action, the sensitivity of the fox is changed, and we can say that it is varied. On the contrary, when it is short-circuited, the character is fixed, or at least can no longer mention that "variations in mood," according to the voltage of the batteries. This tension, which directly controls the polarization of light ', is indeed a function of the state of discharge of batteries that the energy required by the engines and various windings. If the decision by the fox to a given situation represents a synthesis of the present and the past, it should be noted that the "weight" of the past is variable depending on the position of the head. We have in fact indicated that the movement thereof acts on a potentiometer commander lamp L ', the sensitivity of the tube being so great when the head is right, and on the contrary low if the head is completely turned to the right or left. Similarly, it appears that, depending on the individual, the burden of the past is more or less depending on their temperament all levels with the possibility of hedonistic while the contemplative, for a given individual, the part of the past also varies depending on the circumstances. So when the fox look straight ahead, can we say he lives primarily on his memory, especially as he takes on his perceptions when his head is turned. A DISCONTINUITÉ OF PERCEPTION Worth noting simply, without discussing this issue here, we wanted to introduce a cell of imagination in this fox, as he speaks for binary through two bulbs green and red respectively worn by her head. But above all, we tried to reproduce a further analogy with the human brain by adopting the principle of a perception discontinuous, this discontinuity is of a paramount importance to us, In this case, our brain can be considered as a working machine in a vacuum, except during short intervals which are repeated at a rate of 10 to 12 per second, during which information is collected specifically in our cerebral areas. Moreover, this rate though we explained our eye sees the images if they succeed because of Brettermeier per second, while over a dozen is the cinema, and similarly our ear perceives sound if noises successive obey a similar law. In fact, it is neither our eye or our ears that need to be blamed, but rather the brain, the latter taking cognizance of the world in order to change discontinue its work in the light of new information received. To achieve such a discontinuity in the fox, we have called these comptetours "solidarity" with a rear wheel, which he had previously discussed. Thus, a contactor primary is closed all three rounds, which blocks a relay memory likely to be released only if a cause affects the movement of the head. On the other hand, a contactor school is closed all six rounds. However, the closure of these two contacts has the effect of bringing Engine exploration and character, while everyone's perceptions are cut, this state of affairs remaining until one of the two contacts is open. This happens in practice if the head hits an obstacle side or, at the end of the course, ie when the head turned completely on the one hand, is required to change its sense of exploration. At that moment, the fox sees the outside world with a new spirit, as we pointed out that it is precisely at the end of the race that the weight of the past is minimal …

If the fox claims reproduce the basic characteristics of cerebral work, understand that it is a "model" Basic reduced, both at the perception that the trial: two photo electric cells appear in effect Accessories well as poor against the 140 million cell door as our retina. And on the other hand, it is assumed that our brain has about 10 billion neurons! As such, there is no doubt that we have barely glimpsed the fantastic opportunities that lie ahead. And indeed, in the past, many manufacturers have shown us automates all the subtlety of behaviour that may be expected from a machine if you have the patience to develop it accordingly. The prestigious name of Vaucanson is there, with its wonderful machines: if we consider only a "wing" of the famous duck, we must not forget that it incorporated elements 400, while the same Vaucanson knew how to build representation " Cleopatra "Marmontel a snake that s'élançait across the stage whistling and went with astonishing precision drill with the queen. And manufacturers automata unaware that agent wonderful electricity soul of sensory organs and today's engines! One might ask what machines they would have done with the resources of modern electronics. In fact, the technique we now enter an era of genuine "electronic watches" where one can build tubes the size of a pea, before tomorrow transistors big as a phonograph needle. In the electric shows, we can see no other an electric motor and a battery offering 1 single aspect of pellets? Under this sign, it is hoped to build tomorrow's electronic brain the size of a human brain, ie true miracles are to be expected in terms of electronic animals, beyond which our current DIY appear in a Poverty disconcerting. As to the desirability of such animals artificial, it seems considerable. First theoretical usefulness is real, real machines analogies allowing us the most interesting studies on the functioning of our nervous system. Importantly, we believe qu'inéluctablement, besides calculating machines and electronic brains ever more complex over which man relies more and more to solve a growing number of operations intellectual grounding peuplera tomorrow ' a large number of robots that are able drive: extending the wording of these artificial animals, they represent a people capable of slaves' to perform all tasks material which man will hear the charge, under the species of  The most diverse races …

[rosesforshego]

𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴏ

“August 24th, 2002 4:45 pm. 

Drew hummed a familiar tune. The enticing rhythm from a song he didn’t know the lyrics to had wiggled its way into his head, implanting itself in his conscious. It penetrated his thoughts just as he had found sweet relief from the hurricane of obnoxious ideas and theories that often swam in his head. And as the repetitive melody made its departure, it had slipped past his lips in a whistle that was carried away by the wind. He hoped that he could finally say goodbye to the absurdity that was having a song stuck in his head—a song that he didn’t particularly know all too well; one that nearly infuriated him with its irritating, repetitive chorus that he could not decipher.

Why were humans cursed with the gift to recognize rhythms? Sometimes he believed that the skill was more trouble than it was worth.”

A plate of peanut butter stickies laid atop his flat palm; its warmth embraced his hand. Drew was instructed to bring himself, and only himself, but Ann should’ve known that he just couldn’t resist the enticing call from his small oven. Plus, it would have been rude of him to arrive without an offering to the Possibles—they had invited him to dinner, so he provided dessert. After seventeen years of nothing but gracious hospitality and devoted friendship, it was the least Drew could do to show his gratitude. Though, as he slid his free arm back into his car, he could only imagine the look of playful disapproval spread across Ann’s beautifully withering features. I told you to bring yourself, and only yourself, she would say. With a faded “tch”, Drew shook his head. At least he knew the boys would appreciate his gift.

The thickened skin of his fingertips struggled to grasp the slick cellphone that remained perched within the sticky cup holder. The device lit at his presence as if to offer a welcomed greeting—a greeting that took on the form of three missed calls from Kim. Grasping the electronic in his hand, he flipped the cover to find the name “KAN POSSIBLE” littered throughout his missed calls. To vex Drew’s good-nature, Ron deliberately changed Kim’s contact I.D. to “Kan”, a mixture of “Kimberly” and “Ann”. When asked about the interesting choice in letters, Ron responded with “because she Kan do anything!” Drew laughed, Kim punched her uncle’s arm, Ron flashed a toothy grin—one that he often used to express pride. Unbeknownst to either teen, Drew kept the name as a keepsake of the time they spent together.

What Drew wouldn’t give to get that time back.

His slender body emerged from the low vehicle for a second time; his rear pressed against the frame of the car as he hoisted his feet back onto the concrete below him. Uncomfortably, a damaged box of UNO cards shifted within his back pocket. So, that’s where they went. Drew nearly forgot he had shoved them into the restricting denim, a little panicked at the thought that he may have left the game on his kitchen counter. A sigh of relief was soon replaced with the sound of a pounding heart, full of eagerness. He couldn’t wait to see James’ reaction to the well-loved deck of cards—cards that, in some ways, symbolized the depths of their friendship. 

A soft slam of a car door rang through the driveway, alerting the Possibles of his presence. It was the signature sound of his beat-up Sedan. Ol’ Faithful, James liked to call her. He was right. As the interior lights dimmed, Drew caught himself admiring the rusty vehicle, in all of her glory. What a short fifteen years it had been with Ol’ Faithful. From frat parties, to hospital visits, to crashing into trees during the icy months of winter, this car had seen it all.

Drew will never forget the first incident, or, what he liked to call, Ol’ Faithful’s first traumatizing experience. Drew and James, under pressure from their peers, had attended a frat party, though neither undergrad had ever committed to a fraternity, nor had they ever consumed alcohol. So, when James found himself drowning in copious amounts of beer to prove his worth to the fraternity members, Drew grabbed his friend by the collar and split before James subjected himself to alcohol poisoning. Unfortunately, for Ol’ Faithful, this didn’t stop James from vomiting into his own lap. Disgusted, Drew felt relieved knowing that he would have to clean the bile off of the car and not himself, though he guessed that Ol’ Faithful felt otherwise. 

As Drew slowly crept up the driveway, he rolled his eyes at no one in particular. That was the first, and last, frat party they had ever attended. 

His scrunched face, one that resembled his reaction to James’ upchuck party, softened into a delighted, tight-lipped smile as another significant memory wiggled its way back into Drew’s conscious mind; one that involved little Kan Possible. 

It was an unrelenting workday. Swamped with paperwork, Drew felt chained to his desk as he suffocated under the sheer amount of single-spaced, scatter-brained, research notes that took on the form of doctorate-styled theses on intricate subject matters that Drew could not comprehend at the age of twenty-four. But, when James’ death-trap of a Hummer broke down on the side of the highway that day, a shrill call from a panicked about-to-be new father was just the excuse Drew needed to leave his pile of relentless nonsense onto the next intern in line. 

Drew recalled all the times James had used Ol’ Faithful as his personal taxi service—primarily when his own car had desperately wanted to reunite with the local repairman. Although James had only ever paid Drew in the form of Chinese takeout, the rocket scientist was Drew’s favorite customer. And this day, in particular, was his favorite service to James—not because his friend had saved him from his job, but because it played an essential role in the birth of his beautiful niece. 

As distracting as Ann’s ear-splitting screams were, Ol’ Faithful remained focused on ushering the loving couple to the Middleton Medical Center. And as the screams grew louder, Drew started to doubt that they were going to make it in time. Kimberly Ann was not a patient girl. She was to be born on her own accord, and if that meant in the back of an old Sedan, then so be it. Though, neither Drew nor James knew how to deliver a baby and, while Ann tried her best to coach her husband, the torment that was her contractions morphed her voice into a banshee’s shriek.

Nevertheless, that all came to an end with the soft cry of a newborn child. 

Ann sighed, James wept, and Drew threw his fist up in victory, which collided with the roof of the car, cracking each of his knuckles. Ol’ Faithful may not have made it to the destination in time, but she had a new label to add to her repertoire: the birthplace of Kimberly Ann Possible. Sadly, Kim’s birth certificate simply states “Middleton Medical Center”. 

Drew never thought that he would feel consolation at the sight of a hoard of nurses in scrubs whisking Ann away, but, knowing that she and his newborn niece were in good hands felt satisfying. He may not have helped James pull Kim, but Drew was content that he was able to do his part in turning this happy couple into a loving family. Though, as he turned to survey this back-seat-turned-crime-scene, he was not too thrilled at the thought of cleaning up the mess. Stains that have been long since removed from the carpet will forever be ingrained in Drew’s memory.

As Drew placed a firm foot on the porch step, he thought for a moment. All of his wildest memories with his car involved bodily fluids. The grimace returned. Gross, but not important.

The car laid silent on the asphalt. Ol’ Faithful. What an apt name.

“UNCLE!”

Synced voices startled Drew out of his daydream. A twinkle returned to his eye.

“Boys!”

His free arm extended towards the boisterous twins, but their cunning minds were a tad too quick for Drew. They evaded his capture with a wail as green fabric brushed against Drew’s fingertips. So close. Before Drew could turn and try again, Jim had planted his palms on the man’s aching back while Tim used his shoulder to thrust Drew across the threshold and into the sweet scent of lasagna that oozed from the kitchen.

Two could play at this game. 

His feet firmly rooted his stature to the concrete slab beneath him, steadfast in their position as he leaned into the twins—an opposing force that was much stronger than the combined strength of Jim and Tim. With a grunt and an exasperated sigh, Tim continued to press his shoulder against his uncle to propel the man forward, but his efforts were futile—Drew was a stubborn man. With a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his lips, his playful demeanor teased the boys as they realized that their plan of attack was useless against their ruthless uncle’s immobile stance.

Drew took great pleasure in observing the twins as they attempted to solve the apparent predicament. With just one look, the boys could conduct an entire, elaborate scheme that would certainly take down the behemoth that was their Uncle Drew. This never ceased to fascinate the scientist. Their abundance of intuitive knowledge about each other often allowed for the twins to cause a copious amount of trouble, most of which went completely unnoticed by James and Ann. Unknown to himself, Drew’s smirk had steadily grown into an admirable smile. And he thought Kim was the troublemaker, but James and Ann just had to be blessed with these two boys, hadn’t they?

And what blessings they were.

Sometimes.

With an abrupt change in tactic, the two boys slammed their small bodies into Drew’s back, propelling him forward with a stumble as his toe tripped on the doorstep. The plate that once balanced upon his hand followed his body, falling forward, eager to land on the pristine wooden floor. Eyes wide, before Drew regained his composure, his opposing hand swooped in like a caped superhero and saved the stickies from their impending doom.

“Come on, Uncle Drew, we got somethin’ we wanna show you!” Jim exclaimed, a blur of red and green rushing past the man. His spine cracked as he straightened his stature.

“Yeah, you’re gonna love it!”

The last time Drew was told that he was going to love one of their experiments, the little devils burned off his eyebrows. And, while he was grateful for Kim’s offer to aid him during his time of eyebrow-less need, Drew had to settle for a crudely painted monobrow while he patiently waited for the hair to grow back. Instead of returning his features to a bit of normalcy, Kim’s masterpiece has only contributed to his “mad scientist” physique.

A chuckle. He missed the innocence that came with childhood, but he was pleased to know that the Possibles never surrendered their youthful spirit.  

“I’m sure I will.”

His shoes, per routine, slipped from his feet and found themselves comfortable in the cubby with the stained label that read “Drew”.

He smiled. He was home.

With a new-found spring in his step, he followed the delectable aroma to the kitchen. Lasagna—quick, easy, fed a large family. Maybe it wasn’t the five-course meal that was to be expected from the Possibles, but as another whiff of the trailing scent left Drew longing for more, he could care less. Truthfully, Drew wasn’t sure how she made the pasta so rich and flavorful—he had the same recipe, but his attempts at Ann’s signature dish could never compete with the original. He pondered for a moment, his body following the signs of life that lead to the kitchen, and concluded that what made Ann’s lasagna so special was because Ann made it. Ann’s recipe called for tender care and compassion—the ingredients that only she possessed.

He grabbed the plate of peanut butter stickies with this other hand, firmly clutching the surface in his iron grip. Ann had her lasagna, but Drew had his stickies. No one could take that away from him.

“Hey, you!”

A quick rustle of a newspaper gave way to James, who appeared to be cozy, nestled in the corner of the breakfast nook. Behind the print sat a beaming smile of a grey-haired man. Well, greying. An argument would always ensue whenever Drew commented otherwise. James, in all of his youthful optimism, remained ignorant of his aging body.

Drew returned the gesture with an equally enthusiastic “Hey!” as he approached the kitchen counter with his plate of goodies. The scent of the stickies mingled with the savory lasagna and, as James’ eager eyes followed the plate, Drew knew that he made the right decision to put down the stack of his students’ lab reports to spend some quality time with his oven.

“I see you brought a peace offering.”

Drew pushed the plate away from his frame to where the counter and the wall connected, a place that would be out-of-reach for the devious boys.

A simper, soft as it settled into his features, expressed a sort of pleasure at James’ frivolous statement.

“I thought you might like it.”

Ann, who stood opposed to the two men, lifted her pruned fingertips from the mountain of suds that laid in the kitchen sink.

“Drew, you better not have—”

“Ann, you knew I couldn’t resist.”

A small sigh. He never listened.

“I told you to bring yourself—”

“And only myself,” he finished. Drew tilted his head in her direction, but his crystal eyes remained transfixed on James. The rocket scientist raised a brow at the biochemist, a little baffled at Drew’s abrupt demeanor, but he quickly settled back into his corner as a lively glint in his wife’s eye told him what he needed to know. Drew and Ann had the same conversation every game night, which ended with the same result—Drew doing the exact opposite of what Ann had instructed. Ann may have held a stronghold over her house, but she could never tame Drew Lipsky—the defiant, son-of-a-bitch who liked to confront Ann’s authority. His attitude challenged her morals, yet brought a sense of comfort into her loving home. A mark of a good friendship. 

“And you brought your stickies.”

“Are you complaining?”

A light chuckle, “The kids won’t be, that’s for sure.”

“Then, you’re welcome.”

Drew, who relished in his victory, took a slight bow. She glared at him for a moment, her irises nearly penetrating his thick skin, but instead of berating him as she would her children, she simply shook her head, returning her attention to the dishes that piled before her. The grin that slipped past her demeanor mirrored that of her husband’s who hid his face behind the newspaper, not wanting to feed into Drew’s new sense of ego. Drew knew, though, that the print that stood as a wall between him and his best friend was a front. He couldn’t help but crack a grin as well at the foolishness of the conversation.

These two geniuses—the rocket scientist and the brain surgeon—were the first to accept the lonesome biochemist’s offer of friendship. A friendship that Drew had never taken for granted. 

In his youth, Drew prided himself on what he believed to be his true calling—the bright future he held in the field of biochemistry. However, while his mother often boasted about his accomplishments throughout his undergraduate years, Drew did not feel complete. There was a piece to his life’s puzzle that remained missing and Drew was unsure of where it could be hiding. He searched tirelessly for the piece—in his academics, within his familial relationships, he even ventured into the local community, volunteering his free time, to find the satisfaction he desperately craved, but to no avail. The piece was gone. 

As his pride was replaced with sorrow, Drew found himself drawn to cable T.V. as his once source of temporary entertainment. With a pillow pressed against his chest for comfort, Drew quickly found himself falling down the rabbit hole that came from his sudden-onset obsession with the television cartoon, Captain Constellation. As a means of maintaining his sanity, Drew found his mind immersed in the liberating world that the show had provided, and, as his right-brained, creative tendencies rejoiced at his reunion with his sensitive mind, Drew dove head-first into the promise that fanfiction had given him—to whisk him away from the dissatisfying life he had fallen victim to.

Despite his mother’s scorn disapproval for Drew’s new hobby, the niche fandom he had called his new home had led him to James Timothy Possible—a student in the aeronautics program who resided on campus a few dorms down from his own. The two boys spent long nights discussing theories, writing fanfiction, and contributing to the Captain Constellation fandom in their own respects. The emptiness that laid within Drew slowly lifted its burden as James filled the void with his friendship. The two men, practically inseparable, suffered through the rollercoaster of experiences—the ups, the down, the successes, and the failures—of college, together.

James’, and eventually Ann’s, friendship was the greatest gift that any omniscient being could have given Drew Lipsky and he was going to cherish it for the rest of his life. 

The corner of his lip twitched into a half-smile, accentuating his singular dimple. If Drew had never sought solace in Captain Constellation, he would have missed out on all of this; the happiness that made life worth living. 

He turned on his heel and leaned his waist against the edge of the granite counter, pressing the deck of cards further into his rear. With a soft gasp, Drew had nearly forgotten about his surprise. His calloused fingers quickly fished the box out of his tight back pocket, then let the cardboard slip through his digits as it transported through the air and landed on the nook’s table with a thump.

“Here.” 

Startled, James carefully peered over his newspaper, only to be greeted by an old friend that he had long-since forgotten. Shoving The Examiner to the side, he carefully wrapped his fingers around the box, a few of the tears increased as the cardboard fell apart within his hands.

“And here I thought that these would never see the light of day again.”

Drew chuckled, “Neither did I.”

James fumbled with the broken box—the cardboard flap that barely secured the bent cards in place held its position for dear life. With a grunt and applied pressure, he nearly tore the box to shreds as the flap released its contents onto the table below. The rocket scientist was nearly bested by a deck of UNO cards. How embarrassing.

He shifted through the multicolored cards, his fingertips grazing the faded markings, “I thought you lost these in the move.”

“I thought so, too,” Drew mused as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I found them in a box I forgot to unpack. Figures, right?”

“You still remember how to play?”

A huff. How could he not?

“Of course, I do. I will never forget those ‘jump-in’ rules you decided to implement.”

A small chuckle resounded in the room, its origin from the sink, “Did you ever figure out how to jump-in, Drew?”

He lowered his eyes, the crystals within them gazed at the scientist who offered a knowing smirk in response, “Yeah, eventually, after your husband made the game needlessly complicated.”

“More fun that way,” James admitted, “UNO doesn’t exactly challenge our intellect.”

The crease between Drew’s eyebrows deepened briefly, “It’s not supposed to.”

A soft, lighthearted laugh escaped Ann’s honeyed lips, “You’re just mad because you always ended up with half the deck in your hand.”

James’ chuckle echoed Ann’s laughter. The two, similar to the twins, expressed synced enjoyment at Drew’s expense. He unfolded his arms and peered at his hands. How could anyone expect Drew Lipsky to hold 54 UNO cards with these tiny digits? He could barely hold the damn box. Regardless, after years of gaining more cards than he could hold, he devised a system of order that would make his involvement in the childish game a tad more efficient. Though, this often required his own corner of the room.

Drew crossed his arms once more and pressed his back further into the granite, comfortably standing his ground. Laugh all they want; tonight was going to be different.

“I promise you, that won’t happen again.”

“Oh?” James asked, his stance firm as he remained unconvinced, “I highly doubt that.”

Drew’s piercing gaze concentrated on James as his eyes squinted. Throughout college, both in undergrad and graduate school, James had been deemed the “King of UNO”—a title that Drew despised as he sat in his corner, fumbling with the obscene number of cards that continuously fell out of his hands.

That was years ago, this is now. Times have changed and there was only one way to find out if James Timothy Possible still lived up to his name.

“I’m coming for your crown, James.”

“We’ll see about that,” he responded, rather nonchalantly, obviously unperturbed by Drew’s attack. Carefully scooping the damaged cards into his hands, he shoved them back into their rightful home and threw the pack back at Drew. A slight “oof” escaped Drew’s throat as the box collided with his stomach, but, for all intents and purposes, he caught it.

James was never destined for any sport, let alone one that required throwing objects. The man had terrible aim. Then again, neither did Drew for his horrible depth perception made it nearly impossible for him to catch anything.

Their gazes immediately locked onto each other. As the deck of cards fell into the palms of Drew’s hands, the two men cracked a smile. A little victory.

But, before they could celebrate, the whirlwind of red and green made a resurgence with a device that looked vaguely rocket-ish. While the red-clad twin held the device, the green snatched the cards right out of Drew’s hands.

“UNO?” Jim asked as he held the pack towards the kitchen light and turned the box to discover new angles as if his observation could unlock the answer to the question he was about to ask, “Aren’t you a little too smart for this?”

The grimy texture of the water-damaged box was lost as Drew plucked it from Jim's fingers.

“It’s nostalgic.”

“Your uncle and I used to play UNO for hours when we were in college.”

Classic James; never surrendered the opportunity to reminisce on insignificant memories.

“Why?” Tim asked, placing the device on the breakfast table, “Isn’t that, I dunno, boring.”

“Not when your father starts to implement stupid rules,” Drew teased, his thumb snaking out from under his armpit to jab at the man who sat across from him.

“Now, didn’t we just have this conversation?” James quipped, folding his newspaper to make room for his sons’ invention.

A small snort came from the sink, one that was nearly lost within the calamity of Drew and James’ petty argument. Ann sure loved her boys.

“So,” Drew redirected his undivided attention to the strange, new device, “what’s this?”

“This—”

“Is what we wanted to show you!”

“Oh!” Drew shifted his position against the counter, alleviating tension from his lower back, “This is the thing I’m gonna love?”

Jim and Tim exchanged an incomprehensible look; a twin thing that Drew failed to understand.

“Hoo-sha!”

Unison talking. Another twin trait that fascinated the scientist.

James, a little too proud of his sons, raised his newspaper once again to conceal his smug grin. A single brow rose as Drew studied his friend’s behavior. He must have already received the twins’ spiel and James’ little smirk confirmed that this experiment had his stamp of approval.

But, did it have their mother’s?

The boys, now brimming with the excitement that they could no longer contain, opened their mouths to speak, but not a word was uttered as an intense scowl from Ann silenced the twins. This particular scowl was one that Drew knew all-too-well; the kind that Ann would pull when she worried that the structure of the house would suffer a fatality from the Jiminator. . .or was it the Timinator? Did they ever decide on a name?

“Boys, what did I say about rockets in the house?”

“Uh. . .” their shoulders rose to their ears, simultaneously, as they sheepishly responded, “Don’t have them?”

Ann raised an eyebrow as if to say keep going.

“. . . in the house.”

Satisfied, Ann returned to her dutiful work—her nimble fingers scraped food particles from old dishes that Kim had neglected to clean.

“You can show Uncle Drew your rocket after dinner.”

“But mom—”

Plate in hand, Ann swiftly twisted her torso towards the twins. She had already suffered through a long day; she was not going to put up with their needless whining. With a sharp glare and a steady frown that curled her lips into a displeased look, the twins quickly seized the rocket from the table and Tim, who often believed in “out of sight, out of mind”, hid the outspread device behind his slender back.

The twins, like Kim, came into this world with a fearsome kick—demanding to know all of the promises that the world had to offer. And, from the moment Drew caught the first glimpse of awe within their eyes, he knew that they were going to be trouble, but he also recognized that his new nephews possessed the opportunity to change the world with their need for answers to life’s questions. Most of those answers came in the form of holes in the ceiling of the Possible’s family home—answers that only sparked more questions, which led to permanent structural damage to the roof. Ann—bless her heart—knew when to control her little demons, but that didn’t stop James from placing the repairman on speed dial.

Oh, what was his name? Sander-something. Drew had met the man once many moons ago, but frequent updates from James had informed Drew that rockets in the house were not a one-time occasion and Drew, in some ways, wondered if it would be easier for everyone involved if the repairman just made himself at home in their furnished basement. The Possibles were his most frequented customer, after all.

It was a wonder that this house was still standing.

Arms unfolded as he relaxed against the counter—the tension within him withering away as his gaze remained on the boys. He remembered being their age—full of life and wonder. Instant gratification was the name of the game; nothing could wait.

A small puff of air escaped his nose and dissipated into the room. Someday they will learn the value of patience.

With a grunt, Drew pushed his body off of the counter and methodically approached the two boys, arms open wide, ready to capture them in the embrace that they had evaded earlier. The twins, who contemplated on if they should hastily dart into the next room, found themselves immobile. All their life, Jim and Tim had shown open disdain towards physical affection, which often distressed Ann who wanted to hold her babies just as she had with Kim and, as much as the Possibles had hoped that their boys would grow out of their discomfort, the two devoted parents had to come to terms with the twins’ contactless way of expressing their own, strange form of unconditional love. Drew, a highly observant man, understood this but found himself with his arms wrapped tight around the nephews that he loved with all of his heart. Their uncle was always the affectionate type, primarily expressing his endearment in the form of, what Ron would describe as, a bear hug. His bear hugs were the one form of affection the twins would accept, which delighted Drew, but irritated Ann all the same.

The boys reluctantly allowed their bodies to be encased by Drew’s lanky arms.

“I’ll take a look after we eat, I promise.”

The twins’ shared scowl quickly morphed into a satisfied, half-smile as the lingering group hug provided a new sense of comfort. They relaxed into Drew’s arms, cradled by his fond embrace as a brief moment of peace calmed the chaotic atmosphere that consumed the kitchen. Surely, the moment, which was all-too-brief for Drew’s liking, was disturbed by a twitch of Tim’s shoulders. Realization hit and the twins exchanged a look that Drew could read—one of frustration. They had fallen victim to their uncle’s charm, yet again.

Drew pulled his nephews closer to his chest, which resulted in an unfavorable response from Jim. Believing that his window for escape was closing, he and Tim furiously wriggled, dislodging themselves from their uncle’s trap with a grunt and an exasperated sigh. As Drew released his hold, he watched the twins fade into the depths of the house to put their new rocket in the garage for safe-keeping. Or, at least that’s what he hoped they were going to do. If a resounding boom were to erupt within the next few minutes, Drew would know why.

He was glad to see that things hadn’t changed.

[whenimaunicorn]

Spa Day with Bobo

Fandom: Wynonna Earp Characters: Bobo del Rey x Reader (gender unspecified) Rating: explicit

Summary: from the best anon prompt I have ever received -��“ Imagine he overhears you telling the girls that you'll treat yourself to a home spa day after the latest evil had been turned to dust. Next thing you know, you hear some noise while you're relaxing in your bathtub and suddenly Bobo stands in the doorway, a bottle of wine in hand and a dirty grin on his face. "I thought I'd come by and help you relax." 😏 “

What a day. Wynonna and the rest of her crew might prefer to blow off steam from that kind of clusterfuck with a bucket of beers at Shorty’s, but as for you, all you want to do is wash this demon goo off you with a power sander… and then re-hydrate and replenish with your entire home spa routine. You told them all as much, before retreating solo to the little house you’ve been renting on the quiet side of town.

You probably exfoliated 5 layers of epidermis off in the shower, but at least now you’ve got the heavy-duty cleansing out of the way.  Your pore-opening face mask and full-body moisturizer are ready on the bathroom counter, but before you get to that step you decide to ease your aching muscles by setting the stopper in the drain and filling up the bathtub for a little soak. It’s too bad you didn’t think to set yourself up with a bottle of wine within easy reach of the tub first.

As you let the hot water loosen your muscles, you find your mind wandering. The strangest thing about today wasn’t even the monster you all had obliterated. It was the fact that Bobo del Rey and his gang of revenants had actually been fighting alongside you and the Earp crew this time. Working with him was… weird. He had a surprisingly useful amount of information about the occult, and local history, but it all came out garbled and sideways. It was almost cute, really, if you could get past the hyper-aggressive attitude he spat out between helpful tidbits and actually-useful ideas. By the time the demon exploded in a ball of stinking slime, you had almost felt a little bit of friendly camaraderie with Bobo. You can still feel the way his hand clapped on the back of your neck, a gesture that at the first moment had felt affectionate.

Turned out, he was just trying to pull you away from the monster’s corpse, knowing it was about to spew hell goo everywhere in a twelve foot radius. Maybe he was just using you as a human shield against it, but you could have sworn he said ‘watch out’ just before he tugged you closer to himself.

You sink deeper into the bath, sacrificing leg coverage to get that hot water on your aching neck. And maybe to erase the feeling of Bobo’s grasping fingers. Thoughts of the enemy are not supposed to give you the sort of dreamy longing that just tugged at your chest.

You shoot up when you hear your front door creaking open. Then it slams shut. A masculine voice calls your name through the house, playful and friendly. The way it stretches around the syllables in unmistakable. Bobo del Rey is in your fucking house. Looking for you.

The kitchen floor squeaks as he steps across it. “Yoo-hoo, Y/N,” he calls again. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? You’re naked in the bathtub; you didn’t even bring any clothes in here. You could stay silent, try to pretend you’re not home, but from the tone of Bobo’s voice he seems pretty sure you’re there. “Heard about your little spa night,” he says, voice loud and a little amused, coming now from your living room. “I brought supplies.”

It’s a small house. By the time Bobo crosses the living room, all that’s left is the bathroom to his left and your bedroom to the right. The back of your neck tingles as you imagine him standing there, filling up the threshold to the back hallway, looking in one direction at your disheveled bed, the clothes on the floor, and then turning his face to the closed door with the light coming from underneath it.

The game’s up. You should probably say something. “Um, what?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

The doorknob turns and you shriek, grabbing at the shower curtain so Bobo won’t be able to see anything but your face as he barges right into the tiny room.

Bobo grins when he spots you, face just above the rim of the tub with the sheet of semi-opaque plastic tucked tight under your chin. He leans his hip against the counter and brandishes the “supplies” he’s brought. A bottle of red wine in one hand, a giant bag of M&Ms in the other.

“You’re in my house.” It’s so strange to see him like this. He still moves with a swagger, but his usual edge of malice is gone. Like the monster under the bed decided tonight it just wanted to relax and hang out.

Bobo’s head tilts to the side. “This spa idea sounded so nice, I just had to invite myself to the party. My skin’s been feeling really dry lately.” He turns to look at himself in your bathroom mirror, setting the candy on the counter so he can swipe one paw down the side of his face. He snatches up your package of face mask goo, peering at it dramatically to examine the label. “Is this good for combination skin?”

“Um, I think?” you answer dumbly. “It’s noncomedogenic.” You should be telling him to get the hell out, but once again you’re struck by how cute Bobo is when he’s not threatening everyone in sight. His face is almost soft as he examines his pores in your mirror, the handsome lines of his eyebrows arching up in concentration. Suddenly your bath water feels like it’s getting hotter. “So… you promise you’re not here to kill me.”

Bobo hops his butt up to sit on the counter, then angles his head as he looks down at you. “Why would I do that? We’re teammates now, remember?”

You don’t believe he believes that for a second, but you’re really hoping you can trust that just for tonight, he doesn’t have any ulterior motive. “This isn’t the beginning of some crazy hostage plot,” you doublecheck, with a skeptical upturn to your voice. “Because I’m not really worth much to anybody. You’d really be wasting your time, just making Wynonna hate you worse than she already does.”

Bobo straightens up, puts his hand over his heart. “I’m not up to anything. Just to help you relax. And hopefully getting some fresher-looking skin, too.” He turns to the mirror again. “You got any kind of peel around here?”

This is too bizarre. “Uh, the mask is supposed to take care of that,” you answer, still feeling like your head is spinning. But… as your eyes run down the stylishly shaved side of your intruder’s head, admiring the lines of his muscular neck, you think that you kind of like the feeling. “OK. You can stay.” Bobo flashes you a wide grin in response, catching your eye through the mirror. “But you gotta step out for a minute.”

He looks back at you quizzically.

“I’m not getting out of this tub with you just standing there.”

The phrase ‘shit-eating grin’ has never been so personified. “I can hold your towel!” He grabs one off the rack and flips it out wide for you.

You roll your eyes. “Out.”

At the disappointed pout he shoots you before moving to comply, you realize there might in fact be at least one ulterior motive to Bobo’s presence here tonight. And you’re not even sure if you’re mad about it.

* * *

Ten minutes later, you’re in shorts and a tank under your favorite jersey knit robe, bending over Bobo who’s relaxing on your couch in the much puffier, plush white bathrobe you keep in the back of your closet. You can’t quite believe it even fits him. But his fur coat smelled a little bit too much like demon goo; after you wrinkled your nose in complaint he promised you he’d take it to a dry cleaner tomorrow before chucking it onto the front porch to air out.

You already can’t recall what excuse Bobo used to get you to apply his face mask for him; now he’s sitting with his arms spread along the back of the couch like a king while you carefully rub little circles into the skin around his eyes. Kneeling on the couch cushion beside him is a little precarious; you can’t get the image out of your head of what might happen if you lose your balance and tumble into his lap. You lean in to cover his opposite cheek with bright green, citrus-smelling paste and can’t avoid pressing your knee into the side of his thigh.

He doesn’t seem to mind; Bobo just keeps on studying your face while you work on his. His eyes are as intense as ever, but he seems to keep reminding himself to tone it down, to relax his jaw and make sure to appear more harmless. You avoid awkwardness by not quite letting him make eye contact with you, keeping your own gaze fixed on covering the small pores in his forehead, following the lines of his cheekbones, keeping the line of paste neat along the top edge of his beard. You wish you hadn’t put your own mask on already, so maybe he might be able to find you attractive right now.

Not, you know, that you want anything to happen tonight, right? Just, it would be pretty flattering if Bobo del Rey had the hots for you. It would be something you and the Earp girls could have a good laugh about tomorrow.

That’s all.

“It tingles,” Bobo comments. The low sound of his voice, so close, almost startles you as it interrupts your thoughts.

“It’s supposed to.” You risk eye contact to flash him the most winning version of your smile. “That’s how you know it’s working.” It’s encouraging how he chuckles a bit at your quip. So you keep chattering as you apply the final touches above his eyebrows. “Have you ever done one of these before?”

His smile is just a little shy. “I did get curious, picked one up once before. But it didn’t tingle like this.”

“This one is the best.” You lean back, inspecting your work. Bobo del Rey looks much less intimidating when he’s got his face covered like a teenage girl at a sleepover. But even that thought reminds you that this is your arch nemesis with his arms spread along the back of the couch, alone with you in your house, and plush bathrobe or no, he’s still a dangerous and unpredictable man.

His lip curls in an arrogant smile and he cocks his head, like he can smell your sudden rush of nerves. “I knew you’d take care of me tonight.” His fingertips dance over your knee, the one that’s been resting against him.

You stand up in a rush. “Your face is all done,” you announce. “I just need to get one more thing.”

In the kitchen, you try to catch your breath before opening the fridge to grab a cucumber for the eyelid covers. What is even happening right now? Your brain refuses to even try and interpret that touch Bobo gave you, your scattered thoughts sweeping you along with the next stage of the spa program instead.

“Have you got some glasses for this wine?” Bobo calls to you from the other room.

“O-of course.”

You chop four cucumber slices onto a plate, and grab two wine glasses by the stems that are thankfully actually clean. You’re feeling that tingling from the mask now too, unless things are just so awkward that your face is starting to go numb. ‘Spa night’ is starting to feel like ‘date night’ really damn quick.

Bobo plucks the glasses from your hand when you return. He’s already got the bottle open, and pours a generous portion of dark red liquid into each one as you sit down on the loveseat set at an angle to the couch he’s occupying. You slide the plate of cucumbers softly onto the coffee table.

He hands you a glass. “To past victories,” he says, tipping his own drink up in the space between you, “and to future conquests.”

The way he looks at you as he says it… shit. Still, you clink your glass against his and then take a hearty gulp of the wine as you try to decide what to say. Are you his next conquest? Or, even worse, you realize, is he trying to make an alliance here? Seduce you to some nefarious goal on his side of the moral line?

His eyes remain intent on your face. As you remove the edge of the glass from your lips, Bobo squares his shoulders in a way that reminds you of a cat watching some oblivious small animal as it gears up to pounce. The effect is only partially spoiled by the green shit covering both your faces.

You glance at the plate of cucumbers on the table, and his eyes follow yours.

“The final touch,” you explain. It’s also a perfect excuse to cut the tension. “Time to lie back and relax now.” You take your two slices and lean back on the loveseat. Just as you are about to put them over your eyes, you hear a soft ‘chomp’ sound.

You roll your neck and look over at Bobo. There is a big bite missing from one of his slices.

“Those weren’t for eating,” you say, lifting yours by the sides and holding them up in front of your eyes in demonstration.

“Oh, right.” Bobo actually looks a little sheepish. “What does that do again?”

A small giggle escapes your lips. “Honestly, I don’t really know? It’s just part of the aesthetic.”

Bobo’s grin is wide. “Thought you were just making me a snack.”

Somehow you are the one who feels embarrassed. “I’ll cut you some more,” you offer, already starting to get up, but he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Relax.” He pops his other slice into his mouth whole. “Don’t want to cover my eyes anyway.”

Honestly, the most terrifying thing is how nice he’s being. “Ok, if you’re sure,” you say politely, and settle back down into the loveseat. Whatever this is, all you can think to do is just go with it. “We’re supposed to leave the mask on for about ten more minutes.” You lay back, set the cucumbers over your own eyes, and do your best to relax with the palpable presence of your unexpected guest tingling over your shoulder.

The last thing he said, about not covering his eyes, tugs at your mind. You know that traumatized folks don’t often like to relax with their eyes closed, in an unfamiliar place. You can’t help but start to wonder what Bobo might have gone through after Wyatt Earp’s bullet sent him to hell. Or how many times an Earp descendent had sent him back there. What did it feel like to die like that, and more than once? Was hell all fire and brimstone, or were there a wider assortment of terrors that Bobo del Rey had endured?

The unpleasant thoughts make you feel twitchy. But it’s more sympathy than it is fear welling up in your heart, behind those uncomfortable prickles. You wish suddenly there was something you could do to ease this man’s pain. And then suppress a wild giggle, as you realize that this is the villain of your friend Wynonna’s story, who you’re sitting here hoping to offer comfort to. Is this really happening right now?

* * *

There’s another moment between you two, when Bobo follows you back to the bathroom to wash the mask treatments off. You give him the first turn at the sink, and he doesn’t leave the room after toweling off, while you bend over to rinse your own face.

Your eyes are squinted against the water running down from your forehead when you straighten back up. Bobo is standing closer than you thought he was, and there’s something almost intimate in the way he puts the driest corner of the towel he just used into your hands. You press it to your face quickly, and when you can see again, Bobo is inspecting his pores once more in the mirror. “I think that actually did something,” he announces, tracing spidery fingers down his own temple. He turns to you with a crooked smile. “I’m glowing, don’t you think?”

Something shifts in his expression as he regards your freshly-cleansed face, nodding up at him. You feel somehow naked under his gaze, like the exfoliant washed off some less-than-tangible layers of protection, leaving you more visible, more vulnerable. One of his rough hands scoops up your jaw, almost tenderly, and he tilts your head this way and that as he inspects your skin.

Your breath stopped as soon as he touched you. Part of you wants to glance over at the mirror, see what he is seeing, but you absolutely cannot tear your eyes from the hints of distant tenderness gracing Bobo’s face. “Worked on you too,” he says, voice almost a purr. “Not that you needed it.”

The compliment breaks the spell; you blush, and duck out of his hand. There was a pause just before you broke, a moment that felt like the part of a movie where two characters might kiss. And the ludicrousness of that happening in your lame little bathroom with Bobo del Rey was just too bizarre to sit still for.            

Bobo follows you out of the bathroom. “So what else happens on a spa day?”

You grasp for an idea as you retrieve your wine glass from the living room. “Manicures?”

Bobo curls his fingers to inspect his own hands. He’s got black polish on both his pinkies. “I am looking a little chipped.”

“I’ve got black,” you offer.

“Manicures it is.”

* * *

So now you’re sitting with Bobo on the big couch, files and little bottles of paint and chemicals laid out in front of you, holding his right hand between both of your own as you work on trimming his cuticles.

There was no denying your attraction to him now. The pull of him had led you to choose the seat alongside him on the same couch, to seize every opportunity for a casual touch even though each one made your heart leap into your throat. You realize you’ve set yourself on a dangerous path, leaving yourself within his reach like this. But maybe you like a little danger…

You can’t help but wonder if Bobo only keeps one nail on each hand painted because he just can’t stand to be still for longer than it takes to do one. You’re just about wrestling his arm to keep him steady as you work; meanwhile he’s telling you some terrible story about a particularly wild night of drinking, and he just can’t resist punctuating every sentence with some kind of physical gesture, your manicure goals be damned.

“So by then, me and the boys decided it was time to high-tail it out of there,” he concludes, flipping his left hand wider to try and keep his right hand still. “But not without taking the horse with us.”

You chuckle, clutching his whole arm against your side to hold it steady, and wonder absently how long ago this story actually happened. Was it before Wyatt Earp killed him, or after? You’re afraid to ask.

When you’re done with his nails, Bobo traps your left hand between both of his own. “Massages are part of the spa thing too, right?” His voice rumbles low and makes the back of your neck prickle.

His thumbs start kneading into your palm; it feels so good that all protest dies on your tongue. A strangled little “mm-hm” comes out instead, its tone reminiscent of the cry of an animal caught up in a trap.

His fingers are skilled. And contemplating the strength in Bobo’s hands makes more than just your neck tingle. “Close your eyes,” he says, somewhere between suggestion and command.

What does Bobo want from you? What do you want from him? Even with your eyes closed, you can’t seem to follow any thoughts to a useful conclusion, not with the slide and press of his powerful fingers working down past your wrist, not with his presence filling the room, the feel of his breath on your cheek as he draws closer.

You’re nothing but a ball of hormones by the time you open your eyes, finding Bobo’s face not two inches away from your own. The want in his predator gaze is naked now, held back by barely a question. Your body answers with a rush better left untranslated into words. Words would only damn you; for letting an enemy in, for letting him fill you with such quivering, just-take-me-now lust.

Something changes in your face, some softening submission of the muscles that Bobo knows exactly how to read. His lips quirk, and then they cover your own.

His kiss is warm and sweet; not what you would ever have expected, but somehow fitting for the way tonight has gone. The soft nipping of his lips is enticing, coaxing, and just a breath away from actually pushy. Playing nice, like he knows that this is still happening against your better judgement, and he wants you to want him anyway.

And it’s working. You open your mouth to his curious tongue, taste the wine on his breath. One of his hands comes to the side of your face. Spidery fingers travel down your cheek, around your head to hold you steady, to pull you in closer.

You start to relax into the couch, slowly falling more and more into his body. You haven’t kissed like this since high school, when it was called “making out” and no one was ever sure if it was going to turn into something more. Bobo laces his fingers through your own, and you wonder how far you’re going to let him get with you tonight. His kiss stays slow, snaring you in more decidedly as every minute passes. His tongue works against yours with a playful sort of lust, stirring you deeper the longer you let this go on.

You still dread what’s going to come after this. You expected Bobo to have been more crass, and more direct, if he had come over here just to try and bang you. He wouldn’t have put up with all of this spa shit just to get into your pants, would he? He must want something else from you, to have taken such time with this seduction, to put such effort into making you feel comfortable with him in your house.

You should stop kissing him, and demand to know what he’s up to.

Your hands ignore the screaming of that rational part of yourself, smoothing across the black cotton that covers the hard planes of Bobo’s chest. He pulls the robe off your shoulders, and with a little shudder of defeat you let him take it the rest of the way off you, all the while keeping your lips locked onto his.

This is ok, because he started it. It’s not so bad if you just let him kiss you, right? Let his hands roam, let him push you back into the soft cushions of the couch. Just the villain of the story making you his victim, right? You’re not culpable, you’re not responsible. But you sure can enjoy it.

Bobo stops, pulling back just far enough to examine your face. “I knew you had a soft spot for old Bobo.” He tugs at your hips. “Come up here and straddle me. I want you in my lap, sweet thing.”

He won’t let you get away with being passive. A fresh rush sweeps through your body as you comply, a pleasure centering squarely between your hips. You feel drunk on your lust for him. And now, you also feel entirely on display, as Bobo leans back and drags his eyes over your body wiggling above him to find the most comfortable position with him between your thighs.

He shrugs out of his own robe, and then his hands follow his eyes along the bare skin of your limbs. You never thought it would feel so good for him to touch you, but you press your face back into his just so you don’t have to look at him looking at you anymore. His kiss is harder now, more insistent, and his hands roam more freely. He takes two handfuls of your ass and squeezes hard, pulling you closer. You’re really going to have to make a decision soon; this isn’t going to stay just kissing for long.

Then his fingers curl under the hem of your tank top, starting to pull it up. Now he’s trying to get you naked. Your elbows come in snugly against your own flanks, slowing him down. “We shouldn’t,” you say softly against his mouth. Your tone sounds half-hearted, even to you.

“We should,” Bobo replies with much more confidence, and tugs the fabric against your resistance. “What’s the point in taking this slow?”

What’s the point, indeed. A one-night stand sounds a lot more excusable than some kind of long-term seduction, some unspoken thing between the two of you across enemy lines… and it’s not like you’re holding out for him to buy the cow or anything. The idea of actually dating Bobo del Rey is much more ludicrous than skipping to the end and fucking his brains out right now. Maybe you might as well just enjoy this strange night to the fullest.

Your hand finds his cock, almost of its own accord. You know he’s going to take this as encouragement, but you find that you absolutely cannot resist. The hard press of flesh under the crotch of his pants is enticing, and his length seems impressive as you slide your whole hand up and down the outline of his shaft.

Bobo rolls his neck and groans, distracted from trying to remove your shirt in favor of giving you room to work on him.

It’s absolutely entrancing to watch the effect you’re having on his face, how easily he cedes control in favor of closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of your fingers gripping him. He fumbles with something just above your hands, then you hear his belt buckle clink and you realize he’s opening his pants up for you in a silent offer.

This all becomes very, very real when you slide your palm under the elastic edge of his underwear, watch his eyelids flutter as you push past thick, silky hair and curl your fingers around his warm, naked shaft. A little thrill runs through you too, as you contemplate how absolutely large his cock is. Like you might be getting yourself into more than you can handle, in more ways than one.

Somehow you end up staring into each other’s eyes as you softly rock up and down on him, moving your whole body to get leverage on the monster in his pants. You watch Bobo’s eyes pool dark and drowning as you work him up, until you realize you’re just teasing a beast that’s about to devour you whole.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Then with a ragged groan, Bobo grabs your wrist, stilling your hand, and uses his entire body to lift you up and flip you over onto your back on the couch. You feel his teeth scraping against your neck a moment after impact, then with a wild, purring sort of growl he’s grinding his cock against your crotch and devouring all the skin between your ear and shoulder.

And just as you’re panting, letting him take your pants off you, just as you know that you want to let him have you, any way that he wants, you hear your front door creak open for your second uninvited guest of the night.

“Hey, Y/N,” Wynonna’s voice rings out from the next room, “got too drunk to drive back to the ranch tonight, is it cool if I crash here?” The high pitch of her voice, the edge of a giggle behind it, confirms her state of inebriation to you instantly.

Bobo rears up onto his hands above you, looking over the back of the couch at the open doorway to the kitchen, from which Wynonna’s voice emanates.

Wynonna keeps talking before you can think of anything to say, either to her or to Bobo. “Did you know that fur coat laying on your porch looks just like fucking Bobo del Rey’s?” she slurs.

This is so bad.

Bobo’s legs are still pinning yours to the couch, but you lift up onto your elbows underneath his looming torso, so you can at least see the doorway Wynonna is about to walk through. Bobo growls softly, one of his hands coming up to clutch around your back, grasping the nape of your neck from behind. Possessive? Or just irritated that he’s about to have to give up his new toy?

Wynonna’s eyes widen almost the instant she comes into the room, as she recognizes both of the faces peering up at her over the back of the couch. “Wha—OH MY GOD!” your drunken friend shouts.

Her hand scrambles at her hip. You have one moment to curse as you realize she’s going for Peacemaker. She probably thinks Bobo’s on top of you without your consent, given the way her eyes are flashing dark and angry. “Wynonna, wait!” you cry, though you can see that your words don’t register.

“Back the fuck off, Bobo, and get up right fucking now,” Wynonna orders, even though she’s sloppy getting Peacemaker out of the holster. She steadies it with both hands, the muzzle already glowing gold.

Bobo’s whole body flares hot when his revenant face burns through in the presence of his mystical bane. You think you hear him growl “Mine!” as his grip pulls you in tighter, his right hand flying out for that nifty telekinetic defense he has.

His arm cuts to side, and Peacemaker is flung at the same speed toward the wall. Drunken Wynonna stays attached to it somehow, hurtling a few feet before they both clatter to the floor.

“Bobo,” you scold, glaring up at him from your intimate angle. “Same team, isn’t that what you said?”

He’s still in revenant mode when he peers back down on you, and the effect is chilling. His face fades back to human as quickly as he can swallow that darkness back, but you’re still shaken, and he can see it. Regret tinges the corners of his eyes as he observes your reaction to him. “She was gonna shoot me,” he whines, retreating into his characteristic irreverence.

“She wanted to protect her friend. In her defense, this doesn’t look good.”

“I was thinking it looked very good,” Bobo rumbles back, eyes sweeping down the lines of your intermingling bodies, both your pants halfway off, intriguing bits of flesh exposed and others pressed together still.

You chuff at the unexpected flattery, looking away from the promise that’s still there in his eyes when they lock onto yours again. “Wynonna,” you call over to the section of floor where you saw her go down, “it’s alright. He wasn’t hurting me. You ok?”

An ornery grumble emanates up from behind the couch. “Like hell he wasn’t….” You hear her scrambling around on the floor.

“You’d better go,” you whisper quickly to Bobo. “You can’t reason with her when she’s like this.”

He looks ready to argue at first, but you see his eyes clear up as, one can only assume, he finally realizes the mood has been ruined.

He reaches down. You’re assuming it’s so he can pull his pants back up, but he finds your hand and laces his fingers into yours instead. You’re speechless as he lifts your knuckles to his lips in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly kiss. “Well then, until next time,” he murmurs, voice so low and throaty that it wraps around you like an overly-affectionate cat.

There’s a little smirk left on his face as he rises to his feet, buckling his belt back on while staring at the confused and panting mess he’s left of you on your living room couch.

“I swear to God, Bobo,” Wynonna snarls from behind you, killing even that last little moment, “if you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now—”

“Oh, keep your panties on, Wynonna,” Bobo snaps back. “You don’t want me to just run out on your friend, without even a polite goodbye, do you? After what we were just getting up to, that would just be rude.” He zips his pants back up loudly, making sure Wynonna can’t misunderstand what she had interrupted. “The last thing I want is to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“OUT.” Wynonna climbs to her feet, finally with a sure grip on Peacemaker again.

With two fingers on his lips, Bobo blows you a kiss before he hops to it, backing away from Wynonna’s glare and toward the open door. You imagine he’s trying to get out of your sight before that gun turns his face all red and black and glow-y again.

There’s a little hollow behind your chest as you watch him leave, and a disappointed aching remaining down south. But really, maybe it’s better for him to get kicked out so suddenly. So you didn’t have to hear him say something soft, make promises he wouldn’t keep. Or be disappointed when he didn’t do those things. Or so you wouldn’t have to hear whatever evil proposition you expected was likely to come after the sex. Bye-bye, Bobo.

Now the only one you’re left having to talk to is the woman holding the gun in the other corner of the room. As she turns to you, her face is so twisted up in confusion that she looks almost pained. “Are you really ok?” she asks.

A heavy sigh, more than a little shamed, bursts from your lungs. “Yeah, I really am.”

She keeps staring at you, sitting up now on the couch with your clothes askew. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

Time to try and explain. “Wynonna—”

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “I’m too drunk to talk about what I just witnessed.” She holsters Peacemaker. “Or maybe too sober.” She grimaces. “Fucking Bobo?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly fucking—”

“Nope!” she interrupts again, drawing the word out with exaggerated flair. “Definitely can’t do this tonight. Get some sleep. Both of us. Maybe we can talk about it over coffee in the morning. Or bloody marys. Or maybe just our own graves. Cuz I’m really thinking I’d like to never talk about this one.”

**Thanks for reading! If you liked this, try this drabble about running into Bobo at the mall...

Tagging: @demoncrypt1066, @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen, @writingfromasgard ... let me know if you want to be on a Bobo del Rey taglist, and/or prompt me for more like this with him... I just can’t get enough of this guy and the enemies-to-lovers thing...

[damienthepious]

authors commentary for chapter 2 of won't break when the keep talks to damien. the line "and Damien's heart lurches with love and pain and- And the Keep grips both of his hands, squeezes very, very gently, and croons a low song." in particular hit me

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

y e s s s s sssssssss thank you thank you. Won’t Break.

EDIT: okay i edited this ask and now the readmore is trapped mysteriously WITHIN THE ASK and i cannot touch or delete it and i cannot add a new readmore, so. That’s fun, i guess.

[The Keep does not try to pull him again, but it hums a soothing gradient of sound, even more songlike than its usual form of communication, and it drops another vine so it can very lightly touch the backs of both of his hands.] i love my favorite giant monster structure parent so much. it’s trying really hard to communicate and comfort right now. it knows that Arum needs time, it knows that Arum’s other human is currently speaking with him and calming him, and that leaves this poor human alone, and the Keep knows by now that this particular human does not do particularly well when left alone. it is trying. mammals seem to like physical contact. it is trying.

["I'm sorry," Damien says again, quietly. "I'm sorry I have- I have made my own burning feelings a burden for him. I should have known better.] AUGHHHHHH. DAMIEN... DAMIEN. Okay so i’m inserting my headcanons for Damien before his relationship with Rilla because. I mean. look at him. This boy probably falls hard and fast and I feel like that has probably broken very bad before. Probably worse than this even. can you imagine teenager damien? feeling things so, so strongly, that teenage desperation combined with his own intensity of feeling- i imagine love as a teenager for damien was a fucking nightmare. there is NO WAY this is the first time he’s given an I-love-you too early and had it go poorly for him.

[I should not linger here, I think." He pauses, swallows, and then he attempts a weak sort of smile.] Damien is not prone to retreat, but he’s a bit kicked right now, poor thing ["Thank you for- for comforting me? If that was your intent. I could be mistaken, surely, and I would not like to assume, but- regardless of intent, I find myself… comforted. To what degree I find I can be, just at the moment."] perhaps i’m a little bit obsessed about the Keep and Damien getting the chance to interact. perhaps so. What of it? What of it? Damien is a perceptive boy, tho, and- well, he’s been comforted plenty, and he knows what that feels like, though he tries not to make assumptions about intent in creatures so different from himself. [He shakes his head. "But- of course, I should not linger. Please, Keep, I… a way back to- to Rilla's hut, please. If- if you would." Damien swallows roughly, pressing his lips together tight.] Back to Rilla’s hut, where he knows he is loved. oof.

[The Keep- pauses.] considering Arum’s instruction to obey his humans’ requests versus its instinct not to let Damien leave before Arum comes back, because it can feel that Arum is calming down, only a few rooms away. [Damien is unsure how he knows that this is what the structure is doing; there is no change in the momentary lack of song, but he knows nonetheless. Perhaps there is a new layer of stillness to the vines brushing his hands, he cannot say for sure. It sings again, after a moment, and Damien knows the hesitance its song voices.] The Keep doesn’t speak in a way that the humans can quite understand, but it certainly conveys emotion well enough. and again, Damien is perceptive

["Please," he says again. "I know… I know perfectly well when I am not wanted."] hrg. baby. no. I mean he’s fully justified because Arum very aggressively freaked out but STILL. baby nooooooooo

[Another moment of pause,] still considering. trying to think how to handle this. [and then with clear reluctance the Keep pulls a doorway from the ground, and Rilla's hut is visible through the threshold, familiar and safe, and Damien's heart lurches with love and pain and-] love, because he always feels love when he thinks about Rilla, and the hut is more his home than anywhere else. pain, because he has rarely left in such a nebulous state, his relationship so uncertain. pain, because the reason he is leaving is because Arum does not love him in return according to his reaction

[And the Keep grips both of his hands, squeezes very, very gently, and croons a low song.] my favorite parent. trying very hard. because it knows what these people mean to Arum, how much less lonely he is, how much less sad. and it cares about them, now, too. of course it does. It doesn’t want Damien to leave unhappy. It doesn’t want him to leave at all.

[Quiet, pleading, persuasive. No words, but-

Damien understands, regardless.] Perceptive boy, emotive monster.

[The Keep opened the way for him. It will not stop him, it will allow him to leave if he chooses to do so.] Choice. The Keep cares about the humans. It also respects them. And it won’t force Damien to do anything.

[But it is asking him to stay.] it cares. it wants him to be happy. it wants all three of them to be happy. and it knows that things will be better if he only stays.

[Damien hesitates, and then he squeezes the Keep's vines in return.] Sometimes your monster lover’s castle-plant-parent manages to communicate a very gentle request to you despite the massive language barrier between you. you listen when that happens.

[vrcomputart]

12.11.18

ASMR RESEARCH FOR GROUP PROJECT

Now You’ve Got the Shiveries: Affect, Intimacy, and the ASMR Whisper Community by Joceline Andersen 11/11/14

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1527476414556184

ASMR - intention, affect

-          This paper “examine[s] how ASMR videos create pleasure through a distant intimacy that relies on the heteronormative gender roles of care and the aural impression of the whisper for its implementation and how their shared space on YouTube further defines that intimacy as public and communal”

-          The ASMR community creates and exchanges videos designed to trigger tingles through screens, denying its nonnormative intimate nature and “the transgressiveness of their digital pleasure”

-          Relaxing head tingles helps with stress and insomnia, inducing comfort and bliss

-          “In the case of ASMR, affect and emotion exist hand in hand, tethered by intentionality, memory, and nostalgia. In this paper, I will explore the connotations of intimacy and care that create the affective ASMR experience to examine the ASMR community on YouTube as sharing in a public and therefore nonnormative experience of distant intimacy that reflects, if reluctantly, the potential of digital communities to make us feel”

-          Aural triggers eg whispering, rustling paper, tapping are physiologically charged - an affective experience (Massumi)

-          “the intention of care has a role in the way that these experiences manifest an affective experience with a content of pleasure.” Some videos role-play everyday tasks, including sounds we may find annoying in our day-to-day lives, but the intention the viewer brings in (to relax) and the assumed intention of the creator (to help others relax) changes the experience to that of care

-          Founder of ASMR research called it “a more polite term for ‘orgasm’. Tenuous links between sensation and science – it is claimed to be an autonomous response, but is ultimately fringe science similar to binaural beat listeners, which brings us back to the point about intentionality. Perhaps it is more of a placebo, and more about the community formed?

Community and Youtube

-          ASMR is a public phenomemon, as it spread across all social media and not just niche sites: “The ASMR community is aligned not only by their quest for affective experience but by their desire to share it through online media…” 

-          Youtube is a big part of the community’s formation -  “youtube is the most public home of asmr”, “an archive and a site of creative exchange”

The voice

-          Usually delivered by female creators. Role-played performance rather than cold instructions. 

-          Voice is important – videos often only show certain body parts (hands, mouth). Focus directed to actions and gesures. Close-ups jar familiar conventions of how a person is framed on a screen. Meditative attention on body parts, sometimes to the point of abstraction. 

-          Sound over video: binaural recording is getting more popular;  “increasingly sophisticated audioscapes while the video quality remains poor. The video component is secondary to the experience and exists primarily because of the affordances of YouTube”

-          Whisper as powerful in a hypersonic world. The whisper requires a closeness between speaker and listener for communication. Connotations to intimate relationships like mother and child (or conversations you have at sleepovers with friends). “The whisper recreates intimacy without the need for physical presence”

-          Whisper demands more attention, so the listener is more intent on sounds, and considering most people use headphones, the effect of whispers in one’s ear are more intense. Private and intimate exchange despite it being public.

-          Quality of voice as carrier of meaning, rather than the words themselves. 

-          The whisperer is ‘hyper-present’, creating an intimacy, a presence made possible thru binaural mics and immersive headphone sound. Affect involves impressions, impression implies contact. Movement creates emotional content. 2 bodies are connected, are able to impress upon another.

Impression and non-normative intimacy

-          Impression created thru affect at a distance is crucially aural. Body casts its impression thru voice. Voice implies flesh body. Listening as act of touch (sound waves). Thus impressions are created through the voice and video (though video is not as affective as we’ve discussed above)

-          Affective impression at a distance – distant intimacy. Close personal attention is a trigger that suggests physical proximity, but is remotely evoked through video. And distant not only spacially but temporally too – you can watch a video a year later after it was released.

Distant intimacy can be useful for people who maybe experience social anxiety or cannot physically experience intimacy. Maybe it’s good cause it’s controlled (you choose when to watch, can pause if needed). And from the other side, you make one video and can touch many. Like an artwork, an encounter, a ‘disruptive’ force in a way.

Also interesting considering the emphasis placed on romantic, sexual relationships as the main, most valid source of intimacy and care. What about friendships and other platonic relationships? And what about a collective sense of care i.e. you don’t need to know someone personally to care about them

-          Distant intimacy – experienced as a group in absence of normal definitions of physical proximity make it “nonstandard intimacy”

-          Intimate experiences in heteronormative culture are limited to couples in private. So you can’t experience pleasure with strangers, especially sexual pleasure. ASMR falls into a zone  where “the spillage of eroticism into everyday social life seems transgressive in a way that provokes normal aversion”

-          ASMR pleasure ranges from relaxation to eroticism. A lot of creators claim it is non-sexual. The affective charge of ASMR emerges w/o standard ‘closeness’ (not in romantic couple context, not physically close in proximity) – so it is reluctantly placed in nonstandard intimacy.

-          Even though it is non-normative, creators still rely on normative scenarios of intimacy to provide emotional content behind the affective charge. Intimate care is provided by females. There is often a child-mother relationship being built between viewer and creator. Even when men make these videos, they participate in tasks gendered as female.

But female creators are choosing to do this – some empowerment? Do they get paid?

Summary: digital and physical

-          Tho enabled thru tech, ASMR still relies on attention to the body and its sensations. Exists thru video streaming platforms, low tech, is sensual thru reclaiming care paradigms of personal attention, touch and meditation thru distant intimacy. In sci-fi, digital pleasure enabled thru computers – films that imagine pleasure as a drug that hooks the brain to a computer, “a cyborg high”. Asmr stands between – addiction is not only pleasure but intimacy, relationship is not only distant but anonymous.

-          Ideal cyborg – uses computer to reinstate the body in shared experiences, rather than leaving out the body purely for mental digital experience. ASMR follows this dictum to the letter, uniting a group of people who use the archive provided by the Internet to focus intensely on a sensation triggered by the impression of a body transmitted through the ear in a nonnormative public experience of pleasure and distant intimacy.

-          Asmr relies on the intimacy and care. Relaxation carried through emotional content, not just the sounds. Asmr uses tech to create new access to pleasure. “the ASMR community allows us to examine what intimacy will look like as we are increasingly linked to each other through the Internet rather than in person.”

-          Distant intimacy breaks with heteronormative culture, releasing a digital-enabled intimacy that is a queer intimacy. While ASMR videos as shared on YouTube draw on real-world paradigms of care, the attachments that ASMRers have to videos beyond their sensory power helps us as media scholars to envision a future where these queer experiences of computer-enabled intimacy are as emotionally compelling as those of maternal care, personal touch, or sex. Whatever the affect created, it is clear that distant intimacy carries emotional value, and that these sensations can be released, by strangers and acquaintances, remotely through digital networks.

There are more noteworthy things to discuss, but I’ll end the notes here as there is already more than enough to digest.

Ideas

Create art that lies between ASMR, oddly satisfying videos (another topic I researched that felt close to ASMR), trance/visionary art aesthetic, music video, and modern witchcraft – providing vids that can be of service, as a form of queer care (nonstandard intimacy). Because for me, behind art, is a desire to relieve suffering through providing pleasure, a desire to care for the world and its creatures, to disrupt the status quo.

Maybe create a device or a platform/software to share the videos in their own context?

[bloojayoolie]

Being Alone, Apparently, and Cats: Achilles Handsome, social, loose & wiggly, housetrained - Former owner says he's kid & dog friendly - Will need some basic training & time to reacclimate Hugs and ksses, Please At Brooklyn ACC waiting for Love **** TO BE KILLED - 2/16/2019 **** ACHILLES COMES WITH A PROMISE, if given a chance, he will remain by your side. He is an experienced family pet, ready to graduate puppy-hood. He is strikingly handsome, vibrant, happy, social and has a special smile. Achilles is the type that only knows joy and fun. Welcoming of a new start, the shelter finds him to be soft bodied, wiggly and allowing all handling. His charming smile speaks volumes. His prior home describes him as very friendly and playful. versed in playing with their children, prefers to be near his loved ones and social with other dogs. Sadly he has been ushered to the kill list days after his arrival. A youngster with so much character, health, youth and appeal should be guaranteed a great home. Sadly this is not the case for Achilles. Please spread the word, Achilles is in most urgent need of a foster or adopter. Message our page if you would like to save him. ACHILLES@BROOKLYN ACC Hello, my name is Achilles My animal id is #54521 I am a male gray dog at the Brooklyn Animal Care Center The shelter thinks I am about 1 years old, 48 lbs Came into shelter as owner surrender Feb. 10, 2019 Reason Stated: MOVING - NO PETS Achilles is new hope partners only Achilles was placed at risk due to behavioral concerns; Achilles has been observed to jump up high and hard towards handlers when seeking attention, additionally, he has been observed to become mouthy when overstimulated though displaying good bite inhibition (light pressure applied). Due to the challenges observed combined with Achilles' inability to thrive in the care center, the behavior department believes he would be best set up to succeed if placed with an experienced rescue partner who can provide any necessary behavior modification plan before permanent placement so that he is set up to succeed in a future adoptive home. Achilles is otherwise Healthy. My medical notes are... Weight: 48.6 lbs Vet Notes 10/02/2019 DVM Intake Exam Estimated age: 1 year Microchip noted on Intake? negative History : o/s Subjective: BARH Observed Behavior -loose and wiggly with soft mouth and eyes and ears up but very energetic and difficult to handle Evidence of Cruelty seen - no Evidence of Trauma seen - no Objective P = wnl R = eupneic BCS 4/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal discharge noted Oral Exam: clean adult dentition, no oral lesions noted PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupneic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: MI, 2 testicles descended MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment: Apparently healthy Plan: Continue to monitor while at BACC Start trazodone 100mg PO BID x7d until 2/17, reassess Prognosis: Excellent SURGERY: ok to schedule for surgery Details on my behavior are... Behavior Condition: 3. Yellow Behavior History Behavior Assessment Upon intake Achilles was friendly and very hyper . He allowed counselor to collar, take a photo and pet. After a few minutes he kept barking to go outside the intake room. Date of Intake: 2/10/2019 Spay/Neuter Status: Not Applicable Basic Information:: Achilles is approx. 1 year old and is very hyper and friendly dog. He was surrendered to BACC due to the owner being evicted and unable to take care of him. Previously lived with:: 2 adults, 2 children How is this dog around strangers?: Owner stated Achilles is very friendly and hyper around strangers. He likes to play with strangers. How is this dog around children?: Owner stated Achilles lived with a 2 and 6 year old. He was relaxed and playful with them. Owner stated because of his size he will knock them over on the floor. How is this dog around other dogs?: Owner stated Achilles is playful around other dogs. How is this dog around cats?: Has not been around cats so it is unknown of the behavior. Resource guarding:: Owner stated when Achilles is eating or playing with a toy , he latch on to the food or toy and you will have to fight for it in order for you to get it but he will not growl or bite. Bite history:: None Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: High Other Notes:: He is allergic to Prena food. For a New Family to Know: Achilles is a friendly, affectionate, playful and excitable dog. He likes to follow you around and be in the same room as you when your home. Owner stated he loves attention. He is mostly indoors. He eats dry food 2x a day. he eats any doggy treats. He is house trained and goes to the bathroom on grass. When left alone in the house he destroy things. He is well behaved when left in the yard. He knows ques such as sit and come. He brisk walks on the leash. He is not bothered when he is being groomed. Date of intake:: 2/10/2019 Spay/Neuter status:: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Owner surrender Previously lived with:: 2 adults, 2 children Behavior toward strangers:: Friendly, active Behavior toward children:: Relaxed, playful with resident children Behavior toward dogs:: Playful Behavior toward cats:: Unknown Resource guarding:: None reported Bite history:: None reported Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: Friendly, affectionate, playful with a high energy level Date of assessment:: 2/11/2019 Summary:: Leash Walking Strength and pulling: Hard pulling initially seems to settle during walk Reactivity to humans: None Reactivity to dogs: None Leash walking comments: Sociability Loose in room (15-20 seconds): Highly social, enthusiastic Call over: Approaches readily Sociability comments: Achilles appeared highly social and was focused on staying near handlers to seek attention, however Achilles remained inappropriate when attempting to interact (jumping up high) Handling Soft handling: Seeks contact, soft, exuberant Exuberant handling: Seeks contact, soft, exuberant Handling comments: Achilles sought contact from handler, remaining soft bodied though readily becoming overstimulated with prolonged contact becoming mouthy (mouthing hands with light pressure); Achilles was observed to readily refocus Arousal Jog: Engages in rough play, arouses as play is prolonged and escalates to mouthing handler, nipping at clothing Arousal comments: Knock Knock Comments: No response Toy Toy comments: Firm grip, loose bodied Summary:: According to Achilles previous owner, he is playful around other dogs. 2/11: When off leash at the Care Center, Achilles is introduced to a novel female dog. He greets the female then paces the pens becoming anxious and hyper-salvating. The female solicits play and Achilles engages in awkward play. Date of intake:: 2/10/2019 Summary:: Friendly, active, allowed all handling Date of initial:: 2/10/2019 Summary:: Loose, wiggly, very energetic ENERGY LEVEL:: In the care center Achilles has been active and enthusiastic. He may have a low threshold for arousal and needs guidance to learn how to appropriately channel that energy when he becomes overstimulated. He will need daily mental and physical stimulation and exercise, and a force-free, positive reinforcement-based training class may help him to learn impulse control and to train desirable behaviors that can be rewarded. IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS:: Achilles exhibited high energy, but was easily refocused. Despite a high arousal level, when presented with a high value treat he was alert and would receive the treat with a soft mouth. After about 10 minutes in the room following the assessment completion, both the assessor and handler were standing and discussing the overall session and Achilles settled between them into a laying position with a relaxed body. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: New Hope Only Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Recommendations:: No children (under 13),Place with a New Hope partner Recommendations comments:: Place with a New Hope partner: In the care center, Achilles presents as a social and enthusiastic dog, however he remains highly frustrated/stressed in the care center which results in inappropriate behavior during one-one interactions at times. Achilles has been observed to jump up high and hard towards handlers when seeking attention, additionally, he has been observed to become mouthy when overstimulated though displaying good bite inhibition (light pressure applied). Due to the challenges observed combined with Achilles' inability to thrive in the care center, the behavior department believes he would be best set up to succeed if placed with an experienced rescue partner who can provide any necessary behavior modification plan before permanent placement so that he is set up to succeed in a future adoptive home. Force-free, reward based training only is advised as well as seeking guidance from a qualified trainer or behaviorist. No children (under 13): Because of Achilles' overall exuberance and potential to become highly overstimulated, we believe he would be best set up to succeed if placed in an experienced adult only home environment. Potential challenges: : Basic manners/poor impulse control,Social hyperarousal,Mouthiness/poor bite inhibition,Anxiety ACHILLES IS RESCUE ONLY…..TO SAVE THIS PUP YOU MUST FILL OUT APPLICATIONS WITH AT LEAST 3 NEW HOPE RESCUES. PLEASE HURRY!!! IF YOU CAN FOSTER OR ADOPT THIS PUP, PLEASE PM OUR PAGE FOR ASSISTANCE. WE CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH LINKS TO APPLICATIONS WITH NEW HOPE RESCUES WHO ARE CURRENTLY PULLING FROM THE NYC ACC. PLEASE SHARE THIS DOG FOR A HOME TO SAVE HIS LIFE.

[imagine-marvelously]

Behind the Mask: The Ways to Repair

Pairing: OC x Loki

Word count: 1,892

Timeline: Three weeks after the first meeting

Summary: Loki takes up the shop owner on her proposition. 

<Previous> (Current) <Next>

“You didn’t blow up,” Estella muses from atop the desk, watching as Loki walks inside her shop, much more casual clothes than normal on. A pair of black joggers, a white t-shirt, and a green zip-up hoodie. Very nice. 

“The directions were quite clear and I am a very good sorcerer,” Loki defends, stepping carefully over Jungo and Ace who are very adamant about sleeping right near the entrance today. Then again, the shop is usually closed today and the pair loves to pretend to be big scary protectors. 

“You are a very good one, for what you know, I agree.” 

She swings her legs back and forth a bit, anxious to get started. It won’t be long before people will be able to tell that Loki is in New York - and more importantly frequents a magic shop - and magic folk of all sorts will begin to come in. Masking needs to be done. 

Loki finally makes it over to her, amused to see her in gray sweatpants instead of jeans. Her hair also pulled back - a French braid pulled tight and clearly meant to be straight, but slightly leaning to the right. Though her t-shirt and flannel top hasn’t changed, her eyes are framed by gold-colored, thin, round glasses. The color nicely brings out the deep brown, but the glasses themselves are a bit too big for her face. A little silly looking to Loki. Eccentric too. 

“Do you wear contacts normally?” Loki smiles lightly to avoid a giggle. 

“I may be a powerful witch but that doesn’t mean my eyesight is perfect!”

“Wouldn’t you know a spell that could, I don’t know, fix that?” He suggests, throwing his arms with his shrug. 

Estella jumps off the desk, arms crossed in protest. “I very much like my glasses. Now c’mon, We have work to do.”

The girl turns quickly, her flannel splaying out wide and smacking Loki lightly. He follows behind her closely. 

At first he thinks she is just bring him to the shelves again, they are going up those gods awful stairs, but upon reaching the top, Estella holds her hand against a seemingly random place in the wall beside them. Loki watches as the wall slowly swings open, revealing an entirely new room. 

Estella begins to step inside, her cats dashing past her first. She huffs at them; they always want to be everywhere first. But she proceeds anyway, Loki right behind her again. As they enter the door shuts quietly behind them. 

The room is large, dark, and filled with relics and artifacts, not unlike the Sanctum. Potions sit along either side of the wall, shelves all the way from the floor to the ceiling, some glowing, some steaming, some… squirming? Loki blinks slowly at that. He’s seen lots of bottled potions, but never one that squirms quite like that. And definitely not 30 of them. 

Desks and tables are also everywhere, boxes stacked on top of each other and the desks and strewn everywhere. Books inside them, books outside them, books precariously balancing on top of… nothing? Cauldrons, bits of trees, crystals and gemstones, and other ingredients of any sort strewn, well, everywhere. All save but the very middle where there is a perfect circle, illuminated by the waning moon. 

Loki doesn’t realize he has stopped to observe the room until Estella calls his name. He looks to where her voice is coming from to see her all the way across the room. 

“Are you coming or not? I don’t have all night unfortunately and my cats are about to claw down the next door themselves.”

The two cats meow, eyes glaring yellow in the dim lit as they turn to look at Loki. He walks over, strides wide. It’s as he walks he notices the glimmer in the walls, so small and barely noticeable, but visible in the low moonlight. It’s not the same purple color his is, it’s a rainbow of shades. A very, very strong masking indeed. 

“Good, now, for this next one, just so it doesn’t kill you, I’m going to need your blood,” Estella smiles. 

“You’re going to need my what now?” Loki asks, eyes wide in bewilderment. 

“Your blood, thank you.” 

Before he can respond, Estella has already cut is left palm straight across. Her left pointer finger swipes across it, taking what she needs and healing it at the same time. When the palm is all healed she drops his hand. Loki picks it up in his right, interested in the immediate healing she did. 

Estella presses her pointer finger to the small crevice in the wood designed for her finger print. With his blood on top, the enchantment on the door will allow him through. She enjoys him to much to let this be his demise. 

The small wooden slides open, Jungo and Ace scampering in. Estella steps in as well; she turns quickly, however, knowing that the God is likely still distracted. 

“Loki, c’mon!” 

Loki jumps at her voice. “Yes, sorry.”

He steps through the threshold and the door slides shut. 

This time the room is surprisingly bright for the late time of night; candles adorning approximately every foot and a half of the wall. To the right is a small kitchen with a wooden table that could fit four people around it and only one chair. Straight ahead is a door and what looks like a porch. To the left is a small living room area, complete with two worn down old love seats, a very old Persian rug, and a very small coffee table. Much like the room previous, books and ingredients are everywhere. This room has windows, however: three in the living area, one in the kitchen about the sink, and two beside the door, skinnier than the rest.

“Are we in New York?” Loki inquires, walking closer to the door across from him. 

Estella bites her lip to suppress a grin. “No, we aren’t. We are in possibly one of my favorite places in the universe.”

Loki presses his face against the glass of the window on the door. The night sky is dark, dark enough to see all the stars. But they are the stars of Midgard. So where on Midgard could be her favorite place?

“Where?”

“Bottom of the Grand Canyon, just outside of the national park. It’s just so dark here.”

Loki removes himself from the glass. While he wants to make a snarky remark about Midgard wonders, the reflection of Estella prevents him. She is happy, content, her face relaxed. He turns slowly to face her. 

She is holding a book she did not walk in with, likely one she conjured while he stared outside. It looks a lot like the one she left on his bed, leather bound, clearly a journal of some sort, and well used. This one is much larger. Estella clutches it to her chest like it matters more than anything in the world. 

“Ready?” She asks, her eyes filled with excitement. 

“Where do you want me?” Loki replies. The innuendo he just made escapes even his mind a moment.

“The floor.” Estella pauses. “Move the table. We need more room.”

“Would you like me naked as well?” Loki teases. “Or would you like to do that part yourself?” 

“Just, move the table.” Estella shifts the book to one arm, gesturing the left one towards the living area. “If I wanted you naked, you’d already be so.” 

Loki goes to move the table, Jungo and Ace meowing loudly up at Estella. She glares down at them. The two of them love to annoy her. Just love it. 

“Hey, you two, go find a mouse or something,” she commands, the door of the room and the porch flying open. The two go running out the doors with them shutting tight behind them. 

Loki watches. Simple magic, moving a door, but complex for it to follow those to cats specifically. Nothing like that on Asgard. He’ll have to learn that so doors can automatically slam into his brother’s face. 

Estella walks over to the living area before sitting on the carpet, back again the loveseat facing away from the windows. Loki looks to her, almost asking where to sit. She pats next to her. So the God sits beside her, leaving more room than he needs to, following her lead of leaning against the couch. 

“This is my personal spell book.” Estella presses her thumb to the lock. It clicks slowly as she continues on. “I have taken spells I know and combined them. But not quite like combining a mind control spell with a death spell. More like each individual overall magic type has the same set of spells. You can learn them all, individually, sure…” the book cover lifts open revealing the first page. “…but to learn a single spell, with the power of each magic type, makes it much more efficient and powerful. 

“For example, in masking. You were using a specific type of masking, correct?” Estella looks up to Loki who, while still staring at the book, nods his head. “Every type has there own versions of masking. For your specific version it is found in Asgardian, Earth Elven, Light Elven, Dark Elven, Fairy, Eldritch, several human types…” she begins to flip through the book. “… by keeping the overlaps of all these spells, you then are left with the individual pieces each type created. All it takes is some experimenting to get precisely what you need.” 

The book finally opens to masking. From what Loki can tell, it has several hundred pages on masking alone. The book grows as it is flipped through it seems, or not. He tilts his head. All the pages she flipped through are gone, save a few before. 

“People say master one type. The Grand Coven celebrates diversity in magic and says we should respect all types of magic. But what good is Earth Elven magic when some spells are useless against Fairy and Fae? What good is Asgardian magic if it is weak on Earth? Why separate the overall types when you can combine them and protect yourself from them all?”

Loki looks up to her. Estella no longer looks peaceful. She looks worried, eyebrows slightly furrowed, face tight. It’s impossible to see her forehead with her bangs, but he imagines there are worry lines all over it. But her eyes stay on the book, no matter how many times she clenches and unclenches her teeth. 

“So if I learn this, will you be able to tell it is me?” 

Estella relaxes just a little. “Yes, only because I can designed this particular masking spell and the one to read through it. But it will be very hard for others to. And I suggest a different kind of masking spell. Your attack was years ago, the animosity towards you is not here in New York. Confusing people will do nothing against those that will try to follow you.”

“Teach me what I need to know.” He places his left hand over her shaking right. 

Her head tilts to look at him. Though her brown eyes have not dropped the worry and anger, her face has. The shaking in her hands has also ceased. 

“I’ll teach you more than what you need to know.”

A/N: A bit short. Friday’s are fairytale Fridays now! Also, I’m moving into college tomorrow. 

[inanawesomewave]

How To Date Your Sociopath

Today I’m joined by Mrs. W from the excellent Mirroring The Chameleon which is quite a heartening but also very informative, ruminative and insightful blog run by a sociopath wife and her narcissist husband. Me and Mrs. W got to talking very recently about how useful it might be to publish a cross-post that gives other people tips on how to date a sociopath with any level of success, and so we asked our respective partners to come up with five questions apiece that readers might want answering, and then we answered them. I’m not saying you should use this as a guide to ensnare your own sociopath (you haven’t thought this through, clearly), but should you find yourself smitten in the arms of an antisocial paramour, this might help you. For parity, my answers are as AW for Awesome Wave, and Mrs. W will be CM, for Chameleon Mirror.  NB - If you’ve found this blog whilst searching resources for dealing with domestic abuse and/or violence, please instead consider talking to a friend, calling the police, alerting relevant authorities. This post is intended as a guide to maintaining good mental health on both sides in a relationship with a person with ASPD, but does not advocate or insist upon any form of abuse whatsoever. If you are a victim of abuse in your relationship, this is never acceptable, and no mental illness or personality disorder is a good enough excuse for you to be abused. 

1. How do you feel about displays of affection? 
AW: I happen to be a fan of displays of affection, and I respond well to them if I feel they are sincere, but — as you might have predicted — they need to be on my terms, largely. I’m concerned quite a bit with how to behave socially, so what canoodling might be good in one social setting might infuriate and embarrass me in another, and sometimes it won’t always be easy for you to keep up with that, but my body language will normally signal to you how I’m feeling. Emotional and abstract displays of affection are how I feel like I’m seen and how I feel I can communicate to you in ways I may sometimes struggle to really express. Physical displays of affection are how I feel the most human and are vital to me. Partners have told me I place a lot of importance on sex and I do, and I’m fine with that. Without it, I start breaking down the relationship into structured compartments of intimacy. I may start to believe we are only friends, and from there, I may start to rationalise that I wouldn’t marry any of my friends. I need to be reminded that what this is transcends the rest and that you are the person I am devoting myself to, and displays of affection are the way to go. Oh, with this one caveat: don’t be insincere. I can sense insincerity with fantastic accuracy having built a life on it, and if I detect your words and actions are insincerely affectionate, then you’re not just embarrassing me, you're embarrassing yourself, and I’ll not only tell you that but make a mental note of it. 
 CM: I don’t mind displays of affection, as a rule, I find them enjoyable, when they are correctly timed… and not overwhelming. There is a difference between a “real display of affection” and a “disguised demand for affection” though. The two shouldn’t be confused. If you’re asking for affection this way, I might not be in the right frame of mind to give it to you, when I WOULD have been in the right frame of mind to receive affection. I think this is a subtle but important distinction. I said “when they are not overwhelming” before, and that might indicate that I have, very probably, a slightly lower threshold for this feeling of being smothered. It doesn’t mean that I never want to be touched, though!
 AW: Exactly, it's about finding and being respectful of that line. Which is a handy tip for all relationships, really, it's just about adjusting the dials a bit. 
CM: I agree with you that they are very much needed though, I need a hug combined with prolonged eye contact from time to time, to remind myself of what we’re really doing here. Being self-aware and open about my personality disorder has at times had the effect of eradicating romance completely from the relationship, and I do need it to remain connected. 

 2. How should we handle your momentary shows of irritation or annoyance? 
AW: On the one hand, I’d love to say: “well, just as you would with anyone else!” but let’s be real, that’s not what we’re here for. It is, however, very simple. When I’m angry, raging, annoyed, or anywhere on that spectrum of pissed off, there’s no special, secret code to crack that gets me to calm down and listen to reason. It’s not difficult. All you have to do is be as real and as rational with me as is humanly possible. Don’t let me guess anything, because you can bet I’ll guess the outcome that is least likely to happen, and most confirms my day-to-day cynicism and underlying contempt of what’s around me, the world that a relationship with you allows me to escape from, and what keeps me showing you all the time that I value you for that. If I’m in that place, and I’m outward with it, you need to show me that you hear me and you see me and you need to calmly explain to me as logically as you can why things aren’t as bad as they seem. When you have ASPD, it’s not that things are always worse in terms of having your feelings hurt, it’s things are always worse because you genuinely think you hold the secret of the world and how it functions, and it fucking disgusts you. When I’m irritated or annoyed, that’s what it comes back to. You don’t need to convince me the world’s actually a pretty nice place and people are good, but you need to convince me that here in this room, you and I have escaped that and will continue to do so. We’re a team, and I mean that. Though I might have momentarily forgotten because my loss of control in the situation has caused a blip in me. Remind me. 
 CM: The best thing to do, when you’ve noticed a slight irritation on my part, is to either ignore it or stop doing what you’re doing and hand the reins over to me. In general, it’s really nothing, it will dissipate in no time. I can be pretty reactive, but I don’t have emotional memory, I won’t stay annoyed at you for days because you haven’t been taught how to fold sheets properly. I just won’t. And I know I’m being unfair exactly 0.5 seconds into my annoyed reaction, so the best thing to do is to pretend it never happened, unless you feel I’m being too sharp too often, in which case I’ll think about it and do my best to change my ways. The worst thing to do? Question me for two hours on “what exactly annoyed me”…
 AW: God yes. Start talking to me like an idiot child, start lecturing me, or make me delve into something I don’t want to delve into and I can promise you now you will not get the reaction whatever smug professor that lives inside you wanted. You will get the opposite, I can guarantee.  

3. How should we respond if you are ever in a situation of weakness and obliged to rely on us for something? 
 AW: Just be really fucking low-key about it. Also, don’t use the word “weakness” any more. I hate that word and if you apply it to me, there and then I will go into survival mode because my antisocial brain will recode you seeing me as weak, as you sizing me up as prey. No matter how much I love you, what we’ve built together, how outwardly I adore you — if I think you’ve become my predator, I’ll want to redress the balance as quickly as I can. I’m currently 8 months pregnant and so I’ve had to rely a whole heap on my fiancée for physical and mental things I am increasingly incapable of. When there's been tension, it’s because they’ve not done things how I might have done them, which I know is unreasonable of me. If you have to carry me, if I’m in any way indisposed and need your help, don’t make a big deal out of it, and remember to always, always, always check in with me. Just because I need your help, doesn't mean I need all control taken away from me. By now, you should know that my whole deal has a lot to do with control. Mainly, I'm trying to control myself and my immediate environment. You can help with that. And remember what I said about insincerity? I can tell if you're helping me begrudgingly and I don’t like it. That makes me even weaker. 
 CM: A situation of weakness would be injury, illness, pregnancy, I suppose. Or unemployment. I think the best way of approaching it is to make sure we know for a fact that you are on our side and that you don’t resent our relying on us in any way at all. Any negative feeling tied to the situation would make me suspicious, and my mind goes overboard when it gets suspicious… Your best option, I suppose, if you want me to be comfortable with letting you help, is to spin things in such a way that I am convinced that you see yourself as some sort of heroic prince in general, and that your behaviour with me is not at all unusual for you. I might get a slight ASPD reaction to it, but it will be positive for the relationship. 
AW: I love that, about letting us see you as the person who came to save the day. I’d so much rather that than the hang-dog, weary servant routine. Nobody's making you do anything, but don't volunteer yourself and expect to gain any victimhood out of it, I can't respect that. 



4. How ought we respond to your dominance and avoid being excessively submissive? 
 AW: Don’t make assumptions. I secretly (and also not-so-secretly) despise being reminded of my natural strength and dominance by romantic partners. First of all, you’re not saying anything special when you say that, I've heard it my whole life, everyone with ASPD has. We’re sick of it. Second of all, a lot of the time, when a partner points out your strength and dominance, it feels like a back-handed, self-absolving display of never having to give a shit. I’m naturally dominant, and I won't ever get into a relationship with someone who isn’t naturally submissive, I don't believe in forcing people into roles they don't like. But just because I probably know what you want to order from the menu, just because I buy a lot of your clothes, it’s because I have your best interests at heart, and have identified that you need this in your life, and you've confirmed it to me. Do not offend me by meeting this dominance with surrender to difficult situations. I have let you on my team. Be my teammate. Fight with me. You’ll find I can and will still do 99.9% the fighting myself, but if I think you’ve lapsed into laziness with your submission, you’ll then find I’m likely to leave you out in the cold to fight off the problem on your own. Sometimes I need the dominant you, when I feel defeated, even if your dominance comes through within the strength of your submission. 
CM: “Excessively submissive” isn’t even a thing. I don’t value people who stand up to me, I don’t want any type of power play, the only power play that there is is that I am the boss. Yes, this sounds pretty bad said like that… The problem with what you call “excessively submissive”, that most people would call “subservient” and that I call “manipulative”, is the anticipation of my desires. I want my mind to be my own space. I don’t want you to guess that I will want this glass of wine, or to plan anything for me, or to interfere in any way with my thought processes or even physical freedom. If I get up, I don’t want anyone asking me what it is that I want. I am able-bodied, and I am allowed to walk around and get my own tea if I want to. If I feel lazy and want you to get my tea for me, don’t worry, you’ll know. I will never resent you for not reading my mind, I would never want that to be the case. You shouldn’t be stressing and worrying about what I want, or obsessing about me. Be yourself, live your own life, be free, all I require is someone who won’t tell me to move my own damned bum to the kitchen if I’m hungry or suddenly demand that I stop working or start voting.
 AW: I don't know if "don't crowd me" is what you're communicating here or if it's just what I'm picking up, but yeah. Don't crowd me. 
 
5. What do you want from us? What, if anything, do you need from us? 
AW: Recognition. For God’s sake, just know me. That’s all I want. I'm not impossible to know, and I live quite like an open book. When you're antisocial, you've spent your entire life observing people, and when you feel you're a natural pretender at things that come so easily to other people, you meticulously learn. Just as if you speak a language fluently that isn’t your mother tongue, you don't get to be colloquial, so you'll always stick by the laws of that country’s grammar. When we get together, there's a lot of me that already knows a lot of you, because I like you and I know your grammar, so I've learned you and our relationship will be an ongoing journey of me learning as much of you as I can, and that's something I'm not likely to get bored of. What I need is for you to learn me too, and remember that I don't understand the colloquialisms too well, I've not had the privilege to fall into them. I think a narrative that often gets applied to the sociopath, consciously or subconsciously, is that we are something of a lone wolf, a misunderstood loner, keeping our cards close to our chests, frightened of human connection. That’s bullshit, to be frank. Okay, maybe we're not pack animals, but we're still humans. We cry, we hurt, things feel painful to us, we get intimidated. Show me that you know me by respecting me and loving me in the ways you have learned that I need in order to thrive in this relationship. I should not have to constantly tell you who I am and what I need. I will get bored of that, and the lone wolf you see in me will prowl off and forget your name like you were nothing. Make the choice. You could be everything if you wanted. 
 CM: I want the same thing anyone wants from a relationship, with a few added bonuses -- Regular things like having a friend to laugh with and share silly TV shows, conversations and companionship. And sex, of course, I quite enjoy sex. Less regular things perhaps: a minimum of acceptance of the fact that whatever happens, I was right. Except for that time where I was perhaps, ok, wrong, but as a rule, I’m right, so don’t question me just for the heck of it. I personally need understanding. I need to know that you won’t freak out every time I sigh or raise an eyebrow, because you know that I am a Good Person™. I need you to know not to keep pushing me when I suddenly seem too calm for what this fight would suggest, because you remember than I can be a Monster™… and I’m trying not to be like that with you because I am a Good Person™…. I want you to remember who I am and love me. 
AW: This is so important. We’re really trying, don’t test that. That's not fair. Don’t make us into the masturbatory, semi-evil fantasy you've created out of us, we're just trying to get on with shit and largely go as undetected as possible. If you deliberately want the sociopath in us to come screaming out of our ribcages, go pay someone to live out that role-play, we’re not here to perform for you. 

6. What’s the best reassurance that we aren’t trying to pull away from you, in times when we seem at cross-purposes? 
AW: This is one of the rare times I will allow myself and my disorder to be infantilised. Sometimes, you have to remember, you’re dealing with someone with the innate emotional literacy of a child, and therefore reassurance needs to be extremely plain, neutral, and unmistakable for anything else. What sets in when I believe you might be pulling away from me is genuine fear — not of abandonment, but of mistrust, and that I could not trust the optimism and joy you initially imbued me with. I am always waiting to have it confirmed to me that people are trash, and you are probably the biggest thing that stops me from thinking that. All you need to do is remind me as often as you can that we are a team, a united front, a partnership, and we are equals. You’re no better than me and I am no better than you. Remind me always of our togetherness and, if needs be, remind me why I decided to enter into this deal in the first place, and though it’s unfortunate wording, it is a deal: this is all a transaction, an ongoing one until either we die or this ends. It’s highly likely I just need my memory jolting, and I know it’s hard to, but please don’t take that too personally. It’s not you, it’s literally everyone. And, once again, don’t pretend to pull away to elicit my reaction. I’ll know. I’ll hate it. And then I'll do something you hate. Transaction complete. 
 CM: I think I can honestly say that I have never had the feeling that someone was pulling away from me. I have heard “ok then I am leaving, this relationship is over” and still not felt that anybody was pulling away from me. If anything, I take it as a sort of manipulative cry for attention, which I then proceed to ignore, because I can be a bit proud and tend to get emotionally cold when I am annoyed with someone. Reassurance is itself a term that I probably process differently than a normal person would. Needing to be reassured is a very rare thing for me, but even when I might need it, I don’t know if there is a way of doing it without triggering my “Do you think I need you?” response. Reassuring me that you are not turning against me, that you’re on my side and not just by my side, that what I want is what you want, and that whatever happened was not intentional could work, but it would probably have to be shown through actions and, failing that, by giving me a clear sense of when and how you will start taking action to the end of showing me that you also want us to be a team. 
AW: Actions really do speak louder than words. Don't be the partner who will just say anything. We remember what you said and, as sociopaths, we prefer action to anything else. Also, as sociopaths, we remember everything, including that time you said you'd do that thing even though we never asked you to, but now you mention it, why haven't you done it? It’s only you who is martyring yourself here, and that's likely how we'll see it. 
CM: I might have failed to understand the exact meaning of the question asked, because my current relationship really doesn’t involve such dynamics. There are way too many times at which I wonder if my partner has turned against me for me to be able to fully recline and trust this way. We’re working on changing this, and he is making tremendous efforts, even though it is a slow process.


7. What would be most helpful for you, in trying to help you see the other side of a situation, without giving you the impression of disagreement? 
 AW: Neutral tones. Don't shout, don't be meek, be neutral. Leave emotions at the door, if you can, really try your best. And the rest is easy, and won't need a long paragraph from me: break down the mechanics of empathy to me, because it’s safe to assume that I haven't considered to involve empathy into this situation. You might need to go the long way around, so instead of saying: “how do you think that person feels?”, or even: “how do you think I feel?”, try instead: “how would you feel if you were in [situation that directly applies to me and is similar to the one you need me to understand]”. We are not completely incapable of empathy, it's just that we need to actively flick that switch, and the process is longer. But it’s there, and if you appeal to it in the right way, we can access it and use it just like anybody else. 
 CM: I see where this question is coming from. There are different ways of approaching this depending on how critical the situation in question is. If we are talking about a simple situation that I have seemingly too critical or black and white a view of, I think it is possible for you to simply give me your take on it, we can absolutely, as far as I am concerned, disagree about things, we are different people, we can debate. The key word would then be debate: if you insert a moral judgement into the mix, I might stop taking your view seriously. The problem doesn’t stem from the fact of disagreeing, it stems from having either solid of faulty arguments. Too many faulty arguments will after a while lead me to thinking that you are just being dishonest. Raising your voice, saying intensely emotionally-charged things as if they were supposed to prove your point, those simply don’t work. If you remain factual, you can convince me that I had missed something and I’ll smile about it. It is the underlying smell of manipulation emanating from dishonest arguments that provoke explosions. In a critical situation when I am in complete calculation overdrive, it’s best not to interfere. If you have facts that could prove to me that I am not in the right or that the situation is not as critical as I think it is, then by all means give them to me, don’t be afraid of my snappiness if you are absolutely certain that you are right. If you are not, leave me be, I might either cool off or take action, but I just need the calculation to make sure I know what I am doing.
 AW: Nobody likes a point-prover, and we don’t like to have our patience tested. Come on, we’re all adults, here. Also, “calculation overdrive” couldn’t be more perfectly worded. That happens, at some point, that’s going to happen. 

8. What are some signs and symptoms that you need us to pull you out of a behaviour pattern you may later regret? 
 AW: I’m glad you said this, because it recognises how capable of regret we are. Remorse, less so — but regret — absolutely. And that regret can be me regretting that time I said that horrible thing to you that was a bit too personal and kind of disgustingly exploitative of me, or it can be me regretting that time I was at that dinner party ten years ago and I said “change my tact” instead of “change my tack” and have never stopped feeling embarrassed about. I’m not wholly aware of what in me changes when I’m in something of a deeply antisocial mode, but introspection and quietness I guess are predictors. I’ll either start slowly plotting revenge or I’ll want revenge in a quick flash of rage, something might remind me of the person who crossed me and I'll need to settle the score there and then. So give me a minute to cool off. Sociopaths aren't long-term goal orientated for the most part. I’ll move onto something else. And if I don’t, then I really meant it, and I’ll have considered it very carefully and covered all bases, and in that case, don’t worry. Maybe even involve yourself if you want, hey, why not. However, If I've stopped communicating with you, that's a sign. Not even a sign that I'm mad at you, but something big is on my mind. Mainly, you’ll see I'm running away both with and from myself. Like a balloon, I’ll want you to grab hold of my string before I drift off into the stratosphere. Bring me down to earth, remind me that you're here and it's good. 
 CM: For me, those include mainly vengeance and lack of attention to my own health. About the former, there isn’t a thing you could do, I might drop it all by myself though. The signs are generally a cold rage followed by unexpected glee and once this is in motion, I am not sure how anyone could do anything, only I could, and I often do. The latter is actually something I am open about needing help for. I am the type of person who will let a UTI develop into full blown pyelonephritis without uttering a sound about it. This is an attitude I have also observed in autistic people, and I think the key there is to treat us like very susceptible and snappy autistic people. You should ask what’s wrong if I seem a little too silent and motionless. If I can’t answer you, and just mumble rudely, call a doctor. If I snap and say “fuck off, I don’t know”, call a doctor. We might just have no idea how to express pain appropriately, but call a doctor. Ignore all rudeness, just help. Of course, there’s boredom. How could someone stir me away from whatever I am doing to stave off boredom without me feeling like they’re pissing in my cereal? I’m not sure. Suggest less dangerous activities perhaps? Take me bungee-jumping, redirect! That could work. Telling me that I “must be bored” to be acting this way and that “this is annoying for YOU” clearly doesn’t….
 AW: Oh that’s really good, yes, we are quite perilously prone to boredom. Give us something else to do that might reward us, we’re not only motivated by greed and power. We also like snacks and jokes. 
 CM: Yes, one cannot say this enough: snacks and jokes. 

9. How does one contribute positivity in times when it is hard for you to see it? 
 AW: Here comes some romance. You are the positivity in my life. I'm with you for a good reason, and that reason is that you light everything up, and make me happy. I don't just date anyone, and the reason I’m spending all this time with you is because I’m in love with you and the happiness and contentment you have brought into my life. Be that happiness and contentment, and be the beacon in the fog. Everyone else falls into mist, but you’re what I'm coming home to. Remind me of what we've built, and remind me too why you fell in love with me. I will come back to you, and your love will bring me back to myself, when I’m re-convinced of it in moments where I don’t feel I’m capable of it, because I'm in a world that can't produce or sustain it. 
CM: I generally respond well to jokes. Of course, not everybody’s like me. If you want me to be light-hearted, just be light-hearted, I’ll follow suit. I rarely have times when I can’t see the positive aspect of life, I am generally more positive than the people around me, but in times when it is not the case, remind me of it. We’re just a speck of dirt on a little rock, why should we worry about anything? 
AW: The sociopathic sense of humour I find is very dry and sarcastic, like a drag queen who isn’t trying to draw attention to herself. I would so much rather laugh with you than simmer at you. 
 CM: I’ve once cracked up in the middle of an argument when my partner suddenly came to his senses and made me laugh… it’s entirely possible, if you just take a step back.
 AW: I’ve told partners too that this is possible, I have indeed laughed mid-row and it’s melted the tension away. But understandably, this is a very high-risk move for the faint of heart. 10. How do your feelings of love differ, in your view, from the culturally-received norm? How are they the same? 
AW: What’s the same? I want a partner, a companion, a lover, all the basic tenets of relationships and their values remain the same, I feel. What’s different? What’s different is I can do better, I want better for you, we can do better. Sociopaths don’t half-arse love when we mean it, we dive headlong into it and often, the loyalty and adoration you will feel from a sociopath is the most consistent, honest and life-affirming you will feel, and none of it is a front. If we’re in it, we’re really fucking in it. I don’t know if this is ASPD but it seems to be a pervading pattern I’ve had with all my relationships, and that is, put simply: I believe we’re better than everyone else. There’s always going to be a small overspill of narcissism inside the sociopath, and here I believe it is healthy. I don’t want to be like all the other couples you know who seem to kind of really fucking hate each-other. I don’t want either of us to settle. That’s not to say I expect anything grandiose or even public about how we love each-other, but I’m in it for the long-haul and I’ve brought snacks for the journey. From a partner, I expect mutual loyalty, respect, and utmost honesty and transparency. My feelings of love are that maybe I’ve not had enough of it, or maybe it’s been misdirected into something sinister, and now’s the time I get to control how I am loved. That doesn’t mean I want to control you, it means that if you don’t feel the same, I’d rather walk away. I won’t feel I’ve lost anything. If losing you feels to me like it would be a profound loss, we’re going to be fine. 
CM: There are different types of love already among NTs. They love their pets, their friends, their lovers and their children all differently. I think I love my partner mainly as a friend with whom I “click” on an intellectual basis, and I expect the same friendship in return. I don’t really get the “closeness” that people speak of, because it doesn’t seem to involve a better quality of friendship, if anything, it’s less respectful. I integrate this as “special-unit-friendship-with-sex”, and to me it does include the same level of respect as you see in friendship. The respect for my freedom (I will respect other people’s boundaries regarding exclusivity though, but only willingly) is essential. Freedom of movement and thought. From that basis, I think I can start to value you a lot more than I value anyone else, and trust you (and, if you’re trustworthy, be trustworthy). Does this compare at all to NT love? I am not sure. I think there is a difference in the notion of romantic self-sacrifice, which to me is now very frightening. I am not saying I am unable to feel this way, I have made myself feel this way in the past, but I don’t think I am built to withstand that type of emotion for very long before self-destructing.
 AW: It’s important to distinguish any neurodivergence from the neurotypical experience, I think, because our worlds are profoundly different. But what it all comes down to, in terms of us and “everyone else”, is we’ve had to keep an eye on our actions, words, thoughts, all of our lives, as outsiders. When we notice other people haven’t had to do that, it can be deeply offensive to us. If you expect us to have a strict moral code and to amend how we act and react, why the hell shouldn't you? 
CM: What you said about a relationship being the one space in which the world isn’t as shitty as it is outside of it (my rephrasing skills are terrible) rings true to me. There is something to be said about being honourable, devoted, trustworthy and generally loving in a relationship with us. It is the one space where we can enjoy that freely. Of course, as you said, once our partner has shown themselves to be unworthy, it’s over, whether we remain or leave. That might be why so many NTs are so taken aback by our leaving. If I’m leaving you, it’s probably because I’d left you in my head a while back, and you never knew.

So, there you have it. Handy tips on how to date your high-functioning sociopath. Again, I must clarify that abuse of any kind within a relationship is unacceptable. This post is all about mutual respect and understanding. On the same note, please do not enter into a relationship with anyone with any kind of goal that you will push this person to their limits. In fact, do not enter into any kind of relationship that insists you behave outside of your own moral constraints, or asks the same of the other party/parties.  Thanks. 

[acromaxgt]

The significance of providing an appropriate acoustic environment

Sound quality is assessed by its height, timbre, duration, and intensity. The attribute on which we want to concentrate is intensity. Intensity influences rest and determine how a person hears an unwanted sound.

The power with which a voice is generated is referred to as its intensity. On a spectrum of weak to powerful, use the DB-decibel as the unit of measurement.

The accepted range of sound perception for humans is a decibel scale ranging from 0 to 140 dB. Humans cannot sense sound below 0 dB. This is referred to as the auditory threshold. The pain threshold is defined as anything above 140 decibels. Anything above 140dB may cause an individual to experience agony. Again, this might be a subjective perspective and should only be taken as a standard level. Contact us for Wooden Acoustic Panel!

What causes noise in today's workplace?

Assuming that external sound has no or little effect on the job done in any particular facility, it must be other inside variables that 'disturb the quiet,' such as nearby offices, material movement, or manufacturing. However, in reality, it is the human and technology factors that will have the most impact on background sound within the workplace environment.

The contemporary office encourages employees to communicate in a flexible and dynamic manner. This is the Open Office idea. Offices "without walls," where employees may walk freely from one task to the next, encouraging transparency and a more straightforward flow of information. The economic aspect has also played a significant role in the expanding development of this form of the workplace, as these spaces with fewer and fewer constraints reduce construction costs significantly.

The issue is that this unrestricted flow of communication and engagement has resulted in a significant rise in noise production. It's hard to develop a project when someone can plainly hear a partner's chat, especially if the activity takes a high level of focus.

This problem is exacerbated by the gradual reduction of cubicle workspaces, which in turn leads to a simultaneous rise in the number of employees in the open-plan, resulting in increased bustle in work settings where group activities or meetings take place. Various work groups are increasingly fighting. Call the Acoustic Panel Supplier in UAE!

It's also worth remembering that, in a world where communications systems are becoming easier and cheaper, and where companies frequently seek international markets to do business, telephone conversations and conferencing are a natural part of the workplace atmosphere, and that, when combined with traditional conversations, the spaces aren't really designed for the purpose.

We also need to look at the issue of "white noise" and its gradual removal. Previously, these frequencies were provided by normal low noise such as exhaust fumes from air circulation equipment or the whistling of old computers, which did serve to mask discussions that could be heard in a silent office, making them unintelligible while also offering a non-annoying ambient noise that favored concentration. The current technological innovations and their applications, including for household usage, have supported a "culture of quiet," but as previously said, this is not helpful for office work.

[orbemnews]

Coming soon: Smart tires that could help you drive better If tires could talk, they might demand more respect. Maybe you’d stop letting them get under-inflated and worn out. Or they could warn you about a nail in the tread that, in a couple days, will make the tire pressure warning light come on. They might even help you drive better, stop sooner and get better gas mileage. Smart tire technology like this is already in use, with tire companies adding special sensors to certain tires. And, eventually, these technologies will become widespread, said TJ Campbell, tire information and testing manager at the online retailer Tire Rack, because the information tires can provide is so critical. “I absolutely foresee that happening,” he said, “If, for no other reason, than that his is the groundwork for fully autonomous driving.” Self-driving cars will have enough random variables to contend with without unexpected tire problems, he said. The more warning there is of a potential problem, like an air leak or worn out treads, the better. A self-driving car also won’t have an experienced human driver’s feel for when the road surface is slippery or a car is getting close to skidding. Computerized tire technologies will be able to detect impending loss of traction more quickly and accurately than the stability control and traction control systems used on most cars today. While smart tire technologies are available, they’re mostly used on very expensive performance tires or in fleets of work trucks with fleet managers trying to save every penny. McLaren’s recently unveiled $225,000 Artura supercar will come equipped with Pirelli P Zero Trofeo tires that are embedded with computer chips. Those chips will send information about air pressure and temperature in the tires to computers in the car, which will help McLaren owners seeking to extract the best performance on the race track. Changes in temperatures and air pressure can greatly effect how tires, and therefore cars, perform on a track. Cold tires might not grip as well as warmer ones. Meanwhile, tires that are overinflated will have less contact area with the asphalt while underinflated ones won’t be firm enough to provide good control. French tire maker Michelin offers Track Connect 2, which is an app on the driver’s cell phone to communicate directly with sensors that can be installed inside the tires. The app might recommend the driver increase or decrease tire air pressures or it could warn of leaks. The tires that come standard on the new Porsche 911 GT3, for instance, work with this system. Performance of a different sort is even more critical for the 14-foot tall tires used on mining trucks. These huge tires can cost $50,000 each and are used on trucks the size of a modest two-story suburban home. “They’re running those operations 24/7,” said Brian Goldstine, president of mobility solutions and fleet management at Bridgestone Americas. “And they’re looking to maximize the load and maximize the speed of those vehicles within the mine.” Sensors in the huge tires transmit information that can be combined with other data coming from within the truck, such as how fast it’s moving or how hard it’s turning, to get a sense of how the tires are handling the strains rather than relying on predetermined rules. “So they don’t have to use more generic industry standards around how fast the trucks can drive or how much load,” he said. “We’re giving them real time, real world data.” Tire companies also offer this sort of technology for more modest commercial fleet operations, such as for delivery trucks. As with mining trucks, the information from the sensors in the tires can help fleet operators save money and keep the trucks working during critical business hours. For operations like these, Bridgestone often uses sensors that simply screw onto the valve stem. These sensors can’t do quite as much as those embedded inside the tire but they can still relay critical information, Goldstine said. “Today, for example, [there is] the opportunity to recognize a slow leak while it’s happening before the tire gets to that critical threshold, which could create an emergency or a critical situation,” he said. Most passenger vehicles today already have tire pressure monitoring systems that can warn when a tire has gotten too low on air. But typically these low pressure warnings only surface once it’s nearly a crisis. By measuring air pressure more directly, smart tires can provide more accurate readings to detect when air is being lost, even very gradually, to provide earlier and more accurate warnings. Smart tires might also detect when traction is being lost in some situations. Pirelli’s CyberTire could do this on wet roads by measuring, as the tire rolls, how much its tread is flexing against the road surface, said Pierangelo Misani, the Italian tire maker’s head of research and development. If the tread isn’t flexing much, that means it’s riding on water and is losing contact with the solid road surface. Detecting tread wear is complicated since these sensors can’t directly measure tread depth. Generally, tire companies are working on solutions that involve gauging tire wear by comparing how a tire is being used — how many miles driven, how many hard stops, etc. — or how it’s bending or vibrating and comparing that to data collected from the same type of tire in tests. “We have some wheel speed. We’ve got some information around vibration. We’ve got some information around the footprint length, and…. other characteristics of the tire,” said Chris Helsel, senior vice president of global operations and chief technology officer Goodyear. “We’re able to discern from there, to one millimeter of accuracy, your state of wear.” Better driving Smart tires can also help so-called “driver assistance systems” work better. Modern cars already have computerized stability control systems as required by US regulations. These systems work by detecting when a vehicle has begun to skid, and get it back into line by briefly applying brakes at specific individual wheels. Systems that detect loss of traction from within the tire itself could help cars react faster and better, tire companies say. The same is true of anti-lock braking systems, or ABS, another safety system that’s already on modern cars. These systems rapidly “pump” the brakes to prevent them from stopping the wheels too quickly — locking up — causing the tires to skid across the road surface. As tires wear, smart tire systems can allow ABS computers in the car to automatically adjust as tire treads wear out, tire companies say. “We’ve shown we can recover 30% of the loss of stopping distance that comes from new versus worn tires,” said Goodyear’s Helsel. Before these systems can become widely used, though, some sort of standardization is needed. Tire companies will have to cooperate so all their sensors communicate in a similar “language,” said Campbell. That will mean one car won’t always have to use the same brand of tires its whole life. Customers want choice, said Campbell. Only when these systems are interchangeable, he said, will the tires on most peoples’ cars start talking. Source link Orbem News #Cars #Coming #Drive #Smart #Smarttiresthatcouldhelpyoudrivebetterarecomingsoon-CNN #tires

[dipulb3]

Coming soon: Smart tires that could help you drive better

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/coming-soon-smart-tires-that-could-help-you-drive-better/

Coming soon: Smart tires that could help you drive better

If tires could talk, they might demand more respect.

Maybe you’d stop letting them get under-inflated and worn out. Or they could warn you about a nail in the tread that, in a couple days, will make the tire pressure warning light come on. They might even help you drive better, stop sooner and get better gas mileage.

Smart tire technology like this is already in use, with tire companies adding special sensors to certain tires. And, eventually, these technologies will become widespread, said TJ Campbell, tire information and testing manager at the online retailer Tire Rack, because the information tires can provide is so critical.

“I absolutely foresee that happening,” he said, “If, for no other reason, than that his is the groundwork for fully autonomous driving.”

Self-driving cars will have enough random variables to contend with without unexpected tire problems, he said. The more warning there is of a potential problem, like an air leak or worn out treads, the better. A self-driving car also won’t have an experienced human driver’s feel for when the road surface is slippery or a car is getting close to skidding. Computerized tire technologies will be able to detect impending loss of traction more quickly and accurately than the stability control and traction control systems used on most cars today.

While smart tire technologies are available, they’re mostly used on very expensive performance tires or in fleets of work trucks with fleet managers trying to save every penny.

McLaren’s recently unveiled $225,000 Artura supercar will come equipped with Pirelli P Zero Trofeo tires that are embedded with computer chips. Those chips will send information about air pressure and temperature in the tires to computers in the car, which will help McLaren owners seeking to extract the best performance on the race track.

Changes in temperatures and air pressure can greatly effect how tires, and therefore cars, perform on a track. Cold tires might not grip as well as warmer ones. Meanwhile, tires that are overinflated will have less contact area with the asphalt while underinflated ones won’t be firm enough to provide good control.

French tire maker Michelin offers Track Connect 2, which is an app on the driver’s cell phone to communicate directly with sensors that can be installed inside the tires. The app might recommend the driver increase or decrease tire air pressures or it could warn of leaks. The tires that come standard on the new Porsche 911 GT3, for instance, work with this system.

Performance of a different sort is even more critical for the 14-foot tall tires used on mining trucks. These huge tires can cost $50,000 each and are used on trucks the size of a modest two-story suburban home.

“They’re running those operations 24/7,” said Brian Goldstine, president of mobility solutions and fleet management at Bridgestone Americas. “And they’re looking to maximize the load and maximize the speed of those vehicles within the mine.”

Sensors in the huge tires transmit information that can be combined with other data coming from within the truck, such as how fast it’s moving or how hard it’s turning, to get a sense of how the tires are handling the strains rather than relying on predetermined rules.

“So they don’t have to use more generic industry standards around how fast the trucks can drive or how much load,” he said. “We’re giving them real time, real world data.”

Tire companies also offer this sort of technology for more modest commercial fleet operations, such as for delivery trucks. As with mining trucks, the information from the sensors in the tires can help fleet operators save money and keep the trucks working during critical business hours.

For operations like these, Bridgestone often uses sensors that simply screw onto the valve stem. These sensors can’t do quite as much as those embedded inside the tire but they can still relay critical information, Goldstine said.

“Today, for example, [there is] the opportunity to recognize a slow leak while it’s happening before the tire gets to that critical threshold, which could create an emergency or a critical situation,” he said.

Most passenger vehicles today already have tire pressure monitoring systems that can warn when a tire has gotten too low on air. But typically these low pressure warnings only surface once it’s nearly a crisis. By measuring air pressure more directly, smart tires can provide more accurate readings to detect when air is being lost, even very gradually, to provide earlier and more accurate warnings.

Smart tires might also detect when traction is being lost in some situations. Pirelli’s CyberTire could do this on wet roads by measuring, as the tire rolls, how much its tread is flexing against the road surface, said Pierangelo Misani, the Italian tire maker’s head of research and development. If the tread isn’t flexing much, that means it’s riding on water and is losing contact with the solid road surface.

Detecting tread wear is complicated since these sensors can’t directly measure tread depth. Generally, tire companies are working on solutions that involve gauging tire wear by comparing how a tire is being used — how many miles driven, how many hard stops, etc. — or how it’s bending or vibrating and comparing that to data collected from the same type of tire in tests.

“We have some wheel speed. We’ve got some information around vibration. We’ve got some information around the footprint length, and…. other characteristics of the tire,” said Chris Helsel, senior vice president of global operations and chief technology officer Goodyear. “We’re able to discern from there, to one millimeter of accuracy, your state of wear.”

Better driving

Smart tires can also help so-called “driver assistance systems” work better.

Modern cars already have computerized stability control systems as required by US regulations. These systems work by detecting when a vehicle has begun to skid, and get it back into line by briefly applying brakes at specific individual wheels. Systems that detect loss of traction from within the tire itself could help cars react faster and better, tire companies say.

The same is true of anti-lock braking systems, or ABS, another safety system that’s already on modern cars. These systems rapidly “pump” the brakes to prevent them from stopping the wheels too quickly — locking up — causing the tires to skid across the road surface. As tires wear, smart tire systems can allow ABS computers in the car to automatically adjust as tire treads wear out, tire companies say.

“We’ve shown we can recover 30% of the loss of stopping distance that comes from new versus worn tires,” said Goodyear’s Helsel.

Before these systems can become widely used, though, some sort of standardization is needed. Tire companies will have to cooperate so all their sensors communicate in a similar “language,” said Campbell.

That will mean one car won’t always have to use the same brand of tires its whole life. Customers want choice, said Campbell. Only when these systems are interchangeable, he said, will the tires on most peoples’ cars start talking.

[jamesmakeup4-blog]

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Understood for frequently utilizing the most up to date patterns as well as advancements in beauty, Teresa has been making use of Cryotheraphy in her salon treatments for several years. The treatment has confirmed so prominent, that Teresa has actually gone on to develop this special, trademarked product that enables clients to experience the very same therapy much more frequently as well as in the convenience of their own residence.

Why pick Skin excellence?

If required, the therapy can be done without the need to get rid of make-up for a fast invigorating boost. For those with more time offered, we will additionally supply a clean as well as tone at the beginning of the treatment, to remove make-up, dirt as well as toxins and prepare the skin. The pulsating fluid nitrogen vapour (-30 c) is after that swept over the skin for approximately 10 mins. This is adhered to by a quick facial massage therapy to warm the skin once more, after that a moisturiser is related to moisturize the skin at the end of the treatment. Our top of the range cryotherapy chamber can fall as low as -180 ° c. Just a 3 minute session is all that is required to enjoy the complete benefits. We provide a variety of of application devices to effectively fulfill your food processing requires, consisting of chilling, cold, private quick freezing, solidifying as well as crust freezing. We are also full-spectrum cryogenic and pressure system designers, supply cryogenic tools, an SiVL pipework solution, gas detection and tracking, actually all sorts.

This method is approved by Food and Drug Administration as well as American Academy of Plastic Surgery. It is ideal for those processors that require boosted productivity and convenience of operation with a marginal capital investment and also installation expense. The Cryo 6 features cooled air for effective discomfort therapy, swelling reduction and muscle mass relaxation. The system allows Cryo Therapy with exact positioning as well as at a consistent dosage, every single time. We distribute cryogenic tools on behalf of Cryotherm in Germany as well as can develop as well as install an SiVL pipework system.

What does a FemiWand do?

Vaginal Tightening with FemiWand® is a non-invasive, non-surgical treatment designed to restore and repair vaginal tissue without the use of anaesthetic or numbing creams. FemiWand® is a High-Intensity Focused Ultrasound treatment that utilises powerful ultrasound energy.

Why Do women get Cellulite?

The innovatively created Cryo-Ball is made from surgical-grade steel as well as consists of freeze-retaining liquids. The round requires to be maintained in the freezer for 24 hours prior to make use of. The freezing temperatures combined with the rolling as well as stretching technique produces a special, cry-microcirculation result on the skin, which prompts tighter skin and an immediate radiance. From 111 Skin's Regenerative variety, this booster lotion uses active ingredients that provide the exact same outcomes as a round of cryotherapy. " It energises the confront with ATP and circulation-stimulating ingredients that trigger lymphatic water drainage as well as reduce noticeable exhaustion as well as puffiness," claims Alexandrides. The Health Club de La Mer-- La Mer's very first full-service treatment area in the UK, which opened this month in Harrods-- makes use of ice cubes in its trademark London Detoxification face to promptly cool down as well as lower puffiness. The oxygen level in your blood rises because of the oxygen-rich setting in the chamber.

The chamber is still loaded with air, but there is more Oxygen in the area. As you breath, you absorb extra power as well as life-giving oxygen. Your body pumps hormonal agents and also enzymes into the blood stream in order to advertise healing. The temperature level within the internal therapy chamber is even as well as managed temperature, taping a precise -100 ºC minimum, because that's the recognized threshold to cause thermal shock. Used by elite professional athletes and hailed as the ultimate in overall mind and body restoration, the Apogii Icelab is a twin-room chamber for an extreme 3 min adrenaline struck to supercharge your existing health and wellness as well as exercise programme.

What areas Can I Have treated With Cryotherapy, Fat Freezing Coolsculpting?

Backed by scientific research as well as utilized for centuries, cryotherapy motivates regeneration at a cellular degree as the body heals and also rejuvenates from within. Perfect for a pre-workout treatment as the rise in oxygen will certainly aid efficiency while post-workout, the healing homes will certainly boost healing as well as recovery.

Medical professionals need to know with cryosurgical methods when utilizing CryoIQ ®. Although not extensive, the table below consists of suggested freezing times as reported in the literary works. Face Lift 365 Lower Face Lift For Results Buckinghamshire website are vast arrays and also supply only a standard for factor to consider. Several popular facialists are now incorporating the concepts of cryotherapy into their in-salon treatments.

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You'll leave feeling both euphoric as well as revived after three minutes at -85 degrees. Eliminate pains and pains, get a much better evening sleep and also carry out at your optimal with a routine training course of sessions. Cryotherapy-- the concept of subjecting your body to sub-zero temperatures (as reduced as -90 levels) has gone beyond the fads to become a health pillar, with freezing skins appearing throughout the country. https://buckinghamshire.facelift365.co.uk/healthy-weight-loss-diets/ viruses in our blood, as with influenza etc . Cooling air to ice-cold temperatures is shown in physics to reduce oxygen particles by 33%.

The concept of place cryotherapy is based upon the temporary application of incredibly low temperature levels to a specific location of a patient's body. The technical advantages of our cryotherapy chamber consist of balanced awesome air distribution, which gives maximum client security for our clients and also has a number of safety functions. At The CryoLab we have services and products that can help with pain alleviation, enhanced blood flow as well as muscle mass healing - up-to 3 times quicker. If you're intrigued to find out how cryotherapy can help you reach your fitness objectives and also cant find the information on our web site, contact our group.

We give a variety of beauty services including slendering, toning and renovations making use of CryoSkin. This kills fat cells and increases oxygen supply, aiding in collagen production as well as leading to slimmer bodies and also the removal of great lines. For the testimonial procedure youmustprovide photos of 2D courses determined from the cryo-EM example under investigation which demonstrate additional framework. Failing to provide these data will indicate the proposal will certainly be returned and also not be thought about by the peer-review panel. The Coolstar array makes up some of the most flexible and also cost-effective Cryocoolers readily available today. The variety supplies fast cooling rates, lengthy solution intervals and also simple OEM integration.

Is ThermiVa safe?

Thermiva is an FDA approved treatment cleared for dermatological and general surgical procedures. It's a safe and effective procedure that can help restore your confidence and pleasure! You should also know sometimes there may be side effects associated with Thermiva.

Presenting the restricted edition Teresa Tarmey Cryo-Ball, allowing you to experience the Teresa Tarmey Ice-Lift face in the house. The Cryoball assists to immediately and considerably lift saggy as well as puffy skin, invigorate dull skin tones and form the face. Once a EVERY 2-3 DAYS is recommended yet if you remain in a time crisis you can worsen the therapies. When you go into the chamber, expect an immediate adrenaline thrill as your body makes a decision to choose fight or flight.

What is cryotherapy for VAG?

Cryotherapy uses extreme cold to kill abnormal cells. Doctors use it to remove genital warts and to treat cervical dysplasia, the growth of precancerous cells on the cervix. The cervix is the opening to the uterus located at the top of the vagina.

What Is Fat Freezing, Does It work, Is It Safe and Does The procedure Make You reduce Weight?

We can complete PSSR Inspections on pressure systems, and deal with you to enhance your gas and cryogenic capabilities. But as logistics as well as transport is not our raison d'etre, we have partnered with World Courier in order to use you the best solution possible. Globe Messenger, our company believe, are the best at temperature-controlled shipping, and also we would certainly favor to have your precious cells as well as samples in their capable hands for transport. We are licenced by the Human Cells Authority for storage space of cells and also human cells examples. In order to please the HTA, we had to prove that we comprehended the procedures, procedures, as well as procedures required for safe as well as protected storage space by developing a detailed QMS. Our added experience with various other temperatures, our nitrogen knowledge, pressure systems, SiVL pipework, as well as gas discovery implies that we can draw on others' abilities as well as present you with a really helpful solution. Cryo Storage Solutions can supply you risk-free as well as protected cryogenic as well as -80 ° c sample storage facilities.

We always give an one-on-one consultation prior to any type of therapy.

Hormone therapy is in some cases provided for two to three months before HIFU.

Compared with various other therapies, we don't referred to as much about the danger of adverse effects or exactly how well it operates in the longer term.

You might likewise have the ability to have various other treatments after HIFU if your cancer cells returns, such as surgery or radiotherapy.

If you have a huge prostate, you could be used other treatments prior to you have HIFU.

It may be suitable for men that have prostate cancer that needs dealing with in more than one area of their prostate.

You might have the ability to have HIFU once more if your cancer returns after your very first HIFU treatment.

This can make the prostate smaller sized, and also make the cancer simpler to deal with.

The Cryo Facial treatment is our reveal facial, excellent for lunchbreaks or when you're short promptly. This lasts for approximately minutes dependent on the moment you have offered.

We'll enjoy to discuss your options and existing you with a customized therapy programme. This new capability will increase novel understandings right into human health and also condition as well as attract the world's most gifted scientists to collaborate with the leading colleges in the area. Whilst the equipment will feature the body and also face deals with that you need to get you going, outstanding results can be achieved with the coloured LED deals with which can be purchased independently. The different wave lengths in the different coloured lights in combination with the cold cyro treatment get faster results for your consumers for particular areas which will be much longer lasting.

Does This Mean men can Not get Cellulite?

The suffix "cryo" is originated from the Greek "kryos" which indicates ice-cold. This method was birthed in America, thanks to researchers at Massachusetts General Hospital and also Harvard College.

What is vaginal tightening?

Vaginoplasty is a procedure that aims to "tighten up" a vagina that's become slack or loose from vaginal childbirth or aging. Some surgeons claim it can even improve sensitivity -- a claim the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) has strongly challenged.

Our Whole Body Cryo by Zimmer is an expert elite sport degree, twin-room chamber that provides the most advanced and also exceptional therapy. The secret to providing optimum therapy is to take the skin on the body to an even 5º as quickly, as pleasantly and as securely as feasible. As soon as this is achieved a physiological impact called thermal shock occurs and the therapy begins. From immune improving, healing and also stress administration to boosted energy degrees and also rest patterns, this will certainly come to be the one therapy you can not get enough of.

Nutrient as well as oxygen-rich blood encourages recuperation and also regeneration at a mobile level as well as the body heals and revitalizes from within. The twin chamber layout warranties that the temperature level does not dip as the door is opened continually. The pre-room, where you acclimatise to the chilly, is maintained at -60 ºC . Just this space opens to the treatment room and also shields the core temperature level of -110 ºC. Our twin-room chamber system is set to two various temperature levels, -60 ° C as well as -110 ° C which allows body to slowly adjust to the chilly setting. During the session you will put on headband, face mask, handwear covers socks, shoes, sports bases and also sports bra where suitable. The uniform is provided yet you are more than welcome to bring your own.