#he had one one season a leather coat and a dream but he made history

[n3arell-art]

he’s fantastic, absolutely fantastic

[serialjune]

The Betty Boop Continuum, ch. 1

George

    Sandra twisted my mind in no way any woman ever had before. She'd torment me, hardly speaking, barely moving, her face concealing the bad news. There's only one woman like that in every man's life and possibly only one woman, period, Sandra. I suppose you can't be yourself all the time and, at one point or another, the adversary is going to capitalize on that inconsistency, making a fool of you for the ages. I always thought history had such a soft-hearted and coy way of putting social rejection: left out in the rain, beaten away with a broom, cartoon acts of glib violence and a parable featured at the end. There's nothing soft hearted about Quartown. A couple of romances here and there, the vanishing voice of a Cuban enchantress, a secret shared only by the ends of the Earth, where the Atlantic meets the Pacific. And I always have to ask, embracing the sea in this romantic mode, would I go back to that place? Where seashores yearned for inexperience, that lust for life, mythically our own, but never really. Neither ancestors, either.

    I wanted to get away, by night, where I could join the descendents who might take me from this cruel place. I needed some benign fool to warm my saucer with the tender rays of mutual acceptance. If that meant deforming into a sack of skin, I wouldn't mind. Conquistadors before me would, at times, keel to their own cruelty and settle for a savage, only to learn that the savage, too, cannot digest stupidity any more than his own kin might. The priestly elder, coat of arms, no more kindly when he taps the staff of exile. I took a skinny bitch in shades, from the tanning booth, to be the hallmark of decadence both my grandpa and myself could take euphoria from: beauty for an age, eclipsed by a moment's desire. Evil, all evil, not mine, but someone else's: how it is all like a game of hot potato, taken to the bitter end, where the can goes rattling down the line.

    Lately my anxiety had grown like a mazey vine of tangles, right out of my seat, a fire down under. All these girls, even before Sandra, had this remarkably cheap way of applying mascara and it somehow made them look like Goddesses. Not Greek. Polynesian, maybe. Babylonian. A cascading yellow face illuminated by the bronze emission of a city bus: unconventional, but pretty. The universal smell of wine and beer, especially where it does not belong... she'd come from the wreckage looking pure, untouched by her own environmental conditioning. Such scenes, such racoon looking smears of makeup, all tribute to the one and only lost soul, the orchid, the phony. Why did everyone love beer so much? Disarray, disorder, aesthetics of contradiction and disgusting portraiture. I know that's the ticket for me, but for everyone else, too? Just never thought the old working stiffs had it in them, maybe we weren't sharing the same drink... somehow always reminding me of her. I raced to drunkenness, raping her with the very presence of my disfigured mind. She always saw right through me like an x-ray. To lose it all in one gesture of over-confidence. I never was the type to lose my head, in love or peace time, but for her, I'd not go gently into that good night... And now bathrobes and chintzy leather, braids and robotic forms of masculinity shuffle around the corridor, as I wallow dead in my failure to organize a plan. 

Sandra

    So then we watched Adventure Time for four seasons straight, refusing to eat and drunk on love to the point of hangover. Hey, it's embarrassing, but it's what really happened. Oh, love, that relapse of the animalian will. 

    Teagan (who's name really sounded more like "Teenager") manage to save two bong rips over the course of six hours, all night. Every tiny bump startled him to the point of jumping. It looked remarkably silly, to see a man with a beard that Paul Bunyan could have only dreamed of, afraid like a little boy. The beadiness of those black eyes caused me to frantically worry about things his alter-ego might do, if suddenly enabled by a switch. As a woman, I knew to keep my panic hushed and plan for my escape later. 

    On a scale of 1-100 (with 100 being "party planet" and 1 being "sometimes I still see my neighbour", I'd say the present year of 202x was at about 50%). I was having good thoughts for an alarming amount of time, then my dad walked in and ruined the chill vibes immediately. He came at me, saying all this about,  

 "I play the fool just to build you up into playing the seer. Young people cannot see how lucky they are, if not for this one fact: parents act as step ladders for their minds," 

    And my brain tried its hardest to reject that thought. It was like KFC, Skittles and Pepsi, during the Superbowl, were electrocuting my mind with their rainbow crest of intrusion. In that moment, I could have told you that I wanted it all in me. Yet how little that was to ask, Pepsi, KFC and Skittles. Corruption is a part of getting older, after all. Maybe believing that for so long led me here, amongst the beer stains and bong water debris. This living room was a temple to the devil, an unbearable chamber of death to any person not "in" on the filthiness. I'd joke around, thinking about a maid coming into this and neatly feather dusting as if she didn't see a thing. People could not believe my dad taught us to drink at 14. He had deeply Catholic suspicions.

    And then there was George. He'd walk in the door at about 11, or so, and his onlookers would hysterically ask of his present state, worrying to no end that he might be in trouble. I believe this challenged his patience to some degree. Sometimes he'd arrive at 2am and no one would bat an eye. He'd take off his blue Northface, take a bath, and the calm he felt was enviable. No one knew why he rented a room here, but that's like so many autistic adults. My theory is that "the machine" mistakes them for pot smoking, metaphysical detective burnouts. The truth couldn't be any more ambiguous.

    I used this moment to make my escape. I could not stop thinking about the country life and how much I missed and adored that old world. All countries are the same country anyways, and I miss mine as much as Wordsworth's (a "friend" of my dad.) The return to the country, that would solve everything. All this would end. No more thought, no more worry. Those trees could do the heavy thinking for me, absorbing it all. I missed the countryside so much, so much. Friendly aliens and untouched night crystals, so unlike human terrain. It made me cry to imagine. Slyvia Plath was an idiot for sticking her head in the oven and not the lilacs.

Teegan

    I remember thinking how extremely hot Sandra looked with that wire frame. She could have been a mommy from the start, all right. I bought chocolates that looked like seashells and left them out for her. I was going to show her, tonight, how to catch a firefly, then sneak in for the perfect kiss. Instead, George and I got stoned and he seemed instantly freaked out. I put mushrooms in our joints, but mostly his. I didn't think that it was wrong, or anything. He clearly was a bit of a badass. His lack of concern made it so. Blowing his mind one more time wouldn't hurt. Five minutes in, he said it tasted like dirt and that the dirt in the ground was making him accept the dirtiness of all things around him. It's these kinds of things that made me think this guy was the best, the kind of guy you have to take to a party. He yelled at me like Patton when he was angry and I respected that. We watched Blade, with Wesley Snipes, and one of our sparks flew so far that no one could see where it ended up. Dave Holster (Sandra's dad) would have believed me if I told him that the spark travelled to a different dimension. Dave watched drone footage of UFOs and recorded the videos to his iMac, where he'd show the equipment to a church home group. I never went or anything, I just borrowed his microphone from time to time. Our new band, "Eeyore's Sorry", was about to make a tribute album to our friend who's mom was raped by her dad to make her into an embryo. Dave told me that God makes solid on his promises, sooner or later, and that his daughter playing PS5, without bitching, was an example of a modern miracle, as well.

    So George left, I think stoned off the mushroom surprise. Feeling good, he'd gone to get soda from the 50 cent machines outside Safeway. The dude was told to go get pickles and I think it was a fool's errand, put on by the girls. The same girls couldn't wait for Giorgio Armani to release their new line of eyelash extensions (at midnight) and I wonder if any of them, except for the two Chloes really, truly cared. I left a note, expressing this, under their door and snuck off like a vampire. When George came back, they told him he needed to get Cumberland's pickles. I don't know what gives them such a hard-on for "Cumberland's Pickles". They were going to subject him to this errand, with no explanation! Those two girls I mentioned a moment ago insisted. Stuff like this makes me want to pour gasoline and light a fire... I wouldn't even try and do it for the insurance.

    George looked like Wittgenstein, wearing his cuffed up blazer. His frazzled moustache made him out to be the most straggely, poetic stoner possible. The guy huffed and puffed traffic fumes and dreamed of living in the mall's scaffolds. His room had knife marks all over the walls and the door, I think he couldn't find a dart board online that he felt like spending money on. While he was out to get pickles, the guy left his phone on dead and, unable to tell the time, made it to the store late. I think he DoorDashed the pickles from a gas station, right to the store, and then came home late with Grandma's Fresh (not Cumberland). He told me that he had impulsively bought a whole tray of pre-cooked chicken and left 3/4ths of it at somebody's apartment complex, murmuring something about,

"A waste of $15..."

Natya

    I was living with my boyfriend for what felt like several months by now. He was the barfly and I was his bartender. We'd put on this charade of two people, cordial as hell, taking up the world stage. There was no temptation. It was wonderful in a completely unsustainable way. Minestrone soup sat on the counter top with a bone hemmed into the skin. The epic orchestration from, "The Fox and the Hound," seeped into the kitchen stench and the sogginess of this bun reminded me of the work sponsored luncheons of the past. I hated work with the force of flaming arrows and only ever wanted it to exist in relation to when my parents got home from their jobs.

    The truth is, with or without my boyfriend, my life had been going on like this, well, since it started. The harsh winds and unforgiving tundra of reality was bogging me down and my mood had gone downhill since I was a baby. It says, once, in the Book of Mark, that Jesus cursed a fig tree after it refused to make figs for him, and that says it all. My job was to play old reels of Loreal shampoo commercials for new shareholders. I would typically light a cigarette and babysit and wait as they watched the same old films. If a setting or a nob needed fixing, the eyebrows on the old geezers' faces would tarnish and convey sudden outrage. I hated my life and I began to spend every cent of my savings on makeup and accessories I didn't deserve. I was hastening to become just like my mother and my habits were just as peculiar-seeming. I found a master tape for the "waiting in line" music, shared by all Sanderson & Son corporation sub-companies. This became my driving music almost every day. My soul felt exhumed and stretched beyond the corners, diving so far and so fast into the months that passed like hours. My kids were once very happy just to watch TV. They'd watch so much TV and I'd grow so old. If I died of a fever, they'd still be watching TV. I just wanted to skip it all. Skipping and skipping and skipping.

    I saw the ideal life as a sterilized and tidied space. My boyfriend saw it more as a tangled outgrowth of spontaneous elixirs. My father saw it as fathoming the insignificance of it all so that one could be truly free. Last New Year's, I stayed at a YA hostel and watched all the couples come together (just to break apart again). Soon, everything would be the "same as ever", and all the "goodness" that Christmas wasn't would leave out the door, just as the couples had. My only friends, now, are the tracings of the lost souls I encountered over the years. My only solace: the vastness of my mouth and how I could live inside it, like a shellfish. Tomorrow was supposed to be one degree warmer out. Was my life a curse or was this really the last stop?

    My boyfriend watched with eyes like needle nose plyers. He would think, similarly, about the glacial melting of grand father figures, things slowly breaking up. Knowing everyone would leave him in the end, he'd oscillate between pure kindness and the positive desire to shoot everyone, like a proud Leninist. If everyone was dead, the memories he had of everyone would live. There was always Teegan's place, but I felt above group homes, trap houses, whatever you wanted to call them. I was invited one night to hang out for the Armani sales event, because the one sister, who was probably into crack, decided ovular sunglasses would be her salvation. I guess, maybe, I wasn't so different, in allowing myself to sharply dive into fate, like this.

George, March 13 [in real time]

    You know that floorboard in old houses that feels like mulch? That texture was the scene around here: fibrously connected, damp and simple. Anyone could come in and be anyone. I once listened to this guy, Jason, talk about driving major sized HEMIs off three storey ramps set on the highway. At the same time, Jason's brother would be strung out, not even listening, as Jason lied about him in the story. This band called Chrome played and a sales agent named Tracey kept trying to knock on the door. Just to fuck with her, I told her I was the land lady and she'd have to undo my bathrobe to confirm the sex. I'd never seen anyone so persistent to sell a house, she completely ignored my joke and continued trying to ram her services through the door. I guess the landlord had been trying to sell the place, this group home where all sorts of randoms and fandoms coalesced. If there was ever a sudden eviction notice, nobody cared or paid much attention. It made sense that our Chinese landlord, Ching, wouldn't consult everyone beforehand. I guess this meant we'd need to be packing our stuff. Teegan had his clothes and furniture in garbage bags, at the curb already. That dude was like a Ho Chi Minh of moving between places. Nevermind you, the garbage bags were protruded with sharp edges and panelling, metal from the TV stand to the pipes he installed in the rooftop (he'd be taking them, as they were, "technically his"). The kid came from one of those small lake towns, outrageous hillbilly. I could hear him, right now, recording snaps of himself, saying,

"Don't touch my ass when you come over baby?!"

    And it was unreal enough for my great grandmother to have a laugh. My great grandmother lived in Okinawa for many years and was a transient in the Garden Scene for twenty years. After she left, her slogan became, "Love is All You Need," and a dilapidated shelving unit, with the words inscribed, proved it. Truth is, she was an influence on my neo-Catholic identity. I rejected sex, love and all the rest and found truth in becoming a zealot behind the scenes. The more I smoked, the more I became the cigarette and it turns out no one outsmarts the cigarette.

    Sandra had moved out years ago, Jason started a new life running a pumpkin patch (but I may have missed the sarcasm when he originally said that.) The more and more my greatest and truest and realist friends fled from the scene, the more this house became a sty. I read House of Leaves and couldn't get through 100 pages before realizing that this wasn't about me. I looked out the window of Natya's "second room" (she claimed a second, after Dylan moved) and thought I saw a turkey sandwich outside, out there. A few moments passed and I decided to retrieve it.

    I couldn't stop overthinking about the contents of my pockets. I shuffled, readjusted and gained control, before finally leaving the door, secure and one person. In the wild, twisted twilight, I knew that the war was over. I went over to the sandwich and a giant dog zoomed at me. I couldn't believe what was happening (maybe because of my ADD), but I thought he just wanted the sandwich. When I came to my senses, after many moments I would rather forget, hitting and kicking, I had a painful scar on my head and could feel an angel looking after me, like I was a small babe in the world. All this was easy to rub off. What wasn't was the inevitability of losing control like that in a serious situation. I could go off like a gun, join the infantry, and yet all this fiery dispassion never made sense in the context of my very tepid grasp on life. 

    Inside, everyone was watching old Japanese commercials and wearing overblown lounge wear, one of the newer roomies even in a golf polo. These guys would one day be my best friends, but that's another story for another time.

Natya, same day

    My mother had bought Christmas presents for three of her friends the year before and I had somehow wound up with all three of them. Actually, I took them for myself rather thoughtlessly. One was a "rocket notebook" and I had this romantic vision that I'd become an accounting assistant overnight with it. I felt embarrassed, now, seeing all the entries about, "butt still tight after workout" (who'd I think I was, Anne Charlotte Robertson?). I had a tab left open asking me if I wanted to continue applying for the role of "Cake Decorator".

(The night I wrote down my workout at the reception area at the Hyatt, a man approached me and asked if I knew who Chantel Ackerman was. As I hesitated to recite just one of her films, y'know, the famous one, he screamed an inch from my face and said I had to be on it. I thought that was a ridiculous gesture, but I took it seriously by pretending he was a Maltese who'd been through it all).

    Anyhow, dispensable as it were, nothing could change last night and how I got married and basically saw my entire future in one molly excursion. While I fumbled around the haphazardly named "Broadway St.," it was like I could have actually been in New York. I had no sense of whether I would miss my job and I didn't care either. I was growing up way too fast and the little pinion of my heart had to make it slow down. I did not fear missing out, I did not even fear turning into a late-Cookie Mueller. My impulsive decision to get married was part of a project to let go and play with the elements of my life like a fingerprinting. Somehow I felt too embarrassed to really preach it, but my shiny shoes, buckling together, knew the secret, all too well.

    This little village of houses on Emerald Grove sang out, and I could hear the patchwork of people, now living, in that choir. I remember fiddling around, for the first two hours of the trip, with a ballerina in a music box and, oh, how it spoke to me... The bijou fragility, the possibility that I could be on top of the silver globe like that. The neighbours' screaming baby was the reminder that all this would end and there was nowhere to go anyway. I was rolling by myself and George was playing something on the Wii, where the Miis would clap and spectators would slowly drop out. I felt so stupid watching him with the biggest, twisted smile on my face. Yet, I felt cute, knowing I was cute. He could have been my bigger brother, my first crush, the president and all he had to do was swing that Wiimote that he, truly, wanted nothing to do with. All was an object of my attraction, written in an arcane universe, just for me. 

    When I called home, to see if my dad would notice me, they were watching Ed Sullivan re-runs and I could hear through the tube,

"Tonight... We have a very special announcement. Now, I want everyone to hear this and I want no one backing out. It's extremely important that everybody in America year this message...,"

    And I could hear my mom whispering,

"Yessss," at the end of Ed's sentences. I didn't even understand what they were watching, quite, but I knew her hands were raised up and all of them, in there, would be shooting at the red scare, soon enough.

    I asked my dad for one inspirational quote that would summarize his life's teachings and, with his old farmer's face, he spoke,

"Eat your peas," shaking. And I thought,

"Oh dad, how could you give into whatever that is..."

    Love had long passed me by and was now whirring around the subway system at supersonic intervals, turning 'round Giza and passing through Bombay, and again. As these very thoughts gargled around in my head a while, I felt like an old lady, knitting away. The way it was: the way it had been. Out of time, out of sight. I was going to be very late for work. Think they'd fire me? I asked the boy sitting next to me and he looked sternly in his ill-fitting headphones. People I loved kept messaging me on Facebook messenger and I rudely swiped away the notifications. Love was all around, the jittery and empty city meant nothing. Everything was yoga and I always had myself to do a twirl, if ever in doubt that anyone would be around. Alison by Slowdive kept scrobbling on my phone despite the fact I was listening to Nephilim.

[readinginthereadyroom]

let’s talk about bela talbot and how truly the narrative let her down in time is on my side (spn 3x15). because you see, bela could’ve been spn’s feminist manifesto. in fact, she should’ve been.

bela’s been in a handful of eps this season. great, fun eps. working both with and against sam and dean. she’s a mirror to the pair of them. hunting down supernatural artifacts and selling them. a hunter, in her own way. only she does it for money.

and that’s supposed to be the morality play. sam and dean, virtue incarnate, do the “job” for free. they would never stoop so low as to be paid in cold hard cash. and to prove their meekness, their humble sacrifices, they squat in abandoned homes or stay in rundown motels.

get over yourself spn. the family business is literally revenge. john upends his kids lives, teaches them to hunt and kill, periodically abandons them, and ruins their whole lives so he can find the demon that killed his sainted wife.

so really, what’s so wrong with bela asking for a living wage? for one, it’ll keep her off the fbi radar. she can then actually do her job, rather than spend all her time laying low from the authorities. sam and dean can’t say the same.

and sure, she lies and steals. so do sam and dean. they repeatedly pose as various law enforcement officers and run credit card fraud to stay afloat. lie meet steal.

now that we’ve established that bela is basically the same as sam and dean. here is the bitter pill spn forces us to swallow. bela’s history.

she tells dean he knows nothing about her. and it’s true. glaringly true. because when dean does learn about bela’s abby’s childhood, he misses one crucial piece of information. everyone does. because it’s obvious that bela never told anyone.

actually, let me amend that. I’m sure 14-yr-old bela did tell someone about her father. about what he did. hell her mother probably knew.

and no one listened to her.

I know this because she proceeds to never tell anyone again. let’s people think she killed her parents. that their mysterious car accident was for the express purpose of getting their millions. and that her artifact-hunting is just more greed.

most importantly, she doesn’t tell dean. but we, the audience, have to see it in a bela-centric flashback. we know exactly what happened. why she made that deal. why she had no other choice. why we even applaud her for it.

but again, dean doesn’t know. bela admits, with minutes on the clock and dean breathing vitreol down the landline, that she should’ve. should’ve trusted them, asked for help. worked together.

but even then. at the end of her world. she keeps her secret. let’s dean think the worst of her. because no one has ever listened before. and why would dean be any different? after all, it’s not like the entire hunting community doesn’t know about the winchesters. their history. bela’s smart. she knows that in dean’s eyes she’s commited the greatest sin a person could. killing your parents. your family.

and in many ways it’s not dean’s fault. he was brought up to hold family—esp dead family members—above everything else. to top it off, dean *remembers* a time before the YED, before mary’s death, when john would scoop him off the ground with laughter, would tuck him in at night, would love him unconditionally. it’s a version of john that dean clings too—decades after that version is gone.

so yeah, what he thinks bela did. what he assumes are her motives. those are anathema to him.

to make matter worse, dean makes no move to dig deeper into the information rufus gave him. a man he only just met. who is apparently willing to sell bela out for a bottle of whiskey. once again proving that bela can’t trust anyone. with anything. let alone a secret like the one she’s carried this last decade.

and now for the final salt in the wound. the what-ifs spn were idk...good? and didn’t kill off all early seasons women?

bela telling dean what really happened. why she had to make that deal. how no one ever helped—so she helped herself. dean being shaken to his core. the emphasis on the message that the monster of the week (a dr frankenstein and frankenstein’s monster all rolled into one) that would’ve sent.

that humans are the worst monsters.

can you imagine? bela and dean bonding over their shared traumas. teaming up on hunts. bela teaches them sophistication and helps them network. sam helps her research. dean trains her in new weapons.

and the closer their friendships become the more bela shares with sam and dean. how she uses her money to help fund women’s shelters and children’s programs. how she only resells artifacts that are basically harmless. how the worst ones—the ones to do evil with—stay locked up in her private collection. safely off the market.

eventually she meets ellen and jo. they adopt her immediately. and then we have a proto wayward sisters all the way back in season 3. of course, in this version there is still a roadhouse. and ash is still alive and kicking. surrounded by these fierce independent women who love and protect him.

and dean and sam too. they are constant visitors. stopping by with cases or for holidays or for no reason at all. their unofficial headquarters. because their unofficial home is at bobby’s. after all they’ve had rooms there since they were kids.

isn’t it beautiful? this feminist manifesto version of spn? where the author/father/god is swept under the rug by the writer/mother/goddess? where sam and dean are the american dream of untoxic masculinity. driving around the midwest in their vintage car and leather coats. hunting monsters and monstrous people. saving humans and humane monsters.

the family business.

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen - Davey’s Dream

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar Lookee here I’m on a roll.

Davey is walking down the long hallway, the one with the green wallpaper dark against the luxuriant mahogany of the baseboards, the one with the photos of grandmother and grandfather and Aunt Eugenia, the one with the little table and the taxidermied barn owl that used to frighten him when he was small. 

The hallway seems longer than it ought to be, and he feels very small and far away.  He is looking for mother and father and Lydia.  With the way the light has gone, Lydia should be at the piano, plunking away with her small fingers.  He teases her, when mother is not around, that she isn't very good - but in private, when no one is around, he thinks she must be very patient.  Davey has never had the temperament for the piano, but he likes to hear her practice, and when her fingers are as long as mother's it will probably be lovely to hear. 

Where is Lydia, with her dark hair caught up by a fat pink bow - her favorite - at this honey-lit hour, if she is not sitting diligently at her piano?

Where is mother, if not mending a shirt that he has probably torn running around, like a wild-man, in the garden? 

Where is father, down the long, dark hallway, with the beautiful Persian rug that unrolls like a panther's tongue and turns his footsteps into whispers?  Why does the light simmer and roil, and why are the walls hot, and the smell of father's pipe so bright in his nostrils? 

Davey is walking down the hall, trailing his fingers on the dark paper that smudges away like water, as if he had dipped his fingers into the fish-pond in the garden to watch the koi, orange and red and gold, come up and beg for corn and bread-crumbs.  Davey is walking down the hall and looks back to see how far he has come, and the swiftness of the setting sun has ate it up in shadow and the smell of the pipe-smoke is very sharp.  The lamps on the wall seem to tremble.  Their kerosene hearts brighten, like a breath of autumn.

But their long dark hallway has electrics.  They have had electrics since the spring time, when father was so pleased, let him sit and bother the workmen with a hundred questions instead of sitting testily at history and grammar.  He had liked to flip the switch, on off, click flick.  Mother scolded him not to play with the lights, but it was not like matches or candles, she only found it, as Aunt Eugenia might have said, a tiring thing. 

Why do the lights breathe in the long dark hallway, when they have had electrics since the spring time, and the sun set hours ago, and he is in his nightclothes, and where is mother, where is father, where is Lyddie -

He is kneeling on the wide green lawn, the one that slopes down to the edge of the late, and the boiling sky is as bright as the last half-hour before dawn, and the house is a mouth of ragged flame and molten teeth.

Davey tumbles from the long green hallway to the wide green lawn, screaming, in his nightclothes in the smothering air, screaming.  The house sighs and sags and bends inward, and the heat rises to slap his cheeks like a fever.

When the house keels into itself and the timbers shriek like a rabbit in a snare, something opens inside his chest, something like a trapdoor, and he falls headlong into it, and the screaming doesn't stop.

In the awesome breadth of the dark there is nothing to stop his spinning. His breath is hot and his lungs are heavy. 

In the cold and ashen space where there was a house he spirals down a single, pulsing spark.

"Son."

A man in a coat the color of new moon night opens a doorway in a house that isn't there. 

"Son, wake up."

A man younger than his father, dark hair spilling from its pomade grip, a face wreathed in sweat and eyes like the sound the seasons make as autumn fades and snaps into winter.  A man he doesn't know but knew before, coming down the long dark hallway in black boots.

"You hear me, son?"

Something tethers Davey to the earth, to the good trees and the sun-baked bricks.  The screaming is only breath and squeaks on his tight lips, and he finds himself in a bed in a big, warm, kind room that echoes with the murmurs of young men who are not very much older than himself, a long and winding history of young men who travel here like tendrils of sun and falling ash.

Birch, that's the name.  A man younger than his father, much younger than the trampled grass and wide oak floorboards ask him to be, sits on the side of the bed, and the man's name is Birch.

Men who are really only boys, their eyes wide enough to belong to brothers, huddle and whisper. 

"What's all the racket, then, little fellow?" Asks one.

"Aye, what ye mean to wake us up from a sound sleep?"

"Was no sound, was Bertram snoring."

"Nah snoring.  Ye shouting, little fella."

Birch, whose shirt needs mending, as if he hasn't got a mother around to fix his collar for him, grouses at the lads around him.  "Knock off, knock off."

Every day since his insides turned to ash, Davey has woke up alone.  There are too many faces here, too many pairs of curious, concerned eyes. 

"Screaming, little fella.  What ye screaming for?"

Davey's heart pounds and he looks to Birch, Captain Birch, who sits with one leg stretched out in a contraption of steel and leather and sheepskin.  "Cap?" He whispers, then swiftly inhales.  That he has a voice at all - he had forgot he was not made of smoke and ash.  He is not all burnt out inside.  "Capper."

The line of Birch's shoulder tells the hollow dark a secret, and the little spark inside him hisses back: this man has seen his house fall, too. 

"Aye son.  Lads, knuckleheaded lads, get back to rest, all of ya'.  You mind him."

"Only teasing, Captain Birch."

"We'll mind him, Captain."

"Little fella, ye like the fiddle?  Bertram plays, when he ain't snoring."

"Betram, give us a tune.  Give us some night-time music."

"Captain?  All sound?"

"All for sound, Bertram.  Just don't keep him up the whole night."

The young men with their pillow-shocked hair and nightclothes and bare feet on the waxed oak floor shuffle off, and the tall, slim, yellow-haired Bertram pulls a violin so old it might be alive from beneath his bunk, and tests the strings, and eyes the bridge, and rosins the bow.  When he begins to play, when his fingers dance, Davey thinks of Lyddie, and how her sound stopped.  He begins to cry, which ought to make him feel like a baby, but he hasn't felt water on his cheeks since the roof caved in, since the screaming started. 

Birch lays an uncertain arm around his shoulders, less like a father or an uncle than a brother or a cousin, the one who picks you up and fixes your scrapes and smiles and says let's not tell auntie, at least, not everything.

You're alright, the arm says.  You woke up alone, too many times.  But you’re alright now.

Betram plays a sweet and hymnful tune, the kind of song wound up in an angel's music-box.

"Capper," he whispers.  He does not trust himself to do much more.  "Capper, could you tell me the story from the train again?  The one about the fireman, and the horse?"

"All right.  A long, long time ago, before there was a city, before there was even people thinking about a city, there was a man, and a horse..."

[anonthenullifier]

This Wasn’t What I Had in Mind

Title: This Wasn’t What I Had in Mind

Gift for: Carlye (@scarletphantom1704)

Rating: T

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: During a rendezvous with Vision, a seemingly innocent excursion forces Wanda to remember all she has lost.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996662

Prompt: I would love to receive a piece of fanart/or a fanfic of Vision comforting Wanda after a flashback, triggered by an ordinary object, and a panic attack in public. (MCU)

To Carlye: This was a fun but challenging prompt. I hope the story meets what you were wanting with the prompt :)

To Anya (@atendrilofscarlet), my beta, you are amazing! Thank you for reading so many versions of this in such a short time period and answering all my questions :D.

To everyone else, I hope you enjoy this too!

Made for the Scarlet Vision Exchange 2018!

It is freezing.  Wanda suspects the only reason the steam hovering in front of her face isn’t crystallizing is because of how rapidly she is sucking in the frigid air and then pushing it back out. It’s so cold her wool-gloved hands are buried deep in her coat pockets instead of seizing the opportunity of the moment and holding Vision’s hand. In lieu of intertwined fingers, their bodies are huddled, shoulders and hips practically glued together as they stare forward.

“Did you know,” he glances down at her, movements minimized to retain heat, “until today the coldest day in Sopot’s history was -2.5 degrees Celsius?”

She’s fairly certain the winters at the compound were comparable to now, possibly worse, yet the rush of air coming from the sea seems to banish all potential warmth, leaving just a gray, lifeless wraith of an afternoon. “Don’t tempt me with such balmy facts, Vizh.” What she assumes is a breathy laugh, though could easily be a shudder at the bite in the air, mingles with the crashing of waves against the embankment of ice along the shoreline. “You know, this really wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I did offer an alternative of staying in the hotel next to the radiator.”

Wanda cracks a smile at the specificity of the statement, his mind so vast and yet during their clandestine meetups it collapses to only reach out as far as what they are doing in the present, disregarding any subtext of a time further than now. “We’ll go back soon.”

A nod and a bump of his shoulder confirms his desire to do just that, “I believe that is for the best,” his voice shifts to being overly concerned, a tone that has been increasingly common for the past several weeks, “I do not believe it is in your best interest to develop pneumonia again.”

Wanda shrugs. In her opinion, the downsides of being sick were far outweighed by other factors. “Got you to stay with me for longer.”

“Yes,” a tiny smile sparks a small, welcomed ember in her chest, “though it also almost led to my discovery.”

“You act like Nat hasn’t pieced us together yet.” Sneaking around is never what either of them wanted as a basis of their relationship, which is why it was almost a godsend when Nat confronted her months ago. Anger mixed with disbelief and betrayal, but in the end was a hope, a guarded, questionable hope, one that allowed for an understanding to be reached that so long as Wanda was safe and checked in when required, she could be happy. Despite this, Vision still insists on never crossing paths with the other rogue Avengers. Likely worried that the pressure of lying about seeing four people would be too much. Giving vague and unhelpful answers to Ross about his time “searching” for her has already taken its toll on his demeanor, she’d never ask him to add to that responsibility. Wanda veers their thoughts from that particular topic, determined to make the most of their rendezvous. “When I started pestering Steve about a beach getaway, this wasn’t really what I meant.”

Vision glances down at her, then to the desolate stretches of sand, before finally settling his gaze on the angry, icy sea. “Though not ideal, tactically this is smarter. During the summer there are upwards of 2 million people in this city-“

“I know, Vision.” It’s been a hard set rule of Steve’s that they avoid peak tourism seasons when determining the locations each time they move around. Arguably large crowds could provide more cover, a greater chance to blend in, but it also means more eyes and cameras that might happen to upload one of their faces to Twitter or Instagram. That doesn’t mean Steve had to send her here in November--even September or early October would have less tourists and have the added bonus of potentially being warm enough for a proper beach vacation. “I just had it all planned out and it didn’t involve freezing our asses off.”

“Well,” he removes his hand from the safety of his pocket and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to nestle in the blissfully warm crook of his arm, “If it were warmer, what did you envision us doing?”

The images of such a dream flash through her mind, all nondescript as to the beach itself, given she had no idea where Steve would send her, but there are commonalities in all beach resort areas. “We would have woken up early,” a disbelieving wrinkle mars his forehead and she nudges him with her shoulder, “earlier than usual, at least. Maybe we’d grab breakfast and buy some snacks and then head to the beach to claim our spot before all the tourists descend.”

“So far we have been successful with your plan.”

Wanda regrets that they are outside because it means she can’t watch his irises spin in delight at the dryness of his sass, so she’ll have to settle for the slight, prideful smirk on his pale face. “Well if you want to continue with the plan, then slap on a speedo and dive right in.” The incredulous silence stretches out for several seconds. She can practically hear the gears in his eyes swishing while he figures out a response, his distaste of immodest clothing in public (for himself, personally. He believes everyone else can decide for themselves what is and is not comfortable to wear in public) is a topic they have discussed at length when she tried to get him to wear shorts over the summer. Wanda happily fills the continued silence, pushing the idea just a touch more by offering him the argument she had already crafted for his inevitable hesitation in the swimwear. “It’s what all the locals wear, you wouldn’t want to stand out.”

“I-” another long pause precedes the cautious, diplomatic cadence of his diverting words, “well it is really, um, an incredibly unfortunate happenstance for us to be here when it is so cold then.” Vision doesn’t allow room for her to comment further or persist in ribbing him on the matter. “What else, did you have in mind?”

“Well, after we had swam and enjoyed the sun,” the latter not even attempting to peek through the clouds for emphasis, instead remaining hidden in its own winter gloom, “we would walk the pier until we got to the end of it where there’s just the sea in front of us and the sun on the waves.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Wanda smiles at the warmth in his voice. “We’d watch the water, talk some more, I’d definitely kiss you-”

“That part of the plan can certainly still happen.”

“And then,” Wanda pulls her hand from its safehaven in her coat so she can wrap her arm around his waist, relishing the tightening of his grip in return, “we’d grab ice cream and go back to the hotel for some alone time before you have to leave.”

She can sense the wistfulness of his mind soaking in the imaginary sun and it almost makes the air around them feel a few degrees warmer. “Perhaps we can salvage some of it.”

“Oh?”

An enthusiastic, mesmerizing grin matches the brightness of his eyes as Vision looks down at her, “I believe there was an ice cream stand open not too far from here and,” he steps away from her and places his leather-gloved hands on her upper arms, “if I can manage to figure out the radiator, we can adjust the temperature in the room to allow for us to pretend it is summer.”

Wanda’s cheeks ache, possibly from the icy wind assaulting her face, but a more probable explanation right now would be the broadness of her smile, “Sounds perfect.”

The ice cream stand is harder to find than Vision’s plan suggested, their search leading them in a meandering labyrinth of cobbled streets and alleys as they investigate every building that has the same pink and brown ice cream cone sculpture. Eventually, after what feels like twenty stops, they come across a lone ice cream vendor.

Wanda’s image of this moment is different from reality, her memory filled with hot summer days and smiling faces handing her ice cream that’s started to ooze down the ridges of the cone, whereas the man shivering behind the glass case is mutely unimpressed by Vision’s very friendly, “ Dzień dobry*.”

A harsh, “What do you want?” is the reply. Wanda laces her fingers through Vision’s, noting the tension in his muscles and preparing for the talk they’ll have later, at how, because of his accent, among other things, he can never pass himself off as a native speaker wherever they are at. She thinks it’s kind of cute, his belief that he could ever mask his proper English accent to fit in, but she also sympathizes given her own experiences of trying (and failing) to not be an “other” in public after moving to New York.

To help with his attempts to blend in, Vision has started eating with her, treating his choices in food like he does everything else -- with a laser focus and a desire to be equitable to all options. What this invariably means is that he is about to ask about every single flavor, combo, sauce, and cone. Given Wanda already knows what she wants (it’s what she gets every time), she responds before Vision gets a chance to read any flavors, “Stracciatella.” A heaping cone is passed over the counter, her tongue happily running through the creamy, chocolate speckled heaven while her eyes turn to take in the tiny, ill-insulated building as Vision mulls over his choices.

It’s a basic ice cream store. The requisite signs about toppings and pictures of beaming beach goers in speedos (something she’ll kindly direct Vision’s attention to while they eat) lining the walls. There’s a section of the far wall with postcards and fading pictures with autographs. One catches her eye, a recollection of those faces surfacing though she can’t quite place it until she notices a melody in the air. The music is different from the usual happy, bubblegum pop of these places. The song playing from a speaker behind the glass case curves her lips up, the fast paced, punk sound unmistakable. This was one of Pietro’s favorites and she hasn’t heard it in a long time. Wanda makes a mental note to have Vision listen to Hladno Pivo later, even if he’ll dislike it, most likely critiquing the harshness of the vocals and the clashing of the instruments. “And what is this one?” Vision’s voice draws her attention back to the counter where he’s pointing at another flavor and the man, knuckles white around the ice cream scoop, is doing his best to not be annoyed at all the questions.

“ Kasztan, it’s uh,” the man waves the scoop as he searches for the word, then he snaps the fingers of his other hand, turning to Wanda, a congenial almost hopeful uptick in his voice as he switches languages, “kesten, ja?”

A tingling in her chest blooms at the question. “It’s um,” Wanda nods her head, trying to close out the song so she can focus on translating the word. “It’s,” the tingle grows into a claw, wrapping its digits around her ribs as bursts of fiery light erupt from her mind. She turns towards Vision, hoping his curious and bright eyes will do what they always do best: calm her. “It’s um chest-,” yet the words fumble out as her breath begins to fail her, the talons of remembrance puncturing her lungs,”-nut”.

Vision’s Interesting fades away, the movements of the ice cream vendor slowing as he spoons out a cone, but Wanda finds she isn’t really there anymore. Instead she is ten again, lungs spasming into coughing fits as she sucks in the fresh air. Pietro is at her side, hand clutching her own, pulling her each time he coughs to get the last of the dust from his body. You would think, after a bombing and numerous rescue missions, that someone would be helping two children in the street, and yet there are terrifying screams coming from the stretchers being carried out of the building that garner all of the attention from the medics and the bystanders. “Dođi,” Pietro tugs her hand but her feet stay firmly planted to the ground, eyes refusing to leave the hole in the building where their home used to be. “Dođi, Wanda, otišli su.**”

Eventually she budges, head hanging low as they wander the city, no one noticing them until a woman stops them several streets over. Pietro handles the conversation, Wanda’s mind far too lost to comprehend what is being said, something about if they need help or if they are hungry. Whatever is said leads to an ice cream cone shoved in her hand, her fingers begrudgingly scrunching around the paper wrapper. Why she has ice cream is a mystery, it’s not a hot day, it’s not a happy day, it’s not even a filling food after days trapped under a bed. A hand waves in front of her eyes, focusing her energy on the beaming, filthy face of Pietro, a beige hued mound of ice cream hovering at her mouth, “To je kesten***”

A frantically quiet, “Wanda?” dissolves Pietro’s smiling face.

Vision waves a hand through the air, brow etched with concern until she nods, swallowing down the rising bile at the memory, refusing to give in to it now, “Yeah?”

“Would you like to eat outside?” It’s not what he actually wants to ask her, not what is coursing through his mind or painted all over his disguised face, but to maintain their cover, it’s the best he has.

“Um,” Wanda stares at the beige ice cream cone in his hand, attempts to nod, but gets distracted by the room closing in, inch by inch, a subtle, unnerving minimizing of the space around her. A numbness spreads through her hands, one that is different than the flow of her powers, and it follows the rapid increase in her heart rate. Deep breaths should work, at least Vision always made her do it in the early days of their friendship. A steady inhale, hold for three seconds, and then an exhale. Repeat as many times as needed. Eyes, she can hear his voice in the distance, as if through a wall, need to be trained on one item. So Wanda looks straight ahead, only to see the damned cone and the trickle of ice cream oozing over the paper wrapper.

Pietro always ate his ice cream fast enough to not let it melt, no matter if they were ten, fifteen, twenty, he always ate it joyfully and quickly. And it was always the same flavor, he refused to eat any ice cream that wasn’t chestnut, they even learned which parlors carried the flavor, on which days, and who they could convince to give them either a free cone or a discounted one. He should be holding that cone right now.

The trickle of despair dripping into her soul suddenly turns into a downpour and she can feel the bullets ripping through his body, her knees ache at the cuts from when she fell--lost, confused, and angry. Years had passed, literal years without Pietro, and she had coped, survived, learned how to move on, yet she needs him back. Desperately wants that constant, to feel his mind, hold his hand. Wanda’s body starts to shake. She closes her eyes, clamping out the image of the cone, breathing in deeply again and again, though it becomes more difficult, the absence of Pietro too much, her soul torn asunder day after day after day without him. She no longer even has the Avengers, doesn’t have the compound, can’t count on Vision to always float through her wall, or get the shit beat out of her at training to distract her. The world hates her, half her former teammates hate her, she’s a wanted fugitive with no prospect of salvation. Much like when she was ten, clutching Pietro’s hand, eating ice cream. Only he’s not here anymore.

Her chest burns, breaths shallow and labored as the world seems to dissolve, the past mixing with the present, taunting her with a blank and empty future, and she can’t determine if she’s ten, if she’s falling with Sokovia, if she’s sleeping in a shelter with Pietro’s arms around her, if she’s back at the compound listening to the soothing lull of an English accent, or if she’s in Poland on a freezing day eating ice cream with her undercover boyfriend.

Only Pietro ever fully understood her when she spoke of separating from reality like this, of getting lost in the sea of memory, where each wave crashing down brings only more confusion. Wanda is falling now, a weightlessness overtaking her, and she closes her eyes as she feels her home plummet from beneath her, heart shattered and body empty, accepting her fate to join Pietro, wherever he went.

There is a feeling of movement, not of free falling, but hovering, her eyes cracking open long enough to see the world morphing around her: walls dropping away, the wind picking up around her head, stirring her hair, her legs swinging freely. There is motion and there is sound, words muffled and muddled so that she isn’t sure if people are screaming for help in the hell of flames, demanding why they are being asked to leave their homes, taunting her on the streets, calling her a criminal and a witch, or even just asking if she is okay. Her senses function like a kaleidoscope, shifting and rotating so that each combination of stimuli produces bursts of distorted experience that masks what exactly is happening or where she is. Wanda closes her eyes tighter, time slipping through her grasp, her fingers grabbing at the strands of her life, instead scrunching into the fabric of whomever is holding her-- maybe it’s Pietro, guiding her to wherever he’s been; maybe it’s Vision saving her from falling with Ultron’s carcass; maybe it’s the guards securing her after another flare up of her newly gifted powers; maybe it could even be her mother, cradling her after a night terror.

There is a chiming and then the world stops moving.

“Wanda?” A voice reaches out to her, calm though fraying at the edges. “Wanda.” Lavender fills her nose and a sweltering heat cocoons her. “Wanda, it is all right.” The ground under her sinks and creaks. Wanda flexes her fingers, digging her nails into a stiff fabric and a fluffy foundation. “Wanda, I made you tea.”  

She opens her eyes a sliver, just enough to confirm she is on a bed, noting a blurry patch of crimson not too far away. A sound attempts to come from her mouth, but her throat is parched, unwilling to function more than a croaked, “Vizh?”

A hand runs through her hair, each stroke diminishing the thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “I am here, Wanda.” It’s enough to vanquish most of the confusion, solidifying which reality she is currently in, yet still her body sinks under the weight of Pietro’s continued absence. “Do you want to discuss it?”

They established a routine in the early months of being Avengers, back when she was still figuring out who he was and what she was after everything, back before she could kiss him whenever she wanted, before she could slip into his mind at any given time, before he held her in a way that wasn’t just for comfort. It’s been a long time since they’ve used it, but clearly he remembers. Step 1: Neutralize the chance of public detection, Step 2: Utilize the calming principles of lavender and chamomile tea. Step 3: Offer to talk. “I-” Wanda tries to sit up but he lightly presses her down, crawling into the bed next to her so that their eyes are level. The gears are back, whirling in a frenzy that clashes with his overall calm demeanor. There’s so much to say, so much of it has already been said, countless times and honestly, she has no desire to talk about all of it again, can’t help but feel embarrassed at still having panic attacks like this. “Kesten was Pietro’s favorite flavor.”

“I see.” All of his empathy and apologies (ones for not being able to stop it sooner, for not being able to save Pietro, for not being able to take this pain away, for them being forced to moonlight as a couple) are wrapped into the two syllables along with a firm, nonjudgmental understanding that she doesn’t want to talk. “Would you like to try muscle relaxation?”

Wanda wants to know who all saw her attack, witnessed her crumbling facade, whether it attracted too much attention, if someone caught a picture and uploaded it somewhere. But he’s already moved them to Step 4: Regain control. Wanda decides to play along knowing there should be plenty of time to interrogate him as to what danger she placed them in. “That sounds nice.”

Unlike all the other times he did this at the compound, Vision wraps his arm around her, placing a chaste, loving kiss to her forehead before starting the process. “We will start with your hands.”

The first time he had her do this, she felt ridiculous, challenged him on it and refused for a time. Eventually he convinced her which soon transformed into her hoping he’d recommend this technique, as it allowed her more time with him and a chance to purposely place all of her attention on his voice. “Ready.”

“Focus on your fingers,” she wiggles them, brushing his stomach in the process, “I am glad you found them.” The smile is easily detected in his tone, but fades quickly as he instructs her. “Now focus on each hand individually, first squeeze your fingers into a fist, noting the tension," Wanda nestles into his chest, following his instructions, bending the fingers of her right hand into a shaking fist.  "Good, now ease your fingers open until there is no tension left.”

Her mind and powers calm as she begins to loosen the control of her grief, her fingers relaxing and dropping down one-by-one in relief. “Right hand good to go.”

A hand brushes through her hair, “Good job. Now your left hand.” She repeats the process, clenching and then unclenching her fingers, exhaling happily once both hands are resting against Vision’s body. The next step is her arms, so she starts to flex her right arm but pauses when Vision hugs her closer, drawing her forehead tenderly to his lips again. Such contact was never included in their routine, yet he seems indifferent to the change, segueing calmingly to the next part, “Well done, Wanda. Now-”

She stares into his eyes, awed at the twists and turns of life that brought this man to her and how he can so easily transition her from an all encompassing loss to the feeling of butterflies in her stomach.  “You’re changing the protocol.”

“I, um,” Vision frowns, not an upset or angry gesture, but a contemplative and shy move as he runs his fingers along her back, “thought such a gesture might aid in your relaxation. Perhaps a rewards based system of motivation.”

The timidness that fueled each touch and word in the early days of their not-quite-friendship-but-not-quite-lovers relationship has fallen away over the last year, giving way to this new, still cautious, but more confident side of Vision. Wanda grins, “I think it sounds helpful. Want to keep going?”

The half-arc of his lips is radiant, “Yes, now your arms.” He scoots away from her, leaving enough room for her to follow his instructions, “tighten your right bicep, drawing your forearm up.”

“Welcome to the gun show, Vizh.” It’s a joke he didn’t comprehend the first five times she used it, but now he simply smiles, head shaking as he watches her flex her muscles before releasing her arm to lay back down along her side. Then she repeats the action, and the joke, on the other side before Vision moves back, their chests touching as he lays another kiss on her forehead. “Next?”

They move through her body, his even commands guiding her to raise her shoulders up to touch her ears and then lower them into a peaceful state. He kisses her forehead with another “Good job.” Wanda sucks in a deep breath, creating tension in her lungs, only this time it’s under her control and Vision’s supervision, not a sense of gasping but a sense of order, her breath releasing against his face, causing him to blink rapidly before bestowing her reward. Her stomach collapses in and then expands out in time with his voice, only she pushes it farther than she's supposed to, bumping him with her body which leads to a quiet laugh as he kisses her again. “Lastly, Wanda," Vision holds her close, their foreheads touching as he talks, "squeeze your left thigh and curl your toes, then release.” Wanda sighs as she finishes the exercise, body sinking into the mattress, not because of grief anymore, but a sense serenity and contentment.  

Several minutes pass in silence, only the slight buzz from the radiator and the even rhythm of Vision’s breathing filling the air around her with a pleasing warmth. Having allowed her time to bask in her relaxation, Vision tiptoes into his next comment, “I am sorry.”

“For what?”

He shifts slightly, the springs complaining until he settles, lips pursed and eyes twisting in anxiety, “That the day did not match your expectations.”

None of her beachy daydreams included this moment, this is undoubtedly true, yet Wanda finds herself content to be wrapped in his arms, cuddled close on a freezing day. “It’s not your fault, Vizh. The day wasn’t horrible.”

“Not horrible is a poor benchmark for a day when we get so few together.”

Wanda grins at him, freeing her left arm from his embrace enough to draw her hand down his face, watch as his eyes flutter shut at the touch. For all that she has lost, all that she will lose in the future, she’s overjoyed that amongst all of that she has found him. “Well, there’s still time for you to fix the radiator and slap on a speedo.” He kisses her, stifling her laugh and distracting her from the world and all its cruelties for just a bit longer.

*Dzień dobry:  Good afternoon ** Dođi. Dođi, Wanda, otišli su: Come on. Come on Wanda, they’re gone. *** To je kesten: it’s chestnut!

[fucktard666666]

He was 19 in twenty-19. His favorite crystal is Crystal Methyd, and our first binding words together were: Nothing Fucking Matters!

He complains about how his hair is growing too slow, everyday. “I can’t wait til my hair grows!” He exclaims whether it’s night or day, rain or shine, you will absolutely hear him say. I personally liked the cholo cut-so sexy! “The cholo jumped out!” And this girl said “and it scared me!” That pesky little tissue flap that he constantly burns, located on his palm, but continuously move traverse even more so that the medication can never seem to reverse. It has been frozen, and burnt, and picked on and bleached, and churned by his finger nails... baby put your hand down and stop messing with that tumor! I have never met anyone who has outmatched my dark humor. Take a break from peeling of those dead skins. Caress me around my thighs, my legs, not near my asshole though, I don’t want your bacteria to lay eggs-

In the morning, two is what you prefer. You like them in pairs-perverted as this sounds but it is true-

It is true that the things you want the most are the ones you’ll have the hardest time getting- or non at all. God forbid I wanted hair and facial hair- god did not grant me either one, almost non at all. I envy his hair growths that he likes to compare to middle easterners. It makes me smile all the time, because the bridge of his nose, says “you’re a beaner-ers!”

He’s clogged my sink multiple times, because of his constant shaving. I don’t mind it though... it’s pretty annoying, but it’s a task worth having. I usually clean it by myself when he’s not around. I don’t know, just little remnants of him made me feel like he’s around, his energy lingers upside down and everywhere, even though I’m cleaning up his mess, I can’t help but smile, I can’t help but stare-

Stare at him when he’s asleep. Brushing his curly locks, tuck them behind his ears. Whispering I love you’s when I thought he’s already R-E-M’n, but when he responds “I love you, too baby” I just be D-A-M’n inside, thinking to myself, how lucky did I get?

Lucky that even after all my fuck-ups, screw-ups, mistakes, the universe still bestowed a gift upon me. A gift that was most likely not well deserved. Was it dropped off at the wrong doorstep? I ask myself. I ponder, and wonder, and gander back at him as he does the bare minimum at his job. “You’re just flipping papers, babe.” I whisper to myself. I chuckle a little and let out a yell: do you want breakfast? I asked. He lets out a grin, a half-smile, obviously responding: yes! He has a certain tone when he’s saying “thank you” when I hand him his food. God, a nervous wreck I am whenever I cook for him. I’m no alumni from Le Cordon Bleu, but I can cook a mean... a mean... I don’t know. I can’t cook for shit, but for him I try to make do.

Half-naked in an all ivory dining set. Countless memories in that empty corner, but unforgettable nonetheless. He likes to circle names that he found interesting in his pile of SNHD papers. Hey, did you know names are just the sounds people associate to you? We both are suckers for names. We have enough collected for generations even long after the history that became.

Oh, there’s this one spot located in the middle of nowhere. Red Rock Canyons: Oasis of Stars, home of lone wolves and cayotes, hidden in the far southwest. Famous for being the road on the way to Pahrump where brothels thrive, old men jive, STD hives. I tried to go to this spot one day to remi-nice, but I could not find it at all! One more turn and I might end up in Bermuda Triang-All. He must really be the compass to this place, I stopped on the side street, I said ooh bitch, that was a struggle! This one morning, I’ll fail to ever erase from my memories. It was so, so perfect that I forgot about my open wound pounding from my head. Need I say more or will I cut an old wound, call 911? Will they respond?

Water and Oil is what we’ve become. Despite the beautiful sceneries, steamy showers, and late night epiphanies, we have become repellent- our love language, no longer transparent. We do not seem to combine, scientifically, chemical bonds to be exact. Since when did oil become non-hydrophiliac? . What went wrong? Blood and flesh, sweat and tears, have all been involved. To this day, I demand: tell me where did I go wrong?

Two good people, two beautiful souls, two visions of art, but somehow it ended in turmoil? We tried to repair all the wear-and-tears, but we did not age like fine leather. Sweet and sour, hot and cold. We have not experienced such a fine and dandy weather from the month of January until the hot summer nights of May-weathers. We did not have an umbrella to shield us from the rainfalls. How the hell are we gonna weather the storm when winter befalls? Summer has always been our season. Hot, and steamy, “hey you sucked the puss out of my nipple piercing, but I was too horny to stop you” was his reason.

A very promising relationship that ended bitterly. God, you can’t even keep us in the same room let alone pass each other merrily. What have we become? Is this when we declare each other as our enemies? Is this when we burn our sweet, sweet memories? Is this how we treat each other even though we used to be each other’s ecstasies? This is not a vision I’ve foreseen. This is not the happy ending that we wanted like from those in the silver screens.

Tropicalia, somewhere in Los Ange-Leez, far from the ocean port-landia, located at the foot of the metropo-Leez. We shut the place down, in those fly outfits, the people, the photographers, the cameras. We too fire. We too cool, we brought the half white half black, The Grandfather-esque suit, pimped out boots, fur coats in a light shade of oat, pops of old school red, 10-10-10s!!! Fiya in the streets freaky in the sheets. Thrifted goods from head to toe. Just DSLs, no need to flaunt them YSLs and Logo-

Mania-c panics, insecure Ass fights, sleepless nights, Tel-Aviv dreams, Perfecta on the radio. Sade on the stereo. Stars Are Blind has become an anthem, but Nelly Furtado strengthens our tandem. My Cherie Amour, cara mia, Amor de mi vida- it’s Friday, babe! Can we just have one good día?

Giant Pikachu, that I won for you. Every person envied the dude, who’s carrying a giant, yellow plush! Envy him! It’s his birthday! His embarrassment is accompanied with a blush! I heard a kid saying “I choose you!” No kid, he is mine! Get your own baby, this one is divine- femi-NINE as you claim to be

This is reality and truth be told, we made fools of ourselves. What’s done is done, unbecoming, yes, but we did what we thought was right at the moment. I’m out of tears to shed, but boy if I must see you cry one more time, don’t do it, on my knees I beg. I hate when I see the tears start to glisten your eyes. I’ve killed myself a thousand times for making you cry. Don’t do it, but here are just simple words to live by: forgive me. Forget about me. Now baby, will you

Try?

Seven- thirteen- nineteen; another day anotha dolla for San Valentin. He wielded his bow and arrow, struck a 20-something and a late teen. Inside a fortune cookie, holds a question

“Do you wanna be my boo thang” I giggled and answered. Yes- I think we just became each other’s regular dicks and regular bang- his everyday play ting. I blinked once, turned to my side, and my phone suddenly rang- it’s reality calling! Should I ignore it and continue to hang? Little did I know, it’s the phone call we both need: parallel worlds, perpendicular visions, and 90° angles-When you flip the right triangle it looks like it’s bent down to it’s knees- the position where I found myself as I’m begging you please

Please stay with me,

Would you forgive me now, baby, please?

Please be my baby,

Stay for the night please?

Our continuous fights with no referees

Even after some make-up sex, it leaves no guarantees.

Too bad we didn’t even make it to a full trip around the sun. I’ve made a playlist to every single one-

Every single one of the months that you’ve left me longing for your kisses and your hugs and your I love yous that I misses, and your scent, and the views when I have you bent, and everything about you and everyday my sadness increases as I hear songs about you.

I decided that I’m ready to receive what I’ve been missing by getting it myself from other bitches. Their names are Molly, Mary Jane, and some white girl who embezzled half of my riches.

LSD dreams, psychedelic visions, heavily induced in nicotine.

Adderall brain, fried in alcohol and ampheta-main

I chased highs that began from

Seven-thirteen-nineteen

Little did I know there’s happiness beyond the drugs,

Beyond your love,

In this universe so infinite

Found within myself, I’ve had to ignite

Ignite the fire that sparked the journey

Journey of loving myself beyond, of what used to be a vision too murky

Murky skylines of my future, now I can see so clear, so white, so pearly.

Pearly whites from the crevices of my mouth started to resurface once again

Ready to explore undiscovered depths of my being once again

Rebuilding what was lost from my abrupt healing once again

Before you came, before you saw, before you conquered, shit, never again.

The deepest corners of my soul that are left unseen

Thanks to you for sharing with me, seven-thirteen-nineteen

And for forever redefining the meaning of color

Green.

[radinapetrova]

LO1>>Research

#BriefTwo

Researching of paints, designed for customising products (Leather).

1. Angelus Brand

What is Leather Paint?

Leather paint is a special kind of paint, specifically made for painting leather. Leatherpain.co.uk delivers for every kind of leather different types leather paint. Read the step-by-step guide on how to paint leather on the Leather Paint category page. Later on in the article, we will also talk about Preparation & Finisher, and how to apply these liquids for a perfect leather paintjob. Leather shoe paint can also be used to paint your exclusive, limited edition or classic trainers. The Angelus Collector’s Edition Paint Series are specifically designed to retouch, recolour & revitalize your old leather sneakers. More information about this premium production line can be found below, or on the corresponding page.

History of the Angelus Brand

The Angelus Brand was started in Chicago, where Paul T. Angelus arrived almost a century ago. Being a Greek immigrant, the way his business developed could best be described as the ultimate American Dream. Shining shoes, he made a living for himself until he had saved up enough to make the trip to Los Angeles. After a while he had secured enough savings to open up his own shine stand. The one shine stand quickly made way for two more, and he shortly brought his brothers over from Greece to help the business take off. He was crowned “King of the Bootblacks” and shortly after, developed his own shoe shine. The demand for their shoeshine exploded, thus the shine stands were sold and focus was put on the development of the product we still know today. After a period of time, the business was sold. Shortly after, the demand faded in reaction to changes in the manufacturing process. The Angelus brand was bought back, and restored to its former glory! As a result of the changes, Angelus is now once again the top manufacturer of shoe polish, leather paint, leather dye and other accessories.

What kind of Products do they Offer?

Leather Paint

The leather paint of the Angelus Brand is an acrylic based, flexible yet strong paint coat, that can be used to recolour your leather. The paint is water-based and non toxic. It also sticks to multiple surfaces and can be used to paint a lot of different types of leather. There are a few different kinds of paint: Standard, Metallic, Neon, Pearlescent, Collector’s Edition, Glitterlites & Glow in the Dark. Although there are around 150 colours available, these different paints can be mixed together to create even more colours. The paint can also be mixed with thinner and other additives to influence the thickness. This is paramount when using an airbrush, as the paint will otherwise clog your equipment. Check out all the available colours in the colour chart here.

Leather Dye

When you want to colour your old leatherwear instead of painting it, you can either use leather dye or suede dye. This will shine a transparent coat on your existing leather, which is permanent. This product naturally works best on smooth leather types. If you are looking for a way to paint sneakers, you can use leather shoe dye, although leather paint may be a better option. When you think the colour is too dark, a denatured alcohol or thinner can be used to thin the paint. This will make the sheen a little bit lighter, giving you a different colour. You can even dye furniture, leather belts and more.  Get your leather dye kit here, and enjoy fast delivery time! Do you want to know how to dye leather? Have a look at the Leather Dye or Suede Dye page to find out more.

Preparation & Finisher

Preparation & Finisher are products that are indispensable when you are working with leather paint, also described in the step by step guide to painting your shoes. Before you paint, clean the leather with preparer to remove any old leather finisher and dirt. When done painting, add some angelus finisher to give the leather a little glossy shine. When you want to go for a matte finish use the corresponding Matte Finisher.

Paint Additives

Paint additives are used to alter the consistency of the paint to your liking. For example, when you are using an airbrush, a paint thinner is used to make the paint flow more freely, allowing you to apply a more even paint coat. Duller can be used to reduce the gloss effect some paints or finishers have, and 2-Soft specifically is used for the softer areas of the shoe. 2-Hard is an additive that, when mixed with Acrylic Paint, can stick to harder surfaces. Be aware that the surface needs to be non-porous, otherwise it won’t work. Angelus paint additives are the best way of thinning, thickening or altering the consistency of the paint.

Clean & Condition

When restoring old leather, chances are that the leather itself just needs a little magic. Instead of this, a lot of people just use leather paint or leather dye. Sometimes it’s even better to just use some cleaning supplies to clean the leather, or use some conditioning supplies to make it shine again. Use a brush in combination with Angelus preparer & deglazer to brush off all the dirt. For conditioning, use some Lederbalm or leather conditioner to make the old leather shine again. Angelus brand products are what you need when your shoes need shining! Even the shoe shine (or shoe polish) that made the brand famous can be bought at leatherpaint.co.uk!

2. Krylon Brand

Krylon, a leading spray paint manufacturer, is number one in color, innovation, inspiration and consumer brand recognition. The Krylon consumer products line includes a wide selection of paints and paint-related products, from general-purpose paints to specialty products to rust-preventative paints and primers to help consumers “Make It Yours.” 

 Krylon is proud to unveil a new exterior specific spray paint line, Outdoor Décor, to help bring spring entertaining and activities into full bloom this season. The innovative product family offers DIYers of all levels a spray paint to easily customize and complete outdoor projects, from mailboxes and planters, to larger scaled items like Adirondack chairs, patio tables and more. 

Outdoor Décor spray paint is fade, crack and peel resistant, and protects against rust, leaving yard furnishings and décor rain ready in just one hour. Outdoor Décor features an easy to use, spray any way tip that allows users to spray projects from any angle. It can be used on a variety of surfaces and provides excellent adhesion to wood, brick, terracotta and metal. The new line features 14 bright, satin aerosol colors in 12-ounce cans. For a transparent finish that offers the same level of protection, a clear gloss is available as well. With so many options to choose from, each Outdoor Décor label features a different exterior project to inspire DIYers and showcase the endless possibilities with Krylon.

3. The Leather Doctor 

The Leather Doctor are specialists in furniture restoration of worn, tired, cracked and even torn leather upholstery. A small Essex based specialist company with over 15 years experience built on reputation. The Leather Doctor uses the most advanced products in the industry. We have dealt with almost every fault imaginable working with retailers and manufacturers such as NATUZZI · TETRAD · G PLAN · HARRODS · JOHN LEWIS · PETER JONES · FURNITURE VILLAGE and many more.

4. The Footware Care

Here at The Footwear Care we have everything you need in one place. Anything from cleaning products, paints, laces and dyes and we don't stop there! We even sell new and pre owned shoes! We list and sell all types of new and pre owned designer and custom shoes.

5. Leather Care Supply -  Safe for the Earth, Leather, Skin and Those You Love!

All paints are made of natural ingredients, locally soursed in the Pacific Northwest. We use Food Grade Seed Oil - The base ingridients that gently replenishes and invigorates leather. Triple Filtred Beeswax - Age-old waterproof that protects and waterproofs naturally, as bees intended. Low Heat Infusion - Infused at low heat to emulsify in a way that ensures strong bonding. 

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 40)

“That was amazing!” Weiss cried as they teleported back into the Core and their usual clothes. “I haven't had so much fun in years!” she said, all that giddiness getting so much she has to jump around in place like a little kid on a sugar high.

And just like a little kid on a sugar high, she really can't care that everyone's watching.

Blake smirked. <What happened to 'just this once'?> she asked.

“I changed my mind,” Weiss said as she slowed down some. “I can do that, can't I?”

“So does this mean you're going to be our Sapphire Ranger permanently…?” Ruby asked.

Weiss stopped then nodded. “Yes.”

Beat. (Which, for those of you that don't know it, is the time it takes to breath once.)

“YAY!” Ruby cried, before she charged Weiss and jumped right into her arms.

“GAH!” Weiss yelled as became the newest victim to the Flying Fawn Tackle, one of Ruby's favourite forms of affection/hand-to-hand combat moves.

(Fun Fact: Baby Reindeer are actually called “Calves,” but “Flying Calf Tackle” doesn't sound as nice.)

Yang laughed as the two hit the floor. “Cool it, lovebirds! I get Ruby's pretty horny, but we're still in the Core.”

“Though I've become accustomed to all manner of depravity, eccentricities, and unusual displays and acts throughout my thousand or so years of life… yes, I would prefer it if you two don't--” Eluna made a sexy animal noise “--in the Core, I kind of live here...”

“Okay first of all: RUBY, GET OFF ME THEN HELP ME UP!” Weiss yelled.

Ruby did.

“Thank you. And second of all: WE'RE NOT EVEN GIRLFRIENDS, STOP THINKING THAT WE'RE GOING TO--” Weiss stopped.

Ruby made a sexy animal noise, with a little “?” at the end that you could hear.

Weiss turned red. “Yes, that.”

“We really aren't girlfriends, guys,” Ruby said.

And since Ruby's pretty much incapable of being anything other than completely honest, you know you can believe her.

“But just in case you or anyone else change their minds at a later date: romantic relationships between Rangers certainly isn't encouraged, but not illegal, either,” Eluna said. “Stronger than friendship Romantic Love may be, but it carries a lot more baggage, and I'd rather Avalon not be screwed over by a lover's spat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And seriously: no fucking in the Core.”

Yang shook her head. “Ellie, you realize that's just making it all the more tempting, right?”

“You do that, and I'll show you what it's like to be on the receiving end of a Starlight Spear,” Eluna snapped. “But back to more important matters: I'll be here monitoring activity, you girls get some rest or just wind down, seeing as I'm the immortal deity and you guys aren't.”

She turned around to the giant-ass rune in the center. “Breaking character for a moment: there's about two and a half hours of real time left for your honey dream before you need another dose, and you can only stretch your mind's perception of time so far before it starts to become dangerous.”

“Oh, wow, how long have we been here?” Weiss asked.

“Probably about little over a half-hour real-time, including all the freezes to explain stuff to you,” Ruby said. “Yang being persona non grata aside, we can fit a lot more catching up in a honey dream than anywhere else.”

“And speaking of catching up: it's been fun kicking ass, yelling cool catchphrases, and doing silly poses with you guys, but I think I'd like to do some of that with Rubes over here,” Yang said, throwing her arm around her shoulders. “You mind if Qrow gives us his review now?”

“Just one more thing before he does,” Weiss asked. “Why do my, Ruby, and Penny's outfits have skirts, if they're we're all wearing full-body suits?”

“Because combat skirts look cool!” Ruby said, smiling.

Weiss nodded. “Okay, that I'll agree with. But why do mine specifically have 'stockings' that are of a different colour…?”

Ruby kept on smiling. “Oh, you know: no particular reason! Hit it, Golem Qrow!”

Qrow's Closer:

In Ten Words Or Less: “Good first try, still messier than it needed to be.”

Commands:

Perform 3/3 Team Acrobatics With Weiss

Perform 3/3 Team Attacks With Weiss

Defeat the Captain with a Finishing Move

Don't get hit by the Sticky Bombs

Rating: Fury Blockbuster

“Oh COME ON!” Yang said. “That should of at least been a 'Holo of the Year!'”

Be happy I felt generous for princess over here and didn't downgrade this to “Top Ten in HV-on-Demand.” Practice some more, try not to get blown up or fly off in decidedly un-badass ways so much, and by the end of this season, you guys will be a team of grade-A, certified BAMFs.

You've got the chemistry, that's for sure, but the skill isn't there just yet.

Taking you guys back to the Lobby in 3… 2… 1…

Weiss found herself back in the white expanse with the others.

“Am I forced to stay here, or can I 'disconnect'?” she asked.

Yang shrugged. “Your choice, princess! So long as you don't try to learn anything the Council hasn't cleared you for, you're free to do anything you want. Before you do anything spicy, though, just know that Miko's legally obliged to review all the footage from this particular dreamcatcher and tell the Chroniclers about it.

“Well, we're off! Lotta shit to talk about, the Bastion isn't the only place that's been busy...”

Ruby waved. “See you guys back in the real world!”

The two of them faded away.

Weiss turned to the others. “Any ideas on what I can do now?”

“Though this dreamcatcher is open for modification, the creation of a new dream might consume a lot of your time, and be more stressful than relaxing,” Penny explained.

“So are there any other preloaded scenarios?”

Blake shifted about nervously. <Well, there is the one I use after Rune Rangers...>

“Then let's do that!” Weiss said.

Blake frowned. <Promise you won't laugh or make fun of me?>

Weiss smiled. “I promise.”

The world around them shifted. Now, Weiss found herself standing in the streets of an urban metropolis, not the gleaming metal and glass of Candela, but much older buildings made of brick and mortar, with architectural styles that had long been phased out, or survived only by the grace of enthusiasts of “Old World” designs.

Her clothes had changed into a white trench coat, with matching thigh high boots, and a beret over her head—all for the better, as her Fae dress would have been woefully unfit for the gloomy, foggy, and overall miserable weather that night.

Weiss looked up, saw just one moon up in that black sky. She craned her neck across the skyline, saw a tall, iconic building from her Old World History classes: the Empire State. She turned back to Blake, now dressed in a white shirt, black pants, and leather boots with metal buckles on the straps.

She eyed the faces of the pedestrians streaming all about them, walking with purpose, ignoring everyone around them or interacting solely with their in-groups. It was a mix of everything you could have found in the Sol System way back when, except for the particularly pale types who had hints of sharp fangs peeking past their lips, or looked a lot deader inside than usual.

Weiss turned back to Blake. “Are we in The Midnight Society?”

Blake looked away sheepishly. <Yeah, I know it's really old, and cheesy, and-->

She stopped as Weiss grabbed her hands, a look of pure joy on her face. “I thought I was the only one...” she whispered, eyes sparkling. “Can be a Maharani?”

Blake blinked. <Only if you aren't magically able to control EVERYONE with your Dominate, including the First Ones. I used to let Yang be one, now she's permanently a Tyrtaeus.>

“Oh, believe me, I will practice MUCH more restraint and class than she ever could, as befitting a member of Royalty!” Weiss said, turning her nose up in the most snobbish way possible.

Blake chuckled. <Maharani it is.>

Weiss squealed with delight as she felt power surge into her, sharp fangs sprout from her teeth, her already pale skin become a beautiful if unnerving shade of porcelain white. “Oh, this is perfect...” she purred.

“Shall we go find some politicians, supermodels, and other people of noble birth and high status for you to feed on, mistress~?” Penny asked as she came up, looking not unlike a regular human if not for the intentionally dead, hollow look in her eyes.

“Let's!” Weiss hummed. “Oh, wait: what bloodline are you Blake? No, let me guess: Grendulus?”

Blake scowled. <Oh, just because I'm a Fae, you automatically assume I'm going to want to be the animal-shifter vampires? That's racist, Weiss.>

Weiss winced. “Sorry.”

With much less bite, Blake continued, <… I mean, you're not WRONG, but that's still racist!>

Weiss smiled. “Shall I apologize by finding something to satisfy your hunger first?”

Blake nodded. <That'd be great. By the way, you can't use your runeblade because you're the wrong bloodline.>

“I know, which is why I'd like a gun this time.”

Penny handed her a .357 Magnum, chromed metal and pearl grips.

“Thank you,” Weiss said as she put it inside a discrete inner pocket of her coat.

<Don't want to get blood all over yourself?> Blake asked.

Weiss put on a look of mock disgust. “Do you know how much all of these cost?”

They paused for a moment, before they started giggling.

The rest of the pedestrians continued to ignore them as they made their way to the nicer parts of downtown.

[idarkshewolf]

The Black

           The sun glinted off her hooves as she stepped into the clearing. Bending her slender neck down so she could drink from the clear pool. She caught her reflection; she was the opposite of her kin in every way. Her coat was night black to their snow white, her spiraled horn and sleek hooves where silver to their gold and her eyes a deep shade of violet, to their shining sapphire.

           Both her dam and sire where white unicorns, while she was a black, a throwback to The Father Of Unicorns, Blackstar, the only black unicorn in history… until now.

The seasons had turned four full times since her birth, and ever since the new stallion, Bloodsong, had driven her from the heard, she had been searching for her place in the world.

Silvernight drank deeply from the pool, swishing her tail softly. Suddenly she heard a noise, her head shot up, and her ears swiveled back and forth searching for the source. Inhaling deeply, she caught their sent. It was the scent of Man. She had to reach the cover of the trees, before they reached her!

Jumping over the banks of the pool she raced into the dark woods, blending with the shadows, she invoked her magic and disappeared. She ran for what seemed like hours. When she was sure the threat was over she slowed to a gentle walk. Finely stopping in a dark thicket, and lied down for a short rest. Closing her eyes, she was asleep in moments.

She was running, running along a path made of stars and moonlight. She was running towards him, but no matter how fast or how far she ran he never seemed to be within reach.

             She awoke disgruntled, it was the same dream every time, she didn’t know who she was running to, all she knew was that he lies in the direction of the rising moon. Ever since Bloodsong had driven her from the herd, she had been traveling, towards the rising moon and the one that waited for her there.

           Once more she walked through the forest, in the direction of moon rise. She traveled all night and well into the morn. The forest began to thin and soon she found that she stood at the bank of a sea of tall grasses blue, green, and golden in color. She knew instinctively that this was man’s land. She dares not go further, but… The call that drove her was an instinct that she could not deny.

           Carefully she stepped into the strange new land. The tall grasses reached her shoulders, and tickled her nose. Invoking her magic, she took off running at a full gallop. All that looked upon her would see only flitting shadow. And so, she ran, and ran, and ran. All day, and all night, never daring to stop. She ran until the sun set and night descended, and the sun rose once more and still she ran. Her magic giving her the strength she needed.

           She ran for two whole days and nights without ever stopping, for fear of meeting man. Finely on the third night she could run no more, and collapsed in her tracks.

             Even in her dreams she found no rest, always running, running along the path of stars and moonlight. Still she ran towards him, but no matter how far or how fast she ran he was never within reach.

             Voices aroused her from the deep slumber, someone was touching her! Mortal hands touched her! How dare they!

She began to raise, and someone shouted.

“Oy! Watch out! She’s gettin’ up, careful lads!”

Once she was on her feet she saw them, five men, three on mortal horses, and two afoot. There where ropes in their hands, one already about her neck. She rose on her haunches and kicked out with her front hooves, striking one of the two men on foot.

The man fell and did not rise. The others backed a way slowly keeping their distance but keeping her surrounded. The men on horseback began to throw rope loops over her head. She tried to ask the mortal horses for help, but it was no use, they too were captives, and the men had the stinging wipes and sharp spurs.

           Already exhausted from using too much magic she was easily captured. To her shame Silvernight was taken to a place called the “Service Fair” and was sold to a little fat man. He smelled of sweat and filth, he dressed in furs and good leathers. She learned that he was a horse merchant who dealt in rare breeds. He had spent his life’s fortune to purchase her.

           It had taken little more than half a day’s travel for the fat man to take her back to his stables where the man dared to put a bridle on her, and tided her to a post. There were several horses, but she was the only immortal. The man began to inspect her hooves, she kicked, sending him to the groaned; she didn’t realize her mistake, until it was too late.

           The cuts from the wipe still stung, days later. It was times like these that she wished for the power to heal, like her mother. But she had her father’s gift to hide in plan site, and to become one with the shadows of the forest. She was tiered and in pain, and had had little food and water over the last week. Her legs shook from the effort to keep standing. And she had had little chance to replenish her magic reserves.

Her sleek black coat was dull and cakes in spots with old and fresh blood. The fat man whipped her regularly for his disobedience. Try as he might he could not beat out the glint in her eyes that was the spark of grate spirit of her kind.

           As dawn approached, Silvernight felt the muscles of her body involuntarily constrict, with the sun the fat man would awaken. She hated him. The hate she had for him was more than the normal fear she held in her heart for human kind. He had a cruelness that touched his very soul. And each time he touched her she felt tainted by it.

           Too exhausted or distracted by her own thoughts and fears she did not notices when the intruder entered her pen until her herd the soft scuff of leather over earth and stone. The intruder was small, much smaller than the fat man, and whore a dark green cloak that obscured their form making it impossible for Silvernight to tell if the intruder was male or female.

           Two ivory colored hands grasped the unicorn’s muzzle, and a dark feminine voice full of midnight and night skies filled her mind, {Do not fear hoof sister, I will get you out of here and to where you belong.}

           From where the intruder’s hands touched her, Silvernight felt an icy coolness spread through her body. Slowly, gently and with great care each of her wounds mended, and she felt her still depleted magic reserves begin to refill themselves. By the time the intruder was done working her spell Silvernight’s wounds where healed, she was full of magical energy, and the morning sun had risen well into the sky.

           The intruder sagged notably after releasing the unicorn’s muzzle, and with shaky hands drew a dagger from a belt sheath. As the intruder reached for the bridle that kept Silvernight tied to the post the fat man came racing from his dwelling shouting at the intruder.

{Run now hoof sister!} said the voice as the intruder sliced the bridle from Silvernight head with practiced ease.

Rearing up on her hind quarters Silvernight lept over the wooden beams of her pen and raced off into the distance, not daring to look back to see what befell the intruder and the fat man.

           For three days, she ran toward the rising moon, feeling a silent invisible tug at the edge of her mind. When finely she creased over a gently rising hill that lead in to a lush green valley. There in the center of the valley, was an ivory skinned elf woman wearing the same dark green cloak as the intruder who had saved her from the fat man and The Father Of Unicorns, Blackstar, The Black!

 THE END

[bigyack-com]

Learning to love pre-owned clothing even when there’s been sweat - fashion and trends

My fondness for pre-owned fashion goes back decades. Apparently, in picking through musty piles in search of dresses spun from angel wings, I’ve been doing my part to save the planet. America’s secondhand apparel market is expected to grow to $32 billion in 2020, according to an industry report. That’s up from $28 billion last year. In recent months, internet consignment sites have been touting how much they’re unlike traditional retailers by highlighting the amount of waste they save by recycling clothing. At the same time, the companies stress how much they’re exactly like traditional retailers when it comes to basic shopping practices. Need something for yourself? Visit a secondhand store. Need a gift? Check out a consignment site. Not sure what to buy that special someone? No worries. They have gift cards! Some websites, like industry leader ThredUP, focus on brands that shoppers can find at malls. Others, like The RealReal and Poshmark, offer high-end designer labels and vintage pieces, which usually means they’re at least 20 years old. This past Christmas season, I got to thinking. Could I actually do some of my Christmas shopping on a resale site, like I might cruise the Mall at Short Hills? And if I were to buy for other people, would it matter to them that the clothing had been worn by others? “Does it concern you that the jacket, and more specifically, the trousers, belonged to someone else?” It’s not a huge, huge concern. But it’s not nothing either. Where do these clothes come from? It’s not like that’s on the label. Is it as simple as “in with the new and out with the old?” Perhaps weight gain or loss? Migrating fashion tastes? Did the former owners move on to the great consignment shop in the sky? I needed a test subject to shop for. Someone who appreciated well-made clothes. Someone who might or might not feel squeamish about donning a shirt someone else had sweated into. Or worse. That would be my unwitting husband. Clothing is somehow different from purses and jewelry. It’s more intimate and grows older less gracefully. Unless they’re deeply soiled or badly damaged, well-made leather and precious metal goods can actually improve over time. Try to think about “aged leather” or “burnished gold” without smiling. My reasons for loving “pre-loved” are personal. I like items that have some history. I also appreciate the possibility that by going pre-worn I won’t run into my sartorial doppelgänger, which is increasingly an issue as global brands and retail chains proliferate. Sporting the current “it” carry-all handbag doesn’t make me feel particularly “in the know.” At least in the horror movie “Us,” the otherworldly twins had the decency to not match their body doubles’ attire once they ventured above ground. Lupita Nyong’o never once thought “I have that purse” as she fought for her life. I conquered any hesitancy about wearing pre-owned clothing years ago. My most memorable purchase was a tan suede frock coat with decorative embroidery, trimmed with long Mongolian lamb fur along the cuffs, front opening and bottom hem. I found it somewhere in France while on a Dartmouth semester abroad. I remember having to part the fur in my palm whenever I put out my hand to accept change. I never ran into anyone dressed remotely like me. So when I first heard of online consignment stores in early 2015, I was ready. While shopping online lacked the charm of rummaging through racks in overseas villages, it was much more efficient. I found the vintage black lambskin Chanel evening purse of my dreams in 2015, and its mate in white with a swinging gold chain a few months later. With some patience I secured a black lambskin Chanel for day, with gently twinkling rhodium-colored chains and then a patent leather Chanel with mixed metal hardware. The latter two are just large enough to hold a pair of heels in a pinch. I’ve gifted my daughters resale-site vintage purses and skinny gold necklaces with teeny gemstones that were pretty and unique. But I’d never gotten anything secondhand for my husband. I decided on a suit. I know my husband’s measurements. I searched by those specifics, by price — under $400 — and landed on some Paul Smith options. With an offer for 20% off, I selected a blue wool-and-mohair suit for $225, or $180 after the discount. Condition: Very Good. I checked the Paul Smith site. New Paul Smith suits clocked in at $1,560 for starters. So far, so good. RealReal tells me that the suit saved 241 liters of water and 43.49 driving miles. I added a Hermes Silk Abstract print tie with an estimated retail value of $195. It was listed at $75 but cost $60 after the 20% off. Its condition was described as pristine, with no obvious signs of wear. Within a week, my packages arrived. The suit’s shipping literature included a Christian Dior quote: “Don’t buy much, but be sure what you buy is good.” The tie seemed to have other ideas: “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.” Attributed to Mick Jagger. Both items were as advertised, in look and feel. The suit was handsome. The jacket could be worn right out of the box; the trousers needed a pressing. The tie was flawless. Christmas Day, my husband Eric admired my wrapping and started The Opening. The suit was first. He slipped on the size 40 jacket. It was a hit. Perhaps Eric was won over because it fit like a glove. Perhaps he’d remembered who he was married to and was hardwired to approve. Perhaps the slate-blue wool against the royal purple silk lining made him giddy. I know it made me giddy. Perhaps you simply cannot argue with excellent tailoring. “Does it concern you that the jacket, and more specifically, the trousers, belonged to someone else?” Nothing quite says “Merry Christmas” like interrogating your husband. “Not at all,” Eric said. He isn’t a clothes junkie, but as a trained painter, he does respect proportion, craft and color. “Do you think you’re less concerned because you assume a certain social class of the former owner?” I ask. Lovely sentiment to insert into the middle of this season of selfless giving. I think the crackling fire actually paused for a moment as it, too, digested the question. These sites do present upscale items with upscale service. This is as far from rooting around in a secondhand bin as you can get. “Absolutely not,” he said. Modeling his new clothing, he worked in some poses. He did a passable approximation of a mannequin, arms awkwardly akimbo. And, inexplicably, he executed a goofy forward lunge, like a mannequin suddenly embroiled in a sword fight. The trousers are a bit snug. Luckily we have an excellent tailor one town over. For $45 he’ll work his magic. Sadly I am on my own when it comes to the forward lunge. ©2020 Bloomberg L.P. (This story has been published from a wire agency feed without modifications to the text) Follow more stories on Facebook and Twitter Read the full article

[joshuamshea84]

7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith

View of Jerusalem’s Old City in Israel

Join us on a journey of a lifetime on a Holy Land tour to refresh your faith in Jesus and the Bible!

Is deepening your understanding of an authentic Christian lifestyle by experiencing Biblical history with your own eyes one of your lifelong dreams? Is your imagination longing to see what the apostles saw, traveling through a Holy Land tour with Jesus, filled with awe and wonder as the passages you’ve studied suddenly come alive in front of you?

Experiencing God’s Word come alive in the Holy Land of Israel and the surrounding Mediterranean is a beautiful way revitalize your walk with the Lord and enhance your vision as you study the Bible with leading scholars & archaeologists! Even if you’ve been to Israel before, our assurance is that our stunning Christian cruises and life-changing Christian tours are truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunities!

Here are seven ways our one-of-a-kind Holy Land tours will refresh your Christian faith:

1. Follow the Footsteps of Jesus

Be filled with awestruck wonder as you walk where Jesus walked! Visit incredible destinations made famous by the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ ministry, including the Mount of Olives, the Sea of Galilee, the site of Jesus’ baptism by John the Baptist, Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, the remains of the ancient city of Jericho, the Garden tomb where we believe Jesus was buried, the classic city of Jerusalem, and many more!

Journey through the biblical narrative in the remains of the Galilean towns where Jesus taught and performed his miracles. Follow the Gospel accounts with your own eyes and feet. Study the Words of Jesus on the Mount of Beatitudes, imagining yourself listening to the Messiah give His Sermon on the Mount. Make your way through the streets of Jerusalem and reflect on the sacrifice He gave in this city that changed the world. You will visit countless amazing places where Jesus walked, was baptized, hung on a cross, convicted and born.

Literally following the footsteps of Jesus was incredibly eye-opening for Shari! Here is what she experienced:

“Thank you for making this trip to Israel an enlightening experience. Not only did the trip increase my knowledge of the Bible and ancient history, it had a profound impact on my beliefs about and understanding of Christianity. Prior to the trip, my beliefs were primarily based on blind faith. However, I’ve returned with a softened heart and sharpened mind, both of which have opened the door to Christ.” – Shari D.

2. Visit Authentic Biblical Locations

We are blessed to have exclusive access to many cutting-edge discoveries and locations which further prove the inerrancy of many Biblical text accounts! Now you will have opportunities to witness intriguing locations first-hand, including the Temple of Tel-Arad, the real Mount Zion with our exclusive archaeologist guide Eli Shukron who recently discovered the Pool of Siloam, helped excavate the Temple drainage tunnels, area G of the City of David, and discovered “Temple Zero” with the standing stone where we believe Melchizedek and Abraham offered sacrifices to God. All of our locations are verified genuine and authenticated by Israel’s leading archaeologists and international Biblical scholars – not just the usual “traditional” sites created by man as a visual representation of the text.

Our Christian tours of Jordan and Israel bring life and meaning to your favorite Bible passages! Experience marvelous destinations, monuments, attractions, and natural wonders including thousands-of-years of history, culture, religions, and civilizations.

Monica was thrilled with the authentic historic locations she experienced on her journey through Israel’s Holy Land:

“It’s been about a month since I returned from Israel, so it is way past time to thank you for putting together a true trip of a lifetime! It was all and more than I expected … and I have about 500 photos to prove it. And Roman was a fantastic guide! He was a wealth of knowledge — biblical, messianic, archaeological, historical, cultural…he gave us all some new and exciting perspectives!” ~ Monica H.

3. Enjoy Unique Experiences in the Holy Land

Explore the Holy Land in a unique and hands-on way with adventures such as our Dig-for-a-Day program where we dig, sift, and examine pottery. The more adventurous among us can do some exciting exploration of unexcavated cave systems that are accessed through leather straps. Would you enjoy a helicopter ride over unique vistas, affording fantastic views of the rare crater-like landscape? We also visit Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea. How about a dip in the mud? Enjoy a nice float and coat yourself in the natural mud at the bottom of the mineral rich lake.

Christian visitors on one of our Holy Land tours will not be disappointed with the continual wellspring of extraordinary activities – both physical and spiritual all around!

4. On-Site Bible Study with Renowned Scholars

One incredible perk of traveling with Living Passages is our collective of highly qualified Bible teachers and world-renowned scholars which will provide incredible insight and scriptural teaching as you travel through the Holy Land. We guarantee our speakers will bring a fresh perspective to your existing insight of both the Old and New Testament.

Here are just a few of our exceptional guides, speakers, and teachers:

Dr. Craig A Evans is a distinguished scholar, author and speaker who has extensively studied the Gospels, Dead Sea scrolls and archaeology of the New Testament. He is a Distinguished Professor of Christian Origins at Houston Baptist University in Texas, and the author and editor of more than 70 books and hundreds of peer-reviewed articles, Professor Evans has given lectures at locations such as Cambridge, Oxford, Durham, Yale, and distinguished museums worldwide. He is a Fox News opinion contributor and also regularly lectures at popular conferences and retreats on the historical Jesus, archaeology, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Bible.

Eli Shukron is the chief archaeologist in the City of David and a leading expert on the archaeology of Jerusalem for the Israeli government and Israel Antiquities Authority. Shukron first discovered and directed the excavation of the Pool of Siloam, the ancient city of Bethlehem, the Jerusalem Pilgrim Road from the Second Temple Period, and numerous other historical artifacts which continuously prove the inerrancy of the Bible.

Dr. Adolfo Roitman is the curator of the Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum, which houses the remarkable Dead Sea Scroll collection in Jerusalem, one of the world’s leading archaeological museums. Dr. Roitman is a senior lecturer at the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, Dr. Roitman lectures widely on early Jewish literature, the history and significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls and biblical interpretation.

Dr. Frank Turek is a dynamic speaker and award-winning author & coauthor of many books, including: Stealing from God: Why Atheists Need God to Make Their Case. As the President of CrossExamined.org, Frank presents powerful and entertaining evidence for Christianity at churches, high schools and at secular college campuses that often begin hostile to his message.

5. Christian Fellowship on a Holy Land Adventure

You will share inspiring fellowship along your journey with other Christian believers. Many of our travelers who meet along their adventure become life-long friends after their Holy Land tour ends. You may choose to visit Bethany, where we end our day at the quiet and reflective Garden Tomb to share communion together. Review the fantastic testimonials of our past travelers and join the ranks of our seasoned Biblical adventurers!

As with all of our tours and cruises, the unparalleled spiritual gathering of fellow Christian believers who travel and study together, will make this an unforgettable life-changing and faith-shaping adventure.

“I also want to thank you for the prayer time we had together.  That was very special for me and I have no doubt God heard our prayers. I enjoyed this tour so much, that I’d like to do it again sometime, maybe in the Spring season. Our group enjoyed each others’ company so much that we are having a reunion party coming up on Monday the 21st!” ~ Janet

6. Luxurious Holy Land Accommodations

Along your adventure, stop and relax in Israel’s most prestigious beach-side hotels with spectacular views. Every detail is carefully considered when making your stay as memorable as possible. The hotels are pristine and modern, clean and beautifully appointed. Your experience has been designed in impressive detail, with every item carefully selected to provide maximum pampering and comfort, fulfilling the needs and desires of all guests. Look for spas, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, saunas, fitness rooms, and massages. Enjoy rich regional gourmet food in each location.

“I travel frequently – but this tour was the adventure of a lifetime! Everything was first class: the hotels, the ship, the food, the guides and the teaching!” ~ Anonymous

7. Exclusively Designed and Operated

Don’t take an ordinary Holy Land tour or cruise! Living Passages luxury Christian cruises and inspirational biblical tours are intended to educate and uplift as you uncover and explore the history of the Bible first-hand. Our Holy Land tours are expertly planned, down to the finest detail. With over 20 years of experience, owner and founder Rhonda Sand arranges exclusive tours and elite excursions that are not typically offered on ordinary Israel tours. A Living Passages representative will travel with your group to quickly handle any issues, should they arise.

Be Spiritually Refreshed on an Adventure of a Lifetime in the Holy Land of Israel!

Is this your season to be spiritually refreshed! Will you join us on one of our in-depth Christian Israel tours?

There is sure to be the perfect tour that will will leave you feeling invigorated in your faith. Join others in fulfilling the dream of walking where Jesus walked. Bring life and meaning to your favorite passages by experiencing first-hand historic Bible locations as you journey through Israel’s Holy Land. Take a look at all our available tours and cruises!

Join us on the Christian trip of a lifetime today! Please call us for more information at 1-888-771-8717 or write us at info@livingpassages.com.

The post 7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith appeared first on Living Passages.

source https://livingpassages.com/7-ways-holy-land-tour-will-refresh-faith/ from Living Passages https://livingpassages.blogspot.com/2019/03/7-ways-holy-land-tours-will-refresh.html

[marymperezga]

7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith

View of Jerusalem’s Old City in Israel

Join us on a journey of a lifetime on a Holy Land tour to refresh your faith in Jesus and the Bible!

Is deepening your understanding of an authentic Christian lifestyle by experiencing Biblical history with your own eyes one of your lifelong dreams? Is your imagination longing to see what the apostles saw, traveling through a Holy Land tour with Jesus, filled with awe and wonder as the passages you’ve studied suddenly come alive in front of you?

Experiencing God’s Word come alive in the Holy Land of Israel and the surrounding Mediterranean is a beautiful way revitalize your walk with the Lord and enhance your vision as you study the Bible with leading scholars & archaeologists! Even if you’ve been to Israel before, our assurance is that our stunning Christian cruises and life-changing Christian tours are truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunities!

Here are seven ways our one-of-a-kind Holy Land tours will refresh your Christian faith:

1. Follow the Footsteps of Jesus

Be filled with awestruck wonder as you walk where Jesus walked! Visit incredible destinations made famous by the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ ministry, including the Mount of Olives, the Sea of Galilee, the site of Jesus’ baptism by John the Baptist, Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, the remains of the ancient city of Jericho, the Garden tomb where we believe Jesus was buried, the classic city of Jerusalem, and many more!

Journey through the biblical narrative in the remains of the Galilean towns where Jesus taught and performed his miracles. Follow the Gospel accounts with your own eyes and feet. Study the Words of Jesus on the Mount of Beatitudes, imagining yourself listening to the Messiah give His Sermon on the Mount. Make your way through the streets of Jerusalem and reflect on the sacrifice He gave in this city that changed the world. You will visit countless amazing places where Jesus walked, was baptized, hung on a cross, convicted and born.

Literally following the footsteps of Jesus was incredibly eye-opening for Shari! Here is what she experienced:

“Thank you for making this trip to Israel an enlightening experience. Not only did the trip increase my knowledge of the Bible and ancient history, it had a profound impact on my beliefs about and understanding of Christianity. Prior to the trip, my beliefs were primarily based on blind faith. However, I’ve returned with a softened heart and sharpened mind, both of which have opened the door to Christ.” – Shari D.

2. Visit Authentic Biblical Locations

We are blessed to have exclusive access to many cutting-edge discoveries and locations which further prove the inerrancy of many Biblical text accounts! Now you will have opportunities to witness intriguing locations first-hand, including the Temple of Tel-Arad, the real Mount Zion with our exclusive archaeologist guide Eli Shukron who recently discovered the Pool of Siloam, helped excavate the Temple drainage tunnels, area G of the City of David, and discovered “Temple Zero” with the standing stone where we believe Melchizedek and Abraham offered sacrifices to God. All of our locations are verified genuine and authenticated by Israel’s leading archaeologists and international Biblical scholars – not just the usual “traditional” sites created by man as a visual representation of the text.

Our Christian tours of Jordan and Israel bring life and meaning to your favorite Bible passages! Experience marvelous destinations, monuments, attractions, and natural wonders including thousands-of-years of history, culture, religions, and civilizations.

Monica was thrilled with the authentic historic locations she experienced on her journey through Israel’s Holy Land:

“It’s been about a month since I returned from Israel, so it is way past time to thank you for putting together a true trip of a lifetime! It was all and more than I expected … and I have about 500 photos to prove it. And Roman was a fantastic guide! He was a wealth of knowledge — biblical, messianic, archaeological, historical, cultural…he gave us all some new and exciting perspectives!” ~ Monica H.

3. Enjoy Unique Experiences in the Holy Land

Explore the Holy Land in a unique and hands-on way with adventures such as our Dig-for-a-Day program where we dig, sift, and examine pottery. The more adventurous among us can do some exciting exploration of unexcavated cave systems that are accessed through leather straps. Would you enjoy a helicopter ride over unique vistas, affording fantastic views of the rare crater-like landscape? We also visit Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea. How about a dip in the mud? Enjoy a nice float and coat yourself in the natural mud at the bottom of the mineral rich lake.

Christian visitors on one of our Holy Land tours will not be disappointed with the continual wellspring of extraordinary activities – both physical and spiritual all around!

4. On-Site Bible Study with Renowned Scholars

One incredible perk of traveling with Living Passages is our collective of highly qualified Bible teachers and world-renowned scholars which will provide incredible insight and scriptural teaching as you travel through the Holy Land. We guarantee our speakers will bring a fresh perspective to your existing insight of both the Old and New Testament.

Here are just a few of our exceptional guides, speakers, and teachers:

Dr. Craig A Evans is a distinguished scholar, author and speaker who has extensively studied the Gospels, Dead Sea scrolls and archaeology of the New Testament. He is a Distinguished Professor of Christian Origins at Houston Baptist University in Texas, and the author and editor of more than 70 books and hundreds of peer-reviewed articles, Professor Evans has given lectures at locations such as Cambridge, Oxford, Durham, Yale, and distinguished museums worldwide. He is a Fox News opinion contributor and also regularly lectures at popular conferences and retreats on the historical Jesus, archaeology, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Bible.

Eli Shukron is the chief archaeologist in the City of David and a leading expert on the archaeology of Jerusalem for the Israeli government and Israel Antiquities Authority. Shukron first discovered and directed the excavation of the Pool of Siloam, the ancient city of Bethlehem, the Jerusalem Pilgrim Road from the Second Temple Period, and numerous other historical artifacts which continuously prove the inerrancy of the Bible.

Dr. Adolfo Roitman is the curator of the Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum, which houses the remarkable Dead Sea Scroll collection in Jerusalem, one of the world’s leading archaeological museums. Dr. Roitman is a senior lecturer at the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, Dr. Roitman lectures widely on early Jewish literature, the history and significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls and biblical interpretation.

Dr. Frank Turek is a dynamic speaker and award-winning author & coauthor of many books, including: Stealing from God: Why Atheists Need God to Make Their Case. As the President of CrossExamined.org, Frank presents powerful and entertaining evidence for Christianity at churches, high schools and at secular college campuses that often begin hostile to his message.

5. Christian Fellowship on a Holy Land Adventure

You will share inspiring fellowship along your journey with other Christian believers. Many of our travelers who meet along their adventure become life-long friends after their Holy Land tour ends. You may choose to visit Bethany, where we end our day at the quiet and reflective Garden Tomb to share communion together. Review the fantastic testimonials of our past travelers and join the ranks of our seasoned Biblical adventurers!

As with all of our tours and cruises, the unparalleled spiritual gathering of fellow Christian believers who travel and study together, will make this an unforgettable life-changing and faith-shaping adventure.

“I also want to thank you for the prayer time we had together.  That was very special for me and I have no doubt God heard our prayers. I enjoyed this tour so much, that I’d like to do it again sometime, maybe in the Spring season. Our group enjoyed each others’ company so much that we are having a reunion party coming up on Monday the 21st!” ~ Janet

6. Luxurious Holy Land Accommodations

Along your adventure, stop and relax in Israel’s most prestigious beach-side hotels with spectacular views. Every detail is carefully considered when making your stay as memorable as possible. The hotels are pristine and modern, clean and beautifully appointed. Your experience has been designed in impressive detail, with every item carefully selected to provide maximum pampering and comfort, fulfilling the needs and desires of all guests. Look for spas, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, saunas, fitness rooms, and massages. Enjoy rich regional gourmet food in each location.

“I travel frequently – but this tour was the adventure of a lifetime! Everything was first class: the hotels, the ship, the food, the guides and the teaching!” ~ Anonymous

7. Exclusively Designed and Operated

Don’t take an ordinary Holy Land tour or cruise! Living Passages luxury Christian cruises and inspirational biblical tours are intended to educate and uplift as you uncover and explore the history of the Bible first-hand. Our Holy Land tours are expertly planned, down to the finest detail. With over 20 years of experience, owner and founder Rhonda Sand arranges exclusive tours and elite excursions that are not typically offered on ordinary Israel tours. A Living Passages representative will travel with your group to quickly handle any issues, should they arise.

Be Spiritually Refreshed on an Adventure of a Lifetime in the Holy Land of Israel!

Is this your season to be spiritually refreshed! Will you join us on one of our in-depth Christian Israel tours?

There is sure to be the perfect tour that will will leave you feeling invigorated in your faith. Join others in fulfilling the dream of walking where Jesus walked. Bring life and meaning to your favorite passages by experiencing first-hand historic Bible locations as you journey through Israel’s Holy Land. Take a look at all our available tours and cruises!

Join us on the Christian trip of a lifetime today! Please call us for more information at 1-888-771-8717 or write us at info@livingpassages.com.

The post 7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith appeared first on Living Passages.

from Living Passages https://livingpassages.com/7-ways-holy-land-tour-will-refresh-faith/ from Living Passages https://livingpassages.tumblr.com/post/183774630140

[livingpassages]

7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith

View of Jerusalem’s Old City in Israel

Join us on a journey of a lifetime on a Holy Land tour to refresh your faith in Jesus and the Bible!

Is deepening your understanding of an authentic Christian lifestyle by experiencing Biblical history with your own eyes one of your lifelong dreams? Is your imagination longing to see what the apostles saw, traveling through a Holy Land tour with Jesus, filled with awe and wonder as the passages you’ve studied suddenly come alive in front of you?

Experiencing God’s Word come alive in the Holy Land of Israel and the surrounding Mediterranean is a beautiful way revitalize your walk with the Lord and enhance your vision as you study the Bible with leading scholars & archaeologists! Even if you’ve been to Israel before, our assurance is that our stunning Christian cruises and life-changing Christian tours are truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunities!

Here are seven ways our one-of-a-kind Holy Land tours will refresh your Christian faith:

1. Follow the Footsteps of Jesus

Be filled with awestruck wonder as you walk where Jesus walked! Visit incredible destinations made famous by the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ ministry, including the Mount of Olives, the Sea of Galilee, the site of Jesus’ baptism by John the Baptist, Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, the remains of the ancient city of Jericho, the Garden tomb where we believe Jesus was buried, the classic city of Jerusalem, and many more!

Journey through the biblical narrative in the remains of the Galilean towns where Jesus taught and performed his miracles. Follow the Gospel accounts with your own eyes and feet. Study the Words of Jesus on the Mount of Beatitudes, imagining yourself listening to the Messiah give His Sermon on the Mount. Make your way through the streets of Jerusalem and reflect on the sacrifice He gave in this city that changed the world. You will visit countless amazing places where Jesus walked, was baptized, hung on a cross, convicted and born.

Literally following the footsteps of Jesus was incredibly eye-opening for Shari! Here is what she experienced:

“Thank you for making this trip to Israel an enlightening experience. Not only did the trip increase my knowledge of the Bible and ancient history, it had a profound impact on my beliefs about and understanding of Christianity. Prior to the trip, my beliefs were primarily based on blind faith. However, I’ve returned with a softened heart and sharpened mind, both of which have opened the door to Christ.” – Shari D.

2. Visit Authentic Biblical Locations

We are blessed to have exclusive access to many cutting-edge discoveries and locations which further prove the inerrancy of many Biblical text accounts! Now you will have opportunities to witness intriguing locations first-hand, including the Temple of Tel-Arad, the real Mount Zion with our exclusive archaeologist guide Eli Shukron who recently discovered the Pool of Siloam, helped excavate the Temple drainage tunnels, area G of the City of David, and discovered “Temple Zero” with the standing stone where we believe Melchizedek and Abraham offered sacrifices to God. All of our locations are verified genuine and authenticated by Israel’s leading archaeologists and international Biblical scholars – not just the usual “traditional” sites created by man as a visual representation of the text.

Our Christian tours of Jordan and Israel bring life and meaning to your favorite Bible passages! Experience marvelous destinations, monuments, attractions, and natural wonders including thousands-of-years of history, culture, religions, and civilizations.

Monica was thrilled with the authentic historic locations she experienced on her journey through Israel’s Holy Land:

“It’s been about a month since I returned from Israel, so it is way past time to thank you for putting together a true trip of a lifetime! It was all and more than I expected … and I have about 500 photos to prove it. And Roman was a fantastic guide! He was a wealth of knowledge — biblical, messianic, archaeological, historical, cultural…he gave us all some new and exciting perspectives!” ~ Monica H.

3. Enjoy Unique Experiences in the Holy Land

Explore the Holy Land in a unique and hands-on way with adventures such as our Dig-for-a-Day program where we dig, sift, and examine pottery. The more adventurous among us can do some exciting exploration of unexcavated cave systems that are accessed through leather straps. Would you enjoy a helicopter ride over unique vistas, affording fantastic views of the rare crater-like landscape? We also visit Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea. How about a dip in the mud? Enjoy a nice float and coat yourself in the natural mud at the bottom of the mineral rich lake.

Christian visitors on one of our Holy Land tours will not be disappointed with the continual wellspring of extraordinary activities – both physical and spiritual all around!

4. On-Site Bible Study with Renowned Scholars

One incredible perk of traveling with Living Passages is our collective of highly qualified Bible teachers and world-renowned scholars which will provide incredible insight and scriptural teaching as you travel through the Holy Land. We guarantee our speakers will bring a fresh perspective to your existing insight of both the Old and New Testament.

Here are just a few of our exceptional guides, speakers, and teachers:

Dr. Craig A Evans is a distinguished scholar, author and speaker who has extensively studied the Gospels, Dead Sea scrolls and archaeology of the New Testament. He is a Distinguished Professor of Christian Origins at Houston Baptist University in Texas, and the author and editor of more than 70 books and hundreds of peer-reviewed articles, Professor Evans has given lectures at locations such as Cambridge, Oxford, Durham, Yale, and distinguished museums worldwide. He is a Fox News opinion contributor and also regularly lectures at popular conferences and retreats on the historical Jesus, archaeology, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Bible.

Eli Shukron is the chief archaeologist in the City of David and a leading expert on the archaeology of Jerusalem for the Israeli government and Israel Antiquities Authority. Shukron first discovered and directed the excavation of the Pool of Siloam, the ancient city of Bethlehem, the Jerusalem Pilgrim Road from the Second Temple Period, and numerous other historical artifacts which continuously prove the inerrancy of the Bible.

Dr. Adolfo Roitman is the curator of the Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum, which houses the remarkable Dead Sea Scroll collection in Jerusalem, one of the world’s leading archaeological museums. Dr. Roitman is a senior lecturer at the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, Dr. Roitman lectures widely on early Jewish literature, the history and significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls and biblical interpretation.

Dr. Frank Turek is a dynamic speaker and award-winning author & coauthor of many books, including: Stealing from God: Why Atheists Need God to Make Their Case. As the President of CrossExamined.org, Frank presents powerful and entertaining evidence for Christianity at churches, high schools and at secular college campuses that often begin hostile to his message.

5. Christian Fellowship on a Holy Land Adventure

You will share inspiring fellowship along your journey with other Christian believers. Many of our travelers who meet along their adventure become life-long friends after their Holy Land tour ends. You may choose to visit Bethany, where we end our day at the quiet and reflective Garden Tomb to share communion together. Review the fantastic testimonials of our past travelers and join the ranks of our seasoned Biblical adventurers!

As with all of our tours and cruises, the unparalleled spiritual gathering of fellow Christian believers who travel and study together, will make this an unforgettable life-changing and faith-shaping adventure.

“I also want to thank you for the prayer time we had together.  That was very special for me and I have no doubt God heard our prayers. I enjoyed this tour so much, that I’d like to do it again sometime, maybe in the Spring season. Our group enjoyed each others’ company so much that we are having a reunion party coming up on Monday the 21st!” ~ Janet

6. Luxurious Holy Land Accommodations

Along your adventure, stop and relax in Israel’s most prestigious beach-side hotels with spectacular views. Every detail is carefully considered when making your stay as memorable as possible. The hotels are pristine and modern, clean and beautifully appointed. Your experience has been designed in impressive detail, with every item carefully selected to provide maximum pampering and comfort, fulfilling the needs and desires of all guests. Look for spas, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, saunas, fitness rooms, and massages. Enjoy rich regional gourmet food in each location.

“I travel frequently – but this tour was the adventure of a lifetime! Everything was first class: the hotels, the ship, the food, the guides and the teaching!” ~ Anonymous

7. Exclusively Designed and Operated

Don’t take an ordinary Holy Land tour or cruise! Living Passages luxury Christian cruises and inspirational biblical tours are intended to educate and uplift as you uncover and explore the history of the Bible first-hand. Our Holy Land tours are expertly planned, down to the finest detail. With over 20 years of experience, owner and founder Rhonda Sand arranges exclusive tours and elite excursions that are not typically offered on ordinary Israel tours. A Living Passages representative will travel with your group to quickly handle any issues, should they arise.

Be Spiritually Refreshed on an Adventure of a Lifetime in the Holy Land of Israel!

Is this your season to be spiritually refreshed! Will you join us on one of our in-depth Christian Israel tours?

There is sure to be the perfect tour that will will leave you feeling invigorated in your faith. Join others in fulfilling the dream of walking where Jesus walked. Bring life and meaning to your favorite passages by experiencing first-hand historic Bible locations as you journey through Israel’s Holy Land. Take a look at all our available tours and cruises!

Join us on the Christian trip of a lifetime today! Please call us for more information at 1-888-771-8717 or write us at info@livingpassages.com.

The post 7 Ways Holy Land Tours Will Refresh Your Faith appeared first on Living Passages.

from Living Passages https://livingpassages.com/7-ways-holy-land-tour-will-refresh-faith/