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reachingforaspark · 5 years ago

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Peter Parker to the Principal’s Office Please Ch2

This chapter is in response to a prompt in the comments of the last chapter from abovely_girl: "..how about a chapter where after Peter tests out of all the math and science classes, Flash bullies Peter for "dropping"/leaving those classes?"

Chapter 2: The usual suspects

Tony Stark had thought he’d be done with high school when he graduated at fourteen.

Somehow, thirty two years later, he finds himself striding the hallways of one particular high school far more than should be necessary, considering he has spawned exactly zero snot nosed teens from his own genetic code.

If pressed, Tony will admit that any children he has with Pepper will likely end up at the Principal’s office, and often. Between his general snarkiness and Pepper’s no-nonsense attitude, their kid will likely be a take no prisoners hellion. Not that they were thinking about having babies anytime soon.

And yet, he has the route from the side (read discrete) entrance of Midtown Tech to the Administrator’s office memorised.

The first few visits had been routine-the school seeking more information for his internship, a suitability interview for the program, some BS overexcitement from administration following a Stark Industries donation to the science and music programs. Pepper had warned him he was opening himself up for this when he listed himself as Peter’s primary internship supervisor, but who else was Tony going to put?

Ray Soya? Current head of the interns, already had too many junior staff on his plate, and the man was hardly a specialist. Dr Caitlin Myers? From the biochem department, brilliant, but once made a new grad cry. Dr Jia Pak? She was head of R&D but undoubtedly too busy to devote intensive time to Peter’s learning. Besides, Tony had rationalised, if Peter worked under anyone else Tony would be reviewing his projects anyway, which would double up his workload. Easier for everyone to just have Peter study with him.

Does no one but him think of SI’s efficiency?

Tony’s ultra-white sneakers squeak on the linoleum as he walks down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to work out what Jim Morita wants from him this time. Happy huffs along beside him.

Whatever it is, he draws the line at chaperoning school dances.

The kind of thing he might very well be asked to do now that he’s also been listed as Peter’s second emergency contact, and now gets PTA emails and other gross school rubbish. He has FRIDAY scan all the newsletters before deleting them, and might save the occasional mention of the academic decathlon team or merit award received by his intern. Awards Tony lays partial claim to, his due for creating pop quizzes on FRIDAY and answering phone calls at 1am asking about matrices.

What he never counted on was the polite, earnest kid of his, he means May’s, getting in so much trouble.

Tony turns the corner to see four violently purple teenagers sitting outside Jim’s office.

At least, he assumes they’re teenagers, from their size and the simultaneous guilty shuffle they all do on seeing Tony and his bodyguard. Tony’s having a hard time making out features, given they’re all splattered in horrifically bright indigo paint. As he gets closer, he recognises them by their shapes and posture more than anything else.

Tony stops just short of the group, mindful of the wet, colourful footprints staining the linoleum floors. They reek of resin and solvents.

“I see the usual suspects are assembled.” Tony says. “Peter, Ted, Michelle.” He eyes them off individually to give weight to his words. Peter squirms, Ned looked stunned (as always), Michelle coolly meets his gaze.

“Uh, random other child.” The fourth kid might be choking under all that paint. His collar is popped like some kind of preppy wannabe. He’s just as messy of the rest of them, and his eyes widen while Tony stares at him.

“Flash.” Peter supplies, then clams up again, ducking his head down on his shoulders.

Tony looks Peter over again closely, reassuring himself that this kid is actually okay underneath all the acrylics. He’s made a valiant attempt to scrub the paint off his face, but it’s streaked along his cheeks and neck, dying his skin a tinge of purple. Tony notices paint clumped in his eyelashes and the inside of his left ear.

"You missed a spot buddy." Tony murmurs, poking the only clean bit of Peter he can see, a patch just under his hairline.

“So. Purple?” Tony asks.

“Paint.” Peter says, somewhat obviously.

“Injuries?” Tony follows up.

“None.”

They fall into shorthand. A communication method Tony developed to get the highlights of Peter’s incidents without the babble. Something that became necessary after Tony had a fifteen-minute conversation with Peter about his weekend, which ended with a casual request for Tony to check the small stab wound he’d acquired twenty minutes before said conversation had started. Timeliness was not a virtue of Peter’s, neither was prioritisation.

“Thrown?” Tony asks.

“Exploded.” Peter sinks further into his seat.

“Type?” Tony frowns.

“Chemical.”

“Intention?”

Peter hesitates, his eyes flicking to the end of the row and the Speedo kid.

“Artistic?” He says weakly.

Tony makes a buzzer noise with his mouth.

“Accidental.” Peter says with more confidence. He still sounds like he’s lying, although the pigment is somewhat obscuring his features, so Tony can’t be one hundred percent sure.

Happy reaches past Tony and starts handing out wet wipes to the kids.

“Where the heck did those come from?” Tony yelps, startled. “Are you carrying a diaper bag now? Got a burp bib in there? A pacifier? Baby powder?”

“Why, do you need a change?” Michelle quips.

“No comments from the blueberries.” Tony retorts.

“Honestly, I think you listing a full inventory for a diaper bag is more disturbing than Happy carrying wipes around. Which are very useful. Thank you Happy.” Peter says, waving his handful of wipes at the bodyguard.

“I swear to God Parker, I will roll you down to Willy Wonka’s factory and give you to the Oompah Loompa’s myself.” Tony snaps, lips curling up involuntarily.

Their bickering is interrupted by Jim pulling open the door, entering the hallway. They shake hands and head into the office, but not before Tony carefully inspects the man and his surrounds for any traces of paint that might transfer to his person. He’s quite happy with his monochrome grey look with contrasting white sneakers, purple paint not required.

“Good to see you Jim. I can assure you I’m not teaching Peter how to make paint bombs at his internship, if that’s what this is about.”

Jim sighs, looking more tired than a man his age should. Tony wonders how many of Jim’s grey hairs Peter Parker is responsible for. He runs his hand through his own hair self-consciously.

“Peter developed the paint bomb for Michelle’s end of term art project,” Jim waves his hand. “She was aiming for a literal representation of the Big Bang theory, expressing science’s intimate relationship with hypermasculine ideals.”

Tony blinks.

“I don’t really get it either Tony.” Jim sighs again. “The issue is the paint bomb was detonated on purpose by Eugene, another student, and appears to be related to ongoing online bullying around Peter’s internship.”

“Hashtag fake SI intern?” Tony says, recalling where he recognised the fourth kid’s name from. Pepper had approached him about the fact Peter had been tagged in multiple posts labelled #fakeSIntern over the past few weeks. The posts had mostly been centred around Peter leaving the school for his internship while the other students had their scheduled STEM classes. Tony figured it was small minded jealously from the tone. Peter had tested out of most of those classes weeks ago, and was in an accelerated programs for the ones he hadn’t been awarded graduation credits for yet.

“Our PR team recently flagged those, yes. I was aiming to talk to Peter about it to see if it was a problem. Clearly, it is.” Tony flicks his wrists in irritation, straightening his jacket.

If the kid was trying to blow things up, it was definitely a problem.

“Eugene has a difficult home life, and the school is working with him-” Jim explains.

“Difficult home life or no, he’s setting off explosives on my kid. That speaks to malicious intent Jim. I hope the school intends come down hard on him. If you don’t, Iron Man will.” Tony snaps.

Jim manages to look calm, although Tony’s sure it’s not everyday an Avenger threatens one of his students. He explains what disciplinary actions will be taken, and what the school’s official social media policy is. Tony’s already constructing a social media policy of his own. Anyone bullying his intern gets destroyed. He assures Jim that the SI PR team has a media response for the tweets already planned, and the men shake hands again.

He’s reaching for the door when Jim mentions the upcoming Spring dance. Tony hands him a check instead. That was probably Jim’s plan all along. He suspects the man is smarter than he lets on.

Tony exits the office, rounding back on the guilty teens. They’re looking a bit crusty now, flaking dried acrylic onto the seat like a kindergarten art project.

“Happy will organise a car to take you guys home.” Tony says. “Eugene can walk.”

“But Mister Stark.” Peter splutters. Tony notices dye leaking from his nostrils like a hyper coloured nose bleed. “It’s an internship day.”

Tony wrinkles his own nose. How much paint had been in that bomb?

“Yeah kid, no finger painting allowed in the lab.”

“It’s not even that bad!” He exclaims, then inhales sharply, screwing his face up.

Tony grabs a wipe off Happy.

He’s too late.

Peter sneezes, purple paint flying from his nose like aerosol spray. The dye splatters across Tony’s suit pants and shoes.

The pigment turns out to permanently stain leather. His fresh kicks look like a florid Jackson Pollock painting.

Tony kind of likes them better like that.

Extra Credit:

Michelle likes them too, and he loans them to her to submit for her end of year visual media grade. She titles it "Reflex: A surprising dismantlement of isolation" or something of the sort.

When he gets them back, he wears them to a charity event. He tells the eager press they’re a MJ and PP original collaboration, a one of a kind custom job.

He sends Peter a screenshot of the Buzzfeed article about it, captioned “I wore your snot on the red carpet.”

Find it at my Ao3

#spider-man #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spider-man fanfiction #peter can't stop getting detention

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mud-on-the-turntable-blog · 5 years ago

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Nana Grizol - Love It Love It (2008, Folk Punk / Indie Rock)

Hi! Nice to meet you! We are Max and Michayla, and this is the first post of our music review blog, Mud on the Turntable. The way our reviews work is one of us will recommend the other an album, and we both write some interesting things about the album separately. Read both of them, or just one of us if you like one of our particular writing styles, or neither if you don’t like either. Our first album is one Max suggested, Love It Love It by Nana Grizol. Enjoy!

Max + Michayla! xox

Michayla’s Review

Circles ‘Round the Moon

Feels like walking into your great-aunt’s yellow-walled kitchen at the break of day in the height of August. There is a hand-painted ceramic fruit bowl sitting on the counter full of oranges and grapefruit and limes. Your aunt is making pancakes and the scent of morning air, fresh cut grass, lavender, and clean sheets wafts in through the open windows while the warm morning sunlight pools onto the floors and cabinets and walls.

Colours: #f7f499/rgb(247, 244, 153), #ff693f/rgb(255, 105, 63), #68b233/rgb(104, 178, 51)

Tambourine - N - Thyme

Feels like floating suspended in deep aqua water, glittering fractals of light and swirls of infinitesimally small bubbles dancing around your body, framing you, frozen in a soft scream, watching the surface and the murk around you, but at peace with yourself, so beautifully suspended in fluid water. The smell of mossy dirt and powdered sugar on the tip of your tongue, neon lights shimmering in the distance, far, far away.

Colours: #0d7d99/rgb(13, 125, 153), #e20fbc/rgb(226, 15, 188), #c7f736/rgb(199, 247, 54)

Less Than the Air

Limoncello coloured with patches of red seeping through the page, like sun hitting your eyelashes while walking down an old dusty path, a long, hot sidewalk home, and walking through the front door of your house. Old maple floors lead into your living room, cream walls, pockmarked, covered in part by white linen curtains. You put on a record and dance barefoot in the living room. It feels like light, and the way it blurs your vision when it hits you like a camera lens. Tastes like fairy bread and rosemary.

Colours: #fff0a5/rgb(255, 240, 165), #d60000/rgb(214, 0, 0), #ad7c2d/rgb(173, 124, 45)

Motion in the Ocean

A soft blush pink set against ivory countertops. You find yourself getting ready for a party you never intended on going to, shell jewelry, drops of gold falling from your fingers like tears, the sky is darkening to indigo outside your window. Counting minutes on your fingers only to find you’ve run out far more times than it takes to eat the peaches your mother brought you late at night. Waking up tired and wishing for the sun, the taste of cold water and soft kisses, a memory of a dream.

Colours: #f2cbcb/rgb(242, 203, 203), #fcf6e3/rgb(252, 246, 227), #16074f/rgb(22, 7, 79)

Voices Echo Down Thee Halls

Stopping at a tiny diner along the highway, the vinyl seats are a pale minty-olive, you lean against the wall, faded highway signs and ancient greeting flash before your eyes, technicolour in the key of static radio waves, lying on the pavement, the sun beats down as you roll into the gravel, the dirt. Asphalt and car fumes, toasted tomato sandwiches and too much salt, wooden car panelling and the wrong colour of carpet.

Colours: #5faf56/rgb(95, 175, 86), #d1a877/rgb(209, 168, 119), #ef410b/rgb(239, 65, 11)

Stop and Smell Thee Roses

Like picking daisies in the overrun backyard of your childhood best friend’s house, dirty white picket fence set against mud and grass and a rain-heavy sky. Your laughter feels like home in her hands and you remember the sound of so many of you, running out the screen door, all strawberry-red-stained fingers and polaroid photos and charcoal smouldering in the fire pit, notes scribbled in pencil on loose-leaf paper, store-bought bread sticky on your teeth. The moment retakes you and you fall to your knees and smile and the first drops of rain hit your face.

Colours: #d8c302/rgb(216, 195, 2), #9598a0/rgb(149, 152, 160), #ffffff/rgb(255, 255, 255)

Tiny Rainbows

The rain clearing up and leaving sparkling puddles in the cracks in the pavement around your school, a warm september, you dive in and the droplets fall everywhere except your eyes, a rubber raincoat and not a single lie. Like falling down and finding yourself,a loving embrace after a cold winter day, fresh fruit on your lips, and the smell of coming home.

Colours: #05000f/rgb(5, 0, 15), #d3287b/rgb(211, 40, 123), #ff9011/rgb(255, 144, 17)

Everything You Ever Hoped or Worked For

Watching the sunset burn bright and melt down on another’s face, running away and finding joy in the places you’ve been. Crickets humming along to the beat of your footsteps and lulling you to sleep, to dream of stars and new beginnings at 2 in the afternoon. It tastes like bubblegum and sunshine, spilling down your chin from the back of your glass, bottle green, a telescope to where you’ll be, soon.

Colours: #65b277/rgb(101, 178, 119), #ff4e02/rgb(255, 78, 2), #abad53/rgb(171, 173, 83)

Broken Cityscapes

Washed out denim, sleeping with your jacket and shoes on, preaching holy words in the back alley to the birds, scattering seeds, soft and teardrop shaped, a touch of arange, rosy edges. Windchimes in the distance as they flock on the telephone wires and the words fade out, your hands dry and cracked but worth the smiles of the living, light seeping through the cracks in the clouds on a morning of second chances. The taste of cold tea chokes the back of your throat, garden carrots and lake water up your nose.

Colours: #9398c4/rgb(147, 152, 196), #e08247/rgb(224, 130, 71), #d9d4dbrgb(217, 212, 219)

The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said

Deep saturated garden greens not properly captured behind a grainy sepia photograph. Making notes on old graph paper, left on the desk in the unfinished attic, the trees tapping on the windows as the daylight pours into the room and into you, the exposed wooden beams house secrets and grocery lists, your mother told you to take out the trash, but that was five years ago today. You find comfort in eating cereal for lunch and all those things you would do as a child, now grown, now finding the light.

Colours: #543722/rgb(84, 55, 34), #0b5111/rgb(11, 81, 17), #e0e2b3/rgb(224, 226, 179)

Untitled Hidden Track

Screeching to a halt on a grid road just to see the stars, pen in spilled everywhere after your pen broke, you run and hide, the smell of acetone and burnt toast follows. It feels like shoving everything you wn off a desk and into your backpack and running, tears or blood or sweat running down your cheeks.

Colours: #0a0047/rgb(10, 0, 71), #f4fc58/rgb(244, 252, 88), #ff2b2b/rgb(255, 43, 43)

Overview

Overall, this album feels like falling into a pool of sunshine, and filling your lungs with it. Every song feels like another wave washing over you, the endings of each track hit like breaking the surface of the water for a gasp of air before going under again. If you needed a pick me up, try this one shot injection of good vibes, sunlight, and punchy musical citrus.

Anywho, congrats if you made it through that entire review! If you’re curious about how the songs translate into colours through my synesthesia, go on and copy/paste the colour codes into Google’s handy “colour picker” (just google it and then chuck the bits with a # into the top line of the colour picker) and it should work. I think. . .

Cheers!

Michayla Siwak

Max’s Review

Very rarely do I feel like I am the target audience of an album. However, whether this is actually true or not, Nana Grizol’s Love It Love It is certainly one that matches how I currently feel at this stage in my life.

All throughout this record, there is a sense of nostalgia and bittersweetness that I just couldn’t shake while listening to it. This emotional impact is noticeable from the very first song, “Circles ‘Round the Moon”. It represents a type of fantasy that I, and probably many other 18-year-old music fans who are scared of, yet excited about the intimidatingly massive world they’ve been thrust into, have quite often. Yes, the track tells a story of young relationships and figuring all those out, but it also describes leaving the big city for some place of solitude and simplicity in nature. It’s a beautiful thing really.

Musically, this feeling of homemade simplicity is reflected in every track. Far and away my favourite musical aspect of this album is the horns that will often come in and add to the pretty intense emotional impact this album has. The little imperfections and human-ness that is added by these wind arrangements serves as another tool to emphasize the feelings I’ve been writing about so far. Beautiful swells of trumpets cause your stomach to do little flips of excitement and emotion in songs like “The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said”. They add so much to the crescendos and dynamic changes throughout the album and are an indispensable part of the project as a whole. The songs all feel organic, like they’re being played by a group of friends in the background while you’re at some house party, stoned out of your mind and feeling insecure about the stupid shit you say in front of individuals of your preferred sex.

“Motion in the Ocean”, a huge highlight on the album for me both lyrically and musically, resonates with me more than almost anything else on this record. Lines like “It seems that we are clams inside our shells / Side by side on rocks we feel the tide as the sea contracts and swells” emphasize the feeling of powerlessness an 18-year-old Canadian who just failed his first year of university in a city of 2.463 million people (as of 2016) can feel sometimes. Yes, perhaps many of these lyrics are a tad on-the-nose and almost approaching cliché, but that adds to the beauty of it. Does this really make the messages and emotions conveyed by Love It Love It any less powerful or have any less meaning? These emotions and themes feel so genuine it’s hard to hate them, as much as the cold, cynical, pretentious arsehole in me wants to. What can I say? I can’t help but like and relate to this dumb little album. It’s great.

Yeah, sure. There’s lots of folky indie rock out there that will give you these kind of feels. I’m sure there are thousands of bands like this that try to do the same things. I can’t call this album revolutionary, or even especially fresh and different. No, the power in this album lies in its consistency and lovability. It fits very comfortably in a genre and mood that’s been done to death, but the playful, casual arrangements, lovably self-deprecating yet optimistic lyrics, and complete relatability to this young, confused college student make it pretty damn special in my books. Listen to it with some friends in the forest and let the stresses of post-adolescent mediocrity float away from you for a bit. At the very least, you’ll feel a helluva lot less alone after giving this a spin.

Perhaps this was a very fitting album for our first review in the gargantuan community of music reviewers. It’s pretty hard to recommend a better album for a couple of kids just starting their journey into a brand-new world who have no fucking clue what we’re doing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy our reviews.

Love,

Max Gilmour

Bandcamp

#music #2008 #punk #punk rock #folk punk #pop punk #music review #indie #indie music #love it love it #nana grizol

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quitepossiblyknot · 5 years ago

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Embrace the pangs 💉💊

Dysmorphic, distortions, this ordinance that forms with it, wicked, twisted, indiscretions, stretching the fiber of my fabric into tragic frays, wool pulled over third eye, crazed, raised vigilant in hyper, viper, the bite of conception, perceiving, seeing a deflection, reaction to refractions. Distracted. Contracting spirit into compacted fear. Inferior, the reflection, dissolved into flaw, lost, lawless, flawless victory of a story, line of thought, caught between avoiding mirrors and intrusive, elusive notions, self-destructive. Explosive. Imploding. Combustion. Encrusted with joules, crowned dunce, dumbed down, doubts, from opinions and clouds, mental fog, clouded judgment, hounds looking for grounds to feast, they feed on arousing how deep your love is, externalized, learned to lie, down, lie down, no time spent on being built up, quilts' dust, filled, rust, steel, crushed under the weight of another's perspective, an elective, self-deprecating, uneducated.

Entropy. Regrettably corroborated with killers, wolves, thieves, communities, guise of sisters and brothers, uncover sinister. Soul shirked. Absent-minded. Covert operations, debasing boy, black, a generation that made self-hatred a map, navigated spaces, trance, romance, no chance of survival. Spiraling into camp. Concentration. Grew south in a town where most die inside from fluoride. Red lake 40 contorting, an assortment of colored only. Yellow dyes. Blues. Made in the image of hue. Hyperactivity. Trauma bonding is not intimacy, nativity scene of narcissism, recidivism, individualism, intimately hardening artery. Cereal killer. Spoonfuls.

Who pulls sugar from the shelves? No one. Number one killer, brain cells, news at 12, dead, like skin cells, on the surface, for certain, no witnesses, intricate this thread, camouflage, invisible, ingestible, processed food, pestilence, detestable. Vegetative states from Quaker oats, reprehensible. To change the whole, vegetables, heavy metals pulled, examine, tamarind, gathering chlorella, never go back to what hurt you, the circle. Burn bridges, giving access to acid is surely corrosive, notice behavior and the chain to what's toxic, reactive, active chemical, neurotransmitters, information, legible, read body language, instincts, there is this thing within that transcends imagined, logos, gnosis, sit still, a big pill, instant kill to thrill for dysfunction, the corruption in monosodium glutamate, what's true of hate is inclination to destroy others, especially over colors, paved in aluminum, refined salt, proven drugs, why once dose is serious, high fructose syrup, addiction is stricken from the records.

Getting out of bed is rising from the dead, a stretcher, strengthen your resolve, we're at war. demons on tap. Faucet. Losing our minds, ingredients in the frosting, land minds, proven in finds, find peer-reviewed research. Detox. Rebirth. These hurts aren't all self-inflicted, injustice, this disgusting government. What's bubbling. Toxins. By proxy, what we eat. Biological strategy. Dastardly deeds. Deforestation, disaster to bees, plant a garden, mentally, and if you keep yard or lawn, drawn to restoration. A nation divided, fighting, united, tied in a knot, from a bomb dropped.

Weapons are currently labeled orange 8, green 3, blue 2, Bluetooth, warning labels at the bottom, radiation exposure, no, sir. Won't stir with those in the mix, distribution of mental calamity and vanity, categorized by number, and color, none another than neo, Nazi, not so much propaganda when at a glance, the information is accessible, in the palm of your hands. Citrus red. 2. Truth is dead to those who uphold lies, times, we live in. Doors. Hordes. Condos. More rooms. Floors. More. Morse code. Opportunity knocking. We've gotten so far from who we are. Systemic. It's stemming from root. E129. E132. Indigo. In the scope. You're a target. We all are. Constellated. State of affairs. All-star. All hands on deck, cards served. Outburst. Starburst. Tartrazine. Erythrosine.

Conveniently packaged. Politics, your package. Narrative, a string. Progress, a carrot. Two wings, swing state. Think plate. You've been dished hubris. Hugest egos hear Nada. Problem. Problems. Revolving around, we're surrounded. "They live". Agents. Agent Orange. Conformists, astronomical proportions. Distortions. Dysphoria. There's a war inside. Soy. Gut flora. Hormonal imbalance. Challenged. Ask what oil they use. Canola. Monsanto. Whistleblower. Throwing up. Diarrhea, lead in the water. Disastrous. What they once painted with. Funerals. Fumes. Consumed. Cleaning products. Our ducts, inhale, the smell. Docile. Tactical. Not imagined, this is actual. At the age of sixteen seeing blistering facts, magistrates, concentration camps, ADHD, general warnings, General Mills, ads placed in close proximity to children, rainbow coalition, institutions pedophilic, drilling kids with doctrines, doctored with excessive killings, news at 11, media, an expensive field, millions for a billboard, kill more minds by design.

Like buttons and notifications, opioids, overdose of dopamine. Comatose. no one knows the noise of white lies or white noise, like voids, like Freud, Elektra complex, Oedipus complex, manifest in sex, obscure, allure. Red. You've read right. Play house. Sandlot. Sandbox. Electronic devices, Magnavox, television sets attached to our wrists, slavery, thyroid and tumors, ably fueling the system, riddled by images. Symbols. Sex. Complex. Bends. To shed light on taboo. As usual, consumers will change the channel. Amplitude of mind control. I, the toll, where we pay, where the prey are laid to rest. Emergency broadcast. This is a test. - by afroknotical ©2019

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abyssiniana · 6 years ago

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«Ride Home»

Purple Ranunculus, meaning “You are radiant”.

A gift for @dork-sen for the Sheith Flower Exchange ( @sheithbouquet ) based of the song "Ride Home"by Ben&Ben.

I really hope you like it!! ;;;;

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Prosthetic fingers drummed on the leather cover of the wheel with no rhythm in particular. A familiar song on the radio filled the car with a pleasant harmony, but Shiro’s ears were deaf to anything but his own thoughts, the mechanized movement of reaching for the gearshift barely processed by the Japanese man. Ahead of him, miles of deserted highway expanded into sandy canyons and red dunes; this was a trip he had done before, countless times, but gravity seemed to be weighing harder on him, twisting his belly into the complex pattern of boating knots.

Before, he would travel to the Arizona desert to pick up Keith, or to stay over at his boyfriend’s house for the weekend. This time , he thought, looking over his shoulder to the back seat, where a gym bag filled with clothing items and a backpack with personal possessions had been tossed, he was going home.

~*~

“Hey there, buddy! Looking to get inked?”

Shiro glanced up from his sketchbook to salute the boy who had entered his tattoo parlor, apparently started by the bell attached to the door. Under the purple neon sign that read “ Black Lion Ink ,” a young man with the full bad boy™ attire crossed his arms over his chest, onyx-colored hair styled in a mullet and indigo eyes piercing through Shiro with the intensity of a whole galaxy. His nose was rather perky, sprinkled with nearly missable freckles, the angle of his jaw sharp, peachy lips that suffered from obsessive-compulsive biting pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t very tall and seemed rather thin under a red leather jacket and skinny black jeans with decorative silver chains, but his attitude suggested he had a foot heavy enough to kick any condescending bastard to the opposite corner of the room.

Small but angry. Cute .

“Yeah, I guess,” was the response, as the potential canvas walked to the counter, eyes darting to the several frames of artwork signed by the Japanese man, exposed on the walls of the studio. He whistled and Shiro smiled. “You’re Shiro...? I uh… I’m Keith. I heard about your work from a friend.”

“Yep, that’d be me.” Absentmindedly, the tattoo artist ran his fingers through his bleached white forelock, pushing it back to blend in with the black strands before it stubbornly flopped back to his forehead. It wasn’t uncommon for former clients or fellow colleagues to put in a good word for Shiro’s work, be it vocally or via social media; he specialized in Japanese traditional, though he could pull off mostly any style with flawless technique and extreme precision. He wasn’t cocky, but he was confident in a healthy measure, and proud of his hard-won reputation. “What were you looking to get?”

“Don’t know, really. Can I see that?” He pointed at the portfolio that had been left open on a random page by the last curious customer; and the eldest noted the fingerless carbon fiber biker gloves Keith wore; stylish.

“Go on ahead.”

The dossier was promptly presented to the boy, who flipped through the processes of old, new, discarded, and formerly executed tattoo designs. Those that had been inked already were accompanied by photographs of the final result upon the skin and written reviews of their bearers regarding Shiro’s performance and care.

While Keith took his time to look over Shiro’s work, the latter seized the chance to examine him from a closer distance this time. He had very beautiful skin, dreamy, the perfect white canvas for any artist’s masterpiece. Clearly, this boy was no ink virgin, as the bursts of American traditional bright red and bold lines peeked through the collar of his shirt suggested. He must have more tattoos somewhere too; guessing from experience, those who got chest pieces had begun elsewhere, in less painful areas. Maybe the arms? The thought of asking his client to remove his jacket and T-shirt was suddenly charged with an erotic connotation that was better left away from his work hours, so he refrained.

“This one is neat,” he heard him say, after a silent while. “Can I get this?”

The artist chuckled fondly at the memory of the drawing he had specially made at the request of Allura’s dad. His first big project with over thirty redesigns and chronic back pain, resumed in hours of blood, sweat and tears, and a goddamned stunning backpiece. It could’ve been a disaster, but Alfor trusted him, from the beginning to the end of it. That red lion held a very dear meaning and the way he saw it, no one else would be fitting for that design but the sweet man who had welcomed Shiro into his small family as a son, even after him and Allura broke up back in senior year of college.

“Why that one?” he questioned, platinum colored eyes locking with the client’s.

“No reason. I like it.” a shrug. To that, Shiro held back and eyeroll and a sigh. Oh. One of these . What a disappointment.

“It goes against my policy to tattoo designs that are meaningless to the canvas.” he explained, with the utmost seriousness and professionalism of a lawyer. Keith didn’t seem too pleased, eyebrow raising in bitter assumption.

“You don’t know me.”

“But I will, once I figure what to tattoo on you.”

“I can just go elsewhere to get this done.” Keith snapped, open palms upon the marble of the counter as he measured the other with his eyes. “You’re pretty full of yourself, you kn--”

“You can leave, and you’re within your right to, but I don’t see you walking away.” Shiro smirked at his own remark, taking some sweet satisfaction in how the young boy glared at him with a pursed pout, boot tapping on the linoleum floor of the studio with childish impudence. After dragging the silence for long enough to savour what was already his victory, Shiro proceeded, “Look, Keith, I would love to tattoo you; I just want to make sure you won’t look at my work five, ten years from now and regret having it on your body. We can figure out a design for you, perhaps over coffee? I’m taking a break soon.”

There were long moments of ponderation, Keith’s face twisting as he mentally evaluated the possible outcomes of this situation (either that or he was remembering the first time he licked a lemon), and finally settled for an answer.

“... Fair enough,” that corner smile might have caused Shiro’s heart to skip a beat. “But you’re paying.”

~*~

Shiro parked next to a motorbike that had definitely seen better days, despite being loved enough that the owner refused to give up on the rusty pipes or poorly executed paint job. After turning the key in the ignition to cease the roaring of the powerful engine of his car, Shiro exited the vehicle to be greeted by the lean form of Keith Kogane leaning against the doorframe, up on the porch.

“Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, I was thrilled by the ever shifting landscape of the desert. I’m almost sure the single cactus near the road moved an inch to the left since last time I passed by, I swear.” there was heatless sarcasm in Shiro’s reply, but a smile on his face, as he picked up the luggage from the backseat. He walked to the entrance of the house, the wooden steps creaking under his boot, stopping mere inches in front of the smaller man in silent expectation, the bags dropped to his feet. He was about a head taller than Keith and had to look down at him, head tilting to the side. “Missed me much, is that it?”

“Hm. You know it,” Keith moved to cup Shiro’s jaw. The Japanese man couldn’t help but to smile at the tattoos that covered both of those hands, the first pieces that he had had the privilege to tattoo on this man two years ago: large twin purple ranunculus flowers, blooming on each dorsum. Keith’s nails carded across the identical designs that Shiro had recently gotten on both shaved sides of his head, pulling them closer to lean foreheads.

Ranunculus. Too gorgeous to be real, often present in wedding bouquets in their majestic, exquisite rose-like blossoms, layer upon layer of radiant beauty. That was Keith for Shiro, and Shiro for Keith. Their lips met halfway, in the stamen of their passion, arms engulfing them in the eternal petals of commitment.

Shiro was home.

#voltron legendary defender #sheith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #vld keith #vld shiro #vld sheith #fanfic #abyssiniana #vld

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bestgraffitiremovalproductsicjp7 · 4 years ago

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What Are The Best Graffiti Removal Company Companies?

The Best Graffiti Removal?

Table of ContentsWhich Is The Best Graffiti Removal Service?How Do I Find A Graffiti Removal Service?What Do I Need To Know To Hire A Graffiti Removal Techniques?

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Jul 28 2016 United States Rep. That 39 s another scenic CNU has actually designated 10 quot Freeways without Futures quot here in The United States and Canada and in this video you 39 ll find out about the advantages of taking down the Alaskan Method Viaduct in Seattle the Sheridan Expressway in the Bronx the Skyway and Path 5 in Buffalo and the Claiborne Expressway in New Orleans - removal graffiti.

100 fulfillment guaranteed. The winning concept by SWBR Fisher Associates and MRB Group includes getting rid of the barriers separating the city of Buffalo from its waterside. Metalico Buffalo Inc. Buffalo NY 14221 3501Map 716 907 2930 Quick Details - removal graffiti. Cuomo states the winning style could propose removing and changing the Skyway or reusing it maybe as a pedestrian sidewalk.

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skyway. That includes Manhattan the Bronx Brooklyn Queens Staten Island and Long Island in addition to New Jersey and Connecticut. 12 Aug 2019 the Plausibility Review for the Elimination of the Buffalo Skyway. The Sep 20 2019 Task video showcasing WALO s concrete deck removal work for Cold Spring Construction and NYS DOT for the Buffalo Skyway Bridge Rehabilitation - removal graffiti.

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Vessel information. Thoughts This 2 bed room apartment or condo is near by dining establishments stores churches the Botanical Gardens the Buffalo Skyway and more. Waste Management provides trustworthy industrial trash recycling and trash elimination including a range of bin sizes pickup schedules and recycling alternatives to help make every organization more effective. Sep 20 2019 Rochester based SWBR Architects has won 100 000 for its Buffalo Skyway redesign proposition beating out a number of others in a contest sponsored by the State of New York.

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travellingwhisperer · 7 years ago

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melodrama through the eyes of a (fellow) synaesthete

hello everyone! just like lorde herself, i have a strong case of synaesthesia (I get colour visions, but also tastes and scents as well), so this is my attempt to review the masterpiece that is melodrama through my synaesthetical experiences

let’s go

green light: car air freshener, heated highway and the visions you get when you drive in heat (a la mirages), blackberry-scented cheap shower gel, a pistachio green silk scarf, old school adidas kicks, lemon juice drops on fresh summer salad, beige satin, old black cars (a la classic cadillacs and jaguars), maple syrup, the heat of cairo at around 11 am

sober: ripe honeydew, the smell of guitar wood varnish, red satin ribbons, smudged glass coffee tables, spilled lemonade on said tables, peach vodka, the feel of white plaster in old museums where security guards are very strict, cough syrup (both the colour and the flavour), artificial smell of mint, mint gum, velvet red carpeting in old and badly aired town halls, the humidity of rainforest

homemade dynamite: 4 am sunrise straight after a storm with torn dark grey, nearly black clouds being ripped, smell of gasoline, deep puddles in cracked pavement, dimmed street lights about to go out, magenta, white musk perfume from the body shop, deep indigo of the nearly sunrise of mid may, that walk home from a rowdy night out when everyone is more or less sobered up, but not sober enough to feel shy yet, still drunk enough to be honest with affection and cursing and slightly slurred speech

the louvre: bamboo blinds, bamboo shoots, bonsai trees, flowing honey, varnished birchwood, sunlit old halls in ugly grey soviet buildings, silver hellium-filled balloons, white shiny doors between a party-filled room and a closet where hook-ups and one-night stands take place, old oil paint, the sunny, lemon yellow butterflies, muddly skies of july, edelflower syrup in a glass of white wine, edelflower flower crowns, an expensive pool in a mansion-like house in hollywood hills, the eerie comfort and anxiety of the opening credits of twin peaks

liability: massive bouquets of lily of the valley, white lace curtains knitted by a grandmother, greyness of a sunday in a village on a last warm october day, a single light in an office on a late night in a massive skyscraper, dried flowers, drops of nosebleed on a crystal clean white sink, grey that turns into pastel lilac, the feeling of ripped paper

hard feelings/loveless: faint sunrise shining through the windows of a manhattan apartment in a skyscraper, all shades of orange spilling onto a hi-tec kitchen, cointreau liqueur, sunny warm nights on ocean beach, lukewarm bathtubs when the bath foam has fizzled, bonfires and burned marshmallows, just the beginning of feeling buzzed (like a glass of wine in), tender shades of yellow, rustiness of old heavy doors into a basement, scaffolding sounds, first sunniest days of spring after a heavy winter, sunset in the ocean, heavy fluffy sweaters / neon diner signs, anime eyes, porcelain dolls, peach-flavoured bubblegum, glass bowls

sober ii (melodrama): colour of crimson, heavy red velvet couches, smudged matte red lipstick, glass shards, ripped pearl necklaces and scattered pearls on sticky floor, red limelight, stilettos, tight black bodysuits, smoky-eyed tall models in revealing tight and latex dresses, marble furniture with golden decor, fistfights during a party, ripped suits and thrown ties and unbuttoned white shirts on boys with wealthy fathers

writer in the dark: light parakeet green, whitewashed starched tablecloths that crunch, old wooden tables, rusty cages for canaries, Advocat liqueur, big pearl necklaces on black dresses, big sunglasses (a la Audrey’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), sunny Sunday mornings on a patio with a cup of fancy tea, sunday clothes, white churches in greece, silver tears and crying in the backseat after a breakup, wilted flowers in a vase with dirty water

supercut: light green and orange, Love Is bubblegum, peaches, apricots, mint, Mojitos, fairy lights above people at a rooftop party, roadtrip one takes after a breakup with all thier belongings, flavoured water that doesn’t quench thirst, sparkling water with lemon and ice cubes, worn down picnic blankets, fancy dresses girls wear to the entrance into a nightclub, folding chairs, chilled champagne

liability (reprise): cold winter wind of february, the feeling on the tip of the tongue from scolding hot tea, big white rooms in museums, light green, light smoke of e-cigarette that smells like peppermint, the smell of sunscreen, the stillness of a swimming pool at noon in heat

perfect places: red wine, swinging chandeliers, red plastic cups, glass grand pianos, the last summer party in august, that warm feeling at the end of the party where everyone’s buzzed and affectionate and there’s a lot of kissing and hugging and swinging, big fake golden earrings, summer fruits, fancy hotels and luxurious lifts/elevators, skinny dipping, black velvet dresses that touch the floor, uncontrollable laughing in comfy sweaters

#this came out more of a moodboard rather than synaesthetic visions but oh well #lorde #melodrama #green light #sober #homemade dynamite #the louvre #liability #hard feelings/loveless #sober ii (melodrama)#writer in the dark #supercut #liability (reprise)#perfect places #enjoy!

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americanbeaches · 5 years ago

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Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Destin FL

Destin Florida Vacation Rental, Pelican Beach Resort Condominium

Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1 BR, 2 BA Beachfront Property with approx. 870 sq. ft., Sleeps 6.

Destin Condominium Home

Pelican Beach Resort condo, vacation rental in Destin Florida. Relax on the private balcony and enjoy the view of the sugar-white beach that make the Emerald Coast so popular. Located on the 18th floor, this resort residence is the ideal vacation destination. Recent improvements includes 20″ tile & carpet flooring throughout, mirrored wall in living area, upgraded bathrooms, paint, new bed coverings and a variety of new furniture, all in a West Indies theme. Don’t wait, come experience the best in Gulf Coast living.

Visit: Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rentals — Visit: Destin Condos For Sale

Destin Florida

Destin is a coastal community on the Florida Emerald Coast located on a peninsula separating the Gulf of Mexico from Choctawhatchee Bay and has subtropical weather. The peninsula was originally a barrier island. Hurricanes and sea level changes gradually connected it to the mainland; however, in the 1940s it technically became an island again with the completion of the Choctawhatchee-West Bay Canal. There are many Destin real estate opportunities for those looking to own a piece of paradise – there are homes for sale from beachfront houses to back-water homes on deep water to weekend cottages. Source: HomeAway

*Information deemed reliable but not guaranteed.

Other Resort Properties:

Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rental, Destin Florida Condo Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo CondoAver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5.Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507.Details: 2 BR, 2.5 BA, Beachfront Property…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo Condo Aver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5. Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507. Details: 2 BR, 2.5…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island TowerList Price: $595,000.Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542.Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property with approx. 1,605…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island Tower List Price: $595,000. Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542. Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property…

Pelican Beach Resort Condominium, Destin FL

Via: Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

#Alabama Beaches #Florida Beaches #Real Estate #Condos

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usbeaches · 5 years ago

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Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rental, Destin Florida Condo

Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1 BR, 2 BA Beachfront Property with approx. 870 sq. ft., Sleeps 6.

Destin Condominium Home

Visit: Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rentals — Visit: Destin Condos For Sale

Destin Florida

*Information deemed reliable but not guaranteed.

Other Resort Properties:

Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rental, Destin Florida Condo Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo CondoAver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5.Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507.Details: 2 BR, 2.5 BA, Beachfront Property…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo Condo Aver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5. Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507. Details: 2 BR, 2.5…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island TowerList Price: $595,000.Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542.Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property with approx. 1,605…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island Tower List Price: $595,000. Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542. Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property…

Pelican Beach Resort Condominium, Destin FL

Via: Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

#Beach #Real Estate #Condos #Vacation Rentals

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floridasbeaches · 5 years ago

Text

Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rental, Destin Florida Condo

Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1 BR, 2 BA Beachfront Property with approx. 870 sq. ft., Sleeps 6.

Destin Condominium Home

Visit: Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rentals — Visit: Destin Condos For Sale

Destin Florida

*Information deemed reliable but not guaranteed.

Other Resort Properties:

Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

Pelican Beach Resort Vacation Rental, Destin Florida Condo Aver. Rate $127/night | 122 Reviews, 4.8/5. Address: 1002 U.S. Hwy. 98, Destin, FL 32541. Misc: 1…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo CondoAver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5.Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507.Details: 2 BR, 2.5 BA, Beachfront Property…

Indigo Vacation Rental, Perdido Key Condo

Perdido Key Florida Vacation Rental, Indigo Condo Aver. Rate: $136/night | 63 Reviews, 5/5. Address: 13621 Perdido Key Dr, Perdido Key, FL 32507. Details: 2 BR, 2.5…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island TowerList Price: $595,000.Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542.Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property with approx. 1,605…

Island Tower Condo Sales & Vacation Rentals, Gulf Shores AL

Gulf Shores Condo For Sale at Island Tower List Price: $595,000. Address: 521 W Beach Blvd, Gulf Shores, AL 36542. Details: 3 BR, 3 BR Beachfront Property…

Pelican Beach Resort Condominium, Destin FL

Via: Destin FL Vacation Rentals & Condo Sales, Pelican Beach Resort

#Florida #Beach #Condos #Activities #Real Estate

0 notes

gyrlversion · 5 years ago

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20 Ways To Make Old Furniture Look Fancy

We hope you love the products we recommend! Just so you know, BuzzFeed may collect a share of sales or other compensation from the links on this page. Oh, and FYI — prices are accurate and items in stock as of time of publication.

Cover a formica table surface with a roll of marble-print contact paper for a luxe look on the cheap.

amazon.com

Promising review: “I love this product! I used it to re-cover an old Formica picnic table at my house, and what a difference! It was easy to use (even for one person) and looks beautiful. It looks like real marble and added a gorgeous touch to my patio.” —Meagan W.

Get two 15.9″x6.5′ rolls of the shown contact paper from Amazon for $16.88.

And the same goes for much smaller tables for a fab makeover that screams “I SPENT MORE THAN $15 ON THIS!!!”

Feeling pretty ambitious? Flex your painting skills with some floral stencils for something that looks (and really, is) totally custom! Swap out the drawer pulls and then you’re set in style.

amazon.com

Get some similar floral stencils from Michaels for $7.39 and a 10-pack of the pictured glass drawer knobs from Amazon for $8.99.

Add some fanciful drawer pulls like these antique-style keys for a low-effort, high-impact makeover.

Transform a no-frills IKEA STOCKHOLM sideboard into something that looks like it cost you a couple months’ of your mortgage thanks to some well-placed brass strips.

Kristi Murphy

Check out the full tutorial for this project on Kristi Murphy here.

Get five brass strips like the ones used in this project from Hobbylinc for $8.69.

Coat some curbside finds with gloss spray paint for a high-end look that’ll more or less be compliment bait.

Organize & Decorate Everything

Revive the look of a dinged-up dresser with some scratch cover that’ll make it look brand spanking new like you just bought it right off the showroom floor.

amazon.com

Promising review: “This product is amazing! A friend gifted me a five-drawer dresser about two weeks ago. It was definitely scratched and dinged up, but the drawers worked great and did I mention that the dresser was completely free? I thought about going through the hassle of refinishing it, but I’m pretty lazy lol. So, I looked around for a quick fix and found this product. Boy, am I glad I did! I’m not even sure HOW it works, other than pure sorcery. I’ve attached pics (or at least tried to) so you can seen the magic for your self. This bottle was $8.17, the new drawer pulls were $16/pack of 10, and the whole ‘updating process’ took me about an hour/hour and a half. DEFINITELY worth it!

I ended up using about a tablespoon of this product on my whole dresser. When I started the process, I thought: ‘I don’t care if I use this whole bottle to make this thing look better.’ But nope — turns out, a little goes a looooooong way!” —Ashley Thiessen

Get the scratch cover from Amazon for $4.82 and five similar drawer pulls for $24.99+ (available in two sizes).

Use that same scratch cover to revive any worn wood surface on tables (as seen here), doors, kitchen cabinets, floors, really most anything! Plus, a small bottle goes a looooong way.

amazon.com

Promising review: “I am not a Big Project person. My sister would have stripped, sanded, stained, and varnished this old table. I was able to do this in my living room. I cleaned the surface with soap and water, wiped, let dry, and proceeded. The original style was ‘distressed’ and nearly 20 years of careless kids and husband, spilt beverages, and puppy claws had added authenticity. Our newly remodeled living space made distressed look just plain beat up. My goal was to achieve a neutral finish; you simply wouldn’t notice it. The photos are before, after application but before wiping, and after wiping showing my application tools. No mess, no fuss can’t beat it for a quick fix.” —S. Ackermann

Coat a sideboard in a deep hue of chalk paint to make elaborate drawer pulls POP.

amazon.com

Promising review: “I paint lots of furniture and have tried many kids of chalk paint. This is by far my favorite so far.. I love the consistency and coverage. No bad smells and easy to distress. Will be ordering more colors!” —Jason Hollback

Get the chalk paint starter kit used for this project from Amazon for $84.99 (available in a range of colors).

Pssst, lots of reviewers say this chalk paint is easier to work with than pricier brands.

10.

Or go back to (really fancy) basics by transforming an old china cabinet with white chalk paint.

amazon.com

Promising review: “I’ve never been a thrift find person but…..I went for it and found this beautiful china cabinet. I saw the vision of how I wanted it to look. Here is the before and after it was a bright turquoise color. I recreated such a beautiful piece it looks so great! I used two cans because trying to cover up turquoise was a small challenge but the chalk paint goes on so much better than regular paint. Now I want to chalk paint everything LOL #chalkpaint” —Keya Williams

11.

And in case you’re not on this white-furniture bandwagon just yet, take a gander at this corner hutch that looks so much nicer with a fresh paint job that matches the room’s trim.

amazon.com

Yep, done with the same chalk paint as above ^.

Promising review: “I painted a pair of oak corner hutches in linen white. The big size of the can is great. My only complaint is that it required multiple coats and not as a good coverage as other brands I have used. I had to finish with another brand but now I need to buy another of each to get the same color for the pair. I did not distress it.” —Lragone78

12.

And if neutral furniture just isn’t your thing, make over that end table with some bold chalk paint for a stunning after.

amazon.com

You guessed it, this was accomplished with that same chalk paint kit!

Promising review: “Since discovering Renaissance chalk paints in Amazon, I’ve ordered multiple colors for my hobby of refinishing furniture for the old farmhouse my hubby and I are renovating. Every color I’ve used is beautiful and goes on smooth and covers in two coats or less. One quart of Old Linen stretched through our dining room table, four chairs, a bench, and our coffee table; two coats apiece. I’ve done a dresser in Black Indigo and an accent table in Vermilion Red. I also use both the clear and dark wax to finish my pieces and I love them too! I can’t recommend these paints enough.” —Christie Myers

13.

Revamp some worn-looking patio furniture with some hammered metal paint for significantly less than shopping around for a new outdoor dining set.

amazon.com

Promising review: “My metal patio furniture was quite faded…decided to try this, in brown, before tossing the set and buying new — very happy I did ! I was worried I would not be able to do a good job on it, but this hammered paint went on easily, covered very well. I put one coat on, then touched up a few days later only because I missed some areas. I was so thrilled with the outcome, that I decided to do all of the four chairs, two chaises, and two small tables. There is still paint left in the one quart can I bought, perhaps I will do the swing set too

Here is a pic of one faded chair (approximately 8 years old) and a finished one. While others didn’t think the color was what they thought it would be, I would have to say, in my opinion, it did turn out a very nice bronze-like finish. I used foam paint brushes and wore gloves, as the paint was difficult to wash off. Regular paint brush did not work well at all, stick with the cheap foam ones!” —Sophie from Boston

Get this hammered paint from Amazon for $12.98+ (available in eight colors).

14.

Mask an unsightly crate (and give your pup some privacy) with a dog crate cover.

Amazon

Get this cover from Amazon for $19.99 (available in five sizes and three patterns).

15.

Swap plain furniture legs for some interesting pegs for some creative detail work.

Pretty Pegs

Get four of these legs from Pretty Pegs for $76 (costs vary by size, color, and type of furniture).

16.

Opt for some hairpin legs on an old coffee or side table if your design tastes lean a little more industrial.

Amazon

Get four of these 16-inch legs from Amazon for $34.95 (available in five lengths and two finishes).

17.

Dress up that water stain on your dining table that won’t quit with a charming burlap table runner because people will just assume that you’re always ready to entertain.

Amazon

Get this runner from Amazon for $17.99+ (available in 7 sizes, and 10 color combos).

18.

Deck out the corners on a dresser with some artful brackets.

amazon.com, Amazon

Promising review: “Easy accent to a plain dresser. Turns it into a statement piece. Love it!” —DeidreB.

Get a four-pack of these brackets from Amazon for $7.99 (available in two finishes).

20.

Reupholster old dining chairs (or new, disparate finds) for a chic look that’ll give the impression people pay you the big bucks to decorate their homes.

You thinking about all your furniture makeover projects:

Universal Media Studios

Reviews have been edited for length and/or clarity.

Looking for more stuff to help make your house a home? Check out the best places to buy inexpensive furniture online, the best places to buy couches online, cute home decor you’ll wish you knew about sooner, or check out all of our home content for even more great ideas.

Looking for the perfect gift for any occasion? Check out all of BuzzFeed’s gift guides!

Allison Krausman / BuzzFeed

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bestgraffitiremovalproductsicjp7 · 4 years ago

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dammit-stark · 8 years ago

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Lightning Strikes, Gunshots, and Roses

This is a little Criminal Minds story requested by @myfandomimaginesworld a little while back that I just now completed. It was actually requested on my other account, but since it’s Criminal Minds I was hoping it is okay to post it here, so here it is! It is non-reader insert but I kinda like how it turned out (but to be complete honest i have no idea where this came from haha). The prompt was:

Lightning strikes, gunshots, and roses

The night sky swirled in a potion of translucent indigo and startling dark black. Stars were painted over with whip cracks and light switches. A storm was raging in its full-strength. Cities cowered beneath the crackling sky and geometric planes of rain that fell. Populations hid in homes and cubbies, hoping for the sun to return and to wash away the storm. All had been warned to stay inside, to avoid the harm and weaponry and absolute arsenal of the sky’s mighty vengeance. The people listened to their televisions more than they did the sky. Streets were barren, left empty like a weeping widow soaked to the bone with rainy sobs. Almost nobody went to work, too afraid of death and weather and the almighty power of the sky’s spiteful rays. That was, except for the BAU. No, those seven faithful agents appeared in their offices the very next day, soaked to the bone with chills and the decay of a downpour, but able to move on as if it were any other day nonetheless. Crime did not stop for them nor the sky nor the powers that be, and so they had work to do. And lots of it.

“We’ve got another one!” Emily stepped out of her office, addressing her subordinates (friends!), JJ coming up behind her with an uncomforting amount of files stacked in her arm, waiting for review and assessment of urgency and a luck of the draw.

The seven of them crowded around a conference table, all bouncing knees and itchy sleeves, “Tell them, JJ.” Emily took a seat, motioning to the young blonde who immediately leapt into sober explanation.

“New York City has got another serial killer on their hands.” She started, pushing buttons, displaying files and evidence and information, tossing information into the pit of shared ideas and terrifying possibilities backed up by real life profiling. The things this unsub was capable of and had been doing sent shivers down Spencer’s back and twitches across Luke’s fingers and nerves.

“Won’t the storms stop them?” Penelope asked hopefully, shielding her eyes from the gruesome corpses, violated, slaughtered, maimed, and defiled by the hands of an unsub with means and lengths unnecessary and cruel to human life. She thought optimistically of the intimidating rainbow gradients that the local weatherman had explained to her while she sipped her sugar-filled coffee earlier in the morning and had promised her rain, rain, and more rain.

Rossi sighed, looking up from his own stacks of files, brows furrowed, “Not in this case, not at all. He’s only going to escalate, and nothing is going to stop this unsub. Nothing.” His words bit, sinking into flesh with cruel pain like a wolf’s jaw sinking into it’s prey.

Emily stood suddenly, hoping desperately to rally her crew so they could stop a human being who was more predator and wolf than pacifist human, “And that is exactly why we need to get to New York as soon as possible. Wheels up in thirty, guys.”

Planes and storms do not mix well. It proves nothing but a terrible recipe for appetite-reducing turbulence and rocky skies like unsafe seas. The clouds are pirates and the rain are the cannons, setting a scene like the Wild West of blues and greens and boats and skies. Once again, none of this stopped the BAU. They had been warned by countless pilots and higher ups not to go, to let it go until the storm passed. But to them, waiting idly while they knew a vicious serial killer was becoming more ruthless by the second, was worse than dying at the palms of ferocious blues.

Somehow they made it. Their knees were weak and the ground was new terrain beneath their feet as they stepped from the skies and down back to earth. They stumbled collectively like unsure deer toting baggage and doubtful hopes, but they had made it nonetheless and they had a job to do. A little plane sickness (more like plane unease) never stopped anybody.

They embarked on an all-too-real train-in-a-tornado, spinning aflush with stories of murder and mayhem and fearful chaos. Around the city and through the pelting rain, they chased after the malicious unsub, learning his tricks and ticks much too slowly.

But eventually the talented team found him. He ran, they chased, like storm hunters racing toward the epicenter of a horrible hurricane.

Of course they found him in a warehouse (the really horrible ones always seem to be really good at finding abandoned warehouses). The team filed in, a tidy line of federal duty and neat vengeance and grim glares. They turned corner after corner, hunters on a hunt for something along the gray. The entire floor was silent except for their thunking footsteps and foreboding raindrops on dusty skylights.

But just in one sudden momentous second, the room exploded, a flash of light playing in time with the omniscient lightning above. And with a yelp, a scream, and a gurgle of maniacal laughter, the BAU was off running again, chasing a benevolent figure in the dark. All except for Emily.

A rose drifted down upon Emily Prentiss, a blush of petals falling against her pale skin as she laid pinned to the ground in tragedy. The team rushed away, a storm of bullets ricocheting against the storm outside, a double tornado of fire and wind.

All except for Emily.

Emily didnt get up. She had been struck by the frigid bolt of the unsub, left alone to ooze her shimmering crimson. The Unsub was good. Really good. As Emily’s eyes fluttered closed and the rose across her flesh became warmer than the paleness of her complexion, her body oozed ironically of her shimmering crimson. And she laid there. Until her team found her.

#criminal minds #non reader insert #emily prentiss #spencer reid #luke alvez #penelope garcia #david rossi #jj #the whole crew is here!#i honestly have no idea how i wrote this #like i completely pulled the entire thing out of my butt #i winged it as i went along #but i think i like how it ended up idk #it's kinda metaphorical i think?#idk it doesn't really matter #just please enjoy #criminal minds fanfiction

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lifeaftermeteor · 8 years ago

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New York, New York 205 December 22-23

--17:40--

Duo sat cross-legged on the couch skimming through Heero’s expansive music collection. Behind him, Hilde was helping Wufei in the kitchen while Quatre and Trowa sat at the dining table talking about the latter’s upcoming circus tour. He eavesdropped as he scrolled through playlist after playlist, the conversations gradually becoming a comforting white noise.

There was a brief commotion from the front door and Duo looked up to find Heero enter with a spectacled blonde…

Wait.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, setting Heero’s laptop aside and standing.

Relena Darlian laughed, pulling the glasses from her eyes and slipping them into a pocket of her oversized sweater. “Hi Duo,” she greeted him. She hovered close to Heero as they moved into the living room.

She was taller than Duo remembered. Curvier too, he realized as he watched Quatre and Trowa rose to greet her before he could shake off his own surprise. She hugged them both. Heero meanwhile moved quietly to join Duo by the couch. “I didn’t know she was coming,” Duo whispered.

Heero hesitated a beat before whispering back, “I hope it’s okay.”

Duo rolled his eyes and gave him a wide, reassuring grin. “Of course it’s okay. Jesus.”

At that moment, Hilde emerged from the kitchen, her face a mask of confusion and curiosity. When she laid eyes on Relena, she bounced about for a moment, giddy. “Another girl! Finally! Welcome to the party – want a beer?”

--19:00--

Trowa watched the goings-on from a suitably safe distance, nursing a beer and occupying prime real estate at the kitchen table with Heero and Hilde. Relena and Wufei had been engaged in some heated debate for the better part of an hour with no signs of stopping. The rest of the apartment’s occupants had gone about their business of being merry with occasional glances over shoulders at the dueling pair as they would pass them, confusion evident.

“What on earth are they arguing about?” Hilde asked from Trowa’s left as she popped a chip into her mouth from the bowl that sat between them.

Duo just happened to be walking past them towards the kitchen at that moment and intoned, “Eh…when I swung by it was the institutional deficiencies inherent in timely intelligence dissemination to the ESUN on national disarmament practices. I think.”

“Festive,” Heero noted, smirking.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Duo hissed, hovering between them and the two subjects of conversation.

“On the contrary,” Heero murmured back, “I didn’t think it would go this well.”

“Duo keep walking,” Trowa instructed. “You’re blocking my view. I’ve never observed Wufei’s courtship rituals in action.”

--20:30--

“What do you mean you’ve never gone out?” Hilde sounded utterly scandalized. She leaned forward in her shock, arms crossed underneath her on the kitchen table.

Where she sat beside Heero, Relena shrugged, her fingers delicately spinning the empty beer bottle before her. Heero thought she looked a bit sheepish about the admission. “It’s difficult to stay below the radar most of the time,” she explained. “But my time usually isn’t my own either, which complicates matters.”

Hilde squinted at her, clearly still trapped in her disbelief. Then – with quick, conspiratorial glance in Heero’s direction – she turned her attention to the rest of the group. “Alright you lot,” she said, her voice carrying over the general din, “new mission parameters. Get Relena drunk and dancing.”

“What?” the subject of the order asked, eyes wide.

“Mission acknowledged,” Heero answered.

“W-waitaminute—”

“Someone figure out where we’re going,” Hilde barked, standing up from the table.

“Already on it,” Wufei replied. Heero looked over to find the man’s eyes glued on the phone in his hand. Trowa leaned over to review the screen with him.

“But…” the protest died on Relena’s lips and drew Heero’s attention back to the women sitting with him at the table. “But I don’t have anything to wear,” Relena admitted quietly.

Heero gave her once-over and determined that she was not in fact dressed for an all-nighter. Turning to Hilde, he found her eyes dancing between the two of them. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Hilde gave him a wicked grin. “Think you got something to contribute to the wardrobe side quest?”

He turned back to Relena, finding her flushed and flustered. “I might,” he said, offering his hand to Relena with a subtle smile which he hoped was reassuring. She took his hand with only a moment’s hesitation and they headed toward the hallway. “Hilde, you too,” he called over his shoulder as they walked.

From behind, he heard the childish glee erupt. “Alright! Dress up time!”

The outburst broke the tension that had been building in Relena and she laughed, squeezing his hand in hers.

--21:45--

Relena had never seen L2 eyes before she met Duo. With all her travels with her father throughout the colonies she had heard about them, but never seen them firsthand. Little bare-footed hungry orphans, battle scarred mobile suit techs, strung-out drug addicts…all of them with hypnotic cat-like eyes. Starbursts and the indescribable color of space, blue or purple depending on how they caught the light.

Relena had supposed they’d be beautiful but sinister somehow, her Earth-born biases recognizing them as odd and inherently alien. When she had finally had a chance to see them for herself, they belonged to a Gundam pilot called Death, and their swirling blue-violet depths spoke of doom.

But now she sat diagonally from Duo at some bar which she’d already forgotten the name of, and she didn’t feel the same chills that had gone up her spine at that first meeting so long ago. The indigo halo around his pupils spiked and shattered out into the outer blue and seemed to shift and fade in the dim interior of the bar. They were quite beautiful. The anger and pain was gone for a time, their places filled with something like contentment. It made her smile.

“See something you like?” he asked her, laughter bubbling in his voice while he gave her a sidelong glance.

“Yeah,” she admitted. He apparently hadn’t expected such a blunt answer, judging by the surprise that painted his face. She clarified, “Your eyes are very honest. They don’t tell your secrets, but they don’t go out of their way to hide anything either. Not anymore, at least. They don’t have to.”

--00:20--

“So what number is that?” Relena asked, pointing at the nearly empty glass next to Heero’s elbow.

He eyed it suspiciously for a moment before finally determining, “That’s number…um…‘malfunctioning social filter.’”

Hilde turned to Relena and said, “The one after it is ‘inappropriate come-ons.’”

“Yeah but the space in between is ‘I can keep up with the band,’” Duo threw in, spinning himself into and back out of Heero’s arms, pulling the other man off toward the dance floor.

Quatre chuckled and shook his head at the playful fluidity of the action, the way Heero wove his way through the crowd behind Duo. It seemed to him that the two of them had entered their element on the dance floor, surrounded by strangers and the dark and the music.

Such an odd thing, he mused while he searched fruitlessly for the stoic boy that he had once known – child of the world’s pain and anger and father to its second chance. Heero Yuy had become self-aware. Quatre was envious of his confidence and wished he could let the music take him miles away. As the band led the crowd down dark and sensual paths with carefully manipulated chords and steady drum beats, he watched Heero and Duo meld themselves into two halves of a whole and wished he had the same. He chanced a furtive glance toward Trowa and found the other man engaged in some deep conversation with Wufei and Hilde, though how they heard anything over the bassline he didn’t know.

There was movement off to his side as Relena leaned close to ask, “So how long have they been together?”

The question took him aback and in his momentary confusion, he wasn’t sure who she was referring to. As he turned to face her, he watched her eyes drift back to Duo and Heero and realized he hadn’t been the only one watching from afar. Shaking his head, he leaned close and replied, dismissive, “They’re not.” Her eyes met his gaze and he saw her skepticism. He then added, “Personal space is an alien concept on L2 and dancing is just dancing. Duo’s always been like this. Heero’s grown accustomed to it just like the rest of us.”

Relena nodded and turned to again watch the two men on the dance floor barely visible amongst the crowd. The band crawled out of its languid chords back up to its driving beat and with them went the dancers. Heero spun Duo away from the impossibly close embrace he had captured him moments before and Quatre watched them lose themselves in the beat once more. Beside him, he heard Relena mutter, “You sure?”

--02:00--

The Crypt was a beast of a club. A multi-story behemoth, Trowa had to tamp down the sudden spike of anxiety that appeared on their approach, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. The building itself rumbled with the force of the music barely contained within its walls.

Heero and Wufei had gone on point and made a beeline for the bouncer at the front door. Upon catching sight of the two of them, the large man’s stern face split into a wide grin. He had lifted Heero straight off his feet with the force of a monstrous hug and high-fived Wufei as the shorter man walked past. The rest of them followed with words of thanks to the man as he resumed his sentry duty, and Trowa was left to wonder the backstory as they moved through the building.

Inside, the club was dark floors, roaring music, and black lights. Plumes of neon powder erupted over the dance floor on time with the DJ’s ministrations, the dancers streaked in the stuff. Trowa chanced a glance at Relena and found her enraptured with it.

Earlier in the evening, he and Wufei had worked up the group’s itinerary, catching bar specials and live sets throughout. The Crypt was the closer, the finale of a night of debauchery. Wufei had been rather insistent. “She’s never been out,” he had told Trowa when he questioned the choice. “She’s unlikely to have done anything fun just for the hell of it, rather than for some damn photo op. We can at least give her that.”

Trowa had at the time decided not to remind Wufei that he’d spent a good few hours arguing with the very same woman he was now looking to entertain. He had instead stayed silent while Wufei built the order of battle.

Hell of a way to finish, Trowa thought as they set up camp on the sidelines of the third floor’s dance hall. Several of their group promptly disappeared into the throng, and Wufei headed to the closest bar to get the stragglers something to drink. Trowa hung back with Relena, who was still transfixed on the crowd before them. “Having fun?” he asked her. She said nothing, but grinned ear-to-ear and nodded. When Wufei returned, the three of them huddled close to better hear one another over the roar of the music.

He lost track of time talking to the two of them. Relena and Wufei were an equal match, he determined: who else in their little band would ever subject him to the intricacies of Western philosophy while intoxicated, after all. The thought had him smirking to himself and scanning the dance floor.

Before long, Heero emerged from the darkness, his face and chest spattered with neon dust. That wasn’t all though. “Looks like someone got friendly,” Trowa observed, gesturing to Heero’s hip before taking a long pull from the beer in his hand.

The man twisted around to find a bright green hand print emblazoned on his left flank in iridescent dust. He groaned and tried to dust the print off, but only managed to spread the dust down the back of his thigh.

“Last guy who did that left with fewer functioning joints than he arrived,” Wufei reminded him, obviously taking note of the more subdued response from his roommate.

“This one should count himself lucky then,” Relena intoned, eyes wide at her friend.

“She does,” Hilde stated proudly, sidling up beside Heero and wrapping her arms around his midsection. She planted a dramatic kiss against the man’s shoulder and then slunk around him to take Relena’s hand. “You have hovered far too long since our last dance, deary,” Hilde informed her, gently coaxing her away from the rest of the group and toward the dance floor. “The night is no longer young! Come on!”

Relena cast a wary glance backward at the rest of them. Trowa then saw her tighten her grip on Hilde’s hand and take a deep breath before she answered, “Let’s go.” Hilde grinned up at her and promptly pivoted on her heel, leading her back into the fray of bright lights, heavy bass, and clouds of neon dust.

--05:10--

The night had left them all spent and starving…and now also covered head to toe in streaks of neon powder that stuck to their bodies like a second skin courtesy the hours spent dancing and drinking in The Crypt. The hour was too late for another bar, but unanimously determined too early to go home, they opted to find a place to conquer their appetites before they collapsed.

The 24-hour diner was brightly lit, garishly so compared to their evening out. Two hours yet till sunrise and the city was getting its second wind. It seemed appropriate to Wufei then that the wait staff was equal parts bleary-eyed all-nighters running down the end of their shift and over-caffeinated earlier risers.

Their host took one look at their dust-streaked clothes and promptly escorted them to the back of the venue where they joined the rest of the diner’s party-going patrons. The tables stacked with food and coffee, the diners all talking too loud due to hearing loss. We’ll fit right in, he thought as they pulled a couple tables together to fit the group of them.

Wufei moved to take the seat next to Quatre before Trowa slipped forward and – with a knowing smile – left him the seat next to Relena. He took a steadying breath and sat down, thankful Trowa said nothing aloud to draw attention to the arrangement. Relena meanwhile seemed too engaged in conversation with Duo on her left to have noticed.

They ordered mounds of food and several carafes of coffee, and when it all arrived several minutes later, it was bedlam as they each piled plates high. As the dust settled, Wufei caught Relena eyeing the chocolate chip pancakes that had somehow landed between them. Pointing at the plate, Wufei told her, “Each of those you eat earns you an extra hour of obscurity.”

Relena locked eyes on him and he watched a playful smile spread across her lips as she slowly reached out and hooked a finger under the plate’s edge. Inching it toward her, she asked, “Really? How fascinating. Can I hold you to that?”

Wufei grinned back at her, but was unable to hold that steady gaze for too long. Flushing, he turned away and took a long swallow of his coffee.

#gundam wing #snippet saturday #relena darlian #heero yuy #duo maxwell #hilde schbeiker #trowa barton #quatre winner #wufei chang

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barbaras-mermaid-cove · 8 years ago

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Barbara and Francesca's Tour of the City

Rated: PG for some trauma references.

Pairing: Barb/Fran or Barb/Mel; up to interpretation.

A/N: You know what? I’m going to post this story here, too. While Barbara still can be explained/redeemed, and all... Enjoy, and review if you want...?

Summary: Since Barbara is heartbroken about her previous relationship, Francesca has decided to take her on a tour of the city to cheer her up. Meanwhile, Mel spends the holiday with someone else, unaware of the true reason his wife left, and Bob does his best to escape the hospital!

Barbara, a tall beautiful woman with short green hair spoke to Francesca, a black-haired Italian woman she'd met outside a comedy club. Both women were now separated from their husbands, but they were once the respective wives of Sideshow Mel and Sideshow Bob, the current and former sidekicks of a TV clown. Francesca had been separated for a long time, but Barbara had just separated and the wounds were still fresh. She'd not only been emailed evidence that she'd been cheated on, she'd also been told what to do over the phone by a mystery voice. She'd left a letter on Mel's chair and had to leave the house with her possessions. The voice had started off neutral, but it had taken on a threatening tone. She could never look Mel in the eyes, she just left. It was better that way. "And on top of everything else, the cops have finally arrested my sister, Lucille." The tall, green haired woman said. Francesca listened to Barbara talk, as they both stood waiting for the tour bus together. The former nodded as she spotted their bus. "There it is! Now, Barbara, come with me, and I will-a make you smile! This tour will-a cheer both of us up!" ... Now, Krusty the Clown once mentioned his sister. He'd felt kind of sorry for Mel, so he decided to let his sister spend the holidays with him. Little did Mel know, Krusty was sort of shifty, and he'd much rather Mel spend the holidays with his sister, than with some prissy journalist wife with a perpetual rod up her spine. (How nice did he really have to be in order to not get a negative rating from her?!) Krusty's sister, whose name was Judy, helped Mel move the new bean bag chairs to the sides of the couch. The new chairs were a gray-green colour and just big enough for one person to sit on each one. Mel's kids had chosen them. Some kids dreamed of starting a rock band, his kids dreamed of bean bag chairs. Judy got a text from her brother, Krusty. "Hey, Jude. I'm frying in here. What should I do?" She answered, typing, "Turn down the temperature of the hot tub." Krusty, who was currently on stage, looked taken aback. A few audience members laughed at his expression. Krusty noticed. He texted back to his sister, "Ha-ha. Will try that." He may as well use that joke, while he was at it. Judy glanced over at Mel, now relaxing on the couch. His kids slumped down on the bean bag chairs. She smiled at them, before looking back at her phone. "Krusty- it's not the same without you. Can you drop by later?" After about three seconds, he responded. "Sure. Since Mel's ball-and-chain's gone, sounds like a blast." ... Francesca had heard of Bob's being in the hospital. He'd slipped on the ice and injured his leg when buying a present for Bart, of all people. The two had made a truce ever since the summer, when Bob decided to go clean. Bob also had a new girlfriend. The ex-wife imagined Bob in that hospital room with that woman, and her heart couldn't help feel a pang of envy. She drummed her fingers on the metal windowsill of the bus. As much as she wanted to convince herself she was over Bob, she still missed him. She couldn't help imagine Bob and that woman sharing a New Year's kiss. As upsetting as it was to think about, the gentle sound of the finger drumming helped calm her thoughts. She looked over at Barbara, hoping for a distraction. The other woman was wearing a slim lavender jacket, light indigo pants, and black boots. Francesca wore a blue-green jacket, a grey skirt/pantyhose and fluffy white boots. "It's no use. Everything reminds me of him." Barbara admitted. On the bus, there were a few men carrying strangely shaped cactuses, which looked exactly like Mel's curly 'up-do' hairdo with a bone in it. "Come on, dearie, smile," Francesca coaxed. She put her arm around her waist. "There is so much to smile about!" At noticing Barbara's skeptical expression, she motioned out the window. But right at that moment they rode by a poor, shady neighbourhood. "Oh." Barbara saw, and turned away, crossing her arms around her waist. She looked glum as ever. Francesca had to keep trying. They got off at their first stop. It was a small area, with a small park. It had over a foot of snow on the ground. The trees were bare of any leaves, skeletons of their former selves. Francesca decided that maybe starting out here and then working their way towards the city would be good. A few kids were making snowballs. Hmm. Maybe a snowball fight would lighten things up, Francesca thought. Before she could hatch any more ideas, the kids pointed at Barbara. "Hey," A brown haired boy, around eight, said accusingly. "Aren't you the potty-face that left Sideshow Mel?" "Yeah!" The other kids said. Not waiting for an answer, the kids pelted the woman with snowballs. "Ahh! Ooh!" She cried, ducking for cover. Francesca saw, and ran over. They hid behind a tree. "Hey!" Francesca shouted at the kids. "A woman has-a every right to leave her husband if he sleeps with the other women!" The kids threw another arsenal of snowballs. It hit the tree the women were hiding behind, hard. That did it! Francesca made a snowball with her mittened hands and jumped out from behind the tree. "You just-a proved my point!" She yelled. She threw the snowball and it hit a tree next to one of the kids, even harder. The bark had a small dent in it. The kids dropped their snowballs and ran for it. Francesca was about to run after the kids, but Barbara held her back. Still looking fierce, the brunette yelled after them. "And don't-a come back!" ... Sideshow Bob was in the hospital. The pain in his leg from when he slipped on the ice was getting better. His girlfriend had visited him, and that had cheered him up, but now visiting hours were over and he was all alone. He didn't care if he had to walk in order to get out of here. He'd show them! He was strong as steel and three times as tough! There was nothing he wanted less than to spend the holidays in a hospital room!! Bob moved to the side at a 45 degree angle. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and began to walk. The pain enveloped him and he collapsed to the floor. Too fast. He'd gone too fast. The shooting pains in his leg prevented him from making another try. His face contorted in agony. He slowly pulled himself back up into bed. His chest rose up and down as he caught his breath. He would try again later. ... The women stopped by next to a department store. In the center-stage there was a performance going on. It was an all-female, slapstick version of Hamlet. They even had the original stick that made a comedic slapping sound when it hit someone, without inflicting any real damage to the actors. Francesca and Barbara stayed for a while, enjoying the performance. 'It's too bad Roberto wasn't here to see this,' Francesca mused. 'He would have loved this...' 'Mel loved Hamlet...' Barbara thought. 'Oh, if we were still together and I was in something like this... he'd swoon.' After it finished, the women clapped, along with the other spectators. The performing women were selling the slap-sticks in a booth next to the stage. Barbara and Francesca talked it over, and decided to buy a couple. You know, just in case. Meanwhile, Gil was having trouble making a sale on a broken snowblower. Barbara decided to help him out, and bought it from him. Maybe she could fix it in the garage, at home. Well, in any case, it was good to help out a man who needed the money. His grateful smile was thanks enough, she decided. Gino tugged at his mother's skirt, pointing to a stuffed toy he wanted. Francesca was surprised. "An elephant? Since when do you like elephants?" Gino replied, "Is not for me. Is for her." He pointed to Barbara. He must have noticed the woman's sadness too. So Francesca bought the toy for Gino to give to their friend. Barbara beamed. She wasn't expecting any gifts, let alone being supported by anyone. She thanked them gratefully, holding the stuffed elephant in her arms. Her grin, the Italian woman had to admit, was rather cute. Almost childlike. Their next stop, after exiting the department store, was the hospital. Barbara knew that the Terwilligers still missed Bob and wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas. So, they walked together to go meet with him. ... Bob got up again, his toes peeking out from under the blanket. The pedicurist had been so kind as to do his toenails. She'd added paint; it was a simple clear coat, but still nice. Made his toes look shiny. Sliding out of bed, he began to walk. With each step he realized it was easier than before. He couldn't wait to tell the nurses! His Lady would drop by again that day. The thought of her long black hair with silver shines through it made him sigh happily. He noticed someone at the door. It was a woman with long black hair. She entered through the doorframe. Eep! He suddenly made a step and pain shot throughout his leg. He collapsed, more startled than in pain. Okay. He didn't mean /that/ woman with long black hair. "F-Francesca. I wasn't expecting you." Using the bed as support, he pulled himself to his feet. He tried showing emotional distance and nonchalance. "Bob." She used his stage name. It must have taken him by surprise as his emotional nonchalance melted away. "Yes?" Should he use 'my dear,' or shouldn't he? They weren't married anymore, but it was only polite. Would she see it that way...? Perhaps his pain made him overthink it? "M-my dear...?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't look nervous, Roberto. I am merely checking up on you. Here, I brought you a gift. Merry Christmas." It was a triple-size green and red striped candy cane, with a red ribbon tied around it. "Thank you. I'd have bought you something from the gift shop, but, as you can see..." He winced from stepping on his hurt leg again. Francesca supported his weight and helped him into bed. "Roberto... you really should rest now. Don't try to walk on that until it heals more." Bob saw her stern eyes, and nodded. "And don't disobey, or I spank you with this." She showed him one of the slapsticks that she and Barbara bought. Gino, who'd been pretending to be asleep in her arms, chuckled. Bob noticed, and couldn't help smile as well. "Don't worry, Francesca. I promise." He took her words seriously and rested for now. Barbara walked into the room all of a sudden, to meet with Bob too. He looked taken aback. "B-B-Botz???" She put up her hands, trying to explain. "I was. Wait, you don't understand. I'm not Lucille. I'm the younger sister, Barbara!" "Oh." Bob got a close look at her, and saw that she indeed wasn't the famed Babysitter Bandit. "I came here with Francesca. I just wanted to wish you happy holidays, too." Bob nodded. "Happy Holidays to you, Barbara. Hope you don't think I'll of me for fearing your sister." He glanced over at the newspaper article on his desk, which had made her VERY scary. "She and I might actually have made a good team, once." "I've heard about you, Sideshow Bob," Barbara admitted. "And I believe you would have." "Indeed." Bob agreed. His hand reached out for a glass of water next to his book, which was a copy of Machiavelli's "The Prince." After sipping his water and putting it back, Bob sat up. He reached up to hug his son, who was no longer pretending to be asleep. A fatherly warmth spread out in his heart. He also hugged his ex-wife. Then he shook the hand of his tall, green-haired new acquaintance. "It's been a pleasure." He said, as he watched the clock indicate that visiting hours were now up. He waved to the group of three as he pondered on the fact that his friends made what could have been his worst Christmas ever into one of the best. ... Barbara spoke to Francesca outside the hospital room. "And now I get to meet with my husband." Barbara said, matter-of-factly. "Are you sure it's a good idea?" She nodded. "It's only polite to. And besides, it isn't like Krusty will be there. My kids will be there, though." Francesca took her hand, holding her son with the other. "If he stresses you out too much, my dear, come right back outside. I had planned a big family reunion dinner for us all, but it looks like Bob can't come thanks to that hurt leg of his. But you are free to come back to Italy with me and Gino, for the holidays." ... Barbara arrived at Mel's door. She hesitated about ringing the doorbell. A snowball was thrown at her from off-screen, she ducked, and it hit the door; narrowly missing her head. Wiping the snowball off the door, she took a peek inside the house through the big window. She spotted Mel smiling happily with cocoa in his hands, and the children screaming carols at the top of their lungs. There was a woman as short as Mel, green-haired as Krusty, with yellow skin and a somewhat homely look to her. She sat down next to Mel, smiling and holding a cup of cocoa of her own. Barbara turned back to the door. She didn't care who the woman was. She needed to do this. The knock was loud. Luckily, Mel was the one who opened the door. Surprise and confusion mounted in his voice. "Barbara...?" Not wasting a single second, she threw her arms around him. Her cold melted into his warmth and vice versa. The snow blew in from outside. Mel noticed, and closed the door behind her. "What are you doing here?!" Mel asked. Barbara released him. "I came back to wish you happy holidays." Mel felt mixed confusing feelings arise in him. Judy noticed and retreated back to the kitchen. She thought, 'How dare that woman show her face around here again?! After the way she'd broken his heart!' But she saw the look in Mel's face, and a similar look in his wife's face. Was she just seducing him, or did she feel the same way? Judy looked inside her own heart. Did she start to fall in love with Mel, or did she just want happiness for him? It had been a long shot, even thinking they had a chance together, but she'd always hoped... She sat down, cross-legged, watching the inevitable unfold in front of her. Barbara took something out of her purse, and handed it to Mel. "If you would allow it, I brought you a present. I hope you enjoy it." Mel unwrapped the gift in red paper on the spot. It was a blue dreamcatcher. She half-grinned. "I hope you have only good dreams from now on." "Thank you." he muttered. She looked over at her kids. They came running up to hug her. A stream of tears involuntarily began to flow down her cheeks. ... The green-haired clown, Krusty, arrived outside the door of the Van Horne residence. He grinned widely at the prospect of seeing his sister - and also Mel - this Christmas. Well, he'd already spent the first part of the holidays with his daughter Sophie, so spending the other part with Mel and Judy meant more fun and gifts!! He knocked loudly on the door and immediately burst in. "Hey, hey, everyone! Guess who's got more presents for ya!" The kids ran immediately to him for some presents. He handed them out, grinning. But he stopped grinning when he saw a familiar sea-green-haired, liposuction-butt, can't-take-a-joke journalist standing in the room. She glared at him. Oops. Uh-oh! Krusty thought. "Sorry, Judy, looks like the plan didn't work!" He high-tailed it to the kitchen, where his sister stood. "What plan?" she asked. "The plan to split up Mel and his broad, so he'd be all mine for the show!" Judy looked back at Mel and Barbara. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Barbara saw Krusty think to himself about how to go about plan B of getting rid of her. Suddenly, flashbacks of how much she'd been threatened, intimidated, and harassed all throughout Mel's sidekick career, came back to her. This clown was vicious, and he wouldn't stop until he had his man. Barbara hugged her husband tight and whispered, "No matter what anyone else says, I'll always love you, Mel." She released him and looked so broken up inside that Mel wanted to pull her close again and tell her things would be alright. She was fast for him. She turned around and turned the doorknob of the door, and stepped outside into the cold again. Seeing Francesca waiting for her in the car, she nodded. She got into the car and they drove to the airport. ... Mel ran outside. "Barbara, wait!" He called out, squinting through the windy snow that blew at him in the night. Her car had driven off. Judy hopped inside her car and called out to Mel. "We can still catch them!" Mel nodded and hopped into the passenger seat. They drove to the airport, fast yet cautiously because of the wind and snow hurtling at them. When they arrived they heard the radio announcer say that all flights for Salcissia are about to take off. They ran as fast as they could to try and tell the radio announcer to cancel that flight! "I'm sorry, guys, but I can't stop an entire flight every time one person's lover is about to get away." "Please?" Mel said, smiling. It was the familiar cute smile he made right before he's about to hear crushing news. "No." The man said. "But you can still catch them if you're fast enough." ... Mel and Judy rushed to catch the plane, but it already started on the runway and took off before their very eyes. Mel looked absolutely crushed. She was gone, again. He reached out to something now way out of his grasp. His voice cracked like broken glass. "Oh, Barbara..." Seeing the man put his face in his hands and start sobbing, Judy ran over. She put her arm around him, and comforted him as they walked slowly back to the car. It had the small effect of making Mel's sobs softer as they drove home. The darkness coupled with snow and wind was even more eerie than before. ... Back at the house, Krusty opened the door to one sad woman and one heartbroken man. "Hey hey, don't look at it like losing someone, look at it like getting better at your job..." The clown grinned, a bit pathetically. Judy frowned. "YOU were the one responsible for this!!" The clown glanced away, tugging at his collar. Judy continued. "How could you, Krusty? I hope you're going to make it up to him." "Oh, believe me," the clown said. "Tomorrow we'll visit the hospital to see Sideshow Bob, and I'll get you some ice cream on the way back." Mel shrugged. "It's better than nothing." ... In the hospital, Bob was walking on his leg again. The nurse congratulated him for healing so quickly. Soon he'd be fully recovered! "Hey, hey!" Bob almost tripped himself up. He growled at seeing Krusty again. That clown had betrayed him at their most recent reunion special and he still loathed him for that. Oh, he was reformed alright, but he still loathed and couldn't trust that clown. "Hello, Krusty..." The clown had brought Mel and Judy along for the trip. Bob slipped back into bed and relaxed. "And hello there, Mel, how's life treating you?" "Not well," the man admitted. "His wife left him, came back, then left him again, thanks to me," the clown explained. "Ah." Bob said. "I sympathize, Melvin. He's done the same thing to my early romances." "Really?" The redhead nodded. "Sideshows can't work and love at the same time, in his eyes." "I see." "Anyways," Bob continued. "I've been healing quickly, so I might get out of here sooner than they predicted. I intend to spend the rest of the holiday with my girlfriend, and then call my ex-wife and son to check on how their holiday went." "Wait." Judy said. "You have their phone number?" Bob nodded. Mel perked up. "Can you write it down for me? Barbara's spending the holidays with her!" "Oh, certainly, here." Bob wrote it down and handed Mel the paper. "How can I ever thank you?" Mel said, smiling. He tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. "For one, you can help me walk. I intend to spend as little time in this hospital room as humanly possible." Mel helped him stand, and helped him take his first few steps. Bob could take it from there, and finally was able to walk without falling. "Thank you Melvin, that was a big help to me! I mean it!" Bob grinned. "As was what you did for me!" Mel grinned. Bob began to wobble a bit, but Mel caught him. He put his arm around him for support. Krusty crossed his arms, pouting. Judy smiled. Mel looked up at Bob. "Robert, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

#barbara van horne #francesca terwilliger #sideshow mel #sideshow bob #my fanfics #there are other characters in it but you'll have to keep reading if you want to find out whom... ;)

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3thurs · 5 years ago

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Third Thursday events and exhibitions for February 20

The next Third Thursday — the monthly evening of art in Athens, Georgia — is scheduled for Thursday, February 20, 2020, from 6 to 9 p.m. All exhibitions are free and open to the public. This month will offer two events in addition to the exhibitions. One of the venues will be closed.

Georgia Museum of Art, University of Georgia

Aralee Strange Lecture: Jamila Lyiscott: “Black Appetite. White Food,” 5:30 p.m. — Dr. Jamila Lyiscott is a social justice education scholar, spoken word artist and educational consultant. She was recently appointed as an assistant professor of social justice education at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and a senior research fellow of Teachers College, Columbia University’s Institute for Urban and Minority Education. She is also the founder and co-director of the Cyphers for Justice youth, research and advocacy program, apprenticing New York City high school youth, incarcerated youth and educators as critical social researchers through hip-hop, spoken word and digital literacy. This talk will draw on Dr. Lyiscott’s ongoing research, personal experiences navigating multiple varieties of English and her work engaging arts and activism, problematizing traditional notions of what it means to be “literate” in our society. Sponsored by the Aralee Strange Fund for Art and Poetry.

Yoga in the Galleries, 6 p.m. — Join us for a yoga class surrounded by works of art in the galleries. Led by instructors from Five Points Yoga, this program is free and open to both beginner and experienced yogis. Space is limited and available on a first-come, first-served basis; tickets are available at the front desk starting at 5:15 p.m. Yoga mats provided.

On view:

“Louis Comfort Tiffany: Treasures from the Driehaus Collection” — A celebration of beauty, this exhibition features more than 60 objects, spanning over 30 years of Tiffany’s prolific career.

“Kevin Cole: Soul Ties” — Three-dimensional wooden and metal constructions by the Atlanta-based painter and mixed-media artist.

“Reflecting on Rembrandt: 500 Years of Etching” — For the 350th anniversary of the death of Rembrandt van Rijn, this exhibition of prints selected and created by students in the Lamar Dodd School of Art commemorates the artist’s profound impact.

“Master, Pupil, Follower: 16th- to 18th-Century Italian Works on Paper” — Drawings and prints from the collections of Giuliano Ceseri, the Georgia Museum of Art and the Jeffrey Horvitz Collection.

“Material Georgia 1733 – 1900: Two Decades of Scholarship” — This exhibition reviews 20 years of scholarly activity at the Henry D. Green Center for the Study of the Decorative Arts.

“The Monsters Are Due on Broad Street: Patrick Dean” — This small retrospective begins with the artist’s student work at UGA, from which he graduated in 1998, and ends with his recent comics about illness and mortality.

“Drama and Devotion in Baroque Rome” — Paintings on loan from the Museum and Gallery at Bob Jones University that show the influence of Caravaggio, including works by Rubens, Orazio Gentileschi and Simon Vouet.

“Rachel Whiteread” — Five cast-stone sculptures by Rachel Whiteread reinterpret the artist’s earlier resin castings of the space beneath chairs.

Permanent Collection — Thirteen galleries house a large portion of the Georgia Museum of Art’s collection, including many of the 100 American paintings that made up Alfred Heber Holbrook’s founding gift.

Lamar Dodd School of Art Galleries, University of Georgia

Closed for this Third Thursday, but currently showing “All Together Now!: Dodd Faculty Exhibition” during regular hours.

Lyndon House Arts Center

Lounge Gallery: Interior Worlds by Leah McKellop will be presenting an artist demonstration in the studios.

On view:

“Collections from Our Community” — Lola Brooks shares her collection of rhinestone glasses, matching rainbow-colored wallet sets and gorgeous Vera Neumann vintage scarves.

“Interior Worlds by Leah McKellop” — Her current work combines printmaking and silk dyeing techniques. These works explore personal history via objects and their place in the domestic space. These scenes capture moments in time, rich with history and look to what may be ahead.

“Works by Eli Saragoussi” — Small fantastical sculptures and a soundscape in the lobby cases.

Ciné

“Rich Panico Drawings” — Though February 27

Hotel Indigo, Athens

“TINY UNIVERSE #3” —The third in a series, this exhibition includes small works by 70-plus Athens- and Atlanta-based artists, most whom have previously exhibited at the Gallery@Hotel-Indigo over the years. “TINY UNIVERSE #3” represents a fraction of the great talent in our area from printmaking to painting, sculpture to jewelry making. Artists were instructed to keep the scale of their works under 64 square inches because, after all, the best things come in small packages!

“Supple Moments, Dark Corners” at GlassCube — A new installation by Elinor Saragoussi is a peek into the tender parts of the artist’s brain. Often it is an agile, colorful, playful space, but at times, the lights turn off and the spooks come out. This installation combines set design, illustration, sound, movement and lighting to create a uniquely whimsical world. Bring your smartphones and listen to the soundscape available via QR code at the Cube.

ATHICA: Athens Institute for Contemporary Art

“2020 ATHICA Members' Showcase” — Featuring works by ATHICA Members.

The Classic Center

“Good Vibrations” — Taking a note from the Beach Boys, this show celebrates the end of the summer. Brittainy Lauback photographs cruise life, capturing the seascapes and portraits aboard a Carnival ship. Warren Slater draws from his Australian upbringing and interest in Aboriginal mark-making to create his pulsating pointillist landscapes picturing beaches and surf culture. Hannah Betzel’s vivid abstractions vibrate almost musically, conjuring images of the sea.

“Building Facades” — In Gallery II, on the second floor, Mike Landers’ solo exhibition of sophisticated, symmetric, minimally composed photographs will take you down memory lane. Images of Barnett’s Newsstand, Helix and the Gap will make you nostalgic for nights wandering downtown Athens of the late 1990s and early 2000s and make you realize how much has changed.

Creature Comforts Brewing Co.’s CCBC Gallery

“Migration” — Local artist Jackie Kirsche presents two new multi-panel, mixed media works of art that explore the rhythms of life as manifested through bird migration patterns.

Third Thursday was established in 2012 to encourage attendance at Athens’ established art venues through coordination and co-promotion by the organizing entities. Rack cards promoting Third Thursday and visual art in Athens are available upon request. This schedule and venue locations and regular hours can be found at 3thurs.org.

Contact: Michael Lachowski, Georgia Museum of Art, [email protected].

#athensga #art #free #3thurs

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