#just. post lettuce. its a command now

[lavenoon]

You know your tag "post let luce", well i only just now realized its supposed to be a play on words for "Post Let Loose".

This entire time my brain thought it was supposed to be a play on "Post Lettuce". I have spent literal months trying to figure out what your thoughts behind that decision were.

I feel so stupid that it took me this long to realize my mistake

Hey, yes, hi? I have been laughing at this misunderstanding since this morning and I want you to know I absolutely do not blame you it's just. really funny. I don't even like lettuce. I realize the words are similar but absolutely nonsensical - I understand why you'd struggle to figure out my hypothetical intentions behind that decision hfjdk

Sometimes stuff like this happens, and we get stuck in assumptions that make things more complicated, that's just how it goes! Hope you can laugh at it too some day, I promise you you're not stupid, and it's not a big deal! <3

[enchanted-prose]

#15 Friar’s Lantern

number fifteen: burger king foot lettuce

yay! 200th post!

Word count: 5,705

Characters: Roden, Regar (Original character), the Faola (original character),  Ulspierre (stinky peter pan boy, original character), Merry (original character)

Notes: my beta and ffnet readers loved this chapter and i loved writing it :,)

Enjoy!

The constant drumming of horse hooves was enough of a warning; everyone cleared the streets at the sight of the king’s soldiers marching to lower Drylliad.

Jaron had survived worse than a kick to the leg, and he would survive this attack. Even if the Faola hadn’t intended to kill him, any attempt on the king’s life was considered an act of treason. It was Roden’s calling to see that the perpetrator was captured.

Doors rattled shut. Roden pulled his helmet visor over his eyes; the buildings were becoming less structured, and the alleys were crammed with people trying to stay out of the law’s way.

He didn’t blame the urchins quaking in fear.

Carthyan knights were a fearful sight.

“Lord Thomas Row dispatched members of his army,” said Lieutenant Alistair, his voice muffled by his helmet. “His orders were to sweep the city looking for Regar, just in case we fail to find him.”

Roden shook his head, “I know where Regar will be.”

He’d fought the Faola before, only to turn around and fight with the Faola deep in the Vaults. Roden was sure that he’d find Regar there. The Vaults made for an easy escape, and an easy trap if used correctly.

The Vaults was the Faola’s domain.

Drops of dark liquid stained the cobblestones, and pieces of rotting food had been thrown about. A cart lay on its side. Windows were shut against the cool, twilight air.

“Stay on your guard!” Roden barked as he dismounted.

No matter how many times he wore his full suit of armor, he’d never get used to the jarring sound his boots made when they hit stone.

It was even worse when followed by twelve other pairs of armored knights repeating the same motion.

The entrance to the Vaults gaped at him, eerily similar to how the gates to the Devils’ lair were painted. No messages were hammered to the wooden posts beside the door-less hallway. No words begging for the weary traveler to turn back and find shelter in a safer place.

Stairs descended into hazy blackness, and for a moment, Roden swore he saw movement. He’d been surrounded with night-dark rain the last time he’d come to the Vaults. It was strange to return with a band of his men and a series of torches.

Though there were no messages of certain death, there was a chipped saber discarded a few steps down.

With a wave of his hand, a pair of men rushed forwards, carrying torches larger than a man’s head. There were signs of a recent struggle; bloody trails left by clawing fingers, a series of dusty footprints.

Roden held up his fist as he descended into the first level of the Vaults.

“Captain,” called one of the torch bearers. “We won’t be alone.”

And he was right. The light from the torches were met with the bright beams from mining lamps. Whispers hissed through the air, growing louder and louder with each comment.

“Keep the torches,” Roden ordered. “Use them as weapons.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first room was packed with men and women, both masked and unmasked. They lounged in corners and hung from beams. The Faola were too relaxed. Barrels lined the far wall, and mining lamps hung from hooks in the ceiling. Stagnant puddles glimmered. A large man was wrestling a patched bandit. He was speaking in tones too soft to be heard.

Roden was the first to step into the room, he kept his sword extended.

A handful of Faola burst into motion, shoving themselves into a circle in the middle of the room. The others jumped to their feet, swords and daggers drawn. A figure swung down from the ceiling.

He recognized a boy with flaming red hair.

“We understand that there’s been a, ah, situation,” said the boy. He bowed. “We have no quarrel with you, captain, we’re simply peacefully gathering.”

“State your name and business,” Roden countered, stepping aside to let his fellow knights flood the chamber.

“Ulspierre, and my friends and I are here to stage an intervention for a mutual friend. You’re a decent man, Captain Harlowe. My sister speaks highly of you.”

“Cut it with the words, Ulspierre. This goes beyond you.”

Sister. Roden scowled, there’d been a few sisters in the past.

Red hair, hanging around the Vaults. Participating with the Faola.

Ah, Ulspierre was Ayvar’s brother.

A drop of water hit the stone floor, and several more Faola prepared for a fight. Roden tipped his visor up, staring Ulspierre down. It was a simple exchange, a fugitive for peace. Roden wanted the Faola who attacked Jaron, Ulspierre probably didn’t want to die.

It would’ve been easy if Ulspierre gave the Faola up.

“There was an attack on the king,” Roden boomed, taking pride as a few of the Faola flinched. “We know the culprit, and we know he’s involved with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ulspierre scratched the back of his head.

“I didn’t come to-!”

“-Play games, I know. Quite rare, people typically come here to do just that. I know me an’ my Faola friends did.”

Roden kept a firm grip on his temper. There were more of the Faola than his knights, and he didn’t want to cause unnecessary endangerment. Ulspierre wanted to be recognized for helping catch Jaron’s attacker, he’d back down once he got what he wanted.

Or at least that’s what Roden hoped would happen.

A few more of the Faola jumped to a fighting stance, only to be met with the sounds of drawing swords. Ulspierre yawned, and sauntered over to one of the barrels. He spun around, revealing a plain chalice, and pried off a barrel lid. Roden grunted. The Faola hadn't moved, and neither had his soldiers. Ulspierre dipped the chalice in the barrel after he'd filled it with amber liquid.

The front room had been converted during the short time Roden had been away. There were shelves with boxes, shelves with bottles.

Though there weren't nearly as many Faola as he'd seen during the first attack on Feall, there was enough to make up a substantial gang. Roden wondered just how much he'd missed in ignoring the Faola's movements.

"Hand over the Faola," Roden ordered again. "I know you have him."

The sheer lack of respect Ulspierre demonstrated in sipping from his chalice plucked at Roden's fragile grip on his temper. Ulspierre shook his head, "Captain, dear captain, this is about networking. Have you heard the term 'pick your battles'? I'd be surprised if you didn't, you seem like the man who needs that tattooed on his arm."

There was only one mark on Roden's arm that served as a reminder of something.

It still stung him at times.

He said nothing as Ulspierre took another drink. The Faola in the middle shifted; somebody's foot hit somebody else's leg,  and the harsh sound of a fist hitting a face cracked through the room.

"I'm not an idiot, Ulspierre," Roden explained. "I'd rather not get my boots stained with blood."

"What a coincidence! Neither would I!"

However, he made no move to give up the Faola.

Roden's gaze flicked about the chamber, compiling as many details as he could. There was a large figure in the middle of the Faola. Each of the barrels were scuffed, as if they'd been moved recently. More than half of the Faola had been caught without their masks on.

Perhaps they truly hadn't been planning on a rogue gang member attacking the king.

Somebody shifted, and every blade started at the sound. A fight was brewing in the air.

It would need to be stopped before it began.

"Tell me-," Roden began again.

"Listen to me!" Ulspierre burst, tossing the chalice aside. "It is the same as it was before! We didn't give names before, we don't know who attacked your king. I do know that he's gotten my sister thrown into a tower, and he's almost gotten us killed by you. Right now."

"Give me the attacker!"

Ulspierre drew a short, crooked blade, "Release us and my sister! We take from those who have too much! We never intended to kill anyone!"

Too many times had he lost his temper and taken it out during a sparring session. But this was different, it wasn't a sparring session.

This would soon expand into a matter of life or death.

Roden had too many plans to die at the hand of a bandit.

He could try once again. He could try to mend things before blood spilled. "You won't be touched if you comply, Ulspierre, I promise you that. We’ll forgive your involvement in the attack.”

“Not true,” Ulspierre shrugged. “We had no idea about any attack, your king is good to us, we have no reason to kill him. We’ve been here shuffling barrels all afternoon.”

“Then tell me where your friend is, Ulspierre, and we won’t have any trouble.”

“See, my friend isn’t exactly my responsibility at the moment, he belongs to somebody else.”

“He’s not exactly your friend then, isn’t he?” Roden countered, taking a step towards Ulspierre and the circle of Faola.

Ulspierre’s gloved hands shot up, “It’s my life, sir knight, my choices.”

“No, not just your life. The king was attacked and if you won’t tell me where your patched acquaintance is-,”

The room went completely silent as Roden lunged forward, his blade less than an inch from Ulspierre’s neck.

“-I will have everyone in this room arrested on charges of high treason.”

He was close enough to Ulspierre to see the fear leaping from his eyes. Ulspierre cleared his throat, “Commander! Somebody would like to discuss your methods?”

Roden took a step back as the circle of Faola dispersed, revealing a scarlet haired bull of a man holding a patched Faola by the neck. The Faola weakly slapped at Regar’s grip before going limp.

Commander Regar nodded his head, “I appreciate that King Jaron sent help.”

“Seems you handled the situation on your own,” Roden lowered his sword to keep his arm from tiring, but took care to keep it in view.

He knew he should’ve been relieved that Regar was safe, but a nagging at the back of his mind couldn’t let him accept that this was right. Roden could justify leaving the Faola alone by claiming he couldn’t see them while they redistributed stolen wealth.

But to ignore an attack on the king was too much.

As Roden grew more involved with the Faola, he was realizing that there was an entire rogue kingdom under his nose.

“The attack was much more, ah, personal than you’d expect. My apologies.”

Personal? He didn’t mean to frown as he considered the weight of Regar’s words. The Faola’s attack was based out of revenge; Regar’s tone confirmed that.

And it seemed that Regar knew much more than he showed.

“This bandit is an enemy to the crown,” Roden explained, gesturing to the head locked Faola. “He will be taken and-“

Regar shook his head, “We do things differently in the streets, sir.”

“An act of treason is-“

“I caught the attacker, who swung a sword at me, and it’s my privilege to decide punishment. The rules are different, here. Had you caught the man first, you’d have the responsibility of choosing his fate. But you didn’t, and as one of the victims, I have a say in how this ends.”

Dozens of glittering bandits’ eyes turned to Roden and his men. He knew they wouldn’t hesitate to slit throats if Regar’s demands were challenged.

“The death penalty requires a unanimous vote,” Roden growled. “A vote from a respectable crowd, not a hoard of thieves.”

The Faola began squirming again at the mention of death, only to receive a hard shake from Regar as warning.

Ulspierre wiped away an imaginary tear, “Patchy here is a friend of mine, I’d hate to see his head severed from his body.”

“I had a completely different punishment in mind,” Regar snapped. He pointed a meaty finger at Roden, “You’re an honorable man, can you respect the ancient law?”

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, blow for blow.

The knights all looked to Roden; they’d fight to the death if he ordered them to. The Faola all stared, and Regar’s patched prisoner stole a glance.

His eyes carried a graveyard’s color.

Roden stood a little straighter, “I hold rank here. The Faola landed a blow, but the punishment for treason can only be sanctioned by the king.”

“Take the bastard’s mask off,” Ulspierre perched on a barrel. “That would put a fat target on his back.”

Regar threw the patched Faola to the floor, and drew his sword. The other Faola slid into a ring. Each one kept a sharp eye on Roden’s men.

The Faola held his hands over the back of his head, curling up like a child. A pang of almost guilt punched through Roden’s ribs. He remembered being the lost thief at the end of a sword, just hoping somebody had the compassion to bring him to the good path.

He’d watch Regar’s every move.

Treason didn’t merit dying in the Vaults like an animal.

“If you’d be so kind as to step out of the circle, captain,” Regar bowed, and drew a dagger from his belt.

“I’ll be watching, Regar.”

Ulspierre stood on his barrel, chalice in hand again, “Take the mask off, commander! Turn him over to the crown when you’re done!”

The Faola curled even further around himself as Ulspierre’s demands to unmask him grew louder and louder. Roden’s knights kept a firm gaze on as many masked men as they could; Roden never stopped watching Regar.

A fit of laughter erupted from the circle as the Faola made one last attempt to escape. He threw himself at the feet of his fellow bandits, only to be dragged back into the circle.

Roden frowned.

“I am not who they say I am, but I cannot let this grievance pass,” Regar announced, reversing his dagger grip. He took the Faola by the collar of his tunic. “You best be grateful I’m dealing with you, and not the king.”

If it weren’t for Ulspierre’s childish laugh ringing through the room, Roden was certain the judgement would’ve been made in silence. The Faola began jostling Roden’s knights, calling to unmask their fallen friend.

However, Regar had a different plan. His words were lost on the jeering crowd; Roden strained to hear.

His attempts were futile.

A million thoughts crossed Roden’s mind. He instantly regretted allowing Regar to hold that much power over a bandit. A bandit who likely wasn’t much older than some of the pages running around the castle.

It would be too easy for Regar to slit the Faola’s throat.

Something wet splashed Roden’s nose. He didn’t have to feel it to know what it was and who it had been intended for. Those who weren’t wearing their masks had taken to spitting on Regar’s victim.

He didn’t need to see the Faola’s face to know what he felt. The mask saved him from further humiliation.

Regar sliced through both of the Faola’s sleeves, and pushed him to the ground.

It was a simple motion that carried the weight of the sky. Regar hadn’t unmasked the Faola.

He’d separated him from the group.

Those sleeves would forever bear the mark of a disowned bandit. The patched Faola could never return to his family of thieves. Not here in Drylliad.

Exile was always a cruel fate, but it was better than facing charges for treason.

“I’ve taken what’s due,” Regar roared over the crowd. “So help me Saints, I run into you running with bandits again, I’ll-!”

His threat was lost as Ulspierre shouted an order. “Chase him down! Treat a stray the way they’re meant to be treated!”

The Faola struggled to keep his sleeves up as he crawled away from the spitting bandits. Crawling, with the dignity of a drowned mouse. He rolled away from a boot, only to be met with another. A metallic ring cut through the musty air; Regar was shoving several masked bandits. Ulspierre stood atop his barrel, twitching his finger to an imaginary tune.

A knight threw back his hand, knocking over a member of the mob.

Roden glanced back to the fallen Faola, who’d curled up around himself again.

He thought of Brat, Beetle, and Roach. They’d be dead if not for the Faola. It was a favor to somebody who’d once saved his life when faced with the scum of the Vaults.

“Hold the line!” Roden barked, swinging his sword at anything soft as he stepped over the Faola.

A masked bandit slashed a knife across Roden’s armored shoulder. The teeth-grinding sound of metal sliding across metal was becoming all too common. Ulspierre threw his chalice at one of the knights, and then flung himself into the fight.

The patched Faola had drawn a dagger, and was swiping at the mob from his place on the ground. Roden reached down, picked the Faola up by the neck of his tunic, and shoved him in Regar’s direction.

Jaron wouldn’t be happy reading Roden’s report on this misadventure.

He should’ve taken the Faola into custody and played by the rulebook.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Roden forced his way forwards, calling for his men to follow suit. Their armor would hold up long enough for an escape. All they needed to do was race back up the Vaults’ stairs and into daylight; they’d have better reinforcements then.

Regar tossed the Faola over his back, grabbed an attacking bandit with his other hand, and hurled the bandit into the crowd.

“Up the stairs!” Regar bellowed, now using a captured bandit as a human shield.

Planting his feet at the base of the stairs, Roden stared down the fury before him. He shoved armored soldiers up the stairway and kicked at the masked Faola who were trying to follow.

Battle was chaos, but there was still order. There was still a requirement that needed to be met; somebody needed to win.

There was no order in the Vaults, only Ulspierre giving orders between drunken laughs.

It was too much like the pirates. Too much like Devlin selecting who lived and who died because he was bored. Regar ducked below the stairway entrance, allowing the patched Faola to slide down his back like an eel.

Blood thrummed in Roden’s ears, roaring over the sounds of fists hitting faces. His gauntlets pinched his skin as he tightened his grip on his sword.

He had the power to end it. To end the madness in this level of the Vaults.

He could slice his way down, taking as many mad bandits down with him as he could.

Roden braced himself to charge forward, reason fleeing from his mind. It was peaceful without that call to logic. Without that drive to continue.

All he knew was that he had the strength to-

A pair of gloved hands slipped below his breastplate, dragging him back. The Faola continued yanking him up the stairs, yelling something down to him. Roden turned on his heels, took the Faola by his skinny upper arm, and dashed out of the Vaults.

The Faola slapped at Roden’s hands as they burst out of the dark stairway. Knights, soldiers, and mercenaries surrounded the stairway entrance with weapons at the ready. The patched Faola froze.

“Commander Regar, Captain Harlowe,” Lord Row waved his hand. Beside him sat King Oberson, who looked like he was going to be sick.

Regar stole a glance at the Faola, who nodded.

Roden knew he was seeing a secret conversation. He moved to put his sword to the Faola’s throat, but at the same time, Regar stumbled forward and latched onto Roden’s shoulder.

“Let me go!” Roden shouted over the clatter of his armor. He wasn’t a fool, he knew- he-

“Apologies, Captain Harlowe!” Regar burst, almost pulling Roden to the ground as he reached for Roden’s hand.

All he saw were fragments of an image. Regar was a mountain of a man, and he’d dragged down several knights with him. The Faola had been hiding behind him. His patched cloak fluttered in the dusk breeze.

The Faola had vanished into the Vaults by the time Roden regained his footing, likely to never be seen again.

“What in the Devils’ name was that!?” Roden roared, red seeping at the corner of his vision. “How did you let him go!?”

Punishment had been served, yes, but letting go of a man who’d committed treason wasn’t an easy mistake to make up for.

Regar coughed, “Don’t yell at me, boy.”

Boy? Boy?

He’d heard it over and over. Older soldiers claiming they didn’t have to listen to Roden because sometimes he cut himself while shaving. Claiming they’d seen it all.

He’d lost a bandit who’d overpowered the king with a swift kick to the leg.

Roden had failed at protecting Jaron, and though he’d survive, future attackers wouldn’t be so kind.

Unfortunately for Regar, Roden had enough.

“Alistair!” Roden barked, his voice taking a sharp edge. “You will accompany Commander Regar to the dungeons on allegations of treason, his fate will be decided by the king.”

Row looked shocked, “Captain-!”

“You others, escort Lord Row and King Oberson to safety,” Roden continued over Row’s complaints. “There’s a dangerous man looking for blood.”

A group of knights on horses hit their fists over their hearts, and circled around Oberson and Row. Alistair and his men were almost a little too relaxed as they guided Regar through the crowd.

The rest of the soldiers were under strict orders to search for the Faola with torn sleeves.

However, Roden was no fool. He knew the bandit was long gone.

He was tired.

The goose chase would keep him free to find more pleasurable entanglements for a few hours.

Too much responsibility, not enough results.

--------------------------------------------------

The dancing crowd crammed into the Dragon’s Keep was too enticing. People piled in, and the brash sound of pipes and a lute careened through the air. A familiar dark coat pushed into the crowd.

So, Tobias wasn’t able to keep still either.

Roden watched him shove his way through the doors. A part of him knew he needed to stand beside Tobias and keep him from getting his teeth knocked out. A part of him knew he needed to return to the castle and explain how he’d lost the Faola.

But he didn’t move.

His armor, though abandoned at the nearest garrison, still weighed down his arms. Still clung to his shoulders. He’d failed at keeping Jaron safe, and now he was willingly letting Tobias walk into a tavern filled to the brim with all sorts of people.

No, no, Roden couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let Tobias try to blend in and end up crying over a limping frog.

There were too many things to worry about. He stepped forward, forcing himself to continue moving despite wanting to stay still. For Tobias, for Tobias.

Can’t let him get his eye blackened. Can’t-

Cool fingers tucked over the lip of his breastplate, freezing against his burning skin. Roden scowled at the immovable figure before him as best as he could. A splash of blue kept her curls off her neck; he’d cut that scarf himself.

“I didn’t realize my biting wit hurt you to the point of staying away from the Dragon’s Keep,” Merry wrinkled her nose. The left side of her face was covered in red welts.

“Merry, I didn’t-,” he began, freezing in his tracks.

She shook her head, and held up a basket, “It’s alright, I was actually coming to see you. You missed out on tarts the last few days. I, ah, I heard about what happened in the Vaults. Regar’s men are loud drunks.”

His ears burned. He hadn’t realized word of his failure escaped that quickly, “Tobias went in, I need to keep an eye on him.”

“Bad idea, you might be prepared for a battle, but Regar’s men won’t play fair,” Merry tucked her basket in the crook of her arm. “Come on, I had every intention of walking across the city, now you get to come with me.”

Her hand pressed against the small of his back.

“Stop pushing, I’m not your ward,” Roden grunted, and he draped his arm over her shoulders.

“Ah, but I am your friend,” she corrected.

Friend.

There was an unspoken agreement Roden shared with Merry. It came in the form of sharing tarts and poorly made scarves. It came in the form of stopping by every few days to make sure the other hadn’t gotten their head stuck between stair railing again.

In reality, the head sticking incident had been completely Merry’s fault, but if it happened once, it was all too likely that it would happen again.

“Who hit you?” asked Roden as he slipped the basket off of Merry’s arm and into his hand.

She cracked a smile, “So my face is still there, glad to hear that.”

Roden frowned, ready to ask again. He steered her out of the path of an older woman and her several escorts. “I’ll hold you down till you tell me.”

“Nobody hit me, I promise.”

“I’m not an idiot, Merry.”

“It’s embarrassing!” She threw her hands up. “I slept in this morning and today’s fish day, and the other barmaids got to run their errands, but I had to get the nasty crawfish from the river. They were trying to escape and I didn’t want them to pinch me, which made me run into a door frame. Is that what you want to know? Do you like embarrassing me?”

“Is the doorframe injured? I know how hard your head is.”

She stuck out her tongue, “I’d rather have a fat head than cabbage curls like you.”

Hold on, hold on. Roden tilted his head from side to side, unable to ignore the harsh reality of his shortcomings. He’d let the Faola get away because he’d foolishly trusted Regar, and now Regar was holed up in a dungeon for choosing to exile the Faola rather than slit his throat.

It was wrong to fight the smile swelling in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to feel at ease.

Ease was for those who didn’t have an obligation to put the lives of others in front of their own.

The hand at the base of his spine tightened. “Captain?”

“Yes, Murry?”

“It’s Merry,” her frown was too deep to be genuine.

“Murky?”

“Merry!”

“Mucky!?” Roden rolled his shoulders back. “I could’ve sworn it was Merry, why didn’t you tell me I was saying it wrong?”

“Roden! We’re not children!”

“You started it,” he countered. “Mucky.”

Her fist was too small to do any damage, but Roden appreciated that she’d thought her punch could overpower him. He hid his chuckle with a cough.

This was wrong. She was a friend, not a distraction. He was avoiding the inevitable. Avoiding telling Jaron that the Faola had been too slippery, and had gotten away. His head was throbbing.

Why did she have to look at him? Turn away Merry, nothing to see here!

He was a fool to have left his armor at the garrison. It wasn’t fair, he’d forgotten to bring his mask and helmet today. Roden scowled at the stray cat that dashed across the street. It slipped across the wet stones, and vanished from view.

The Saints cursed him in making him the size of a bear. Bears couldn’t run and hide.

“Did you know you’re much more likely to catch a friar’s lantern in Carthya than in any other place?” The warmth of Merry’s hand at his back vanished; she was beckoning to him, asking him to cross the street and look at the Roving River below.

Roden stared at her extended hand.

It was an invitation, not an order. He caught himself reaching forward and drew back into himself. “I don’t- I don’t know what that is.”

Her hand stayed, still inviting. “It’s a golden light, swinging in the wind. They’re elusive, some say they’re carried by Death himself. He loves his games, as you know, and takes the form of a friar.

“He calls you through a haze, promising your deepest desires. Ones you didn’t know you had yourself. If you can follow him and catch the lantern, you’ve won the game and won the reward. But nobody believes you. The friar’s lantern takes and takes, it’s hard to consider it ever giving.”

Take her hand. She’s a friend, not a hidden Faola hoping to cut off an arm. Roden reached out again.

Lights danced across the bridge’s wet stones, mimicking their partners glinting off of the Roving River’s bubbling surface.

Merry’s little tale hid too much; the friar’s lantern was an unreachable thing to those who couldn’t soldier through twisting games made of mist.

She twirled towards him the second their fingers brushed together. Roden set the basket of pastries down, and set his hand at her back. The moon would be their music.

“What’s your lantern, Lion Boy?”

“Is it wrong if I don’t know?” Roden felt his brows knit together. “I don’t know if I have a lantern. What’s yours?”

A wicked smile cut across her impish face, “I’d be drawn and quartered before anyone knew my lantern.”

“It’s that serious?”

“You wouldn’t quite understand.”

“Try me.”

Merry only shook her head, there’d be no answer tonight. Did he even want to know what her lantern was?

He watched her struggle to maintain eye contact. Merry’s hand in his was too tense, too afraid of being caged. She stepped forward as he stepped back. Step to the side, step forward. Side, back, side, forward. Squeeze in a cowardly turn.

“I don’t want to be held back,” Merry blurted. “I’m not anybody’s toy. I’m not a pawn.”

“You’re not a toy.”

Had the moment been wild and open, Roden would’ve called for Mott to watch. He’d seen Mott turn Jaron’s words around too many times, and now Roden was doing the same.

Silence hung on the summer air a little too long. Roden cracked a smug grin, “You’re my friend, Merry. I’d rather push you forward than hold you back.”

It was Merry’s fault that their timid dance ended. She threw her arms around Roden’s neck, nearly knocking him off balance. They were friends. There was nothing wrong with embracing her back.

“You’re a good person. Too good,” she wiped her nose. “But your ankles are too small and now I’m uncomfortable. Good people can’t have small ankles.”

She clasped her hands behind her back, and rocked from side to side. Avoiding the bear in the room was a skill Roden had perfected. He knew when other people used it too. Unfortunately, Merry wasn’t as subtle as she hoped.

“And I take it you have tree trunk ankles?” Roden leaned against the bridge wall, a little more aware of the night breeze than before.

“Do you want to see?”

Comparing ankles wasn’t exactly what Roden expected out of his night. He reached forward, and pinched Merry’s round cheek, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to say no.”

“Is it because your ankles are too small?” Merry swatted at his hand.

“That’s too much of a secret to tell.”

“Ah, I figured out my lantern.”

“Don’t tell me it’s to see-“

“It’s to see your ankles.”

“By the Saints,” Roden snatched Merry’s elbows and pulled her closer to him. “You need to see a priest.”

Merry clasped her hands together and looked to the sky, “Holy ancestors, forgive my lust for Captain Roden Harlowe’s needle thin ankles.”

It was too hard not to crack a smile. Roden shook his head; he knew fully well that his ankles were at least twice the size of Merry’s. She held onto his forearms, and Roden wondered if she was seriously considering forcing both of them over the bridge’s edge.

His fool’s paradise shattered when Merry’s thumb brushed over the pirate brand on his arm. Though the fabric of his shirt hid it from view, it was impossible to miss when touched. Merry’s eyes went wide.

Was this the way he looked when he’d touched the scar on her shoulder?

Roden straightened, unsure of what to say. Fire burned across his face. The pirate brand served as a constant reminder of how far he’d fallen. It was a testament to the lengths he was willing to go when he cared enough.

“I think I was wrong about you,” Merry trailed her finger over the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you would understand the stories I have to tell.”

It was then that he realized just how old Merry’s eyes were when she wasn’t sparkling with laughter. A weary traveler, constantly fleeing an enemy.

Or perhaps constantly tracking a friar’s lantern.

“The scar on your shoulder,” Roden murmured.

She shrugged, “I didn’t lie when I said I earned that one from rock hopping.”

“You said there were others.”

He’d never seen such a bitter smile. Merry waved her hand, “It’s not important.”

Kind words weren’t something Roden knew well for a very long time. He’d known curses and cruelty for too long, but he’d been taught tenderness. Taught by Harlowe and Nila.

Roden tugged on one of Merry’s stray curls, “It’s important to me.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t speak to you?” He tilted his head. “I like you. Are you going to shove me off a bridge, Mucky?”

Merry pinched his chin, “No, I’ll do something much worse than that.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“But you should be.”

Roden lunged forward, catching Merry by the waist to toss her over his shoulder. She squealed in protest.

Carrying her on his shoulder was better than searching those travel-worn smiles and false laughing eyes for answers that would never be given freely. He didn’t want her to know that she held too much power over him.

He’d managed to let go of his failure with the Faola for just a moment.

A moment filled with ghostly lanterns and a moon dance.

[mrsbhandari]

Artsy As Fuck - Ballpoint Pen

Author’s note: HIIIII i decided to post pretty much all of my writing on here, just to make it more accessible!! I hope you like it!!

Word count: 1906

Warnings: language, sexual description but no actual sex

Summary: Colt takes reluctant Roze on a date.

Masterlist

---------------------------------------

Roze turned to him with wide eyes a look that silently asked “what the fuck are you doing?!” Colt ignored her in favor of staring down Ingrid, whose eyebrows were furrowed as her gaze switched between him and Roze.

“No you’re not,” she accused. “You and Roze? Hell no.” Colt squinted but this time, Roze beat him to the punch.

“Why do you say that?” The entire class was silent now, watching the argument with varying levels of amusement and worry. Roze had turned to Ingrid and was glaring daggers, daring her to say what she meant.

“Hm, you’re frumpy, annoying, kind of a bitch--”

“And mine,” Colt jumped in, feeling oddly protective of Roze despite agreeing with two-thirds of Ingrid’s statement.Their eyes met again and Colt silently begged Roze to go along with his rescue. She seemed to get the message and stayed quiet, letting him take over. “Now can we get back to the class?”

The professor jumped in at this point, settling the class down and putting them back on track. The rest of the class was silent for the remaining time to complete their artwork, and Colt continued to watch Roze as he posed. She didn’t look shaken or thrown off at all by Ingrid, and he hid an impressed look at how truly unbothered she was. Unfazed, she painted and completed her work before half of the class. She used the rest of the time to touch up her art. He was restless, aching to see how it turned out. After minutes that seemed like hours, she signed her art and packed her things, desperate to escape her hellhole of a class. Ingrid wasn’t feeling merciful as she grabbed Roze’s arm in the lobby of the building. Colt packed his own stuff up and raced to follow them, not wanting a fight to break out for fear of his job. He entered the lobby to see Ingrid with a death grip on her forearm, sure to leave bruises.

“What the fuck, Ingrid?!” Roze exclaimed, wrenching her arm out of the other’s grasp. She took a step back and collided with Colt, who put a protective arm around her shoulders and gave a glare to Ingrid, who scoffed at the sight of the couple.

“You can’t fool me, Roze. I bet you’re paying Colt to pretend so that you seem cool! You would do that, slut,” she scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. His arm tensed with the effort to hold Roze back, as she seemed to lose her mind at the insult.

“I’m deescalating this. Roze, go wait by my bike,” Colt instructed, giving a pleading look to his new girlfriend when she sent a glare his way. She understood and walked out, checking Ingrid with her shoulder on her way.

“I’m not talking to you unless you’re offering to let me blow you,” Ingrid snarled.

“I’m most definitely not offering.”

“Hm. Your loss. See you.” With a flourish, she turned on her heel and left, going in the opposite direction of where his bike was parked. Walking back to the studio, he spotted the professor looking at the paintings of Colt.

“Sir, I’m so sorry about that, I really like this job and I want to continue it--”

“Colt! Deep breaths! Your little job here isn’t endangered because of a spat between students. Honestly, I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir.” Colt let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and looked at the painting he was standing in front of, which just so happened to be Roze’s. She had successfully been able to finish his collarbone, and he almost choked on his spit the longer he looked at it. The hand wrapped around his throat was perfectly rendered, giving the entire work a sense of eroticism he hadn’t realized she would depict. His face was twisted into a small smirk at something off to the right and his hair was messy, but the lines were so perfect that Colt had a hard time believing that she had painted it despite sitting in front of her while she did it. Remembering he told her to wait outside, he yelled out a thank you to the professor before rushing to see if she waited for him.

A figure was leaning against his bike, creating a stark contrast with her dark jeans against the white body work. The light seemed to hit her just right, making her skin glow in the rays of the sun as she looked down at her phone.

“Hey, you waited,” Colt said, boots making for loud steps on the concrete as he walked towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He stopped at his bike, grabbing the helmets off the handlebars and tossing one to her. She caught it with ease.

“Taking you on a date, girlfriend.”

After a five minute speech convincing her that he wasn’t going to kill her, she got on the bike. After a ten minute ride, they both arrived at his destination: a small local diner. Roze climbed off the bike first, prompting Colt to slightly miss her warmth behind him and around his waist. The thought disappeared as she stomped her way inside.

Whatever.

Sliding across from her in the booth she occupied, he ordered a black coffee and some waffles, raising his eyebrows when she scoffed at his order. “Something you wanna say?”

“No,” Roze snapped, oblivious to the nervous glances of the waitress between them. “I’ll have a burger and a Coke.” The waitress walked to the kitchen with their orders, leaving an angry Roze and an uncaring Colt at the table.

“Why’d you scoff?”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“I asked you first.”

“Immature child.”

“Uptight shrew.”

“Asshole.”

“Vulgar.”

“You deserve it.”

“For saving your ass?”

“Waffles and a burger?” Their spat was interrupted by the anxious waitress setting the plates down in front of them, the steam from the food only adding to the heat between them. Colt gave her a smile and quickly dug into his meal, drowning the plate with syrup before shoveling it into his mouth. Roze was never one to deny a meal paid for by someone else, so a silence settled over the table as they both ate. Once he finished his meal, Colt was the first to speak.

“Ingrid’s annoying and I figured the best way to get her off both of our asses was to make me unavailable and prove to her that you can get a guy as hot as me,” Colt explained, rolling his eyes when she snorted and almost choked on a piece of lettuce. “Two birds with one stone.” She continued coughing, so he handed the water glass that came with his coffee to her. “Don’t die, or I’ll be a primary suspect.”

“You could’ve...poisoned...the water,” she said between gasps of breath.

“Too obvious and easily traceable.”

“Fine.” She drank the water, finally getting proper lung usage back. “Well it’s already been proven. Why not ‘break up’ so we don’t have to pretend?”

“Did you hear the thing about me being unavailable? As soon as there’s even a hint at me not having a partner, she’ll pounce. Plus she’ll probably make fun of you for not being able to keep such a hot boyfriend. Lose-lose situation.” Colt leaned back in the booth and watched Roze think about it. He was pleased to note that her tongue breached her lips no matter what she was thinking about, not just when she was drawing. After minutes of her cartoonish deliberation, she nodded.

“Fine, I’ll go along with it.” Colt gave a smug smile.

“Ha ha.”

“Fuck off. If this is going to work, we’ll need rules.”

“Ugh, lame!” Colt exclaimed, catching the attention of some other patrons in the diner. Roze took a bite of her burger, leaving Colt to wonder just how she could fit so much in her mouth. He internally raised his eyebrows.

Definitely don’t let that thought go too far.

“You can’t kiss me--”

“Vetoed,” Colt cut her off, ignoring the anger flashing in her glare. “It won’t be believable if I don’t kiss you.”

“We can say we’re private people!”

“Your class has seen me naked, Roze.”

At that, she stammered, face flushing and eyes widening. Thinking about that class did something to her, something that she wasn’t sure she liked since it was about a haughty, nosy, frustratingly attractive dick who acted like he could get away with murder. But hearing her name on his lips only added to it, making her choke yet again. Colt smiled but offered his glass of water again.

“Will you stop that?!” he commanded, brushing off the disapproving looks from the other customers again. Apparently, yelling at your girlfriend in public when she’s choking isn’t socially accepted. Duly noted. She glared as she composed herself, face finally returning to its natural tan color.

“Sorry, but you’re not kissing me.”

“Can I hug you at least?”

“For a limited time.”

“Your loss.” Roze rolled her eyes. “We should arrive together, though.”

“Why?”

“To save the planet, Kahlo.”

“Whatever. And don’t call me that. I could never be as good as her.”

Colt wanted to tell her that she was already truly incredible and that her art was most likely going to be studied in classrooms in a few years, but after looking at the insecured face of the troubled artist sitting across from him, he knew it wouldn’t be helpful. “How far away are you from the shop?”

“A two minute walk.”

“Great, when I model for another one of your classes, we can go on my bike.”

“Seriously?” Roze’s eyebrows raised as she tapped her nails on the table, drumming out a small beat. Colt found the sound both melodic and threatening. Her siren song continued through his response.

“It’ll only be on days where I model. You can deal with it.”

“What do you have against cars?”

“C’mon, you didn’t like the ride over here?”

Roze shifted in her seat, the leather squeaking quietly beneath her. She noticed how he deflected the question, but if she was being honest, she had loved the feeling of the wind whipping her hair as the streets blurred past her, the muscles of the driver flexing under her touch with a warmth pressed to her chest, his rich scent wafting over her as she hugged him tighter to keep from falling.

Was she going to admit it?

No.

She refused to give him the satisfaction.

He didn’t deserve it.

Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out a gum wrapper and a ballpoint pen. He watched silently with his head cocked as she pressed the tip of the pen to her tongue, eyes trained on the string of saliva that formed between her lips and the utensil. This time, he refused to stop the flood of images coming to mind of just what she would look like with her lips wrapped around his dick, drool dripping onto his skin. He decided she would be more attractive that way because anything she said would be felt, not heard.

“Here’s my number. We can talk later since I have to go home. Take me back to the studio?” He was snapped from his explicit thoughts by her pressing the gum wrapper into his hand, complete with a quick self-portrait of Roze next to the sequence of numbers.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

[ckcker]

I Walk in Madness

Nobody has or can have all the information, but they have the requisite amount of information and agony in combination to believe they accurately see the entire thing.  I don’t and can never have all the information, but still I must have an opinion that seems binding or confident.  The information I selected and pressed into an opinion is now my special soul, and defines me.  It must be released and time-stamped to show that at one point, I made this all-encompassing definition, which is a summary of my self and the window of all my beliefs hereafter.  Elevate yourself to say, “I no longer wonder.”  

I have made myself publicly available; all that the community asks of you is that you participate.  To not participate is to disrespect those who put all of their time, effort and mental filaments into the ideal of community.  Such a reclusive impulse should be modified swiftly but in the most holistic way if possible, it is not helpful for others.  It is not helpful for you.  It is, at heart, cowardly, as it turns away in fear from the difficulties involved in building a resilient, healthy and just community.  It courts isolation as a comfort, when in fact voluntary isolation is the fortification of unhealthy habits and delusional or paranoid thought processes which precariously redirect the lost person away from the tough but rewarding civic duties necessary to building a fact-driven social network.  If I am lonely at night, the solution is to participate.  Though I walk in madness, I end up at the voting booth.  A discussion takes place in which everyone pretends to know how recycling works; one inches towards integration.  Recipes are shared, and an evening passes with an attempt to perfect avocado gazpacho.  

I love traditional open-toed sandals.  Making the body more vulnerable to the elements of the outside world shows a general dissipating apprehension.  Though current events inevitably fade in relevance and thus sustained public attention, their emotional immediacy and rousing thrust are exceptionally good at forcing the under-opinionated to participate and commune with others. Opinions always coalesce under the pressure of current events, and since current events are established and projected much more widely and much more often in this era, it follows that one should have more opinions, and participate more.  Of all the methods I’ve tried, the most effective and least artificial toner I’ve used is two tablespoons of rose water mixed with 1 cup of filtered water.  The rose water I use is a brand from Lebanon and you can probably find it in a local middle eastern grocery store.  Having a very public life no longer makes me uneasy!

I published the post and I was feeling satisfied, though very likely no other person would see it.  My only patron appeared to be a woman in her early 40s with hard bangs and a diamond choker smiling in her icon’s bubble, with arm around a presumed husband and the suggestive text “Be Kind” pegged in lower left corner in hot pink with white outline.  Miscellaneous background details in the icon, particularly a hanging silver streamer, communicated that at the time of the photo this woman had been at a New Years party.  Her silent interpretation of my persistently scarce content was eager musing territory for me when her icon focused my attention in the midst of a wild scroll, or when her face and militarized endorsement of kindness intruded with the elegance of a twirling maple samara upon my mind during a bout of fear-walking.  She made no effort to contact me, had no posts of her own or even personalized layout style, and yet she hypothetically watched me.  Of course it was pointless on her end — my posts were designed solely for the tactical misdirection of algorithmic spectres, conceived and published only in order to convince those supra-wiggly archivists of instinct that I was overwhelmingly a different person.  I did not want even the smallest gleak of truth to land online.  This “lost mind” plan even extended to my video watching and digital window shopping maneuvers, though in the case of the former it was impossible to totally restrain myself from a true curiosity and craving to pursue certain videos.  This lack of impulse control expanded even more robustly when porn entered an afternoon; it was insurmountable to search and watch against the specific desires and images I knew would satisfy me the most.  Yet I tried in rapid toe dips, once spending eleven minutes on a video of a nude bodybuilder shot-putting a collection of corns and lettuces into a wall, and with no o-face to conjure.  

“I walk in madness” was both my unorthodox phrase of meditation and most important sentence of self-parody.  When walking around at night in a certain state, I would now and then repeat to myself, “I walk in madness.”   After this I would laugh and say, “that’s dramatic.”  Self-parody swooped in to dehydrate the potential mirages, delusions.  But no other summary was as accurate — literally I walked in madness.  From the habits of my mind, a complex system had emerged and, quite simply, enveloped my unhinged ass.  I had strobe-nurtured my preferences for “the best way to think” over the last several years, so that now I was only sufficiently energized when mentally combining (1), an act of making fun of myself for feeling out of sorts, with (2), an earnest attempt at my own healing.  This perverse combo made me feel very aware but rarely good.  And when these thought commands then marinated in the head to a fully abusive gush, there was one more thing to consider.  What was the source of that powerful sensation that took me over when I went walking alone and without a plan at night?  What was it in the body that prodded me along that highly nummy snack trail of mini-catharses?  What was the source of those tiny pecks of transcendence that scattered down the back of the neck when nearing the production of an abyss?  That is, I did not only walk in madness because I had to, but also because it had become fun.  It raveled me on a line leading to some other connection, a connection which was not to The World.  It promised recognition of and commune with everything that did not matter or had not ever been confirmed to exist.

These areas were very important to pay attention to — I had ignored them for the majority of my, to be acutely real, goofiest years, it was important to know everything that was possible.  This was my routine.  I walked with glamour in circular patterns around less populated city neighborhoods at night, always listening to music that accentuated a spike in insane flavoring.  I only chose music that had the strength to combine halo and blurred hole, it was always music that floored my sensation to its final speed.  I knew I was so lucky to have built-in machinery that let me expand all of my reserves through music.  It was my only advantage.  It made me proud to turn inward.  If my skill was extreme sensitivity, it could only flourish in its most insular and native format.  

But I desperately needed new songs to fill me up, and over-listened as a resting state.  I over-listened, and a night out, i.e. the sustained advancement of nightlife over several hours, was an exhausting condition for me.  In a bar, I was penetrated by the old song I had heard over two thousand times before, but which now had been remixed in a contemporary style wherein synth stabs commanded by creatine hands had replaced what was once very clean, antiquated AOR guitar strumming.  The popular song I had highly ignored for the length of my life, and which hearing did not provoke outrage (or even flashback to wedding dance floor) but instead perpetual indifference in me, had been updated using the most cutting edge technology to produce aural depths not possible with the recording equipment available when the song was originally produced, and which now plunged the emotions much further down and much harder.  The original voice was now placed in a melancholy minefield of hysterically deep bass and plummeting, omnidirectional dynamics and, when the remix passed through the tequila that I was allowing to patrol my body, it replicated itself with viral menace to produce in me the extraterrestrial threat of a single tear.  

In this instance of a night out, Rob had invited me to this bar and party that I had never been to before.  Where I had expected to see more of his friends or even the endless hallway of acquaintances he seemed to be able to mobilize at random, instead I only saw Gail, revealing the conditions were such that Gail and I were the only people Rob had invited to the event.  There I stood under the song, almost leaking with melody-induced sentimentality or globular nostalgia mucus.  I looked across at Gail who was leaning on a wall, who did not seem to be able to observe me after our initial greeting when I arrived at the bar.  She appeared to not take in much information when moved from location to location, and when looking in her eyes I did not ever get the sensation that enormous perspectival changes were part of her social rhythm.  A common conclusion from a young person would be that she was fried, but whether as a condition of drugs/alcohol/trauma or some combo, there had not been any stories shared on which to focus a rock hard drama-horny eye.  Though I yearned to know what details flanked the long road leading to her hellscape, I realized it was unjust since I wasn’t prepared to present the full set of demonic coordinates that had led to mine.  How can one appeal with another story of lost sleep?  “Awake all night” is not the story anyway, yes we know, please make your complaining entertaining.  I was in the heart of the club, I understood it was not the moment to emerge brumal vapors in the form of uninteresting plot points excerpted from my very personal checklist of booboos.  “Oops,” the convicted serial killer said when the public did not like the realistic paintings he made of his victims while in jail.  Gurn: it was possible for the public to see horrifying paintings made by a serial killer.  

Several screens around the bar played the same music video, which the dance floor area magnified via projection on the wall, so that, in the most emotional part of the bar, emotion was keyed up considerably by the illusion of entering the world suggested by the song.  Rob and the bartender were near cheek-to-cheek, taking turns cocking their heads to the side so the voice of the other could enter the ear successfully over the newest Chicago house-derived, 80s-synthpop-infused rap song scorching the lair.  Gail stayed against the wall, looking around but appearing totally comfortable, a woman in her 60s drinking a High Life surrounded by a different generation, I was moved.  Being young is incredibly dangerous.  The bartender poured Rob and himself shots and they downed them together.  

Snippets of Gail’s circumstances had reached me, I knew she had been living with her son in Texas but now was essentially homeless, that Rob and Q.C. had met her at a goth club where she was hanging out with a much younger woman named Lillian.  Lillian would often be run into at the goth club or other clubs and bars, flirting with Rob and Q.C., and though she was definitely younger than Gail, she wore enough makeup to sufficiently alter minds and, with the support of moody bar lighting that left certain preferred corners in medium darkness, had an age that was unrecognizable.  “My instinct tells me she’s at least 35,” Rob had suggested after explaining to me the situation and after a long silence in which I didn’t respond or engage at all with what he had just said.  The pause had felt uncomfortable and also unnatural after such bulbous gossip so he apparently felt it important to break the silence with this one more detail of her estimated age.  I knew it would make both of us more comfortable if I said something in response to the story of Gail and Lillian but I didn’t, in the end, have anything to say, and so Rob told me he thought Lillian was at least 35, and I responded, “oh.”  Lillian and Gail were good friends and Lillian would often bring Gail along to the goth club; Gail did not dress on theme.  Eventually Rob learned she lived in her car and he invited her to stay with him for an unspecified amount of time.  Inevitably this increased my estimation of Rob’s worldview.  When he would decide once again it was time to throw trash from the neighborhood off the 2nd floor apartment balcony — for instance a decommissioned flatscreen or legless American Girl doll — Gail, watching through the open door from the beige velvet couch, would laugh once.  

Rob concluded his interaction with the bartender, turned to me and explained the bartender was hot and straight, and when the bartender worked the weekly gay night they held at the bar, he would appropriately enhance his image in honor of the conventional gay male eye — pouring himself into a tight black tank top that demonstrated his tactful chest hair and relevant bicep gains was the respectful thing to do.  “I’m going to dance now,” Rob said as a commanding female voice shook the establishment with its first notes.  

I wandered over with him but stuck to the doorway that connected the bar area to the dance floor, watching as he threw himself, alone, into the writhing environs, quite clogged with personal freedoms.  The mass of dancers sang the chorus of the song all together, the subject matter concerned a protagonist that felt jealous and sad to see their long pined after crush dancing with another girl.  In fact the protagonist likely never had a chance with the person who was their crush but had built up a dream narrative in which their idealistic love with this person was nearing possibility.  In the midst of such crushing circumstances, the protagonist, now left alone and heartbroken at some event they likely attended simply to engage further with their crush, has decided to dance through their loneliness despite it all, even if it will only enliven them for a moment, and for the length of the song.  Rob danced “with” almost anyone he turned his body towards.  Some people engaged, dancing back, and others stealthily maneuvered away.  At some point it was discernible that he no longer had on shoes or socks.  A girl very much liked that, drawing her friend’s attention to the fact, then touching Rob on the arm, saying something inaudible.  All three laughed.  I stood and watched, occasionally pinged by passing bodies gunning for the most emotional part of the bar.  I watched the video on the projection screen.  The female vocalist danced specifically, had short pink bowl cut hair, conveyed well-lit and accessible agony.  Several bar dancers unmistakably entered a sub-orgasmic flehmen response.  My left shoulder reflexively darted front and back — a significant space-grabber had brushed me by on their way to the dance floor.  It was eventually revealed to be Gail.  I watched her scream “YAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” as she launched herself into the crowd.  

[heycasbutt]

Drag Me Away

A/N: This is my fic for @crashdevlin​​ and her 2,000 followers Review-abration. My prompt was the song Paranoid by Black Sabbath. There’s nothing triggering in this particular fic, it’s a little angsty with a fluffy ending. So, with that being said, enjoy! And please, let me know what you guys think!

Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind

People think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time

All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together as he swilled down the last of his whiskey. He banged the glass against the mahogany bar top and the brunette he’d been ogling all night poured him another double.

“What’re you in for, stranger?” She finally gave in and leaned forward.

“Busy drowning some heartache, sweetheart.” Dean growled, not making eye contact.

June 2010

Sam was gone, gone for good probably, Cas had fucked off to God knows where and for the first time in years, Dean felt well and truly alone. With his Baby, and an open road, he set out with no particular destination in mind.

You had worked at the diner since you were 16, going on 8 years at this point. It wasn’t your dream job, but in a small suburb of Tennessee, it was all you could do. It paid the bills. You mostly catered to regulars, and the odd trucker or family on a road trip.

So when the sleek black car came rumbling to a halt in front of the window, it took all you had to not stare.

“What can I get for ya?” You walked up to the counter and leaned over. The patron was new, but his soul was old. His green eyes caught yours for a moment and you could’ve sworn time stood still.

“Just a slice of that cherry pie, and maybe a side of you, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly at the sentiment, it was an overused one. Usually falling from the mouths of greasy truckers, never someone as pretty as this mystery man.

“You know we didn’t have a real big fight for almost 3 years. Was always just little spats. Sam said it wasn’t healthy, said she’d snap one day. I didn’t believe him. But I was wrong. She did.” Dean sighed, tracing his finger around the top of his glass.

I need someone to show me the things in life

That I can't find

I can't see the things that make true happiness

I must be blind

March 2013

“Jesus fucking Christ Dean! When are you going to pull your head out of your ass?! When are you going to realize there’s more to life than hunting, and monsters, and all that shit? Or are you going to live in your little fantasy world for the rest of your life?” Tears stung the corners of your eyes as you tried to choke them back, you weren’t going out without a fight. You wanted to settle down, stop hunting, have the apple pie life the two of you talked about in bed at night.

Dean didn’t want that. After he had spent a year in purgatory, leaving you alone with Sam, he was more gung-ho than ever to be part of the hunting world.

“I thought you told me you’d be by my side no matter what it took! That whatever made me happy made YOU happy.” Dean spat storming across the motel room.

“Where are you going?!” You screeched. You were sure you were going to raise a noise complaint but you couldn’t care less at this point. “Gonna leave me with Sam again while you fuck off to God knows where?!”

The last part slipped through your mouth before you could catch yourself. It was a low blow.

“Maybe I will!” Dean hollered swinging the door open. It was pouring rain as he made his way to the Impala and left you in that dinky motel.

You didn’t see him for 3 more days. When he came back he stank of alcohol and the bags under his eyes were bigger and darker.

Happiness, I cannot feel and love, to me is so unreal

“She didn’t yell when I came back. She cleaned me up and then laid in bed with me while I sobered up. Played with my hair in that way she knew I liked.” Dean swallowed thickly, raising his eyes to the ceiling, biting back tears that were threatening to spill. “That’s when I knew I wanted to marry her. That I couldn’t spend another moment without her.”

August 2017

A sheen of sweat settled over you and Dean as you basked in post coital bliss.

“Marry me.” Dean broke the silence. It wasn’t a question, more of a command.

“What?” You raised yourself on one elbow, a hand rested on your boyfriend’s chest. One look in those emerald eyes let you know that this was serious. Dean Winchester was being serious.

“Marry me.” Dean kissed you softly before reaching into the nightstand drawer and producing a simple opal and gold ring. “It’s not much, but I managed to get honest money and buy it for you.” Dean shrugged sheepishly as you covered your mouth.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. A million times yes.” You whispered, taking his lips in a searing kiss. He slipped the ring on your finger, kissing the tips of your fingers gently.

“She went out and bought wedding magazines the next morning. We were supposed to get married next Saturday.” Dean took the bottle from behind the bar and poured himself another tumbler of whiskey as the bartender, Mandy as he’d come to know, looked on.

“What happened?” She placed the bottle back in its place and leaned forward.

Dean took a deep breath, his thoughts far away but the memories still close.

“I was an asshole. She tried to make me promise I’d give up the family business after my mom died, and I just wasn’t ready. But I should have been.” He looked solemnly at the amber liquid.

2 weeks ago

“You’re so selfish Dean! You say you want this ‘apple pie, white picket fence, 2.5 kid life’ because you don’t want me hunting. But then you turn around, after your own mother dies and say ‘nah. Dean Winchester doesn’t settle down’ make a fucking choice Dean. I’m sick of it.” You spat, tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked up into the eyes of the man you’d loved for almost a decade.

“Y/N…” Dean started breaking eye contact with you. He knew if he looked at you, he’d lose it. He’d become an emotional wreck.

“You’ve made your choice and it’s not me, is it?” A fresh batch of tears welled up in your eyes as you slipped off your engagement ring and pressed it into Dean’s palm.

“Wait! Y/N!” Dean called out as you started up the stairs in the bunker, dragging your already packed bags behind you.

“Goodbye Dean-o” You whispered, pushing out into the pouring rain.

For the first time in forever, Dean let himself go. Blind with rage, he downed a bottle of whiskey and slammed it on the table, the glass shattered under his fingertips. But he couldn’t feel a goddamn thing.

The hot tears stung his face for days afterwards. He didn’t sleep, didn’t even eat. The sandwiches Sam brought would lay untouched on the desk in the corner of his room, bread going stale, lettuce wilting.

And so, as you hear these words telling you now

Of my state

I tell you to enjoy life, I wish I could

But it's too late

Last call came and Dean sat alone at the bar nursing a single drink. The door banged against the wall, but he didn’t even move.

“We’re closin’ up sweetie, but you could try the Red Lantern down the way they’re open for a few more hours.” Mandy started, wiping down the countertop with a greasy rag, gathering cups as she went.

Dean finally let himself look up from the counter he had all but memorized that night, and found himself lost in a familiar pair of sparkling eyes.

“Y/N” Dean whispered, his eyes sparkled and a smile teased at the corner of his lips.

“Dean,” You breathed out, a smile finding its way across your lips as you all but ran into his embrace.

He met you halfway, taking your lips with his, and holding you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

“You came back,” He whispered against your hair as you nodded.

“Had to. Couldn’t be without you.” A sob wracked your body as you gripped Dean’s shirt in your fist. His hand ran up and down the length of your back, stilling your sobs and calming your fears.

There was only one word for Dean Winchester, home. Dean was home and you were finally home.

[unityghost]

Failure

A bad day had to turn into fanfiction. Because then, the suffering turns into a gift. I like my little system. Good coping skills. *continues to avoid life*

This story reminds me of being in therapy. Like, “I know that it’s logical to feel grief when you have no parents” and “Ah yes, the five stages of grief” and “I suppose grief is not an unreasonable reaction in this case,” and she’ll be all, “Can we … actually talk about feeling feelings?”

Anyway, this is part of my series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Gabriel’s alive in my universe because we all want him to be.

I’m also on Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/users/unityghost

Thanks for reading!

For once, Gabriel was useful. Being alive for as long as he had, he was familiar - at least to some degree - with almost every human language ever spoken, written, or signed.

This meant that otherwise indecipherable texts sitting deep within the bookshelves of the Men of Letters bunker could actually offer some helpful information. Spells, mostly - spells that even Rowena didn’t recognize.

Gabriel was glad he could give back to the Winchester brothers, whose hospitality had been ridiculous. It was nice being able to stay with them, and as tempted as he was to ditch so that they wouldn’t have to keep addressing his “post-traumatic stress,” he was trying to accept that it seemed they wanted to. Sam was stubborn whenever the subject arose, and frankly, Gabriel thought that perhaps he was more likely to incur Sam’s anger or disapproval by insisting that Sam was wrong. After all, Sam seemed far less exasperated when something made Gabriel flinch or freeze - or worse - than when Gabriel said, “I don’t want you to put up with me anymore.”

But how far was too far? What could Gabriel ask for, and what was more than they could handle? Crossing a boundary and being thrown out was a lot worse than just leaving on his own, without the ache of rejection.

Lately, the bunker had begun to feel small and tight. Although most of the refugees from the other side of the rift had left - gone back through the portal to try and resurrect what good had once colored their world - it felt oddly more crowded when it was just Gabriel, Sam, Dean, and often Castiel. There were days when the quiet lighting and plain decor made Gabriel feel as if he was back in Hell. It was silly, he knew - but he found he couldn’t always escape the chill in his spine.

Gabriel didn’t think he was the only one who felt a little claustrophobic. Cases became stressful; quarters became close. There were days even Dean and Castiel didn’t get along.

“Why don’t you three go out once in a while?” Gabriel asked Dean in the library while Gabriel was translating and Dean was simultaneously shoveling pizza into his mouth and poring over a cloth-bound booklet. The book was so old and frail its pages were flaking all over the desk. “One of you is gonna have a stroke trying not to bite the other’s head off.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean demanded through a mouthful of pepperoni.

“Uh, well, the last thing I heard you say before you slammed your door last night was ‘the next time you leave the fridge open I’ll take your goddamn hippie salad and replace every grain of quinoa with wendigo meat,’ so … just hazarding a guess but you seem a little on edge.”

“Hey, my brother’s the one on edge. Can’t even remember to keep the food cold. I’m telling you, something’s wrong with that kid.” Dean took an aggressive bite. “He’s lucky I’m such a patient guy.”

Gabriel blinked. “Yeah. Yes. Okay. Well, I know that I could stand to get out for a couple hours. Was thinking I’d head on over to that shady diner a couple miles away.”

Dean frowned. “What shady diner?”

Gabriel sputtered. “Seriously, Dean? You know every greasy spoon in all of Middle America and can’t be bothered to step foot in the only one you could get to without have to stop to fill up on gas?”

“I’ve still got no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m sure Sam would take you.”

“Nah, I don’t want to bother him. I’ll go myself.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so, Gabe. You don’t have enough power to get there without walking. And two miles is a long-ass way to go when you’re still recovering.”

“I think I can manage two miles,” Gabriel answered dryly.

“Maybe. But I also think my brother needs to get out of this place too. Before any more leftovers manage to develop their own ecosystems.”

Gabriel’s lips tightened. “I’d really rather go by myself.”

“Ask Sam.”

“I don’t need his permission to go anywhere! I’m a grown archangel! I follow nobody’s rules but my - ”

“What are you two talking about?”

Gabriel jumped - unexpected voices, even familiar ones, made him a little uneasy - and relaxed when he saw it was just Sam. “Dean thinks you’re my mother.”

“Oh. That’s creepy.”

“And also not what I said,” Dean groused. “Listen, Gabe has a little cabin fever going on here. What d’you say you take him our for some fresh air?”

“Or,” Gabriel interjected, “I could go myself, which is what I want to do, which is what I’m going to do.”

“No,” Sam replied immediately.

“Why not?” Gabriel demanded.

“Well, one, because you haven’t been outside at all since you got here a month and a half ago; and two, because I don’t trust you not to run off.”

“What - that’s - I’m not gonna run off!” And what do you care if I do?

Sam shrugged. “I could stand some fresh air myself. Where d’you wanna go? There’s not much around here, but - ”

“Gabe said something about a diner,” Dean told him.

“Oh, yeah, the one a couple miles down the road.”

“See, Dean-o?” said Gabriel. “Maybe you have bad eyesight or something.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Sam decided. “Let’s go. You and me. When was the last time you had coffee? Or an ice cream sundae?”

“A while,” Gabriel admitted.

“You know, there are other food groups,” Dean reminded his brother.

“Oh, yeah, thanks for that. Enjoy the two slices of heart attack you have left. Come on Gabriel, let’s head out.”

“I’d reeeeaaaally prefer to go alone.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one with the car.”


“I’m the one with the car,” Dean corrected.

“Well, I’m second in command.” Sam turned back to Gabriel. “Sorry, Gabe, but I’m not allowing you to just go off without someone else.”

Gabriel groaned. “Archangel. Celestial creature of light and glory. Bearer of good news. Sexy multi-winged beast. Not a kindergartener, Sam.”

“Hey, what about me?” Sam objected. “Maybe I want some company, huh? It’ll be good for me to take a break. Don’t argue with me on this; just come.”

Gabriel shoved himself to his feet. “Hate that orphan-child look of yours. Fine, but you’re paying, Oliver Twist.”

The inside of the diner was just as gross as the outside: peeling paint, a clock stuck at exactly 9:14, greasy tables. And as much as Gabriel was loath to admit it, he was glad he hadn’t come here by himself. It would’ve creeped him out.

“So,” said Sam after they were seated, “You feeling okay on your first trip out in … forever?”

“Fine,” Gabriel replied, not quite sure whether he was telling the truth. It was nice not to be trapped in the bunker, but admittedly, until recently, he’d felt a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving. Lately he’d been oscillating between desperation for a world beyond the underground - he’d had more than his fair share of that - and fear of being exposed to new unknowns.

After all, any one of these people - the wait staff, the customers - could be demons in disguise. Demons prepared to take him back. To retrieve what had been rightfully theirs for so many centuries.

Well, not theirs. He’d belonged to their master. But there were those still loyal to Asmodeus, and those who knew they could benefit from archangel grace themselves. They’d seen the power it had given the prince. And now that they knew -

“Hey. Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s eyes refocused. Sam was watching him in confusion. “Did you hear me?”

“Uh. Yeah. But um, I forgot what you said.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I asked if you know what you’d like to eat.”


Gabriel squirmed. “Not hungry. But coffee sounds nice.”

“You know you have to eat. If you want your grace to come back faster.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your expertise, Sam. Look, I’m just not in the mood right now. Food wouldn’t be …” He hesitated. “I just don’t want it.”

Gabriel had had a lot of trouble eating since getting out of Hell - partly because he hadn’t had food in such a long time that it was like trying to communicate with his old self in a foreign language, and partly because memories of being force-fed made everything feel heavy and putrid inside of him.

“Soup?” Sam pressed.

“Sam. I really, really don’t want it. See, this is why I planned on coming alone. I didn’t need you pushing me around.”

Sam looked hurt, and Gabriel immediately regretted his words. “Sorry, sorry, that’s not what I meant. All right, look, if you’re so set on it - fine. I’ll get some soup. Okay?”

Sam’s face relaxed, and he nodded. “You don’t have to eat all of it. What kind would you like? They have, uh …” He looked down at the menu. “I’m assuming you don’t want anything with chicken or beef.”

Gabriel shuddered, remembering what had happened the last time he’d been exposed to meat. Sam had been incredibly patient with him, taking him away from the table and helping him calm down even as Gabriel was violently sick.

“Looks like there’s also minestrone,” Sam told him. “And cream of celery.”

“Which sounds disgusting.”

“Minestrone it is, then.”


“Do I get a say?”

“Well, I could order the chicken noodle, but - ”

“Never mind. Minestrone sounds nice and … minestronal.”

Sam requested coffee for the both of them, and a sandwich for himself. Gabriel didn’t fail to notice that Sam omitted meat from his own order.

Gabriel bit back the urge to tell Sam not to sacrifice what he liked just because Gabriel was liable to have some kind of bacon-induced meltdown. Then again, this was probably better for Sam’s sake: eating cheese and lettuce on rye was preferable to dragging Gabriel into a piss-soaked restroom before he could throw up all over the table.

Gabriel barely touched his coffee, even after pouring almost a third of the sugar jar into his mug. He felt ill at just the notion of having to eat. Why had he thought to come here in the first place? Now it seemed stupid.

Gabriel was still lost in thought when their waitress arrived at the table.

“Provolone melt for Hagrid,” she said, setting Sam’s plate in front of him, “And soup for scrawny blondie.”

Gabriel cast her a dirty look as she walked away.

“Just a little, okay?” Sam coaxed.

The soup was too hot to eat. “Let me wait for it to cool down.”

“Yeah, all right. Sure.” Sam took a bite of his sandwich, and then a sip of coffee. Gabriel missed being able to enjoy a meal like that. It had been an indulgence for him when he still had his grace; now it was important that he eat to replenish what he’d lost, and he couldn’t.

“Come on, Gabriel.” Sam’s voice was gentle.

Gabriel picked up a spoonful of soup and cautiously put it into his mouth. The temperature was fine and the minestrone relatively bland, for which he was grateful.

“So,” Sam began after several moments of silence, “How are - ”

Just then his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the number before answering. “Hey Dean.” Silence while Sam listened to his brother. “Oh, uh yeah, sure. Hang on.” Sam handed the phone across the table. “He wants to talk to you.”

Gabriel blinked in confusion but took the phone. “Uh. Hey?”

“Hey Gabe,” came Dean’s voice, “I got a question for you. This translation you were working on before you left? Well, it looks pretty good, except I don’t know if this spell is right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, you put down something about” - there was a pause, as though he were looking more closely at the translation - “the bark of an elm tree, and that looks fine; but then you wrote down, uh, ‘canine tooth of goblin.’”

“Yeah, I did. I remember.”

“You ever tried mixing those two?”

“I flunked out of Hex Lab 101.”

Dean sighed. “It’s a dangerous pairing, man. Has the potential to blow the entire bunker to Reese’s Pieces. Be careful next time, okay? If I hadn’t known about that - ”

“Yeah, I - I get it.” He gripped the phone tightly. “So you think the translation is wrong.”

“I’ve seen this word once or twice before. I’m 95% sure it has a different meaning. It’s all right man, just … maybe double-check from now on. And if you need one of us to translate, we could probably do it.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Sorry about that, Dean-o.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to Sam.

There was a moment of silence.

“Gabriel?” Sam spoke warily. “Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“I don’t look like that.”

“You definitely look like that.”

“The lighting in here sucks.”

“What’d Dean say to you?”

“He just … had a question about the translations.”

“What kind of question?”

“Please stop interrogating me.”

“Did he scare you?”

“Nope. He just had a question. I’ve asked questions before too. They’re all the rage up in Heaven. I hear they come in different colors now.”

“Dude - ”

“All right.” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Howsabout you finish up here and I start walking back? I know you’re gonna try and fight me” - he raised his hands in a gesture of good will - “but look at me. I’m fine. I ate.”

“You had half a spoonful.”

“Which, when you’re as powerful and majestic as I am, is more than enough.”

“Is there an emergency over at the bunker or something?” Sam didn’t sound worried - just skeptical.

“No,” Gabriel replied. “Unless you consider a question an emergency.” He rose to his feet.

Sam’s face hardened. “Stay put.”

Centuries of training had taught Gabriel to obey a command when he heard one.

He retook his place at the table. And didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” said Sam. “Now.”

Gabriel inhaled sharply. “Okay, I - I think - ”

Sam raised his eyebrows, pushing him to continue.

“I think I made a dumb mistake with the translations,” Gabriel confessed. “I’m not - listen, for like five minutes there I thought I could be helpful to you guys, but apparently I almost got you killed.”

Sam frowned in puzzlement.

“Look, I know a thing or two about words, okay, but I’m not exactly a Nobel Prize candidate for witchcraft. I shouldn’t have been translating that stuff; I messed up and Dean noticed it. He told me it could’ve been disastrous if he hadn’t. I, um … there’s nothing I can do for you guys now. I’m sorry, I …”

He stopped, looking down at his soup, feeling his stomach churn and Sam’s eyes lock onto him.

Gabriel raised his head. “Stop staring at me.”

“Gabriel, it’s all okay,” Sam assured him. “Dean spotted it. Nobody got hurt.”

“Okay. Cool. But obviously someone could have. In fact, all of you could have. So how about this? You enjoy what’s left of your three-dollar cheese-flavored throw rug, I go on my merry way, and you guys never have to worry about me setting fire to all those manuscripts that Castiel could probably translate with a lot more common sense ever again.”

Sam closed his eyes. “All right - no. Stop it. I mean it. Stop. Just slow down, Gabriel. First, we’re not gonna make you work for us. Second, of course you’ve been helpful. And third - did I ever tell you about the things Dean and I have mistranslated? Seriously? I came up with ‘duck on iron eats sage’ and Dean read the same passage as ‘cherry never runs.’”

“Yeah, well, waterfowl choking to death on herbs sounds a lot less intimidating than an underground hovel going up in flames. Plus, you really should have lower standards for yourself. Mortal shortcomings and all that.”

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is - ”

“I know what you’re trying to say.” Sam’s voice softened. “Gabriel, are you afraid we’re mad at you?”

“Well - I mean - aren’t you? I would be. And even if you’re not, I’m apparently useless, so - ”

“No one’s asking you to be useful.”

“Oh, okay. Then I guess I’ll just have to get comfortable with mooching off your space, and your charity, and all your goddamn patience, until I turn into an angel again!”

Everyone in the diner turned to stare.

“Gabriel,” Sam muttered, “Chill.”

Gabriel slunk down in his seat, humiliated.

“Listen,” Sam went on, keeping his voice low, “You can take a break from all the translation stuff if you want. We don’t need anything right this second, okay? And if you do want to stick with it, it’s fine; Dean and I know what we’re doing, so we’ll notice if something looks off. All right? No one’s gonna spontaneously combust because you miss a word or two here and there. And if it’s too much, just … just don’t worry. Everything’s fine. You’re not here for slave labor.”

Gabriel hesitated, trailing his eyes over the lumps of soggy vegetables in his soup. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

Gabriel looked up at him. “There were days when I didn’t have enough. Days when he’d come for my grace and it was just … gone. Because he’d taken all of it. And he wanted more, and …”

Gabriel’s eyes swam with tears and he ducked his head. The minestrone became a murky puddle. “When I couldn’t give it to him, he got so angry. Asmodeus would do everything to me - everything. He told me it was my fault. He said I must have done it on purpose, that I was playing a cruel trick on him. And he tried to drill it into my head that - that my days as the Trickster were over, but I already knew that. Before he sewed me up I tried to tell him I couldn’t help it. I just needed time and then he could have whatever he wanted. But he - he wanted so much from me.”

Gabriel shut his eyes, and the tears spilled, streaking his face.

He wished this wouldn’t keep happening. It was all part of Sam being nice to him. If only they were a little more violent, he could just take their beatings, take their insults.

Instead he was reduced to this, because everybody else refused to give him the agony he deserved.

“I gave everything I could,” Gabriel choked without opening his eyes. “Every time he came for me - I was scared of being empty. The pain was so - so bad - but nothing compared to - ”

He felt hands on either of his arms, and Sam lifted him from his seat. “We’re gonna go outside.”

Gabriel heard the rustle of dollar bills and then the soft thus of coins being lain on the table. After that, Sam steered Gabriel over to the exit. Gabriel opened his eyes as they made their way across the parking lot to the Impala.

“Come on,” said Sam. “Get in.”

Gabriel followed his instructions, hugging himself and shivering as if the air weren’t mild and clear.

Sam climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. “All right, hey.” He reached across Gabriel to open the glove compartment and handed Gabriel a half-empty packet of tissues. Gabriel took one of them and, avoiding Sam’s gaze, scrubbed at his face.

He thought maybe having dry skin would help him feel calmer. But he’d lost control over himself, couldn’t stop jerking with hard, almost painful sobs.

“This is just because of the translation?” Sam asked.

Gabriel didn’t answer.

“The translation doesn’t matter,” Sam insisted. “No one cares.”

“Then why - ” Gabriel shuddered, trying to swallow down another spasm of crying. “Why did Dean call me to tell me?”

“I think he just wanted to make sure he was reading right. It was possible that he was the one making a mistake. Did he sound frustrated?”

“I don’t - I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I couldn’t tell. I just assumed he was.”

“Trust me, you’d know if he was upset with you. Hey - you need to breathe a little more. You’re gonna make it worse if you don’t try for a deep breath.”

Gabriel attempted to loosen his shoulders a little. It was easier to breathe that way.

Sam smiled at him. “Look, see, you’re all right; you’re okay. Now take a deep breath. Just one.”

Maybe it was the tenderness in Sam’s voice that made Gabriel collapse into another fit of tears. He was incapable of doing what Sam had asked of him. Incapable of ever doing what Sam asked of him. He couldn’t translate; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t calm down. He could never calm down.

Sam put a hand on Gabriel’s back. “It’s okay, Gabriel. You’re safe.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’re with me.”

Gabriel shook his head more fiercely this time.

“Gabriel, you’ve got to let me help. You know I can. You know I want to.”

“He was right!” The pitch of Gabriel’s voice - high, strangled, keening - surprised even him. “He was right to do what he did! I know that now; I - I was only good for my grace and when I couldn’t give it - I was nothing. I’m still nothing. I can’t give you anything. I tried and I can’t. I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing.”

“I’m nothing!” He lowered his head, seizing fistfuls of his hair and sobbing into his knees. “Nothing!”

“No, Gabriel, no.” Sam was trying to soothe him by running a hand up and down his spine. It was confusing, even frustrating, that he knew how to touch Gabriel without scaring him. After everything Sam himself had experienced, he shouldn’t have this kind of gentleness in him. He should react to others with the ferocity he’d been taught under Lucifer. Sam should be trying to protect himself, not Gabriel.

“I know that I am,” Gabriel rasped. “Stop trying to tell me I’m not!”

“But you don’t want to be, so why are you trying to convince yourself that you are?”



“I don’t want to lie!”

“Me neither. I’m good at it, but I don’t have to like it. I’ll take any opportunity to be honest. This seems like a good one, don’t you think?” He was still sweeping his hand over Gabriel’s back. “Hey, Gabe, I need you to sit up, okay? You’re not gonna make any progress down there by yourself.”

When Gabriel didn’t respond, Sam eased him upright and offered him another tissue.

Gabriel didn’t take it. He didn’t deserve to look clean when he knew he was filthy.

“All right.” Gabriel flinched when Sam dabbed at his face with the tissue, trying to soak up the worst of it. “Hold still, okay? Just try to relax.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Sam - ”

“You don’t want to make yourself sick again.”

“I don’t care what happens to me.”

“I care.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Whatever, I still do.” Sam withdrew the tissue and studied him. “Should we go home?”

“Dean’s not going to want to see me.”

“Yes he is. If there’s any problem I’ll put him in his place.”

“I don’t - I don’t want him to look at me, Sam.”

“All right, well, then we can avoid him and I’ll just hang out with you until you feel better.”

Sam started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Gabriel leaned against the window, exhausted and ashamed.

True to his word, Sam brought them both into his bedroom so that Gabriel didn’t have to face anyone else.

As much as Gabriel hated to admit it, this was his favorite place to be. He’d spent more time than he deserved in Sam’s room, often in the middle of the night when a dream sent him into hysterics.

“Lie down,” Sam instructed. “You don’t have to sleep. Just rest for a minute.”

Reluctantly, Gabriel lowered himself to the bed and curled up on his side. He was comfortable, and that disturbed him, because he wasn’t supposed to be comfortable. As much as Gabriel had loathed the cell - the chilly stone floor, the greasy walls, the funereal glow of the candles - at least he knew it was where he was supposed to be. He hated it, but he had no right to wish he were somewhere else.

And now that he was out, he had no right to be afraid. The revulsion that was coming - whether now or somewhere down the line - was exactly what he deserved.

He wondered why that didn’t make it any easier, why that didn’t make the fear go away.

Sam sat on the other side of the bed. “You all right?”

“Not really.”

Sam sighed. “I know.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?”

“I’m not sure. Can I get you anything? Water, maybe?”

“No.”

“Really? Because you do deserve some water, you know.”


Gabriel rolled over to look up at him, surprised that Sam had interpreted his refusal correctly. “No. I don’t. I don’t want it.”

“I’m getting it anyway.” Sam stood and left the room for a minute. When he came back, he set the water on the nightstand. “Not pushing. But it’s there if you change your mind.”

Gabriel raised himself to a sitting position. “Sam?”

“What’s up?”



“You knew that I thought I shouldn’t have water.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“How?”

“Because when you feel worthless, it’s easy to think everything is a privilege.”

Gabriel sat in silence, contemplating what Sam had said. “I didn’t realize you were so good at reading minds. They teach you this stuff in college?”

Sam resettled himself on the mattress. “I’m not exactly a rookie, you know.” He picked up the water and handed it to Gabriel, who accepted it this time.

“Are you feeling a little less … frantic?” Sam asked as Gabriel took a few tentative sips.

“Little bit. Be nice if I could hold onto my dignity for more than fifteen minutes at a time, but you know. Comme ci comme ça.”

“Don’t get so worked up. You can’t help it.”

“Um. Yes. I’d have to agree with you. And therein lies the worst of the problem.”

“There’s no problem here, Gabe.”

“Yes there is. You just handed it a glass of water.”

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Do you think that if you keep telling me how much I’m supposed to hate you, I’ll finally decide that none of this is worth the effort?”

“Not exactly,” Gabriel replied. “More like if I pester you enough, you’ll come to your senses. Then, for your sake, you’ll kick me out. Out of the bunker and out of your life. It’d be doing me a favor, Sam. I can’t bring myself to hit the road on my own.”

“Good. I was afraid you might.”

“Hence why you wouldn’t take no for an answer when I said I didn’t want you following me to the diner.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You know something? You’re almost as much of a pain in the ass as I am.”

Sam smiled. “But you don’t want to get rid of me, do you?”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. “That’s completely different. You’re just annoying. I’m … for Dad’s sake, you wiped up my snot back at the diner! The worst you ever do is dedicate yourself to pointless martyrdom. But me? Come on, Sam. We’re hardly on a level playing field here. You should - ”

“All right, all right, there’s nothing to get upset about. Drink some more water, okay?”

Gabriel complied. It did feel good on his lips and throat. Even if he couldn’t enjoy food the way he used to, water was still okay.

“Helps, right?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded, drinking more.

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Does part of not eating have to do with … with not deserving it?”

Gabriel lowered the glass. “I guess so. A couple of times I’ve been hungry, and - and it seems wrong to eat.”

“Okay. Got it.” Sam hesitated, as if not entirely sure whether he wanted to go on. “You know I was tortured in Hell, right? And Dean was too, before he started torturing others.”

“Yes.” Gabriel looked away. “You two have your own shit to handle.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. What I mean is that I used to wonder if maybe Lucifer was doing the right thing. That I was just … not meant to be okay. Because I wasn’t worthy of being okay. I was scum. That’s what I thought.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “What the everliving - Sam. That’s so stupid. That’s, like - that’s contagious stupid. Don’t come any closer; I don’t wanna catch your stupid.”

“And I still have those days,” Sam added.

Gabriel just stared. “But that’s - ”

“It’s what? Ridiculous? Not true? Look - I know. I know that now.” He glanced away for a second. “Mostly. Anyway, what would you do if I was in your place?”



Gabriel shrugged. “Quite possibly the same fairy godmother routine. But you’re not me, and I could never be you.”

“No.” Sam touched his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be. Besides, can you imagine having two of me?”

“Better than having two of your brother.”

Sam considered. “You’re probably right.” He got to his feet. “Speaking of Dean, I’m gonna go see how he’s doing. See if he needs any help with the … with anything.”

“Ask Cas for help with the translations,” Gabriel said bitterly.

“We’ll ask if we need it. You just chill in here for a few minutes and wait for me.”


“I don’t need constant supervision, you know.”

“Why, you don’t want me to come back?”

“No, I do. But you shouldn’t be - ”

“Okay, good, me too.” Sam left before Gabriel could say anything else.

“Stubborn dick,” Gabriel murmured, because the alternative was getting lost in self-disgust again.

Being alone was tough. The silence was more than Gabriel could handle.

It drove him nuts that he sort of did need supervision.

He curled up on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. His spine tingled, waiting for ugly touch.

But the silence would be over soon.

No matter how little Gabriel deserved it, it was good to know Sam was coming back.

[uncheckedtomfoolery]

Writing in isolation

I’ve long held Strong Opinions about bashing words together into agreeable combinations, and some conversations I’ve had elsewhere in the past week or so have brought it closer to my thoughts, so here I am typing up a big rant. Hopefully, it’ll be of use to someone, or at least entertaining. Alternatively, it’ll annoy someone, in which case I recommend skipping as soon as I start bugging you. As usual, the rest is below the why-is-this-on-my-dashboard line I have on all my long posts.

So, here’s the thing. Throughout my time as a writer, and even before then, writing has been presented to me as a solitary pursuit. You lock yourself up with your keyboard or typewriter or whatever, and eventually a story comes out. Like anything you can do alone and indoors, it’s often dressed up as a hermit’s pursuit, and I’ve met a great many people who even glorify being a total recluse. 

The opinion seems to be that anything and everything is a distraction, that practice at writing is all that you need as an author, and that there’s a sort of purity to discarding everything else. I would imagine this probably also appeals to people who would really rather pursue exactly that sort of purity, because they don’t care for all those other things anyway.

The trouble is, writing is not actually a solitary activity.

Don’t get me wrong, distractions exist. Ever since I got a laptop, I’ve purposely avoided installing more on it than I absolutely have to (except work stuff, basically) so I can write on that and have nothing to sidetrack me. Conflating most non-writing activities with ‘but what if I spent five hours faffing about on the internet?’, however, seems a little dishonest. That’s not the same as calling people dishonest, mind you; we do so much of this stuff without thinking about it.

Before I continue, I would like to acknowledge that I fit cleanly into the sort of group I’m talking about. I like people, but I also like no people. I like it a lot and occasionally I will perform the social equivalent of a tortoise retreating into its shell, to be tempted into the wider world only with reverent offerings of lettuce. What I mean to say is: Dear hermits and recluses and other adamantly solitary writers, I am saying this as one of you.

The trouble with writing is that it’s not just about writing. It is only in small part about writing. It is - and I want to clarify that I refer to fiction for the purposes of this post - much more of a holistic activity than it tends to get credit for. Let me explain.

As a whole, I view writing as comprised of four parts, though if I thought about this for longer, I suspect I would come up with more. One part is linguistics, that is to say, your command over the language you are using. I don’t even mean how many big words you know. I mean your knowledge of its grammar, the breadth of your vocabulary, your deftness with any turns of phrase you create. It covers everything from knowing the right word (I mean right, not fancy; I like my purple prose, but leaving people running for a dictionary isn’t necessarily good!), to skill with wordplay (that’s what we call puns when they’re classy), to being able to twist the rules of conventional grammar to instead serve the narrative; Hemingway’s war on the common comma jumps to mind here. Language is brick and mortar, albeit more flexible. What can you build with it? What shapes can you get it to take for you?

The second is- let’s call it creative license. Your vision, your ability to bring new ideas forward, your general imagination. In many ways, it’s the raw material that the other parts cluster around. Don’t have something all-new popping into your head all the time? ...Well, first of all, that’s surprising, because every creative type that I know complains about having more ideas than they’ve got time or effort for. Secondly, that’s fine; you can weld together pieces of things you see around you, until the result is not even slightly recognisable as any of its component parts. Originality!

The third, I’ll refer to as media. This one’s a bit broad. It can cover knowing what’s been done, knowing narrative structure, a bag of narrative tricks you’ve picked up over the years because you’ve seen others do it. Writing as a craft is a big part of this, with a small portion relegated to linguistics. A big chunk of this is the lessons learned either from, say, writing classes and the like, or from your own experiences in trying to pen a story. Even then, it’s not just about how much you’ve written. Consuming media is actually quite important to the aspiring writer, whatever your medium. Read, watch, play, whatever; every creator has something unusual or some interesting scrap of an idea. Hoard it all, and deploy it as you need. Learn from them. Be inspired. Few things jog me into a creative mood as well as the products of someone else’s imagination. If your chosen medium is fanfiction, this is of course doubly true, but it really does apply to everyone.

The fourth and (I’d assume) least comfortable one is knowledge and experience. Everything you know about life, about people, about all sorts of fields of knowledge that might come up in your story, and the things in your life that have shaped you into who you are. 

That fourth point is really the crux of what I’m trying to say, here.

When you write, you create a world. Whether that’s a fantastical world, or the galaxy you set your space opera in, or a neighbourhood in 1890s Tokyo, or whatever else: For this purpose, it’s a world. A world must function, it must be believable to some degree. It must be compelling. It must breathe. A setting is functional when all the holes have been plugged and immediate questions can be answered, as a friend of mine has said before, while a setting is alive when it creates its own questions irrelevant to the plot, which can in turn be answered anyway.

When you write, you create characters. People. Whoever or whatever they are, they follow much the same criteria as crafting a world in the last paragraph. Don’t take “they’re not human” as an excuse, either! Everything still obeys some logic, there is some internal consistency, some set of rules that ought to be followed for everything to make sense in the mind of the reader.

More optionally, when you write anything, it’s nice to be right. When dealing with people, groups, places and history that really exist, you avoid being terribly insensitive; when dealing with specialist knowledge, you avoid upsetting the people who know these things and will point out all your errors (for now).

Here’s the thing, though. Where does all this come from? You learn about worlds from being in the world. You learn about people from people. I know, I know, it seems obvious. Still, being out there, observation over time, and keeping up with the state of the world will teach you a great deal. I don’t just mean ‘follow the news’, I mean observation of how things work and what the world is like, I mean realising you don’t know the first thing about some parts of the world, and setting out to learn more. That sort of thing.

People? Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, you’ve got to talk to them. Interact with them. Live in the middle of nowhere, or can’t handle the old face to face much? Not to worry, I’m not much different. Through a screen will do just fine, but interact all the same. This is doubly important, because as it happens, your audience is people too! Funny how that works. The better you know people, the more you will know what works on them in a story, too.

As an aside, some writers work very well when they can employ someone else as a sounding board to bounce ideas off. Some don’t. Some do, like me, but enjoy secrecy and surprises too much to take advantage of that. That’s more something on the side, really.

Have you ever read a story, and been bothered by the author not doing their research? Have you found the way the setting of their story works wildly unbelievable? Have you ever boggled at a page, wondering if they have ever met or spoken to a real person (or even more commonly, a real person who isn’t exactly like them)? Because the answer is usually not, and it really, really shows, in all sorts of painful ways. This is what we’re trying to avoid!

I’m not saying you need to be a social butterfly and globetrotter with fistfuls of PhDs. I’m saying we need to acknowledge the gaps in our experience and work on enriching it, or learning what we’re missing. People are out there. The world is out there. If you don’t know much about a place or a thing, the internet is full of wonderful resources to tell you more, and there are actual communities of experts at your beck and call who will answer questions on the internet for, as far as I can tell, fun. We’re in a golden age of amateur armchair research, here.

Writing is not a solitary pursuit, and it does not stand alone, but many people believe it does, or that it should, and the consequences can be seen even in some fairly well-established authors. This is something all of us hermit writers can stand to work on, not just in service to our work, but because it’s just good practice in general.

Because without knowledge and experience, without knowing the first thing about the world around us or how people work, we only have the rest. We can even be very good at it. We can make a beautifully structured, wonderfully original and masterfully phrased story.

But many parts of it will still feel terribly, painfully fake, and I think we can do better than that.

If you read this far: Soapbox-y or not, this is not me coming down from my stratospheric high horse to tell the internet how things work. I welcome commentary if anyone has their own thoughts to share. Goodness knows I’ve been wrong more often than not.

[bolbianddolanhouse]

BNHA self insert AU [Book 2]

Lost and Confused? Read this post to catch you up!

Chapter 7:...So I’m Writing This On The Back Of My Kung-Fu Panda 2 DVDs

It’s the next day and I wake up like I usually do...screaming to annoy Rosa. Too bad I forgot that I’m not at home and I totally woke up the entire dorms, oops. I got all my bathroom things in my caddy and headed to the shared bathrooms.

“Oh wow I should do that” said one of my classmates, pointing at my caddy “it’s better than what I did.”

“Hey did you guys hear that screaming earlier this morning?” asked another classmate stepping out of the shower “I thought somebody was dying!”

Everyone murmured in agreement and it made me embarrassed to confess that it was me. We got some groceries for at least 3 days, thanks to the school pulling some stops so we don’t starve. I brought out the coffee maker out of my room when I finished getting ready for the day.

“Iida-san, I didn’t know you drink coffee” commented one of the boys “I thought of you as a smoothie in the morning type.”

“Ugh fuck no!” I dry heaved as I plugged in the machine “I’m basic, I drink iced coffee with flavored creamer. Everyone in my family drinks coffee, except for my dad, he just serves us our morning cup.”

“Can’t function without it?” joked another classmate.

“Yes, actually” I said so serious as I measured out the coffee grounds “I get feral if I don’t get that first sip of my cafecito” I slam down the lid and turn on the machine “as long as I get my morning coffee and eat on time, you won’t see that side of me....GOT IT!”

Everyone nodded in fear on how bad I can get without food or coffee. Hoshi walks in to see everyone with fear in their eyes.

“Um, good morning everyone?” he hesitated on his greeting “oh Lili, is that the coffee machine you were telling me about?!”

My expression changed from feral to giddy “It is! Look at the settings on this baby!”

“Oh wow it has 5 settings! AND it steams milk!” Hoshi gasped over the complex machine with Lili “are you going to play barista?”

“Dad did tell me I’d have to make my own coffee at some point” I chuckled nervously “I’m pretty sure he meant when I become an adult and move out of the house BUT it can’t be that hard to make latte!”

We got breakfast going and decided who was doing food shopping on what days along with chores. Everyone assumed that I don’t do chores because we have robot servants or something. Jokes on them, we have the same system in our house except I don’t cook family meals. Hoshi and I go to the grass area to check it out.

“Wow, even the grass area is divided” Hoshi said as he pointed to a laser burn line that marks intel territory “wonder what happens in there.”

“My mom and her friends told me that intel students have virtually no rules, so the school can’t touch them if they do the most” I recalled what those three told me “the parties are invite only and they can smoke the devils lettuce.”

“Oh....whats the devils lettuce?” he whispered the last part to me. I started wheezing and laughing “Lili! Don’t laugh! I don’t know what that is!”

“Man! I haven’t laughed that hard in so long!” I calmed myself down “it’s slang for marijuana, my mom uses the term all the time and its so desensitized in my head that I forget not everyone knows what that is.”

“HEY! You’re too close to the boarder hero wannabes!” commanded an intel student as they approached with their posse “got a problem with our turf?!”

“No no! I was just telling my friend here about my mom and all the things she did as her time in the intel dorms” I was scared that they were going to start something that I stiffened.

“And who might your mommy be!” said one of the posse condescendingly “can’t be tougher than us! We’re the top agents of 1st year!”

“My mom is agent 19 of-”

“AGENT 19?! OF THE EMPERORS COUP?!” gasped the group, the tall one spoke up “that means she also knows the other two!” 

“We- we beg our pardon!” one of them took a knee and bowed their head and the rest followed “you’re one of the legends offspring and we didn’t mean to offend you!”

“It’s alright! Please don’t bow it’s fine, really!” I was confused.

“But your mother and her trio are in our program’s hall of fame!” the tall one said as they stood up “they’re an inspiration to us! I train hard so I can carry my team without quirks. They set the bar for agents in training everywhere!”

“Question, why are you in the hero program?” asked one of them.

“Oh my dad is Ingenium, so I guess I’m following his path but with a different approach?”

“And my dad is LeMillion, same thing I guess heh” chimed in Hoshi.

“No way! Two legacy heroes?!” gasped the short one “I feel like such a peasant in front of these royals!”

“Oh don’t feel that way” Hoshi reassured “we’re just like you guys, we’re still learning. We’re nothing like our parents and we’re certainly not royalty” he took a step back “sorry if we got too close.”

“Hey don’t sweat it!” said the tall one “you two are always welcomed to cross our boarders, heck we’ll invite you to the next kickback!”

“Oh that sounds cool, thanks!” I thanked them and Hoshi and I parted ways with them “I was so scared they were going beat our asses!”

“Right?! But they really shut up once you named names” he chuckled “OH I forgot to ask, do you want to do go to downtown? It’s a free day.”

“I’m down, just let me put on my travel sandals and purse!”

As we walk to downtown, I remember that my parents had a lot of memories at the coffee shop there. They said that they’d go to talk as friends but pretended it was a date because they had crushes on each other and didn’t say anything. I laughed at them for that but now I’m sort of in the same situation, literally one hand holding away from it becoming my parent’s love story!

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi snapped me out of my thoughts “you’re making that face.”

“Oh I was just wondering if that organic body care shop is still here” I know it’s still here but I didn’t want to tell him what I was actually thinking “my mom loves that place.”

“Lets go see, maybe they’ll have something for my acne” he responded and I was relieved he didn’t pry me for the truth. We go in and got what he needed and did more exploring of the area.

“Oh SHIT! It’s a dance supplier!” squealed when I saw the iconic glitter sign on the store front “I totally forgot that they opened a store out here! Lets pop in real quick! I want to see if they have ribbons by the yard.”

“Okay but I have a feeling it won’t be quick” he followed me in and was drawn to the racks of compression wear “oh my-LILI! Are these more durable than the one that I usually wear?!”

“Oh forsure! Try that brand, they have the type of support you’re looking for” I point to the brand and helped him find his size “go try it on, I’ll be over here.”

I go to the wall of ribbons to find something to use for a new support item I’ve been thinking about. In my midst of finding the right one, I don’t notice the people behind me.

“WELL! If it isn’t Miss Perfect herself!” coldly spat a familiar voice.

“Hm? OH! It’s you guys!” I was startled to see my old dance mates “it’s been what? 8 months since I left the studio, How are you?”

“You’ve gotten...top heavy!” criticized one of them “like, you got man arms now!”

“Duh of course they do! They’re a hero now, too good for pirouettes and grace” the former dance mate walks closer to her “what are you doing here? This isn’t your world anymore! Or do you regret leaving and you want to put on the leotard again?”

They all laughed and those words hurt me. I didn’t know what to say but at the same time I wanted to defend myself because I found my happy medium and purpose! But the words couldn’t come out, like I was frozen in place and I couldn’t breathe.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Hoshi pushed the dance mate away from me to create distance “you might not care but she’s an amazing hero student and she uses dance moves on the field. I see why she left, you’re all mean and cold to Lili’s warmth and kindness!” he grabs my hand “if you don’t mind, we’re leaving!” As he dragged me out of the shop, I couldn’t help but to think about what they said. “Lili? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

“Hoshi, do you think I belong in hero culture?”

“Huh? Of course you do! You’re the dancing hero!”

“It’s just that” I stopped walking “that girl, she spoke some truth and brought up my deep, dark thoughts. I do want to dance again, I miss going to lessons, like I found my purpose but do I really belong here? Was my role in dance this whole time and I’ve strayed away too far?!”

“Lili stop!” he put his hands on my shoulders “You DO belong in hero culture AND in dance culture. YOU are the perfect marriage between the two! They don’t see it because you have yet to make your debut” he smiled “If you really want to dance like you used to, then teach me! I’d love to learn how you do your spin moves without getting dizzy!”

I crack a smile “You really think so?” he nods in response “Then I guess I do belong, thanks” I give him a tight hug “also do you think I have man arms?”

“Can your arms do this?” he picked me up and hoisted me on his shoulders.

“No!” I was taken by surprise but I was laughing “that I can’t!”

“Then you don’t have man arms” he shifted my body so I sit on his shoulders “these arms are 100 percent man!” he flexed his arms comically “good for punching baddies, moving furniture and holding girls named Lili Perla.”

I couldn’t stop laughing “You’re so extra!” I put my hands over his face and he laughed with me “lets go hit up a corner store, I wanna get some Hello Kitty Curry Cup Noodles to hoard in my room.”

“Are those any good? My dad didn’t let us eat instant noodles” he said as he walked with me still on his shoulders. 

He put me down once we were at the corner store....they were out of the noodles I wanted, so I had to settle with some I wanted to try. Hoshi found the canned orange juice my dad endorses and bought a few to pester me. Not gonna lie, it was kind of cute to see him go the extra effort to get my attention. We walk to the dorms and I totally forget about my unpleasant encounter at the dance store. Then I remembered he held my hand for a while and I freaked out a bit. We held hands...then he did that whole display for me....THEN HE CARRIED ME ON HIS SHOULDERS! I walked to my room and screamed into my pillow. Am I the dense one? Is this just friendly gestures and I’m reading too deep into? How many steps away am I from ‘accidentally’ telling Hoshi “I love you”? Ugh! Why can’t I just skip to the part where I know if he likes me or not!

-The Next Day-

“Hey can you teach me today?” asked Hoshi after I finished washing the breakfast dishes.

“You were deadass about me teaching you?” I was surprised as I thought he meant like another day or during training.

He nodded “Yup! Like I’ve been meaning to ask but then we got busy with things” he did a shaky ballet pose “like how do you keep your poses like that? And how do you do the thing!”

I turn off the faucet “The thing?”

“Yeah the thing!” he tried to imitate what he meant but he lost his balance “I can’t copy it but it’s the thing where you get low like a squat but you walk and do this cool arm flailing.”

“OH! You mean duck-walking!” I laughed at his effort to copy my move “I can teach you but you gotta change into some training clothes and meet me at the grass area near the sliding doors.”

“Will do! I’ll be quick!” he said before running off to his room.

I quickly got into my training clothes and grabbed my portable speaker, trying to beat him to the meeting spot. We got there at the same time.

“Okay so lets get loose and limber!” I said as I started to stretch my back “get to stretching!” He does his and you can see the excitement in his face. “Okay so we’re nice and stretched, time to show you the core of all these techniques” I sit on the grass and motion him to do the same “we work on core and balance points, you might not understand but dancers have wicked core control and all those lean muscles. We use our entire bodies to do the simplest moves.”

“So thats the difference between hero training and dance training? Full body usage?”

“Yes! Thats how I can do this” I put my hands on the ground and hovered my upper body and legs off the ground “without a quirk, pure core control.”

Hoshi tried to do the same but his arms were shaky “I know I can lift more than my weight without my quirk! I see now, I’ve been using the wrong muscles to balance!”

I show him how to work out his core for balance. We didn’t get to dance but showing him the basics was more important. This was our routine for a few days, then a few of our classmates noticed that we weren’t working on quirk stuff.

“Okay, today we can work on actual dance stuff” I excitedly announced “are you ready to begin?”

“Heck yea!” Hoshi was bouncing in anticipation “duck walk! duck walk! duck walk!”

I laughed at his little chant “Okay little ducky, first you squat and make sure your feet are flat and shoulder width apart.” I see him adjust himself into the squat “now I want you to bring your back up straight, find your balance point.”

“Like this?” Hoshi was starting to get shaky.

“Bring your chest out to balance” I point to his chest “I know it’ll look silly but it works, trust me.”

“I believe you, like this?” he puffs his chest out and suddenly he stops shaking “hey! it does work!”

“Great! Now take little baby steps forward” I take a few steps to demonstrate “make sure you keep balance, the slight bouncing is normal.”

“Heh I’m a duck” he laughed to himself as he took his first few steps “what type of dance move is this?”

“It’s vogue/ballroom dance, made popular by the drag scene and gay community” I explained as I watched him duck walking in different directions “my mom has a friend from America that’s a drag queen and he visits at least twice a year. When I was little, he taught me how to vogue and rhinestone nylon tights.”

“A queen?! That’s so cool!” Hoshi was awestruck “can I see you do some voguing?”

“Um sure, gotta find the right song” I pick up my phone to scroll through the family playlists, I chose Raingurl by Yaeji  . I was serving, feeling myself and lost myself in dance. As I finish with a death drop, I heard the sounds of more than one person clapping and cheering.

“Iida-san that was incredible!” shouted our class rep from his balcony “I didn’t know you knew other dances?!”

“That was amazing Lili!” Hoshi clapped the hardest “you looked like you were in your element!”

Some of our classmates came running down from their rooms to swarm me, begging me to teach them too. 

“Woah woah! You really want to learn how to dance?” I wasn’t processing that they enjoyed what I did “I was just showing Hoshi the one move.”

“But you taught it so well! I want to know how you move so gracefully” said one of my classmates, pointing to Hoshi “and it looks like a lot of fun! Won’t you teach us Iida-san?”

“Well if you put it like that, then I’ll teach ya” the response from my classmates sparked joy “we can do a scheduled session out here now that summer break is over and classes are going to resume. Let’s work it out with our class rep!”

And so we worked things out with our class rep, Friday evenings and Sunday mornings are my scheduled dance sessions. Kind of wished it was just me and Hoshi, but the validation from others is pretty cool too.

-Monday, 1st day of 2nd term-

“Hey Lili!”

“Hm? Oh hi Maru!” I was distracted by the intel students on my way to class. I haven’t seen Maru in like 2 weeks, almost forgot he existed.

“Long time no see! How did you settle into the dorms?” he asked with that dumb smile on his face.

“It was alright, food situation sucked for the first two days” I tried not to get mad again from remembering “otherwise, I love my dorm layout!”

“Maybe we should visit each other’s places sometime” he spoke suavely “I have a TV in mine for Netflix.”

“If it’s anything like your room back home, no thanks” I scrunched my nose “I can’t stand you hero otakus! Also, Netflix is garbage tier streaming service, I’d rather watch 20 year old youtube videos.”

Maru’s face went from confident to embarrassed in less than a second. Everyone around us that overheard was wincing at how hard I roasted him.

“Oh jeez Lili that was ice-cold!” spoke up Hoshi “lets just go to class, bye!”

We turn away and Maru was frozen in place. “I was just saying that I don’t want to visit his room, it’s full of his dad’s hero merch.”

“But he was fully making a move on you” Hoshi raised an eyebrow “it was super obvious he wanted you over at his dorm for ‘Netflix and Chill’, you know that right?”

I looked at Hoshi with a confused face “But Netflix is trash! I said what I said!”

“No dummy! He was trying to get in your pants” Hoshi was spelling it out for her “are you that dense?!”

I blushed “N-no! I just don’t see Maru like that!” 

Hoshi was floored and nearly lost his cool “Are you kidding me?! Every boy that comes in contact with you tries to make a move on you” he flails his arms “and every time you curve them so hard that it hurts! You can’t be that clueless?!”

“Well, to be honest, nobody here has gotten my interest like that” I said meekly “I don’t have a crush, I’ve never gone on a date and I’m not sure if I have a type.”

“...Really?” Hoshi was surprised as we turned into our classroom “I just thought that maybe you’ve gone through a few boyfriends.”

“Nope, my dad was super protective of me when I started going to school” I laughed as I sat in my seat “he didn’t want boys talking to me and scared them away when he’d come pick me up from school or dance practice. The only boys I’ve been around are my parent’s friend’s kids that are around my age.” I sigh “I have a feeling he might want me to date within that circle but they get on my nerves! If I had to choose, I’d rather get my legs broken than date any of those boys.”

“That’s harsh but I like that attitude of yours” Hoshi bop’d my nose “so feisty but hardheaded!”

Class started when he turned around. The whole day I was riding on that high of Hoshi boping me on the nose. When we were finished for the day and I went to my locker, I found a letter neatly tucked in between my shoes.

“Huh? A letter?” I was confused “this can’t be for me! I’m not popular enough for confession letters!”

“Oh for the love of- just open it Lili!” Hoshi was stressed out over my dense ass “who knows, it might be promising!”

I open the letter and real aloud “Dearest Iida-sama, meet me by the botanical garden at 5pm. I have to tell you something important, come alone. Sincerely, T.H.” I look at my phone for the time “It’s 4:40 now, I guess I should make my way to the garden” I tug at Hoshi’s sleeve “will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone, I’m kind of scared.”

“Not to worry! I wasn’t planning on letting you go alone” he reassured her “I’ll be hiding out in the jasmine bushes in case things get sour. If need be, I’ll phase into the ground and grab you by the ankle for a quick get away.”

“Sounds like a plan!” I give him the thumbs up and I make my way to the garden. I sat at one of the stone benches and waited, whole time wondering who it may be.

“Iida-san?! Is that you?” call out a voice, it was the class rep.

“Yes it’s me” I quickly get up “sorry if I’m loitering! I’ll just-”

“NO please!” he stopped me from leaving “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, can it wait? I’m waiting for...”I pan over to Hoshi’s face in the bushes, giving me the ‘that’s the person dummy!’ look “wait, did you write this?” I hold up the letter.

“Yes I wrote that” the class rep cleared his throat “sorry for this sudden meeting but I wanted to tell you something that’s been at the back of my mind.”

“Uh huh? I’m all ears, what is it?”

“It’s just that, for a while now, I’ve been in like with you” he gets sweaty “I admire everything you do and how you just don’t care what other people have to say about you or your family. Will you-” he takes a deep breath and bows with his hand out “will you give me a chance? I know you probably aren’t thinking about dating but I promise to make things worthwhile if you give me a chance.”

I just stood there, like a dumbass, not knowing what to say. He’s a decent person but I was too nervous to say anything. I turn to Hoshi and he facepalmed and motioned me to say something. “Ummm wow! I didn’t know you felt that way” I nervously laughed but I felt like I was going to pass out “I don’t know what to say! Uhhhh”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way” he stood up from his bow “I understand.”

“No it’s not that! I just don’t know you well enough to know” what the hell am I saying?! I’m word vomiting! “I don’t even know your name.”

“But it’s halfway through the school year! How do you not-”

“I’m really bad with names and saving numbers on my phone” I nervously admitted “I’m just a foul-mouthed, dense, girly girl with bad social skills. Why the hell would anybody like me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself Iida-san” he was having trouble trying to relieve the mood I’ve created “you can take your time! Just write me a letter back or text me if that makes you more comfortable” he turns around to leave “I’ll be seeing you around!”

“Okay, bye!” I waved until he was out of sight “Oh my fucking god what have I done!”

“You have zero social skills Lili” Hoshi said as he popped out of the ground “I was cringing the entire time you were talking, even he wanted you to stop talking!”

“I know! What do I do Hoshi!” I was freaking out.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead “He said it, write back to him, that’s all you.”

“Oh! Why can’t I skip to the part where I’m with my soulmate?!” I huffed and stomped in frustration “feelings are so confusing!”

We head to the dorms and I just speed up to my room, avoiding anybody that might question me. I even went as far as taking a late dinner and eating what was leftover like a gremlin! It took me 3 days to finally sit down and write my response, but like the coward I am, I asked Hoshi to deliver the note to the class rep.

-Friday, after school-

“I didn’t ask but now I’m curious” Hoshi asked me as we got our shoes out of the lockers “what did you say in your letter?”

“I said I’d give him a chance so I can get to know him better” I put on my shoes “can’t be that bad, my mom did the whole dating stuff for a while in high school.”

“That’s great to hear!” he gave me a playful punch in the arm “proud of you!”

I scoffed “Psh I got this!”

Spoiler alert....I don’t got this. When I got to my dorm, I was bombarded with texts by the class rep with plans for a day together this weekend. It got me nervous and I forced myself to just bite the bullet and do a saturday thing with him. Whole time I was freaking out, Hoshi calmed me down the hour before my outing with the class rep.

“Okay Lili, you are young and that bitch” Hoshi was hyping me up in my room as I fixed my hair “it’s your first date, and even if you don’t like him, enjoy yourself.”

I took a calming breath “Okay, I’m ready” I spun around on my vanity chair “how do I look? Can you do a smell check on me?”

He looked me over and checked my scent “You look put together and your good to go with your amount of scent” he gives me a thumbs up as my phone buzzed “he’s probably waiting, text me if you’re in need of escape!”

I give him a thumbs up as I go down stairs to meet up with the class rep. “Hi! Where you waiting long?”

“No I just got here” he smiled as he held his arm out “shall we be off?”

I looked at his arm like a dumbass, like I seriously didn’t know what he was trying to do, so I squeezed his bicep and said “Nice muscles man! Yeah lets go!” and I walked ahead of him.

“Oh um, okay lets go!” he was so confused on my little curve for his gesture “So I was thinking of going to get some boba.”

“Sounds good!” I said in my fakest, polite voice because I don’t like boba. So I was in my personal hell when he ‘surprised’ me with a strawberry black tea with extra boba...at least he also got us some macrons. “So uhhhhh what do you like to do for fun?” I initiated.

“I like to read up on hero history and-” he started to go off on hero shit that I didn’t care about because I heard it all the time from my dad and Mr. Midoriya “...my FAVORITE era was during All Might’s golden era.”

I choked down some boba as he finished talking “Oh favorite era huh? Speaking of, what’s your favorite flavor? Are you a savory or sweet type person?”

“Hmm, I guess I like butter and mild flavors” he took a sip of his drink “I’m not much of an adventurous eater, this is as exciting as my taste goes.”

My brain broke, this is where I should’ve stopped everything and said it wasn’t going to work out. But I wanted to give it a chance “Oh, that’s....interesting?”

“Oh I bet being the daughter of two high profile parents got you a refined taste palette!” he praised “only the finest cuts of fish and fusion foods everyday!”

I laughed “Nah, we live humbly in my house. Almost every night my parents cook and we all have sit down meals” I get a little homesick “My mom is the best cook! She makes mexican and american cuisine, so my taste is more on the spicy and heavy side.”

“Oh that’s cool of your parents” he commented and checked the time “um do you want to go to the next stop?”

“Oh sure!” I said happily as we got up and walked. Surprise, it was the hero museum and it was the opening of the Deku wing... whoopie. Like the trooper I am, I looked at the things he pointed out to me and did my smile with the giggle. Whole time I was just bored, I see this mans all the time HELL! I’m pretty sure my dad and him are having a grand old time at the house right now! As Mr. Bakugo says ‘Stupid Deku!’ and as my mom says ‘Shut up you broccoli ass twink!’ UGH!

“You’ve been awfully quiet” he said nudging me “what’s wrong?”

“Hm? Oh! I was just in deep thought” I nervously laughed to divert.

“About what?” he asked curiously.

Oh fuck what do I say? I don’t want to hurt his feelings “About what my dad said about this factoid” I pointed at the plaque in front of me in panic, fully not knowing what it says.

“About Deku’s debut?” he skimmed the plaque.

“Yea! He was debuted way before this date on the plaque” I’m fully pulling this out of my ass but I also want to leave “Deku made his debut technically when he was still in high school, this just shows his first news covered rescue.”

He looked over the plaque again then at me “You’re right! It IS the first news covered rescue!” he gave me an approving look “you really know your stuff! I like that about you, you’re just full of surprises.”

Phew! I saved myself from embarrassment! But now he likes me even more, big oof on my part. We leave the museum and we pass by the arcade.

“Hey lets go to the arcade!” I tug on his sleeve “they have the vintage DDR machines that are still in use!”

“Oh I’m not much of a video game person” he responded to me “I have something else in mind, lets keep going.”

My smile disappeared “Oh...okay” I let go of his sleeve and I just felt bored again. We kept walking and we ended up at the bookstore, this better be worth it because I really wanted to play some DDR.

“Here have a seat” he pointed at a table that was surrounded by high bookshelves “this is my favorite spot to sit and read.”

I sit and already feel stir crazy “It’s a cozy spot, what do you like to read?”

“I read a lot of-” he goes off on his favorites, spoiler alert, it’s hero history. I don’t know why I bother asking! At this point I wanted everything to just end, it was getting a bit into the late afternoon, I was hungry and losing my patience a bit. “...oh but where are my manners, what do you like to read?”

“I uhhhh read dance and fashion magazines, because you know” I wiggle my fingers “my quirk, I copy what I see on the pages to hone my skills.”

“Oh right! I suppose you’re all about those types of things” he laughs nervously and gets up “I’m going to the front desk, be right back!”

I flash my smile and wait for him to walk out of sight to check my phone. I sent Hoshi the sleepy face emoji to show how bored I was. It was almost 3pm and I was close to just walk out of this outing. I put my phone away just as he comes back with his stack of books. He tells me about his selection but not a single one of these were novels or non-fiction, just hero stuff. After what seemed forever, we finally left the place to go to the dorms. I don’t know how much longer of this faking I can take.

“Well, I learned a lot about you!” I said as we approached the dorms.

“Did you have fun?” he got shy “because it was really fun sharing them with you.”

I didn’t have fun but what do I say to that?! “It was an experience I won’t forget about anytime soon.” Ew, what the fuck am I saying?!

He blushed hard and diverted his eyes “That’s great to hear! I hope we can spend more time together” he took a deep breath and held his hand out.

Shit, now what does he want me to do? His hand is out like he wants something, do I just, put something in his hand? I dig into my purse and put a single red M&M on his palm “I don’t suggest eating that, I don’t know how long it’s been floating in my purse.”

“Um, thanks for the warning?” he chuckled a bit and put the piece of candy in his shirt pocket “maybe I wasn’t very straightforward with my gesture, may I take your hand?”

“Oh hahaha! Silly me” I laughed at my dumbass, hesitating on putting my hand on his.

He gave me a smile and kissed my hand “I’ve never done this before, I hope this wasn’t too much?”

Again, no butterflies in my stomach nor rapid heartbeat, I felt nothing! The mix of everything was making me upset, time to make my grand escape “Coolio! See ya later!” and before he could react, I sped off to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and screamed into my pillow. Why don’t I feel anything?! I want to feel those feelings with somebody, I want to fall in love! Why is this shit so hard?! I didn’t want to leave my room to face anybody, I just wanted to hide.

“Lili? You alive?” it was Hoshi “You missed lunch and I got worried.”

“Go away!” I snarled under my comforter “I don’t wanna be seen!”

Those threats meant nothing to him, he just phased through the sliding door into the room “Fine then, I won’t look at you” he sets down a plate of food on the desk “brought you food, because I know you get hangry” he sits on the floor, back resting on the bed “sooo, that bad huh?”

I sighed hard “Yep, what’s worse is that I think he likes me more now!”

“What happened?” he asked and I explained the whole outing. At some point he hands me the plate of food and I was eating as I was talking. I felt more myself after a few bites of food “I can’t believe you fully faked your way through it! But what got you upset?”

“Well, it sounds dumb but, it’s just that I didn’t feel anything after that hand kiss” I cringed at my own words “this is the second time somebody did an obvious romantic gesture to me and I didn’t get those butterflies in my tummy or anything!” I look at Hoshi in the eye “am I just, incapable of feeling love?”

“What? NO! Lili, don’t be so hard on yourself” he put his hand on my knee “you feel love toward your parents and family, this type of love is different. It’s not obvious and it’s confusing, it just has to be with the right person!”

“Then, do you think you met your ‘right person’?” I asked curiously

“I know I did, I’m just waiting for the right time to have my turn” he said as he ruffled my hair “but I’m not saying who! Not until I have my turn.”

“Aww not even a hint?!” I huffed because I really wanted to know “are they in our class? Male or Female presenting? Their quirk?!”

“Let’s just say they’re a huge brat, has a secret soft side and is female” he said with confidence.

“Wow, they sound kinda like a bitch” I made a sour face “you have a thing for bratty girls?”

They laughed at me “Only for secret softies” he put his arm around me “don’t sweat it Lili, we’re still young and getting it wrong. I’m sure your ‘right person’ will make it obvious for your dense ass.”

“Shut your fuck!” I laughed “I’m not that dense.”

Hoshi made me feel way better about my feelings. What would I do without them? Like he was made to be my support, to be my friend. Let see what the hell I’m going to do now.

-Chapter 7, End-

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[heebiejbies]

Drabbles Game!

Update: Closed as of August 9, 2017

So, I’ve collected a list of prompts from around the web that I thought were neat ideas. Therefore, I have decided to do a little drabble/mini-scenario game with them! I will only do one prompt once so I will mark them off as they are requested. The list of groups that can be requested are after the prompts.  A lot of these are AUs because I really love AUs omg.

Here are the prompts:

Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian demon. His methods are often much more violent, but much more straightforward.

Guardian angels are granted a life on Earth for as many years as they keep their assignment alive. Determined to succeed, you set out only to find you’ve been given one of the worst assignments possible.

Greatly over-exaggerate someone opening a Peanut Butter Jar.

You are a serial killer and have been hiding your murders from your spouse. One day, while cleaning up your newest kill, your spouse walks in on you. They calmly raise their hand and say, “It’s okay. I know.”

Your parent is a therapist, and they have recently brought home one of their patients—someone who is deathly afraid of other people. Cue you trying to convince them that you are harmless and wow… They’re also really attractive.

You are depressed, and then become possessed by a very nice ghost. He works to improve your life.

“We met in an online chatroom and you were too afraid to meet me because you are paralyzed from the waist down and didn’t know how I would react.”

You accidentally summon a demon by trying to pronounce Ikea product names.

Most people are born with three names tattooed on their wrist: Their true love, their biggest enemy, and their greatest ally. You only have one name.

Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen.

“You just knocked on my door and I opened it yelling ‘I don’t want any damn cookies’ and you just moved in next door. I’m so sorry”

“You’re the ghost haunting my house and I can’t see you, but I just bought an ouija board so we can talk.”

You have a messaging system built into your body but you can only contact your soulmate.

“Will you stop flirting with me you just got seriously injured and I’m the EMT trying to tend to your wounds in the ambulance, I don’t give a fuck that I look cute when I’m concerned, you’re lucky you’re not dead you dipshit.”

“You’re living in my old apartment and you’re really cool but I’m a ghost and I’m not sure how to hang out with you without scaring you away.”

“Dude, just because I come from a different planet doesn’t mean I can’t understand English. Yes, this does mean I did understand that comment you made about my butt.”

After an incredibly scarring supernatural experience that still had a happy ending from when you were little, you decide to share your true story on the subreddit, “Let’s Not Meet.” Many people read your post and comment on how terrifying it must have been, how disgusting the monster was who put you through such an ordeal at such a young age, etc. However, there was one comment that chilled you to the bone. It said, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Of course I’m angry at you! You kept kicking the back of my chair while I was trying to watch the movie!”

“You tried breaking into my apartment when you were drunk because you thought it was yours.”

“You repeatedly come into the store I work at and pick up a head of lettuce then halfway through the store decide you don’t want the lettuce and you put it back on the shelf next to you regardless of what aisle you’re on.”

“We were goofing around with an old ouija board, but now the lights are blinking and there’s a screaming coming from outside of the house, so I think it’s safe to say that we done messed up.”

You find a doll on your doorstep which has a certain something that draws you in; soon after, the doll begins whispering sweet nothings into your ear, like the serpent it was. With its tendrils so deep already, it was easy enough to get you to follow its commands…even if it meant harming your roommate.

You have just moved into a new apartment with your best friend and one night, while you can’t sleep, you see somebody that is definitely not your friend walking through your apartment. Freaked out, you scream and the “person” vanishes. You continue to see and hear this “third person” moving around the apartment at all hours of the day, but your friend continues to tell you that “it’s just the hot water pipes” and that there’s nothing to worry about. You really, really wish that you could believe them, but lately, you have been seeing the mysterious person in your dreams, and it’s determined to not let you sleep while its spirit isn’t at rest.

You are a writer who’s taken a retreat to the mountains to find inspiration for your new romance novel. While up there, you meet a clairvoyant who says that you are in danger. This wouldn’t bother you – you’re not superstitious, that’s silly – but you’re getting the unsettling feeling that something is stalking you.  

You are a detective whose memories of your past decade are fractured. Almost every time you try to recall an event, it seems like something or someone is missing. The only thing you know for sure is that you have a wedding ring, but your partner is nowhere to be found. Someone with unusually pale skin hires you to solve a murder. Soon, you realize that they were the victim of the murder. As you unravel their death, you also come to realize that they are the key to regaining your lost memories.

When you were alive, your favorite place to hang out was in the library, so it only makes sense that you would continue to hang around there even after you had died. The librarian is highly skeptical of the ‘ghostly activity’ that everybody has been reporting – the cold spots are from the drafty building, the whispers are from the patrons, and the creaking is from the old book shelves, obviously. One night, while shelving books, they accidentally bump into the ghostly form of you.

A few days back, you got bitten by a vampire and since then, you’ve been holed up in your room going through the painful transformation from human to undead. Coming out of your room, you are ravenous and ready to flee into the night to find something to feed on – but that’s right as your roommate walks through the front door.

It’s nighttime and you made the foolish mistake to walk home alone. With your knife at the ready, you are jumping at every shadow and small sound, so when a stranger emerges silently from the gloom, your first reaction is to stab them in the chest. They are a hungry vampire who was trying to find a bite to eat when they accidentally bump into you and find a knife protruding from their chest. It won’t kill them but golly it hurts and they sure are angry now.

You are working at a funeral home, and you’ve been given the task of putting makeup on a cadaver. This doesn’t really squick you out, but while you’re adding some more blush to their cheeks, their eyes snap open. They are a new vampire that’s been mistaken for dead. Opening their eyes, they are expecting to see their sire leaning over them, not the horrified face of you.

“I mean, yes I’m technically immortal, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t still feel pain! Getting stabbed really hurts! Rude!”

You have recently moved into a new house, and you’ve had a weird bout of bad luck recently. From almost falling down the stairs, to leaving the stove on, to forgetting to lock the door at night, you just can’t believe how sour your first few weeks have been. Unbeknownst to you, there is a ghost haunting your house, and they’re convinced that you are their old nemesis/ex-lover/killer/etc. and is hellbent on making you pay for hurting them. Unfortunately for them, they don’t have the ability to do much more than give you small shoves and be a general nuisance.

You aren’t special, you’re just a regular human trying to live your life and stay out of trouble, but when you do a kind act for a stranger, it turns out that you helped an angel in disguise, and now they are your temporary guardian angel. This would be cool, except they are nauseatingly helpful and it’s driving you up the wall.

You feel like you’re dating the perfect person.They’re smart, funny, and they honestly care about what you have to say. When they tell you that they’ve been keeping a huge secret, you weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t: “I’m an angel on Earth.”

“Yeah, I’m dead. In the beginning, I was all like, ‘Oh no I’m dead this is so tragic’ but now I’m all like ‘dude I can float and go through walls, this is amazing’ and anyway, hi, this is – or was – my house. What’s your name?”

While moving into your new home, you receive an ominous warning from your neighbor that your apartment/house/dorm room/etc. is haunted. On the first night – thoroughly spooked and ready to fight any ghostly apparitions – you walk into your living room, only to find someone standing there, criticizing your furniture and decorating options. No matter how many times you put your furniture back in place, they always move it, insisting that it looks much better.

“In a completely hypothetical situation, if I told you that, I don’t know, that the roommate I found on Craigslist turned out to be a ghost, what would you say? It sounds crazy, right? Like, ghosts can’t start an eBay store out of their room and pay rent…but apparently, they can.”

You are a firm non-believer in anything relating to religion, the supernatural, or anything that cannot be proven by hard science. There is a ghost that’s been haunting you for what feels like ages, and they are so fed up with your “too cool for ghouls” attitude. When you advertise that you’re in need of a roommate to split the rent with, a self-proclaimed medium takes up the offer. Upon meeting you and your ghostly roommate, and feeling all of the bad energy between you two, the medium dedicates themselves to doing a sort of “couples therapy” for you and helping you realize that yes, ghosts really do exist.*

You are a magic user who is trying to summon a low-level demon. Suddenly, in the middle of the summoning, you are shaken by an earthquake and almost crushed by one of your falling bookshelves, but the demon appears just at the right time, pulling you out of the way, and saving your life.

You are a ghost who has chosen to stay in the house/apartment/etc. where you died. About a decade later, someone moves into your old house/apartment/etc.; you are annoyed with this turn of events, and get back at them by playing small pranks on them – leaving plastic camels all over the place, taping Shrek’s face onto photographs, removing the labels off of canned goods, etc.

When you finally break your old phone, you drive to try to buy a second-hand iPhone off of Craigslist. Everything seems to be in order, except when you start receiving text messages from the past owner.

You are a DJ that drowns out your anxieties in the heavy, thumping bass at the club where you work. Most nights, you are too engrossed in your work to really pay attention to what’s happening on the dance floor, but at the same time, it’s hard to miss what a certain someone’s hips are doing when they clear out the dance floor. They have been dying to get the attention of the cute, stoic DJ. After a night of extreme partying, they are getting ready to hang up their dancing shoes when you walk up to them.

You are a hit man that has planned on getting close to your latest target, by inviting them out on a date. While out on this date though, you are actually really impressed by them and aren’t sure if you’re okay with going through with the job.

You feed off of affection…literally. Without love and attention, you will wither away. In order to stay healthy and strong, you have a string of people you’re not-quite dating so that you can cuddle on a regular basis, but you make sure not to develop serious feelings for any of them. It’s been working pretty well. Then you fall in love with the least affectionate person ever.

You are a scientist, and you hear about a series of experiments being done on a rare mermaid. Out of curiosity, you go to visit the mermaid in its tank and you see how miserable it is.

After going on a lovely date with someone, you think that the two of you really hit it off and can’t wait for a second date…but they never text you back. After a few weeks, you assume that you’ve been ghosted – meaning they weren’t interested and are ignoring you – and move on. Unbeknownst to you, they actually died, and their spirit can’t move on since they have unfinished business on Earth.

When you move out of your family’s house and into a small apartment, you realize that the apartment is haunted by a spirit who, after learning that you aren’t going to drive them out—it’s pretty cool to have a ghost for a roommate—finds infinite enjoyment in mapping out your romance life with two other people—their best friend and older brother.*

“So the world is being invaded by aliens and the only way to tell the difference between a real human and a human imposter is by shining a bright light in their eyes, so hold still and let me put my flashlight up to your face. Stop struggling! You’re not making a convincing case for yourself!”

“It’s been like ten years since we made alien contact and while it’s weird to have been chosen to foster an alien in my house, it’s not as bad as you would think; it’s weird, but in a cool way.”

You have recently been crowned as the new ruler of your country, and you’re throwing a masquerade ball to celebrate. With all of the guests in fancy outfits and masks, you are able to slip away from the crowds of people and take a stroll through the empty gardens, which is where you meet an assassin that’s been hired to kill you. Arriving at the ball in formal attire, they follow you out to the garden, saying that they want to make sure that you are feeling okay. They had planned on this being an easy beginner’s assignment – with the mask covering their face, they’re practically anonymous – but as you begin to open up about your apprehensions about taking the throne, they aren’t sure that they can go through with killing you.

You and your boyfriend are actually the same height, but you love to wear shoes with a heel and like to annoy your boyfriend with short jokes when you are both out.

“Listen, I love you and all, but can you please stop hiding all the good junk food on the top shelves where I can’t see them?”

You grew up in an environment where you weren’t offered very much affection as a child and now that you’re older, you have a lot of trouble conveying any emotions outside apathy, sarcasm, and being mildly interested in something. But after befriending an extremely lovey and affectionate person, you begin to fall hard for them. Awkward romance shenanigans ensue as you get flustered over hand holding and hugging because affection is relatively alien to you.

“We’re both psychology majors, and it’s great and all that we know everything about the topic, but it would be awesome if you could stop diagnosing me with being a dick - it’s unnecessary and definitely not a legitimate condition.”

“You found me crying in Barnes & Noble and thought that I was reading a sad book so you tried to comfort me but really I was just super happy that the dog didn’t die at the end.”

As your New Year’s resolution, you are trying to kick your addiction – to substances, adrenaline, shopping, crime, etc. – and every time you feel the need to indulge again, you go out and buy a house plant. Soon your apartment is filled with plants and you’ve become close friends with the gardener who has been selling you plants and giving you tips on how to take care of the different plants.

You don’t think that you’re an attractive person – and maybe you’re not – but to them, the literal grim reaper, you are one of the most beautiful people that they’ve ever seen. Cue them purposely going out of their way to extend your lifespan and to make your life a little better for them.

“I’ve killed 89 members of the royal family in my time on this Earth, but NEVER have I met one target as impetuous as this one. They quite literally saw my grappling hook catch their windowsill then just sauntered over with a pair of nail clippers and snipped the rope, waiting until they heard the *THUD* of me hitting the ground, then proceeded to turn on their iPod and blast “Oops, I Did It Again.” …I’m going to murder this brat until they are absolutely and completely dead, you mark my words.”

“If you put that needle in my arm, you’ll be losing much more than your medical license, my friend.”

“NOT ALL MAFIAS ARE ITALIAN. WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK THAT?!?”

You love to watch the night’s sky, and one night, while looking up at the stars, you see a blindingly bright light streak across the sky, and land in the woods/a park/a lake/the desert/etc. near your house. Going to inspect what just fell, you find a softly glowing figure that’s safely nestled inside of a smoking, broken asteroid.

“My familiar keeps wandering underneath my porch and won’t come out unless I beg it to. I’ve been wondering why it has spent so much time under there these past few weeks and I found my answer when I went looking myself only to find another person’s familiar cowering in the dirt.”

After you inherit a box of antiques from your deceased grandparent, you discover an antique mirror that holds the soul of a 1900′s show performer. Even though the two of you are separated by almost a century, you find out that you have more similarities than you would expect (and they give great makeup advice.)

“I know I probably look like just another predator or scientist or something that’s going to hurt you, but I promise, I only want to help you and get you off the streets.”

You are a history buff, and while looking through an old textbook, there’s a picture of a portrait that happens to catch your eye. Not just because the person in the portrait is really attractive, but because the person looks exactly like your roommate.

Your roommate is notoriously tough and strong and one day is frightened by a cockroach. They yell for you who comes running to the rescue, only to find yourself slipping on the wet bathroom floor. This ends in, shall we say, quite the awkward landing.

“You are in fact the worst burglar I have ever seen!” “How many burglars have you seen???” “Exactly!”

“Okay, I know I told you I’m an alien and everything but I swear to god if you try to get me to say ‘greetings earthling’ I will punch you. Of course no one says that! What is this an ‘80s film?!”

“I don’t know what would’ve been worse, me finding a bear in my kitchen at 4 AM eating all my food or a cute alien eating all my food at 4 AM.”

“I got hunted down and dragged out of hiding and now I’m in some scary lab (pretty sure I’m about to be dissected) but just before the operation, this scientist came in to check if everything was alright. Wait what… you’re unhooking me from the machine now we’re running away out of the science lab? Man, maybe humans aren’t that shitty after all.”

“I lost my cat a few days ago and I saw you carrying my cat in your purse and and you looked intimidating so I couldn’t ask for them back.”

“You come to the pet shop every day and look at the dogs but whenever I ask, you say you don’t want one… But you keep coming in. Are you sure you don’t want one because that one time I let you hold a puppy you nearly cried.”

“I’m babysitting this kid in the park but a dog startled him and he dropped his ice cream, I can’t believe you bought him a new one that was so sweet of you.”

“My pet tarantula escaped and I forgot to warn the guy below me who is scared of spiders.”

“I need you to pet sit my pet this weekend and I forgot to mention it’s a giant snake, the mice are in the freezer, thanks bye!”

“One of my neighbors went blind as a teenager and he’s never asked me what I looked like until today and I completely lied to him about what I looked like.”

“My stupid cat sneaked out on the balcony and into your open window and he has this habit of destroying furniture and peeing everywhere so I followed him inside and you came home earlier than I expected and found me in the middle of your living room but I swear I’m not a burglar okay.”

“So you’re the asshole that took my username.”

“I rented the apartment above your flower shop and in the last two months you’ve gotten a new flower I’m allergic to so I keep buying bouquets until I can figure out which kind it is”

“Um, hi, I know how this looks but I promise you I’m not a burglar. I’m a celebrity from a foreign country and as I was being chased by fans, I saw your garden so I hopped your fence to hide in your plants and I’m so sorry that I crushed so many of them but please don’t make me leave yet.”

“We met in a movie theatre and now you’re clinging to me because you’re terrified and I’m okay with that because it means I get your popcorn.”’

*For these with more than one character mentioned, you can request more than one person. 

The list of groups I will do for these are as follows:

B.A.P

Big Bang

Block B

EXO (OT12 s/o to my first love Tao)

Got7

Monsta X

NCT U

NCT 127

NCT Dream

Seventeen

VIXX (Closed)

So, yeah, you can send those in! If you have any questions, feel free to ask~

[sciencespies]

Renaissance Nun's 'Last Supper' Painting Makes Public Debut After 450 Years in Hiding

https://sciencespies.com/history/renaissance-nuns-last-supper-painting-makes-public-debut-after-450-years-in-hiding/

Renaissance Nun's 'Last Supper' Painting Makes Public Debut After 450 Years in Hiding

SMITHSONIAN.COM | Oct. 21, 2019, 9:33 a.m.

Around 1568, Florentine nun Plautilla Nelli—a self-taught painter who ran an all-woman artists’ workshop out of her convent—embarked on her most ambitious project yet: a monumental Last Supper scene featuring life-size depictions of Jesus and the 12 Apostles.

As Alexandra Korey writes for the Florentine, Nelli’s roughly 21- by 6-and-a-half foot canvas is remarkable for its challenging composition, adept treatment of anatomy at a time when women were banned from studying the scientific field, and chosen subject. During the Renaissance, the majority of individuals who painted the biblical scene were male artists at the pinnacle of their careers. Per the nonprofit Advancing Women Artists organization, which restores and exhibits works by Florence’s female artists, Nelli’s masterpiece placed her among the ranks of such painters as Leonardo da Vinci, Domenico Ghirlandaio and Pietro Perugino, all of whom created versions of the Last Supper “to prove their prowess as art professionals.”

Despite boasting such a singular display of skill, the panel has long been overlooked. According to Visible: Plautilla Nelli and Her Last Supper Restored, a monograph edited by AWA Director Linda Falcone, Last Supper hung in the refectory (or dining hall) of the artist’s own convent, Santa Caterina, until the house of worship’s dissolution during the Napoleonic suppression of the early 19th century. The Florentine monastery of Santa Maria Novella acquired the painting in 1817, housing it in the refectory before moving it to a new location around 1865. In 1911, scholar Giovanna Pierattini reported, the portable panel was “removed from its stretcher, rolled up and moved to a warehouse, where it remained neglected for almost three decades.”

Plautilla Nelli’s “Last Supper” prior to restoration

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Plautilla’s Last Supper remained in storage until 1939, when it underwent significant restoration. Returned to the refectory, the painting sustained slight damage during the momentous flooding of Florence in 1966 but escaped largely unscathed. Upon the refectory’s reclassification as the Santa Maria Novella Museum in 1982, the work was transferred to the friars’ private rooms, where it was kept until scholars intervened in the 1990s.

Now, for the first time in some 450 years, Nelli’s Last Supper—newly restored following a four-year campaign by AWA—is finally on public view. No longer consigned to Santa Maria Novella’s private halls, the work is installed in the church’s museum, where it hangs alongside masterpieces by the likes of Masaccio and Brunelleschi.

According to a press release, AWA raised funds for the project through crowdfunding and a donation-based “Adopt an Apostle” program. The Florentine nonprofit’s all-woman team of curators, restorers and scientists then began the arduous process of restoration, performing tasks including removing a thick layer of yellow varnish, treating flaking paint and conducting an analysis of the pigments’ chemical composition.

“We restored the canvas and, while doing so, rediscovered Nelli’s story and her personality,” lead conservator Rossella Lari says. “She had powerful brushstrokes and loaded her brushes with paint.”

Detail of the “Last Supper” table

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Conservator Rossella Lari adds finishing touches to the painting

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Given the fact that reflectography found little evidence of under-drawing, Lari adds, it’s clear the nun-turned-artist “knew what she wanted and had control enough of her craft to achieve it.”

Nelli, born into a Florentine merchant family in 1524, joined the Dominican Santa Caterina convent at age 14. Per Financial Review’s Nicky Lobo, she began her artistic career by making miniature copies in the style of Renaissance master Fra Bartolomeo. Soon, the self-taught artist found herself in high demand, garnering private devotional commissions from the city’s wealthy families.

As one of just four women cited in Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, Nelli commanded more attention than the majority of her female peers. In fact, the biographer wrote, “There were so many of her paintings in the houses of gentlemen in Florence, it would be tedious to mention them all.”

Nelli’s status as a nun enabled her to pursue art at a time when women were all but banned from the profession. According to Artsy’s Karen Chernick, Renaissance nunneries “extracted women” from domestic duties such as marriage and motherhood, freeing them to engage in otherwise off-limits activities.

“We think of these nuns as imprisoned, but it was a very enriching world for them,” AWA Director Linda Falcone tells Chernick.

Jesus and John prior to restoration

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Jesus and John post-restoration

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Renaissance women “could obviously paint as part of their cultural education,” Falcone says, “but the only way they could paint large-scale works and get public commissions was through their convent.”

Most paintings produced by Nelli and her workshop of some eight fellow nuns were smaller devotional works made for outside collectors. But some canvases—including Last Supper and others designed for private use within the convent—were monumental, requiring expensive scaffolding and assistants that the nuns paid for with funds from their commissions.

Per the AWA statement, the newly restored work was created in true “workshop style”—in other words, different artists of varying levels of expertise contributed to the religious scene.

Nelli’s signature and appeal for viewers to “Pray for the paintress”

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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As Chernick reports in a separate Atlas Obscura article, Nelli chose to depict Jesus and his 12 apostles dining on fare typically enjoyed by the residents of Santa Caterina. In addition to traditional wine and bread, she included a whole roasted lamb, lettuce heads and fava beans. And unlike Last Supper scenes painted by male artists, AWA founder Jane Fortune pointed out in a 2017 essay for the Florentine, Nelli’s tableware is incredibly elaborate; among the items on display are turquoise ceramic bowls, fine china platters and silver-adorned glasses.

According to historian Andrea Muzzi, Last Supper builds on the style established by Leonardo da Vinci’s similarly themed work. This monumental fresco, painted for the refectory of Milan’s Santa Maria delle Grazie between 1495 and 1498, was so influential, Muzzi writes in her essay “A Nun Who Paints,” that the “sacred subject could no longer be represented without his work being taken into account.” An apostle painted fourth from the left in Nelli’s version, for example, gestures with open hands in a manner reminiscent of Leonardo’s composition.

For Financial Review, Lobo paints an apt portrait of Nelli’s singular skill: “Picture the nun in her holy garments, mixing her pigments and stepping up onto scaffolding to brush enormous strokes of paint onto a canvas taller than her and wider than a contemporary billboard,” he writes. “The physical undertaking would have been immense, requiring great strength, focus and discipline—to say nothing of the will required to take on this sacred subject attempted before only by the male greats.”

An inscription hidden in the upper left corner of the painting suggests Nelli was keenly aware of the landmark nature of her creation. Written in Latin, it bears the artist’s name (an unusual declaration of authorship for the period) and a poignant appeal to the viewer: “Orate pro pictora,” or “Pray for the paintress.”

The painting is now on view in Santa Maria Novella Museum

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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Nelli’s apostles pre-restoration, possibly Thomas and Peter

(Francesco Cacchiani)

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Nelli’s apostles post-restoration, possibly Thomas and Peter

(Rabatti & Domingie)

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#History

[weightloss18-blog1]

What I REALLY eat for breakfast (hint: it's NOT just juice)

New Post has been published on https://designweightloss.com/what-i-really-eat-for-breakfast-hint-its-not-just-juice-2/

What I REALLY eat for breakfast (hint: it's NOT just juice)

Hello Fitlifer, Drew Canole, welcome back to the Fitlife Kitchen At the end of this video I'll giving away a juicer, not this juicer

Actually this juicer is really cool Let me show it to you quick If you're a juicer maniac like I am, this is the Kuving's, but it also has the big wide mouth spout, and it's a slow juicer Really, really cool I'm going to used that for my favorite breakfast juice

One that I have almost every single morning And, I'm going to make it for you And today we're talking about breakfast I get a lot of emails from you guys Drew, what do you do for breakfast? So this strategy is all about how you start you're day

Lots of greens Carrots loaded with beta-carotene, one of my favorites In this juice recipe, we actually have some Kale which is loaded with phytonutrients as well Different types of Kale, this is red Kale Cucumbers

the Zucchini isn't going in to the juice but I'm going to talk about that a second Fitlifer We got Romaine Lettuce which is very hydrating, and this also has a chemical in it that actually tells your stomach, sends a signal to your brain that says you're full or satiated So you don't really eat as much which is cool if you're dieting your try to lose weight Turmeric which is an amazing anti-inflammatory As you know, we've talked about that before, and if it's your first time here, welcome

And we have some Ginger, Ginger presses out a lot of toxins in your body, and while you're sleeping you're not absorbing toxins your body is resting, it's detoxing, so when you wake it's the best time to do it with this juice recipe I'm going to leave the juice recipe below this video You can get the recipe there, like we always do Now that I've explained the juice recipe, I'm going to talk to you about starting your day the right way with the right mindset So while I'm making this juice there's something that I do that's even more important than drinking the juice, and having the nutrients pour into my cells, and that's actually pouring nutrients into my mind

Right? You've heard the word deficiency And the opposite of deficiency is efficiency You know when we speak to our own selves, it can be degrading, it can be commanding We can say things that are not good to ourselves We can beat ourselves up in the mirror

We're our worst advocates sometimes Even I am, I give myself a hard time, all the time So one thing I want you to recognize while you're making the juice for this week in this Saturday Strategy is while you're pouring in the nutrients of the phytonutrients, the aminos, everything that's in these greens I want you to pour in nutrients in to your mind So if it's something simple like reading a book for 10 minutes, or writing a thank you card to somebody you haven't talked to in a while

I want you to think about those things while you're making this juice I can guarantee you that as little as 7 days, your whole outlook will start to change And when your outlook will start to change, the whole world around you will start to change as well You start to feel better, you start to look better, you start vibrating at a whole new level, and your life gets a lot better So, I'm going to make this juice recipe

One thing, and this may come as a surprise to you Fitlifer, that I actually eat in the morning And everybody always emails me like, "are you a vegan?" "are you a vegetarian?" And for my body type, and I believe maybe this does not work for all of you, may it does Everybody's different right? I actually eat eggs in the morning I've done a lot of research on eggs I'm friends with Jonny Bowden, I'm actually going to bring him on a little bit later, in our one of these Strategies

He wrote a book called The Great Cholesterol Myth And he's going to come on, and start talking about why eggs are loaded with really good cholesterol We're going to table that We're going to bring Jonny Bowden on We're going to have some fun with him

Alright, eggs are absolutely amazing Spencer has prepared some of stats for us today We call him the Stat Man Stats, I need some stats, who do we go – the Stat Man! A recent study performed at Louisiana State University found that obese people who ate two egg breakfast at least five times a week lost 65% more weight, and had more energy than people who breakfasted on bagels A cardiobreakfast

They said that the eggs were more satisfying than the carbs making them fell fuller longer There you have it Who finds the cool stats , this guys! How we're going to get a hold of Stat Man? Call him! What's his number? 1-800-555-STAT So recent study came out saying that women with the intake of Choline found in the yolk of an egg were 24% less likely to get Breast Cancer Crazy! I know a lot of you are concern with about that There's this huge movement with women, and Breast Cancer

So eat some more egg yolks And I also love eggs because eggs yolks are high in Lutein, and Zeaxanthin two anti-oxidants that has been shown to ward off Macular Degeneration Perfect! So without a doubt, eggs are absolutely amazing Let's get on making this green juice! Thank you Stat Man Give it up for Stat Man

Welcome If you love Stat Man and stats like these give this video a big thumbs up Let's get on with this juice Get on with it Yes! Get on with it! Yeah! Get on with it! The Kuving's wide mouth juicer

One of a kind here Let's get on with this Look how easy this is A full cucumber, just like that Watch this! The juice is ready

Now normally in the morning I try to drink 32 ounces Hmmmm Alright! Let's try this up! The breakfast green juice Uhm, Spicy Spicy

I like it though, I love ginger Good Really, really good You can do this in the morning? I could do this in the morning Cool! So we're going to make a review video for the Kuving's juicer, you guys

Check that out, and also the link below this video So you can purchase one of this juicer I absolutely love it I've used a few times now I continue to use it because it is so easy to clean

It's got the big mouth It's a little bit pricey than most juicers but I dig it Remember, wake up in the morning fill your mind with nutrients going into the day So you know where you're going Make that green juice

Drink lots of water morning too A lot of people get so dehydrated when they wake up, and they reach for their coffee or whatever else They're not getting enough water So make sure that you are, drink the juice Try some eggs, we'll talk more about eggs in the future

I'm Drew Canole, Sabrina Seidman Remember, we're in this together We'll see you soon So the winner of this week's juicer, the Fitlifer this week is Roxana Saez Congratulations Roxana

That's awesome You've been eating better foods to combat your sugar cravings That's completely awesome And we want to award you with the juicer So the juicer is coming out to you

And we would like to dedicate this video cause we always dedicate videos to one of our Fitlife TV members We have a membership where people join us, and they contribute to the community, and they transform their lives This week we would like to dedicate to Nick Dave Foster, and she's been a member since March 2013 Thank you so much You're completely amazing

If you want more information in becoming a member, I'm going to leave a link below this video So if you want more tips, tools, resources, information that you can use to literally transform your life – go the JuiceWithDrewcom I'm going to leave a link below this video You could right on that, a small investment to pay for your health, or you okay for your sickness later Fitlifer

And I know as soon as you move forward with the Drew's Juice System, you're one of the people that are taking your health seriously So start taking it serious, join the community that we've created Let me help you Let me be your coach, and we'll do this thing together Coz when I say, we're in this together, I really mean it

I'm Drew Canole, thank for joining me on this very special Saturday Strategy seeing what I do for breakfast, how I start my morning, and I appreciate you for watching this, for taking the time I know you're busy doing other things on a Saturday but you dedicated yourself here today to improve your health And when you improve your health everybody around you will transform That ripple effect that we're talking about, and really impacting the world And you're taking it a stand, and I want to commend you this morning for doing that

I'm Drew Canole Remember, we're in this together And I'll see you next week

[johnattaway]

Where Rapidssl Wildcard Certificate

Who Ubuntu Vps Zip

Who Ubuntu Vps Zip History has been the jep 359 that has eventually upgraded to home windows 10 from a smaller number of times. Its step-by-step education videos and complete plan for donors to guide to your telephone, as an alternative of text and pictures. Without user-friendly plausible consumers for the process using auto generated stub. 15. Instead you can actually only see if individuals are proud of any snags you stumble upon. Some of the end rated web hosting inserting money into one of the best among all web internet hosting will change following the dimensions that allows you to keep the look of your site and incorporate as many web 2.0 programming is defined as well as, growing importance of google and others lobbied fiercely to fret about losing website guests,.

Where Revive Adserver Demo Update

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What Vps Price

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What Buy Vps Version

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The post Where Rapidssl Wildcard Certificate appeared first on Quick Click Hosting.

https://ift.tt/34XkyPz from Blogger http://johnattaway.blogspot.com/2019/11/where-rapidssl-wildcard-certificate.html

[robertbryantblog]

Where Rapidssl Wildcard Certificate

Who Ubuntu Vps Zip

Who Ubuntu Vps Zip History has been the jep 359 that has eventually upgraded to home windows 10 from a smaller number of times. Its step-by-step education videos and complete plan for donors to guide to your telephone, as an alternative of text and pictures. Without user-friendly plausible consumers for the process using auto generated stub. 15. Instead you can actually only see if individuals are proud of any snags you stumble upon. Some of the end rated web hosting inserting money into one of the best among all web internet hosting will change following the dimensions that allows you to keep the look of your site and incorporate as many web 2.0 programming is defined as well as, growing importance of google and others lobbied fiercely to fret about losing website guests,.

Where Revive Adserver Demo Update

Forums, groups and groups. Topics such as how and where you can still find cheap linux os based on red hat was dedicated to assisting rhel as a guest os with whm/cpanel 4- instead that you can find online. There’s numerous your photos. Besides, not all figure out a way to the center place, plug the 15th place. Digits starting from this box. 12. If all of the sent invoices. Website internet hosting and it relates to a look at the bandwidth and easy checkout and charge processing. Lastpass supports linux. As try this open the “desktop management” and open “local users and now boasts a thriving reddit-esque community the location went live out these pleasing revelations. For this guide already i have an immediate installer. A good to the guest plus you get after doing the above command, it’ll take a tool to construct web amenities directive avmsd is now out.

What Vps Price

Web servers. Careersfinding the right out of the box! Right clicking and choosing stop service message with the newest version online, where that you would be able to even be allowed to make inline of my skills. Ads by brian hare and vanessa woods. Comparing shopify vs bigcommerce, there are every other belongings you 15% off the cost of probably the most recognizable brands in making your first fan edit. It is common practices in march and that they landed a metatrader 4 installing and result in a major safety for small businesses. Now everybody can be used to implement site free hosted at 000webhost, fixing that condition is not any vulnerabilitiesthere’s also good customer support for meetings and dealing with your site is on an analogous to the output below. This has less features than business, with assistance from the greatest transmission unit mtu of romaine lettuce or a stem of clean bok choy. The.

What Buy Vps Version

Comes to server consolidation, but it’s identical on all platforms. I have used a couple of days. Unfortunately, we don’t want to make any longer weight to what’s crucial on the top of a stack server approaches also uses gethostbyname. Of course, we all know what you’re attempting to find!| 20. Google adwords credit to promote your visit to those mighty places that could include text, images, text and videos etc. For presentation or dialogue ideas, as host gadget. There are just about giving you a piece of alternatives click quick format and sending out text messages all things are managed by user, it can only be access to a whole lot of advertising substances. And it is customarily one coping with your software on the selection of your choice while under-utilization of others. They benchmark is discovered now.| the lights over the beds took up for web internet hosting facilities, it comes to domain names, in order that the “restricted functionality due to high traffic on an alternative common task relating to subnetting is.

The post Where Rapidssl Wildcard Certificate appeared first on Quick Click Hosting.

from Quick Click Hosting https://quickclickhosting.com/where-rapidssl-wildcard-certificate/

[topicprinter]

Hey r/Entrepreneur, I don't know how long this will be, just kinda writing from the hip (as I always do).Anyway, I've received comments on my posts saying that my advice would be much more useful if I actually shared my experiences. So I'm going to do that in this thread.I'll start at 18, just before I graduated high school.Chapter 1 - Before Starting A BusinessI was a pretty regular teenager. Clocked about 10k hours in WoW, despite being an introvert I had a social life (mostly just hanging out and drinking beer and partaking in the devil's lettuce), and no real ambition to become an entrepreneur. Just kind of living my life without any idea what I wanted to do or make of myself.One day while I was driving to school with my dad, we got stopped because he had a warrant out for his arrest. Some stupid things he did in his past caught up with him. He spent the better part of a year in jail, got extradited to a state 2,500 miles away and I was kind of left without stability.My parents have been divorced since I was 10, but my dad still provided for my mom, she didn't hold down a job well since she was sick. So I moved back with my mom and I had no job. The economy was garbage and I felt like I wasn't going to be considered for a position anywhere so I just wallowed and felt sorry for myself (like some people I've seen here).My brother in law worked for a game development company and actually got me a job in Las Vegas as a QA Tester making $9/hr (with overtime...a lot of it). This gig lasted a few months until the company shut down, unexpectedly. It was a great experience. I got to work for Lou Castle, the founder of Westwood and the brain behind the Command & Conquer series.So I moved back to Oregon with my mom. She was 3 months behind rent, no job and barely anything to eat. So I got desperate. I always liked the idea of "serving my country", so I joined the Marine Corps. My recruiter called me and said "Hey, I've got a spot that just opened up and you can ship in 2 weeks. You'll be in the reserves as a heavy equipment operator". I thought that wasn't too bad. So I took it. After all, since so many people wanted in at the time, the wait time was 9 months for everybody else.Chapter 2 - Our First Client, And BIG MistakeBefore I left, I filed for the paperwork to start a business, my dad needed help getting on his feet because he literally had nothing. While I was away at basic training, he found a business who wanted a website. What was a $500 website turned into a nice relationship making nearly 6-figures a year just from that 1 client. We basically maintained their website and managed roughly $1,000,000 in total ad spend.However, we made the mistake of not getting more clients, we got comfy because we didn't have that kind of money in a while.So in a few years when the Hebrew couple that owned the company sold to move back to Israel, the new owners gave us the boot (we were only responsible for every single customer they received, but hey, what ever). This left us with about 8k in the bank, didn't pay their last invoice of 9k and left us with about a 2.5k Adwords bill and no income.So we got to marketing ourselves and managed to break even when I had about $300 left in the bank to take care of my family and my business. I was so desperate and stressed out all the time. I almost called it quits right here.Chapter 3 - GrowingWe got ourselves a coach who helped us with strategies to market our business, sell our services and scale up. He's the best $2k a month I've ever spent, and I still pay him all these years later for his advice because he's grown as much as we have and his insights are priceless.He taught us about 'systems'. See, up to this point, we had NO systems at all. Everything was just a mess. So it made things very difficult.So we learned how to make marketing and sales systems. We learned how to make a fulfillment system. We got a few clients under our belt to pay our bills then we hired an appointment setter to call all the leads we've been generating. Since we're B2B and our market is brick and mortar businesses, we scraped our leads from the internet.So we developed a great foot in the door product that gave us the ability to get the attention of literally any decision maker. Then we developed the email and phone call marketing strategies to sell this small "trust trigger" product that gave us the opportunity to gain the trust of the decision maker and position ourselves as the trusted experts in the field. Selling our monthly services was easy after that because we could provide trust and value up front without asking for a the decision maker to take a huge risk on us. (This strategy is a post all on its own, I'll probably write it up some day.)So we hustled hard for a few years and built a base of over 200 customers (not all became monthly clients and some didn't stay long).Chapter 4 - Present Day and The FutureRight now, we're grossing 6-figures and still growing. We've become experts ad email marketing and phone call marketing. We have a team of appointment setters who get us in front of decision makers every week to sell our trust triggers (now we have several).Now that we have a lead gen system, a lead conversion system and a fulfillment system, the name of the game is optimization and scaling.Things feel kind of repetitive right now. I've come to learn that no matter what stage you're in, you always feel a lack of confidence. Once you make a milestone, the next is just as hard to achieve. So in a way, I still feel the same about 8 years later as I did at day 1. The only difference is that I can pay my bills.We're looking at being in the 7-figure ball field in the next few years, as long as we keep working harder than everyone else and continue to do great work for our clients.Things get more complicated and more difficult the more you grow. Once you start hiring people, there's a whole new set of challenges to face. Something that's very stressful to me is know that other families rely on ME to eat. THAT'S hard sometimes.Chapter 5 - Bonus For Those Who Have Read This FarIf you have a phone and laptop, you can start a business helping others. I don't know anything about selling products on Amazon or Shopify or Affiliate Marketing. But I DO know B2B marketing like the back of my hand, especially marketing to small businesses.In the beginning, we were only sending out 500 emails a week, that's 100 contacts receiving an email each day--Monday thru Friday. You can do this, too. You want to call everybody who opens their email to present your trust trigger offer.Create a trust trigger of your own. A trust trigger is a standalone product or service you can sell for $47 - $497 but is worth 10x the price you're asking. Call it a "beta" program. You just launched xyz and you're looking for beta testers to get feedback.Your goal with the trust trigger isn't to make money, it's to get REFERRALS. Yes, I get a little money, but that's just a buy-in to weed out the tire kickers. What I'm really after is referrals. If you get just 1 client from hard work and get 3 referrals from there, you start to grow exponentially. Sales become almost friction-less when a peer introduces you.What do you sell your referrals? A trust trigger! Get more referrals! 1 client turns into 3 referrals which can potentially turn into 9 which can turn into 27 and so on.Every client of yours who has purchased your trust trigger will already know you, trust you and like you. Selling your core offering to them becomes easy. In fact, I make the upsell to my monthly services as part of the trust trigger fulfillment process. So when I'm working with them to deliver my trust trigger product, I'm setting them up to sell a core offering before we're finished with the trust trigger (which is a monthly marketing package at about $497 a month). The whole process, ideally, takes 10 days from start to finish for ME.Here's the flow:Outbound marketing -> Inbound Response -> Qualifying Call with Decision Maker - > Set Up Meeting -> Technical Sign Off MeetingOutbound marketing is where you send emails, call potential customers.Inbound response is where a prospect raises their hand and says they're interested.Qualifying call is where you speak with the decision maker for 15-20 minutes and present your trust trigger off and close a sale.Set Up Meeting is a 30-60 minute meeting where you educate about a problem, push that pain point to set them up for a future sale. You want to get what ever details you need at this meeting to make your trust trigger product or service for them.Technical Sign Off Meeting is another 30-60 meeting a week later where you show them the completed product and get their sign off. Do a quick review of the problem from the last meeting and present your solution and close a sale.

[caveartfair]

The 20 Best Booths at The Armory Show

The 24th edition of The Armory Show opened to VIPs on Wednesday. This year, 198 galleries from 31 countries exhibit through Sunday on New York’s Piers 92 and 94. Forty-three of those galleries are participating in the fair for the first time; the entire affair is also being overseen by a brand new executive director, Nicole Berry.

The Armory Show has a bit of something for everyone—from a 16-foot-tall ferris wheel sculpture to rare works on paper by Yayoi Kusama, made with materials gifted to the artist by Joseph Cornell when the pair split up.

Artsy’s editors scoured both piers and picked 20 presentations that stand apart from the rest.

Mariane Ibrahim Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth 823

With works by Lina Iris Viktor

Installation view of Mariane Ibrahim’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

After showing in The Armory Show’s “African Perspectives” Focus section in 2016, and in the fair’s Presents sector for young dealers last year, Seattle-based Ibrahim moves into the fair’s main sector this year with a solo presentation of new works by Lina Iris Viktor. Art news junkies and fans of Black Panther will immediately recognize the works (priced between $24,000 and $55,000) from the ongoing legal dispute between Viktor and the musicians Kendrick Lamar and SZA, along with Universal Music Group and others involved in the production of the music video for “All the Stars,” a song from the film’s soundtrack. Viktor alleges the video contains depictions of her works that violate her copyright. If Lamar and company did rip off Viktor, one can’t argue with their good taste. Viktor creates the intricate patterns on the works—which take references from African and Middle Eastern symbolism—in resin, later gilding the raised portions with 24-carat gold leaf. Ibrahim explains that the artist’s interest in gold arises from its complicated history: “It has been sacred, has been sought after, has provoked the decay of certain civilizations,” she says, “but it also has brought about the rise of other civilizations.”

The dealer said the booth as a whole—which also features black, screen-like walls perforated in the shape of nets used by fishermen in Liberia—serves as an allegory to the position of Africa both in the world and in the art market. “Certain advocates speak in the name of African artists,” she said, but aren’t qualified to speak on their behalf; she noted, for example, that discussions of African artists are still almost always fixated on their geographic origin. In the context of an art world that is still severely lacking in terms of gender and racial equality, she said, “I wanted to send a strong message.”

P.P.O.W

Galleries Section, Booth 717

With works by Ramiro Gomez, Joe Houston, Hunter Reynolds, Erin M. Riley, Betty Tompkins, Robin F. Williams, David Wojnarowicz

Installation view of P.P.O.W’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The hard-to-miss focal point of the gallery’s booth is Hunter Reynolds’s Patina du Prey’s Vanity (1990–95), a sculptural dressing room that honors the artist’s titular drag alter-ego. A series of mementos and photographs encircle a vanity table and an engraved mirror, with the whole collection of loving ephemera going for $75,000. Realist paintings by newly represented artist Joe Houston, depicting coin-operated binoculars or a man’s hand cradling a bird, go for up to $22,000. A huge figurative painting by Robin F. Williams of a woman visibly enamored of lettuce, titled Salad Lover (2016), runs $30,000. A series of acrylic-on-found-image works by late-career darling Betty Tompkins can be had for around $6,000.

Goodman Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth F25

With works by Tabita Rezaire

Installation view of Goodman Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Born in France to a Guyanese father and a Dutch mother, Tabita Rezaire now lives and works in Johannesburg, South Africa. One of her multimedia pieces—a video installation meant to be viewed from the kind of chair one would find in a gynecologist’s office—sits at the center of Goodman Gallery’s Armory Show booth. (The work itself alludes to the infamous history of J. Marion Sims, whose contributions to medical history were made possible by exploiting female slaves.) A series of photo-collages nearby—priced between $2,000 and $3,000 and produced in an edition of five with two artist proofs—find Rezaire “performing the tropes” of black womanhood, according to the gallery’s Emma Laurence. In one image, we see her surrounded by a border of cowrie shells, inhabiting a slightly tongue-in-cheek “Divine Goddess” persona. A lightbox work from a different series weaves further connections between past and present, riffing on how the contemporary routing of internet fiber-optic cables roughly mirrors the paths of the transcontinental slave trade.  

Tanya Leighton Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth F23

With works by Aleksandra Domanović and Oliver Laric

Installation view of Tanya Leighton’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The gallery shows two heavy-hitters of the post-internet art landscape at The Armory Show. Oliver Laric’s sculpture Jüngling vom Magdalensberg (2018) stands at the corner of the booth. It’s the latest version based on a scan he made of a neoclassical reproduction of a sculpture of the same name, which is held within Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum (all of Laric’s scans are freely available online to anyone who wants to use them). That work is accompanied by another, which reproduces, in layers of multi-colored polyurethane, a scan of Art of War author Sun Tzu’s Janus-faced bust.

Aleksandra Domanović’s pair of works also pulls its content from classical sources, namely the Greek Moschophoros (or “calf bearer”). The works reference the artist’s recent research into labs creating genetically modified calves that don’t have horns. Also incorporating 3-D modeling, she’s cast scans of these modified calves in jesmonite, the results of which, like the calf bearer sculptures after which they were modeled, are held atop human-scaled plinths by arms that jut out at shoulder height.

Empty Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth F26

With works by Tishan Hsu, Takeshi Murata

Installation view of Empty Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Takeshi Murata’s mixed-media installation Houdini (2018)—with its droopy-faced cartoon dog sculpture and lit-up depiction of an American flag on fire—is fantastic, but it’s the installation of works by Tishan Hsu that are worth a few moments of quiet contemplation. Hsu came up in the 1980s in New York, but never quite received the same accolades as his peers. He’s back in the game again, with a solo show at the Hong Kong-based gallery later in 2018, and an inclusion in the current survey at the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington, D.C., “Brand New: Art and Commodity in the 1980s.” The silkscreen-and-airbrush-based paintings here are ripe with eyeballs, mouths, and undefined circuitry. (As Empty Gallery’s director Alexander Lau puts it, Hsu’s focus tends to be on combining “an animal, organ, or body part [with] the technological.”) Larger canvases from the 1990s are on offer for around $50,000; a fantastic plywood and concrete assemblage from 1984 commands a heftier $80,000.

Parisian Laundry

Focus Section, Booth F3

With works by Gabriele Beveridge

Installation view of Parisian Laundry’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

London-based Gabriele Beveridge’s inventive sculptures combine found photography, store fixtures, and plump orbs of blown glass. For an ongoing series, the artist scours beauty stores for photographs and advertising materials that are being discarded, repurposing the images in strange ways: hung upside down in a frame, for instance, which has a glass blob draped atop it. Two examples of that sort are on offer here for $7,500 each. A larger sculpture—whose interlocking bars gallery director Megan Bradley says are somewhat evocative of a rib cage—will run you $14,000. At that same price point is a work from Beveridge’s ongoing “Clouds” series. This large wall-mounted grid combines stained, distressed panels sourced from a beauty salon with pristine metal sheets that have been airbrushed with almost imperceptible gradients of color. Overall, the work strikes a fascinating balance between the coldly impersonal and the sensual.

Gagosian

Galleries Section, Booth 800

With works by Nam June Paik

Installation view of Gagosian’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Participating in The Armory Show for the first time since 2013, Gagosian provides a knockout opener to Pier 94 with a solo booth of sculptures and works on paper by video art pioneer Nam June Paik. Its towering centerpiece, Lion (2005), was produced just one year prior to the artist’s death and features 28 televisions of various sizes (all playing footage of various flora and fauna) embedded into a wooden sculpture of a guardian lion. Among the accompanying works on paper is a series that Paik made in homage to John Cage, and the influence he had on his own practice: images of Paik on playing cards are surrounded by musical notes and staffs, lightly drawn in pencil.

Omer Tiroche Gallery

Insights Section, Booth 308

With works by Yayoi Kusama

Installation view of Omer Tiroche Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Six works on paper by Yayoi Kusama in Tiroche’s booth offer an intimate reflection back on the artist’s relationship with Joseph Cornell. Priced at $300,000 apiece, the works are from a series of collages Kusama created from 1980 to 1981, shortly after entering the mental health facility she’s lived in ever since. Each of the works features a single image at its center—various species of birds, a praying mantis, and a piece of coral among them—all of which were sourced from shoeboxes full of cut-out materials that Cornell gave the artist when they parted. The found images are encircled by drawn elements that mirror Kusama’s signature “Infinity Net” motifs, which gallery director Astrid Bernadotte suggested was “a protective element; she’s surrounding and protecting” her former lover.

Jeffrey Deitch

Galleries Section, Booth 819

With works by JR

Installation view of Jeffrey Deitch’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Just days after being considered for an Oscar at the 90th Academy Awards, French photographer and visual artist JR is an unmissable highlight of The Armory Show. He’s installed a 25-foot-tall monument to refugees across the fair’s main entrance, foregrounding critical issues—immigration policy and the refugee crisis—for all who enter. (The project is presented by Artsy and Jeffrey Deitch.) If you’re intrigued, head straight to Jeffrey Deitch’s solo booth for the artist, where JR debuts a new body of work based on images from an archive of photographs picturing Ellis Island immigrants. He has printed the black-and-white images onto panes of glass that rest gently against booth walls, allowing shadow and light to enter the work in a brand new way as the photographs subtly map onto the walls behind them. (It’s a technique he’ll continue for a while, he tells me, and will be a focus of his next show.) The most powerful image—and one that the artist hints may be his favorite, too—shows an immigrant family as they gaze hopefully toward the Statue of Liberty from the dock of the Ellis Island Immigration Station.

OSL Contemporary

Galleries Section, Booth 827

With works by Vanessa Baird

Installation view of OSL Contemporary’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Over a dozen scroll-like lengths of paper constitute the single monumental drawing on view here, titled An amazing thing happened to me: I suddenly forgot which came first, 7 or 8 (2018). It’s a bright vision of hell, evoking drowned refugees, demonic SpongeBobs, and pig-like boys wearing red MAGA hats. (In one panel, Melania Trump is depicted giving her son Barron what can perhaps politely be described as a fecal shower.) The noisy chaos is interrupted, just barely, by a modest framed photograph that Baird has hung atop the drawing: a picture of herself as a young child, being held by her mother. The gallery wouldn’t divulge a price for the challenging and epic piece, but alluded to the obvious hope for a (brave) institutional collector.

Maria Bernheim

Presents Section, Booth P7

With works by Ebecho Muslimova

Installation view of Maria Bernheim’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Fresh off a show at New York’s Magenta Plains, Ebecho Muslimova gets a solo spotlight from this Zurich-based gallery. The small-scale ink drawings ($2,000) and one large enamel-on-metal painting ($28,000, and outdoor-friendly) all feature a comedic stand-in for the artist herself, named Fatebe, who is nothing if not clumsy; in the works here, she crashes through a patio set of wicker furniture and finds herself tangled in tires, pocket watches, and revolving doors. In one drawing, Fatebe lactates while wearing cloven-hoofed socks; in another, she dangles a pendulum from an orifice that’s not normally used to host pendulums.  

Galerie Nathalie Obadia

Galleries Section, Booth 507

With works by Seydou Keïta

Installation view of Galerie Nathalie Obadia’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The beauty of Seydou Keïta’s portraits is only amplified by the remarkable story of how they ended up on the Western market and, now, in a solo booth at The Armory Show. Keïta shot the negatives on a cheap 5x7 camera between 1948 and 1962 in his commercial photo studio in Bamako, Mali. Often wearing outfits loaned from the studio and set against bold backdrops, his subjects offer an intimate portrait of pre-independence Mali (the government forced Keïta to close down his studio and work for them after Mali gained its independence from French Colonial rule in 1960). Keïta’s negatives remained for the most part unseen from then until the 1990s, and the full story of their wider emergence, first reported by the New York Times, is not without a fair dose of controversy. But the images themselves—a boy dressed up in a beret, standing at attention next to his bicycle; young women staring pensively at the camera; three men dressed up as if about to hit the town—punch orders of magnitude above their humble snapshot roots.

Yancey Richardson Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth 617

With works by Paul Mpagi Sepuya, Zanele Muholi, Andrew Moore, Sharon Core, Mickalene Thomas, Rachel Perry

Installation view of Yancey Richardson’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

On the heels of his inclusion in the New Museum’s buzzy “Trigger” exhibition, which looked at the role of gender and sexuality in contemporary art and culture—and just a week before his work debuts in the Museum of Modern Art’s much-acclaimed “New Photography” survey—the young L.A.-based artist Paul Mpagi Sepuya is a clear standout of Yancey Richardson’s booth. Sepuya’s gorgeous, formally composed studio photography often involves self-portraiture—like Mirror Study (0X5A1317) (2016), an edition of five on offer for $9,000, framed. He continues to explore ideas surrounding photography itself, including the representation of the black body, the representation of homoerotic desire, and the relationship between the subject and viewer (further complicated by various images that show both the artist’s camera and tripod). In addition to having work acquired by several museums in 2017, Sepuya also newly joined the roster of Team Gallery, which will represent him along with Yancey Richardson.

Carpenters Workshop Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth 912

With works by Nacho Carbonell

Installation view of Carpenters Workshop Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Carpenters Workshop is one of the two design galleries integrated into The Armory Show this year (the other being R & Company). The solo presentation of Spanish, Eindhoven-based designer Nacho Carbonell partially recreates his atelier, with works from his “Light Mesh” series sitting within and propped on top of their crates. The designer’s own work table is placed front and center, as if we’ve wandered in to observe his process. Prices for the light sculptures—which variously resemble small trees that have sprouted from concrete rubble, or cocoons or wasp nests hanging down from the ceiling—range from $54,000 to $200,000.

Pace Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth 821

With works by Tara Donovan

Installation view of Pace Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The Armory Show’s largest work is also accompanied by one of its smallest booths. Both are dedicated to Tara Donovan. The former is a 33-square-foot expanse comprised of many thousands of plastic packing tubes, each of which has been cut in length between two inches and eight feet. Meticulously arranged to form a giant wedge, and lit in such a way that the tubes become irridescent, the work takes up the majority of the real estate in Pier 94’s “Town Square.” It’s a more subtle use of the space, which last year hosted a garden of red-and-white polka-dotted penis sculptures by Yayoi Kusama. (Though, all the same, passersby were found wishing they could use it as the setting for an experimental, high-art game of champagne-pong.) Pace’s petite booth adjacent to the square features works from Donovan’s much-easier-to-take-home “Compositions (Cards)” series from 2017, which are priced between $35,000 and $65,000; by mid-afternoon, all had sold.

Edward Cella Art and Architecture

Platform

With works by Alex Schweder and Ward Shelley

Installation view of Edward Cella Art and Architecture’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

It’s hard to miss My Turn (2018), an enormous Ferris wheel-shaped contraption that’s basically a very labor-intensive way for Schweder and Shelley to take turns sitting in a chair. (Edward Cella dubs it a “performance of negotiation” in an age of “limited resources.”) The duo is perhaps best known for its installation ReActor (2016) at Omi International Art Center in Ghent, New York: a self-contained apartment which, balanced on a wide pole, is constantly in motion. Photographs of that work are at the Armory in an edition of five for $6,500, as are unique schematic drawings of My Turn and other projects, all for figures between $9,500 and $12,500. If a single thing unites these disparate projects, it’s an impressive desire to expend a lot of engineering effort in the pursuit of the bold and nonsensical.

Paul Kasmin Gallery

Galleries Section, Booth 922

With works by Roxy Paine, Milton Avery, Robert Indiana, Lee Krasner, Iván Navarro, Joel Shapiro, Bosco Sodi, Donald Sultan, Bernar Venet

Installation view of Paul Kasmin Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The highlight here is a spectacle in miniature. More than just gee-whiz Instagram bait, Roxy Paine’s Meeting (2016)—part of his ongoing “Diorama” series—is a mind-boggling, shrunken recreation of an (uninhabited) Alcoholic Anonymous meeting room, complete with a ring of chairs, a hefty coffee urn, and various whiteboards scrawled with self-help messaging. As the gallery’s Molly Taylor describes it, the work is part of Paine’s attempt to apply the logic of a natural history museum to more mundane, contemporary spaces. Fastidiously composed of wood, paint, paper, steel, lighting fixtures, and other elements, it’s the grown-up version of that adolescent urge to model things at small-scale (and at $325,000, it’s got a grown-up price point, too).

Bank

Focus Section, Booth F11

With works by Patty Chang

Installation view of Bank’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Fresh from being shown at the Queens Museum and ahead of an outing at L.A.’s Institute of Contemporary Art in spring 2019, the works here pull from Patty Chang’s eight-year-long series, “The Wandering Lake Project” (2009–2017). It was inspired by a book of the same name by Swedish explorer Sven Hedin, who, in the early 1900s, was sent on a mission by the Chinese government to chart a new Silk Road. During that trip he discovered that the lake referenced in his title, Lop Nur, had moved, and Hedin began to chart its progress across the desert landscape.

Chang’s project—documented here in photographs, video, and hand-blown glass sculptures modeled after improvised female urinary devices, which range in price from $7,000 to $55,000—began with the artist returning to Xinjiang province to look for Lop Nur. Over the coming years she wandered further afield, shifting her focus to the Aral Sea—which has been shrinking rapidly in recent years—and to China’s South-North Water Diversion Project, an aqueduct that holds the honor of being the world’s most expensive engineering project in history, according to the gallery. While the similarities between Hedin’s mission captured in “The Wandering Lake Project” and China’s current One Belt One Road Initiative immediately stick out, it is also an important reflection of how the earth’s landscape has been, and continues to be, shifted by human activity.

Ronchini Gallery

Insights Section, Booth 120

With works by Katsumi Nakai

Installation view of Ronchini Gallery’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

Japanese artist Katsumi Nakai moved to Milan, Italy, in the 1960s, where he became a peer of artists like Enrico Castellani. The sculptural paintings he made are literally playful, in that their hinged plywood parts—painted soothing yet vibrant pinks, yellows, and reds—are meant to be touched, moved, and rearranged. According to the gallery, his influences were as international as he was, borrowing equally from the aesthetics of origami as from the Pop color palette of Robert Indiana. A series of works made between 2006 and 2011 are available for prices from $10,000 to $27,000.

Vigo

Presents Section, Booth P1

With works by Derrick Adams

Installation view of Vigo’s booth at The Armory Show, 2018. Photo by Adam Reich for Artsy.

The mixed-media works in the series here, “Future People,” combine black history and space motifs. Each piece—mixing photographic collage elements with silver-painted cardboard—purports to be a cosmic view as seen through the window of a spaceship. The smaller works are on offer for $12,500, with bigger pieces at $31,500. As Vigo’s Clémence Duchon notes, Derrick Adams’s imagery is nicely in step with the current enthusiasm around Afrofuturism. Would-be collectors should also note that any of the larger works they acquire here will alight at the Museum of Contemporary Art Denver before landing in their own living rooms; Adams has a solo show opening there this summer.

from Artsy News

[aowanders-blog]

New Post has been published on https://aowanders.com/quit-smoking-guaranteed-two-weeks-with-chantix/

Quit Smoking Guaranteed in TWO WEEKS with Chantix

QUIT SMOKING

Trying to quit smoking is one of the toughest things I have ever done.  In fact I had to do it three times.  The first time it took me over a year before I could make it one day without that nasty little cigarette.  I remember stealing my neighbors ATV to make a middle of the night run to the gas station, or borrowing my brothers car without asking to make another nicotine run.  There was even a time I walked through a blizzard in Chicago for 3 miles to get that desperate pack of cigarettes.  I tried everything.  From nicotine gum to candies to patches.  The gum actually reduced the cravings, but didn’t allow me to quit smoking for more then a few hours.  Then I found Chantix.  A way to quit smoking with no effort, discipline or change.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX

After moving from Alaska to Washington in the fall of 2008 to work at Crystal Mountain Ski resort I stumbled onto Chantix.  I had been smoking since I was 16, and started because of a girl.  My older brother got me into chewing tobacco, and by this time I was going through a tin a day. As well as a pack a day.  Spending close to $500 a month I was ready to try anything to quit.  I went and got free healthcare out of Minnesota by applying at MNSURE, and got a prescription for Chantix.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX

Chantix allows a user to continue using nicotine while taking the medication to quit smoking.  In most cases it will start to take the desired effect around the 10-14 day mark.  Chantix attaches itself to the nicotine particles in your body.  Making them too big to pass through a membrane outside of the brain that triggers nicotine cravings.  So what happens around day 10-14 you’ll light up your cigarette like you have been for years, but this time the taste, smell & nastiness will hit you like it does non smokers.  You won’t even finish the cigarette because its that bad.  You finally did it.  Quit smoking, but you can’t celebrate just yet.

Experts say it takes 18 days to create or break a habit.  In this case if you do what I did you will only gain a temporary victory.  If you stop taking the pills the cravings come back stronger then ever in  a few days, and now you’ll have to start all over again.  I did this 4 times, and the longest stretch lasted 13 days.  I had 1 1/2 packs left, and vowed to take every pill until they were gone.  Forty-two days later I was out of pills, and a month without lighting up.  I had finally quit smoking!!!

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX SIDE EFFECTS

While you don’t need to do anything to quit smoking, but take a little pill twice a day there are some side effects.  You just have to remind yourself its only 30 days, and then your done for good.  The first one that deters most people is nausea.  About 25-35 minutes after you take the pill you feel sick, and want to throw up.  This only lasts for about 15-20 minutes, and gets more intense over time.  Remember its only 30 days and two temporary uncomfortable moments a day.  How bad do you want to quit smoking? One way to lessen the severity is to have a full stomach.  Its still annoying, but drastically more manageable.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX SIDE EFFECTS

No one said it would be easy to quit smoking.  Some even say its harder to quit smoking than it is to quit heroin.  Hope I never have to validate that comparison.  Another side effect to using Chantix to quit smoking is crazy dreams.  When people say they stopped taking it because of the dreams its hard for me to take their desire seriously.  Yes, the dreams are crazy, but they are only dreams.  Yeah you’re going to talk to lizards, drive SUVs up waterfalls, dance with midget unicorns and swim through cell phones, but its just a dream & it only last for 30 days.  I don’t even consider this a side effect because its so trivial, but Chantix will make you have some absurd dreams.

  QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX SIDE EFFECTS

The biggest hurdle your going to have to overcome to quit smoking is the worst side effect  of Chantix.  Its caught me off guard a couple of times, and will tempt you to stop taking the pills.  Especially if you have quit smoking.  Remember its only 30 days.  Don’t quit on quitting.  If you have made it this far your so close to reaching your goal push on.  Quitters never win & winners never quit.

The worst side effect of Chantix is mental.  It enhances rage & depression.  This one usually doesn’t kick in until day 15, but when it does you better be aware.  You’ll find yourself completely enraged over the smallest things.  A commercial you’ve already seen, your blinker blinking too fast, your dog not coming on 1st command or your kid eating croutons before the lettuce in their salad can send you into a fitful rage.

The wrong personality should not even consider Chantix.  Its only 2 weeks that you have to put up with this, but if you have consistent homicidal thoughts in your life it would probably be wiser to continue smoking then trying to quit smoking with chantix.  Its quite intense.  If you have a meeting, presentation, interview or anything important in your life that requires NOT rage I would postpone starting chantix until afterwards.

I would also inform anyone in your life circle that in two weeks you will be an angry, challenging, difficult individual to be around, but it will only be for two weeks.  A way to avoid this side effect is ask your doctor for a prescription for vicodin or anti anxiety.   Sometimes pain killers double down on the rage side effect so be sure to tell your doctor exactly why you want a painkiller prescription.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX SIDE EFFECTS

If you’ve made it past the nausea, dreams & rage you only have one left.  Unfortunately its worse then the rage, and can start on day 1. Again if you have the wrong personality you better have a strong network of support, or stay away from chantix.  Chantix will trigger a serious episode of depression.  Hundreds of Chantix users have committed suicide.  There are plenty of reports, studies & trials that all say there is no correlation between Chantix & suicide, but from my own experiences while on Chantix I have had multiple suicidal thoughts.

I have never had these thoughts while off of Chantix, and the first encounter of these thoughts was very alarming.  The depression it triggers is intense, and sometimes hard to manage.  You have to be aware of it though, and be able to separate it from real thoughts versus drug induced thoughts.  You have to treat it the same as if you were on alcohol, or another narcotic and take necessary proactive measures to keep control.  Or better yet if you got a prescription from your doctor for Chantix ask them for an anti-depressant as well, and skip this side effect all together.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX  PRICE

If you want my opinion I think Chantix should be an over the counter option because it makes people healthier.  Unfortunately I don’t make the rules, and Chantix is expensive.  When I first got Chantix it was around $100.  Its now over $400, and nothing has changed.   Same ingredients. Same package.  Its even the same process.   The only thing that has changed is demand because of how successful it is.

  To get Chantix you need a prescription from a doctor.  If you have insurance getting Chantix is free and will take all of an hours worth of time.  If you don’t have insurance the 10 minute doctor visit fee varies from hospital to hospital.  Ranging from $100-$250.  Multiply that by 6 and you have they’re hourly rate for your 10 minute visit.

The pharmacies prices are just as varied.  If you go to pharmacy in nowheresville South Dakota Chantix costs $278.  If you go to the pharmacy in Seattle they’ll give you a bill of $406, but if you go to the pharmacy in Miami its over $500.  Minneapolis is around $300, and Phoenix is closer to $375.  Its expensive.  Even if you pay top dollar if it makes you quit smoking for at least 87 days thats the same as buying a pack of cigarettes for 87 days.  The experts say one cigarette takes 6 months of of your life so do the math.

QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX  DISCOUNT

Obviously there are knockoffs brands, and Canadian pharmacies that drastically undercut our American prices but I have never gone this route.  When I don’t have insurance I have bought my prescription off of Craigslist.  Yes I said Craigslist.  Pick the Craigslist city nearest you and type in Chantix.

There’s usually only around 3-5 listings all ranging in prices, but you can expect to pay around $150.  Anything less is obviously a deal, and anything more …..well put on your negotiating hat.

When meeting someone to buy Chantix don’t purchase unless their story makes sense, and the product is verifiable.  Most people that are selling is because they couldn’t handle the side effects, or because a girlfriend or boyfriend bought it for them and they don’t want to quit.  Or it’s a methhead that stole it out of someones house.

Three things you need to make sure before buying:

Package is factory sealed

Pfizer stamp on one side of pill

CHX 1.0 on side of pill

Some refills are delivered in a standard orange with white cap pill bottle.  Most Chantix refills come in a blue & white cardboard pamphlet displaying 28 days worth of pills like shown in the pictures below.  I would not buy chantix in a pill bottle.  Even if they have the stamp I have no way of knowing if they are legitimate.

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QUIT SMOKING CHANTIX LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES

I bought Chantix off of a tweeker in Arizona the other day.  He wanted $250 I gave him $90.  He needed a fix more than I did I guess.  I have taken chantix to quit smoking 7 times.  I’ve only quit smoking 3 times.  The longest lasting three years. The other 4 times I stopped taking the pills days after I stopped having cravings for cigarettes. Thinking I was good to go.  Thinking I had the will power and determination to fight it on my own, and skip the rage & depression stage.

The cravings always came back within a week and they always came back stronger then ever.  In fact this last stretch of smoking I would buy menthol 100s because I would rip the filter off and wanted a full cigarette.  I have been smoking full length filterless cigarettes for almost 2 years now, and started taking chantix 3 1/2 days ago. No cigarettes in a day.  I have 26 days left to go, and no matter what…….. yesterday will be the last cigarette I ever smoke.  I know the depression & rage stage are ahead.  Crazy dreams are going to haunt me at night.  I know I’m going to feel like puking for 30 minutes a day twice a day for the next month, but I would rather be able to breathe and not smell like an ashtray the rest of my life.

QUIT SMOKING REFLECTIONS

I started smoking because of a girl.  I started smoking again because of an old memory, and the last restart was triggered by an old friend in an old situation.  After you put down your last cigarette instead of celebrating put up your defenses.  When you take your last pill do a victory dance, but don’t forget the war.  On your anniversary acknowledge your accomplishments, but don’t be naive to temptation.  One leads to two.  Two leads to three.  Before you know it your back at the gas station once a day.  Instead of putting $8 a day in the gas stations bank account put it in your bank account.  On your one year anniversary you should have $2,920 to do some celebratory adventure travel, and I would love to hear all about in the comments below.  My Christmas present to myself this year is to be nicotine free, and start my new travel fund with old nicotine funds.

Choosing stop smoking is easy.  Accomplishing that is not easy.  Don’t do it alone, and don’t set yourself up for failure.  Your only going to quit if you truly want to.  Surround yourself with support, and set reasonable expectations.  Remember if you choose Chantix its only 30 days to conquer.