#the glitter pen and everything…. a relic

[melrosing]

going through old shit and unearthed this letter I received from the “tooth fairy” the night after i woke up and found I had not been paid 20p for an incisor. respect my parents’ commitment to the bit

[urlocaldesertdweller]

Reader X Mafia! Venture pt2

ah yes the wanted and requested pt 2

(PLEASE READ PT 1 BEFORE READING THIS, or don't idc)

https://www.tumblr.com/urlocaldesertdweller/757756682688495616/reader-x-mafia-venture?source=share

srry yall i took the more wholesome route cuz im a wuss. :,)I made Venture a hopless romantic cheesy kind of possessive person.?? help me (I also confirmed them listening to love songs during all of this thinking about u<3)

That one night you encountered the Sloan Cameron, you thought it was the only time you were going to see them, you thought that was that. You really thought you were going to have a normal life after that.

It's only been so many eventless days after that night that you noticed these "gifts" appear on your front door. First was a bouquet of thornless yellow roses. Considering you always doubted your own beauty and looks, you thought it was a mistake until you picked it up to find a pale brown envelope with "To (Y/n)" written in a yellow glitter gel pen.

In this city, you would've had the right mind to not pick anything suspicious with your name on it, the number of horrible things people can plan to lure people out of their protective homes to sweep them away. But considering you almost seem to be known for making bad choices you pick it up and rush into your safe home quickly locking it and shutting your blinds.

You felt like a little detective when you set the flowers and letters on the table under the light looking for anything you can find. A sign, a signal, a message something can bring a thought or an idea to your head but nothing came up until you finally opened the letter. Everything was written in what seemed to be an attempt at cursive and many smudges and cross-outs with more ink can be seen it makes you chuckle. This love letter you see looks like a messy 5th-grade paragraph.

"Well, you finally got the courage to pick up this letter mi amor! If you manage to figure out who sent this, well you got me! But anyway I just wanted to send you this so you wouldn't be too scared when more gifts come your way. I'll keep things simple for your pretty head gorgeous. You caught the eye of a dangerous but sweet person you have already met, everything you do and say makes my heart skip a beat more than any heist I can pull off. I want to give you every rose in the world and make you mine for the rest of my life. You truly catch my eyes more than any other relic or artifact from the past."

You have to admit that whoever wrote this was clearly in some cheesy romantic mood, but being honest the words made your stomach stir with clear interest despite the red flags appearing in your head. But looking further into the letter to find much smaller text, it seem that they completely had given up on the cursive and went back to normal handwriting.

"-P.S. If you know who I am (did I make it too obvious?) Please find me during the night, but you won't find me but I'll certainly find you! ;)"

You feel your hand twitch wanting to slap yourself in the face feeling the second-hand embarrassment radiating off of this goofy letter. You didn't have to think too hard about wondering who could've sent such a letter. You turn to the bouquet, picking it up. You inhale the sweet subtle scent, these would certainly brighten up the place along with its beautiful fragrance.

The realization finally hits you as you fill up your best vase with water. Someone likes you. Not only that but they like you enough to send you roses with a cheesy letter full of effort. Until your heart stops to remember who likes you, you know easily it's Sloan Cameron. But why? What could have possibly caught their interest about you.? Not only were you going to confront Sloan but you were going to question them.

It's night once more, you have mentally prepared yourself for this moment as you pull your jacket on. A normal life they said, a normal life that feels so out of reach now with a gang member having a crush on you. These past few days have certainly been full of mixed feelings, to say the least.

You step to your door, and you hesitate to reach for the knob a million thoughts rush to your mind. One was thinking about Sloan waiting for you and they will be waiting with a weapon in their hand, another says that they'll kidnap you and keep you as a love toy or something weird like that... It's really telling how you were feeling with most of the thoughts ending in a negative and dreadful outcome.

No, you can do this! If you can watch them bury a body, and outrun them, you can certainly face them when they supposedly confess to you about like like you. Yeah, you can do this!

You throw your palm onto the knob, completely ignoring the fact you just drenched it in your own sweat, but you swing the door open and step out with confidence! You were almost full of too much confidence as you nearly left the house with the door wide open, you scramble to lock it as you huff returning to your nightly stroll.

Of course, you always felt like something was watching you even before your encounter with Sloan. You stuff your hands into your pockets, and you keep on glancing all over the streets even taking a look from the rooftops as if Sloan would be there watching you from above like Batman.

It would be some time until you thought of walking towards where you first found Sloan, at the rotting graveyard where you caught them slacking during their work. You huff watching the environment change in minutes until you finally stop at the edge of the dry grass looking upon the tombstones.

You realize that where the fresh hole was now filled up with a pile of dirt with a wooden cross. You figured that this was the grave that Sloan Cameron just finished days ago. Despite Sloan killing numbers of people you can't even imagine, you felt that it was somewhat bittersweet for them to have some sort of respect to give the people proper graves.

You hummed and whistled shuffling around waiting. You almost thought about moving somewhere else until you heard boots echo through the small alley from your side you saw a figure in the shadows which made you jump a little. You seemed to always act innocent and dumb during situations like these.

"Hello.?"

You say loud enough to echo towards the walls of the alley. The figure starts to walk toward you, and the long silence makes you more nervous thinking there's a good chance that this isn't Sloan. Your legs feel the blood rush and you feel like running all of a sudden.

You panic as the figure starts to run towards you, they are too close for you to even try to run. You yelp to see the shadow enter the light. Even though you see Sloan stop right in front of you, you are still scared as you pull your hands up defensively with a yelp.

"Please dont hurt m-!"

"(Y/n) calm down it's just me!"

You hear them giggle which frustrates you with how cheery they can act after almost giving you a heart attack.

"...Sloan! Dont ever scare me like that again! I thought you were some crook wanting to kill me.."

You lightly shove them in the shoulder with a pout. They only keep on chuckling which makes you almost want to break your sternness for a moment.

"Alright alright I won't do it again I promise mi joya!"

They say with a wink which reminds you of why you came out here in the first place. You keep a stern look which seems to get the message towards Sloan and they almost seem to look like a kicked puppy. Besides the butthurt look, they can tell that you want to say something. You take this moment to finally take a peek at their clothing, it seems that they were still wearing the same work outfit but lost the thick jacket allowing you to glance at their well-built arms, the loss of their jacket gives you the possible idea that they were off duty.

"...What is it.? What happened.? Did you not like my gift.?!"

They seem to say everything out in a heartbeat clearly worried about what you are going to say. You only sigh and push a finger towards their lips hushing them before they can assume what's wrong. You tighten your eyes to which theirs widen but they quickly pipe down.

"You think too much. Just let me talk okay!?"

They dont bother with moving away from your placed finger and they nod with a mhm! Again you ask yourself how someone like them got such a dangerous and dark job.

"First of all. The flowers were nice and so I thank you."

You watch them smile a little clearly feeling proud of themselves that you liked at least half of their gift but they are quite down to hear you out once more.

"But! The letter dear god the letter..."

They cough and you watch their faces upturn into a nervous smile as they shuffle uncomfortably tugging on the collar of their tucked button-up.

"I dont know what to think honestly. And I was hoping that tonight could be where we can talk about this...thing you have on me. That's all, don't get all sweaty and scared yet!"

They look like they have been holding their breath for a while you guess suspecting a complete rejection. They exhale and they bend over their bends catching their breath before quickly shooting back up bright as ever.

"...Yeah we can talk! Yep, talking is my...number one thing heh..."

Never mind they still seem tense around you. You only sigh as you shift on your feet wanting to move around instead of staying at this gloomy graveyard.

"You dont have to keep up an act with me, I just want a simple walk and talk with you, set some ground rules know.?"

They perk up and step aside letting you leave the graveyard first with a bow. You can't help but chuckle at their charm with you, you can't deny that it warms your heart a little at the thought. You step out from the rotting wood fences and Sloan follows behind you eventually walking up beside you, you notice that ever since they have been keeping almost a look on you not the creepy kind but the more admiration kind which makes you chuckle.

"So... Was it all too much.? Yknow in the letter.?"

You look at Sloan with a small grin.

"Being honest, yeah if I hadn't met you before I would definitely think that I'd have a stalker."

They feel their cheeks redden up and they look down at the sidewalk stuffing their hands in their pants pockets.

"But whatever is going on, between you and me right now. I'm just going to need some time to think right now okay.? That's all I need, you can send all of the gifts to your heart's content but if you want you and me to know be a thing much more talking and discussions will be in order.!"

They lift their head and look up at you with a small grin, they look at you like a fallen angel for you gifting them a chance. You bump your shoulder into theirs jokingly to lighten the mood to which they find themselves giggling and bumping back.

"Me? Oh yeah! I'm surprised you haven't called the cops on me for finding me during my job! It's a gift alone that you are even talking to me with my kind of reputation! But yeah you can take all the time you need."

The two of you share a comfortable moment of silence seems that both of you are content with how this meeting is going. As you walk further up the street you pass the bar you left that one late night that led the two of you first meeting. You thought that you were going to pass and eventually do a turnaround until you felt Sloan's hands grip on your wrist stopping you right in front of the large entrance.

"Hey, my gang owns this building and bar yknow.? There is a really nice view from the high levels I promise you!"

Before you can even turn to look at them to speak they whip out their best puppy eyes shining straight into yours, they tug on your sleeve hoping that you play along...walking into the same building the gang that your supposed stalker also works for.? Yeah, you are dead before you know it. You only sigh which sends the signal to them and they smile the biggest you've seen them smile and before you know it they pull you towards the entrance ignoring the long line that stretches along the street then cuts around the corner.

You remember waiting in this long line just to get a good drink, you feel the pairs of eyes burn holes into your back as Sloan stops in front of a tall bodyguard who only glances at you and then at Sloan.

"Heya Tuilp! ...Dont worry about them, they are my guest!"

Tulip grunts and nods and Sloan drags you into the bar where the music blasts and the whole mood seems to shift in the main bar. The bar already made you feel out of your element until you had some drinks to relax your nerves.

But Sloan glances at you and giggles then continues to guide you through and past the main Bar to where the overall vibe and aesthetic of the building changes to one of more professionalism. From the high ceiling to the complete sets of marble walls and flooring. The glass elevator further amazes you and you are tuck in with Sloan. Your gaping mouth at everything tells Sloan everything about you during this.

"So I can tell you haven't been in this part of the building before!"

"This place is...certainly gorgeous..."

If the bar alone made you feel the odd one out, this much cleaner rich lobby-looking room made you feel like a wanted target. Sloan pushes one of the highest buttons and before you know it the elevator shoots up faster than you could think, which makes your heart race, the feeling alone of quickly gaining height makes your legs shake...it also didn't help that you had a bit of a fear with heights.

Sloan leans forward noticing your yelp then quick silence, soon watching your shaky legs they know. They can't help themselves so they grab onto your hand and hold it tight. You look at them and only grin and soon enough your mind starts to focus on the warm skin-to-skin contact between your hands instead of the continuing elevator.

Soon enough you hear a ding and the doors open behind you. And you smell the fresh air and feel the cool wind hit you, Sloan still holding on your hand interlocks your fingers into theirs and they lead you out into the warm night. You eventually let go of their hand and you walk towards the railing.

"Pretty nice huh.? I like to come out here from time to time when times get too rough for me..."

They join you by your side on the railing looking at you with a smirk seeing your stare into the sky. Sloan wasn't kidding, although you could easily see the stars back down from the streets. All the way up on the building Sloan's gang owned, you couldn't help but feel closer to the night sky and further away from the chaotic city. You feel yourself leaning on the railing feeling your eyes never cease to pull away from the tinkling and blinking stars.

"This is beyond beautiful..."

The two of you continue to look upon the shiny sky, the moon is bright enough to place a light on the two of you. Your eyes finally break away to look around on the surrounding floor. You quickly realize now that this was the sky roof and a part of the roof garden. Now you know how Sloan got the roses for you, you can't help but think that this was slightly planned by Sloan and you eye them up with a smirk before nodding towards the large garden. Surprisingly everything looks happy and thriving for living in a city like this.

"Did you plan on taking me up here to the garden as well, ya charmer..."

"Well, you could say that I did have some sort of plan to show you one of the prettiest places I know! I'd just thought it could be nice to share it with someone who isn't from the gang yknow.?"

You walk further into the garden, and you hear Sloan's boots thump against the floor which makes your heart beat just a little faster, you never thought that you could have such a fun time with a gang member on a rooftop. You turn all around to look at the variations of plants ranging from vegetables, and fruits, to flowers.

"Oh? Would you say that all of this gang stuff weighs down on you from time to time.?"

They stay quiet and you turn to look at them with a look of concern.

"..."

"I'll take that as a yes then..."

You'd figure on changing the subject with taking their hand in yours and taking them towards the thorny rose bushes. A wave of the scent reaches you sense and you hum hopping to talk about roses instead of prodding with personal business with Sloan. They already seem to set their mind on the flowers, they take in a white rose in their hand cupping it, and bring it close to their nose. They slowly inhale and exhale seeming much more happier now which makes you relieved.

"Good to know where the roses came from then.!"

You chuckle as you glance at the bright moon finally noticing how bright it is with being able to see your...at this point, you'd forget with names and call them your date considering how intimate this is looking. They chuckle finally pulling away from the roses to look at you with the sweetest smile, maybe it was your unnecessary jacket for tonight but you felt a little warmer with their smile towards you.

"Yeah, I always looked for the best for you!"

The two of you share a laugh comfortably together once more until you hear a click... This makes the both of you widen and awake, but it seems that Sloan looks more nervous than you, which makes your heart race.

"Um, Sloan what was-!"

They grab onto your hand running which makes you yelp, you hear one more click then you realize what it was. Timed sprinklers, water shoots out all over the place. At that moment it almost felt like the sprinklers were getting more water on you and Sloan than the actual plants...

You both scream as you feel your clothes get soaked with water giving the extremely uncomfortable feeling of the clothes sticking to your skin. You walk too far into the rather large garden, and you watch Sloan just stop in the middle still getting hit with water they turn towards you their hair no longer fluffy and messy. You both look into each other's eyes feeling a message being sent through eye contact.

You can't bear your awful jacket anymore and you finally shuck it off feeling completely relieved and feeling 10 pounds lighter. Honestly the water eventually just felt like a nice outdoor shower...with your date.

"..."

"..."

You share a moment of silence before breaking out into a fit cheering and jumping. You had to admit the city would have its heatwaves even during the night somehow so this felt heavenly. It takes you a moment to realize that Sloan wrapped their arms around your waist and your jumps match in rhythm. Honestly, you didn't care what they did to you because, in your equally messed up head, you felt yourself catching feelings for the Mole.

"Whoo! This is amazing!!!"

"...I LOVE LIFE!!!!!!"

Eventually, the sprinklers stop leaving the two of you soaked, you stop jumping and you have nothing else to do but look at each other. Maybe it was the soaked feeling kicking in. Maybe it was Sloan holding you by the waist. But you felt yourself leaning in forward...

Honestly, when you closed your eyes you didn't know what to expect but you felt something soft against your lips. You open your eyes to see that Sloan is holding a freshly plucked rose between your lips and theirs. You felt a little embarrassed not only with how Sloan juked you but also realizing how much you fell for this person. Nevertheless, you pull away to watch them grow a smirk and they chuckle. You playfully beat against their shoulder which only makes them laugh harder to the point they start to wheeze.

They drop you on the ground as they hold their chest and whip a tear away.

"Oh my! I'm sorry I couldn't help it I'm sorry!"

You quickly find a way to get back at them by taking advantage of them being busy with laughing. You cup their cheek which stops them completely and you lean in to peck their wet cheek with your lips. They go from a laughing mess to a flushed stuttering mess, they bring their hands to their face trying hard to cover it.

"I wasn't ready... How dare you surprise me! Mind you I loved it but...yknow.!"

You only grab on their arm now you are the one dragging them away out of the gardens to find some method to dry each other off...

i did it :,) im rlly hoping yall like it even if I went the more cliche cringy route, maybe soon I can write a different more dark route if you want!

[tac-the-unseen]

COD museum date night

Fluff

Ghost:

•doesn't really care for museums but he'll go if you go

•He makes sure to hold your hand the whole time.

•makes God awful jokes about the paintings and statues

•laughs at the fat catholic baby paintings

•ends up having more fun then he would ever admit.

•hints at going back for future dates.

Soap:

•He's the one that came up with the idea.

•he images it as super romantic like the movies

•ends up bored out of his mind

•he'll tug on your sleeve and ask to leave like a 5 year old

•can't help but laugh at the nude statuses

•"I would not be posing like that if my willy was that small."

Price:

•He's quite and respectful of the artwork

•he walks slowly and throughly looks over every piece he comes across.

•Dad stance

•hands behind his back, legs spread, chest puffed out, his head nodding slowly as he looks over the art

•if you have a favorite piece, he wants to know everything about it.

•takes you to all kinds of museums if he knows you like them

Alejandro:

•secretly looks up facts about the paintings to impress you

•gets embarrassed when you point out his phone still open on the Google page he used.

•also laughs at the nude statues

•you had to awkwardly shuffle past the glaring art critics and students while Alejandro his bright red and sweating from holding back laughter.

•it becomes an inside joke between you two

•has a great time and wants to go back

Roach:

•at frist he's bored, but as soon as he get to the war section he's pressing his full body on the glass case

•like his eyes have stars in them and everything

•signs fun (and not so fun) facts about the artifacts

•it's the one section he REALLY took his time to look at.

•you bet your ass he's rummaging in the giftshop until he finds something he actually wants.

•you come home with bags of stuff because he couldn't decide

Gaz:

•He too, is respectful and takes his time walking around

•he looks like he's studying all the art

•in reality he's making up scenarios in his head

•he has one earbud in imaging himself saving everybody in the museum from bombers

•he has tuned to world out and is only brought back when you talk about what to get for lunch

König:

•Really like museums!

•he silent while you guys make your way through the galleries

•holding your hand the entire time

•loves the dinosaur section and loves to learn about them

•gets a little upset when he's reminded he's and adult and can't play with childerns interactive games

•he really wanted to play with the magnetic sand :(

•you end up buy him a small tin of magnetic sand in the gift shop :)

Rudy:

•is pretty normal about the date

•drinks a coffee while wondering around with you

•constantly talks about how you guys show start being more artistic together

•you shoot down the having sex with paint idea real quick

•that's a whole lot of mess neither of you want to clean up

•pouts the rest of the date

•gets over it when you take him to the gift shop

Mace:

•he has a deep appreciation for art

•He's fascinated by old tribal artifacts and wants to know how they evolved or translated into today

•is well versed in African culture and folklore

•when you get to the African section you get some frist hand facts!

•tells you stories and tales about certain art pieces and relics

•He finds a south African restaurant 20 minutes away and takes you there to end the night.

•100% bought a glitter pen from the gift store

Thanks for reading <3

[brooklynislandgirl]

"She's a 10, but she's the only reason purple glitter pens are still a thing." (Stephen)

Wait For It....||

...Says the man who had more watches than Imelda Marcos had shoes. But Beth doesn't say that out loud. She isn't the kind of person who will reply to a harmless bit of teasing with cruelty, and the only reason it even comes to mind is because in some ways she's as comfortable with Stephen as she ever was with her brother, which makes him distinct from everyone else she knows. The only other person she's now so free with is her hanai-sister. Instead, Beth laughs. It crinkles the corners of her nose and shows her teeth. Warmth in her tone and a little touch of shyness that has her glancing down. "Well, at least my notes are immaculate an' distinctive. Know who wrote dem jus' by glancing at da page." She never imagined those years ago when she left ~though perhaps if she were honest about the situation, it was more a running away from him, from her conflicted feelings on two different fronts, and largely herself~ that she would again be working with him side-by-side. And she especially never imagined that it would be outside of the surgical field, protecting sleepers from themselves and the threats beyond their mundane lives. Threats that by and large most of them never dreamed of before, and did not really know how to process even now when they had no other choice but to accept such things were real. From within the veil of her hair she offers Stephen an adoring glance, one that has never changed from the first moment she'd ever laid eyes on him. He'd held her rapt in the lecture hall, continued to captivate her with scalpel in hand, and now as he wove the lifeblood of the universe with incantations and relics, she's still mesmerised. But it only lasts for the length of a heartbeat before she turns back to the small gathering of students.

"But don't let that fool you," she says with achingly precise words. "Master Strange is also a ten, but everything he does comes with its own soundtrack." She uses that as the basis to launch into their shared lecture about foci; ritual tools and their ability to concentrate a magician's will into the working at hand.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Pompeii

My eyes came open to a darkened room. Immediately, I thought of Ru’Yi. I had to find her. My heart beat fast and my breath came in gasps.

But when I tried to get out of bed, my hand did not come with me and the clang and sharp pull of metal told me why.

I was cuffed to the bed. It was too dark to see. I struggled trying to open the shackles. The cuffs were so wide so as to cover my whole wrist. They were dark colored and looked medieval. Sobbing, I felt a sudden catch in my throat and I started to cough.

My throat felt constricted and my voice came in a hiss. I remembered this. This was the effect of the poison they’d given me back in Japan, the one that prevented me from using my voice and activating Soul Skills. Otherwise, I could just use Berengaria to free myself.

There had to be a way out. I couldn’t give up! I thrashed, flipping over pillows and feeling around the blankets to try to find something. I didn’t know what I expected. A key? Something I could pick the locks with?

There was nothing. Frustrated, I began to pull harder, trying to break the bed frame.

The lights in the room turned on.

Standing, staring at me in the door to the room was a man in a dark blue robe, holding a half empty glass of wine. His chest was bare underneath the velvet and well muscled. His eyes were a bright piercing blue. An elegant goatee graced his fine features. He eyed me with mild surprise. 

We didn’t say anything to each other or move for several seconds. What did he want from me? I turned and looked at the cuffs, the bed, his state of undress and gathered myself up into the corner of the mattress, ready to fight with everything I had.

His eyebrows raised and he glanced away, a short breath escaping his lips. “For a moment I thought my bed had been invaded by raccoons. Then I see you and wonder what manner of woman is so desperate to sleep with me that she sneaks in my room and handcuffs herself to my bed?”

He settled the cup on a nearby marble top table. For the first time, I see that the bedroom was huge. The walls and ceiling were covered in thick, elegantly carved dark wood panels. The shelves were lined with artifacts and relics from all over the world.

“But then... I see your reaction and I realize that you did not handcuff yourself to my bed. You were brought here. By the elders I presume?” He pulled out a few small tools. One, conveniently, was a file.

I touched my throat and shook my head.

He froze eyes wide. “You can’t talk?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the dragon in my body and opened them again, shining them golden in the dark.

He nodded once. “A Hybrid... and a high purity hybrid and that. Of course... since you’re here.”

He reached into the drawer again and took out a pen and paper. He walked over, set them on the bed, close enough for me to reach. “Write your name...”

He then sat back down at the small marble top table and continued to sip his wine. “You’ll have to forgive them. They’re a bunch of dusty old vampires with one thing on their minds...” He swirled the glass with an idle smirk. “In fact, I would tell you their history but it gets a bit pornographic.”

He grinned with good humor. “My name is Pompeii Gattuso. I’m the current Patriarch of the Gattuso Family... which makes me the chief drone of our little ant colony." He paused mid sip. “You do know what a ‘drone’ is... don’t you?”

I wrote, “A drone is what you’re doing right now.” I held up the piece of paper. He took one look at it and laughed. 

“A bold one. I like it.” He put the glass down. “A drone is a male ant. And the only job of a male ant is to mate with the queen. And the only job of the queen ant is to have babies. That’s how they see you and I. It’s insulting.”

I gathered my knees to my chest and glared at him. 

He put his glass down and glared back. “I’m not going to do anything to you. You can relax.”

He tossed me the metal file and immediately I got to work on the cuffs.

“Try not to get metal shavings on the bed. And you still haven’t given me your name.”

My name wasn’t important. I wasn’t sure if I could trust this Pompeii person with my name or any other information that might compromise my mission. I just needed to get in contact with Caesar.

I paused in my filing and wrote. “Can you call Caesar Gattuso?”

“Maybe I can... maybe I can’t. Even if I could, there’s no guarantee he’ll want to talk to me. Still... before I do anything, I’d like to get your name first.” 

His voice took on a more insistent tone. He was staring with an increasing intensity. I glanced back at him only momentarily, feeling a bit of pressure. Was he going to figure me out? Did he know about the Elders’ plans? Was he going to help me escape? Or not?

My palms had started to sweat and the file slipped from my hands and flew across the room.

Pompeii rested his chin on his twined fingers. “Shall I retrieve that for you? Your name, miss.”

I hurriedly scratched out “Carli Lu” not bothering to use my real name. Chu Zihang still didn’t exist in this world.

“Carli Lu? The wife of Mingfei Lu?” His eyes went wide and he stood up. “If you’re here then...” His brow furrowed. “Mingfei Lu is dead?”

I turned away from him, unwilling to give him any clues by my expression.

“If he is... he’d be proud of you. I’ve seen women jump into my arms before the first clod of dirt has hit their husband’s casket... yet you want nothing to do with me, even if you’d be set for life.”

I heard his footsteps as he went to get the file. Much to my surprise, he began to work on the handcuffs himself. “Tell me... yes or no. Is Nono alright?”

I shook my head no. 

Fear and concern reflected in his eyes. “Is she alive?” He stopped filing.

I whispered. “They’re going to kill her.”

He grabbed my shoulders. “Where is she?”

Relief filled me. He was an ally of Nono’s! “Japan... The Japanese Branch is protecting her. But only Caesar can go get her. They won’t let anyone else have her... but...”

Pompeii shook his head. “Not enough.” He went back to filing at the chain. “Kaguya has been completely conquered by EVA.  You realize though...” He looked up at me pausing in the filing work. “Once this gets out to Caesar he’s going to kill every last one of them?”

“I only care about Nono’s life...” I said, still careful not to reveal anything more of our plans.

He continued to file away, pieces of the metal were coming off in silver curls and landing on the floor. “The Elder’s think they’ve won... so they’re making stupid moves. God!” 

The chain snapped, freeing me, but he held me down, keeping me from getting up. “There’s something you need to understand. Caesar may seem rich, but Nono is the only thing that’s truly his. If they take her away, he will lose himself. After killing everyone here and burning this place to the ground? He’ll board a plane alone and fly it into a mountain. I can’t let that happen, do you understand?”

I nodded, shaken by the emotion in his eyes that glittered inches from my face. “Who are you?” I rasped.

He chuckled. “Can’t you tell? I’m his father!”

My jaw dropped. He looked so young! I never would have taken him for the father of Caesar Gattuso. He’s the one! He’s the one to help me! 

I seized him by his robe to tell him to help my daughter, but it came loose, descended his shoulders, revealing his shoulders and powerful arms as well as his nipples and abs. 

“Hey! Don’t change your mind now!” He laughed.

My face flushed and I looked away, hissing apologies. “I ... My daughter. They have her. I have to get her back.” I squeaked.

“I can’t tell what you’re saying unless you look at me.” 

His hand slipped under my chin and turned my face to his. We were barely an inch apart. I stared, captivated a moment before I pushed him away. “They have my daughter!” I forced my whisper louder.

“Daughter? You’re a mom?” He blinked.

“Yes! They’re going to raise her to be Caesar’s bride!” I slid across the sheets, putting the bed between us, and landed on my feet.

“Wait!” But Pompeii couldn’t chase after me without retying his robe, giving me a chance to get some distance away.

It was more of a suite than a bedroom. One door let to another door and another door. But a large arched entry way told me that this door was the true way out. Before I could even lay my hand on the door knob, Pompeii’s hand covered my mouth and he pulled me away.

I struggled but he held me firm, whispering in my ear.

“You can’t just run out there. You don’t know where you’re going! And the instant they see you, they’ll know I helped you escape!”

When I stopped trying to get away, he finally let me go. “Let me handle this.” 

He gave me a confident smile and wink. “It won’t be pretty. And I guarantee you won’t like it. But I’m sure it’s going to work.”

[kiranatrix]

❝ everything is poetry when you’re drunk. ❞ for BLight if you're still doing this 🌸

(Well shit. I realized I wrote this for B/L AFTER I posted it LMAO— sorry Ika I’ll write you another one but maybe you can dig this too)

L sorted through the mail that Watari had placed on his desk, tossing aside most of it without opening any of the envelopes. He was of the general mindset that you sent a damn email if you expected someone to read it. Paper mail was a relic, cumbersome and hardly secure. 

He paused as he came across a singular black envelope that looked more like it belonged in a pre-teen’s locker than in a detective’s inbox. Cartoonish gel-penned hearts had been doodled alongside grisly explosions and charming dismemberments, surrounding messy script that read, “DON’T READ UNLESS YOU ARE DRUNK! I MEAN IT!!!!” 

L muttered under his breath, “What in the fuck is this...” He thought he sensed an odor from the paper and sniffed it-- it smelled sweet and...fruity? He sighed and pressed the call button for Watari. “Watari, what is up with this weird letter in the mail?” He flipped it over but there was no address, only more scribbles of pink hearts and bloody daggers. At the very bottom of the other side read, “TO THE WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE (OF MY HEART).” Oh great....

“Weird letter, sir?” Watari’s voice sounded tired over the intercom. “Hmm, I thought I checked everything but I was a bit distracted getting the mail this morning.”

“Distracted? Why?” L zeroed in on a cutely-drawn scene of some buzzards circling a spiky-haired stick-figure corpse. He didn’t have to wonder who the figure was since the figure had a shirt on that plainly said ‘L.’ Definitely Beyond.

“Because someone lit a bag of dog poo on fire on the front steps! Ugh. A childish prank and wasn’t very pleasant to clean up.”

“I see.” L snorted, because that hadn’t been just a prank, it was a distraction to keep Watari from checking the mail too closely today. “Alright, nevermind. I already know who sent it anyway.” He lifted his finger from the intercom button and turned back to the letter. What the hell, why not.... 

For all Beyond’s rantings about wanting L dead since they broke up, L knew better. Although it was hard to admit, he’d missed Beyond too. Life seemed less colorful, more boring and predictable without him. But L was stubborn and he wouldn’t take Beyond back until he apologized. There were certainly no apologies anywhere on the envelope.

He ripped open the envelope and made a face when a large puff of glitter spilled out all over his desk, muttering, “Beyond I’m going to strangle you...” He grit his teeth and took out the paper within in pinched fingers, holding it up to read.

“YOU BETTER BE DRUNK!!”

L rolled his eyes because Beyond knew he rarely drank and certainly wasn’t going to be blitzed at 10 am in the morning when the mail came. He kept reading:

“Lethargic heart, you beat too slow-- less like a pulse than as a tide.

Predicted waves that lap my shore and pull in all you want to know.

The sand cannot withstand the waves, its muddy words are flung to sea,

to spice you with adrenaline and drift inside for all your days.”

After that, there were only lots and lots of black ink scribbles, becoming more chaotic until only the tiniest bit of page was left in the corner. There, minutely, was (barely legibly) written, ‘I’m sorry L.’

L snorted and put the letter down, sighing as he surveyed his much more prismatic and fabulous desk, thanks to the glitter. “You bastard.” He picked up the phone and dialed Beyond’s number, a little smile on his face. “You complete dumbass.” His smile widened as Beyond picked up on the first ring.

From this meme

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius

Where has Newton gone next?  It’s a pun.

By morning, the smoke had cleared and the volcano was quiet.

This was definitely not what anyone had expected.  As the group ate breakfast in the hotel’s little restaurant, the news playing on the television above the bar was all about the sudden cessation of the eruption.  An anchorwoman said in Italian, with rather poorly-translated English subtitles for the tourists, that scientists were puzzled but Etna seemed to have gone back to sleep.  If the volcano remained quiescent for twenty-four hours, the evacuated Sicilians would be allowed to return to their homes on the slopes.  There were interviews with several people who expressed their gratitude to God that their farms were not going to be destroyed, and their eagerness to go home.

“They did something,” said Sam, pointing a fork at the TV.

Natasha had been thinking the same thing.  Desrosiers must have come here because she knew Newton would go to an erupting volcano to get geothermal energy from it… maybe that was where the enormous heat in his gauntlet had come from.  Somehow, he’d convinced her to help him make the philosopher’s stone, and now that they had the notebooks, they’d returned to the volcano to drain the rest of its energy.

“Do they have everything they need now?” she wondered aloud.  “Are they ready to just make the philosopher’s stone?”  Maybe they were working on it right now, down in the bowels of the volcano… or would it still be too hot in there?  “Where’s our Voynich book?”

Sharon pulled it out of Sir Stephen’s backpack.  “We still can’t read it,” she said.

“Yeah, but there might be something to give us a hint,” said Nat.

That seemed pretty unlikely, even to Nat, but for the moment nobody had any better ideas.  They flipped through the softcover facsimile.  There were no pictures of volcanoes anywhere in the book, but Nat supposed any form of energy would do.  Solar, geothermal, wind… ancient alchemists might have even tried to do it with fire.  The Minoan alchemists on Santorini had used the volcanic heat of Thira.  Heaven knew what Rasputin had found in the middle of Siberia, maybe one of the powerful Russian rivers.  Of course, if Newton could drain energy from a volcano to store and move it, he could go anywhere he liked.

Even so, she was pretty confident now that Newton was not going to Australia.  The simple fact that he’d gone out of his way to mention it seemed evidence enough of that.  She glanced at the book again, as Sharon idly turned pages, and then something caught her eye.

“Wait,” said Nat, and turned back a page or two.

It was an illustration of a plant – this entire section of the book was drawings of plants.  Notes in the margins said that botanists believed it might be a sunflower, which suggested that the book was about the plants of the Americas.  Somebody had even offered the theory that its alphabet was an attempt to record a native American language in a way that would be intelligible to Europeans.  But Natasha, thinking of volcanoes, had noticed something else.

Taormina was full of volcano-related souvenirs and merchandise right now, and as she and Jim had walked down the street yesterday, they’d seen multiple versions of an illustration showing a cross-section of the mountain.  The posters, postcards, and t-shirts depicted many fissures branching off a big central well that brought lava to the surface, where it erupted from the vents and gave off steam that rose into a tower with billows at the top.  Everything in alchemy was recorded in codes and metaphors.  This was not botany.  This was geology.

“Etna,” said Natasha.  She put her finger at the top of the page, where a heading was written: five of the mysterious letters, the first and last the same.  The name of the mountain in Greek was Aetna.

“No way,” said Sharon, turning the book to face her again.  “Really?”

“Somebody get a pen,” Nat ordered.

A waitress was walking by.  Jim snatched her notebook and pen from her.  “Sorry, need this,” he said, and sat back down to copy out the four letters that were A, E, T, and N.  These were fairly common letters in Greek, so they were soon able to get to work on the rest of the page.  The results were disappointing: they found things that might have been words, but many more seemed like random groups of letters.  Some were repeated multiple times, some appeared to be backwards or to have had the letters arranged in alphabetical order.  There must be layers and layers of code and cipher here, Nat thought, and without the key they didn’t know what to look for where.  Figuring it out might take years.

“If the sunflower is a diagram of the mountain,” Nat said, “maybe these labels are places to say where to best collect its energy for alchemical purposes.”  Unfortunately, it was hardly a map to scale.  Without being able to read the text, they couldn’t tell where to look for Newton and Desrosiers.

Sharon turned the page.  There was another plant… was this one also a volcano?  The second letter of its name was an E, but the rest weren’t ones they’d figured out.  Nat counted them, and made some guesses.  The headings were the most simply encoded parts, and letters one and five in this word were the same.  If those were Greek beta, then the whole name might be…

“Vesuvius,” said Jim, before Nat could speak.  “We gotta go to Mount Vesuvius.”

“Not necessarily,” said Sam.  He reached over to flip a few more pages.  “The Mediterranean’s full of volcanoes.  What about Stromboli or Kolumbo?”

“No, he’ll go to Vesuvius,” said Jim.  “I’m sure.  Trust me.”

A piece suddenly fell into place.  “He’s right,” said Nat.  “He’s got to be.”

“You’re biased,” said Clint.

“No,” Nat insisted.  “It’s a word game!  Alchemy is all in puzzles, codes, and puns.  Newton in German is Neustadt, and in Greek it’s Neapoli.  That’s the area in Athens where his apartment was.  What’s the city below Vesuvius?” she asked, and waited expectantly.  One by one, she saw her companions’ expressions change as the light dawned.

“All right,” said Sam, as Sharon closed the book.  “Naples.”

With the evacuees returning in droves, it was no problem to get a ferry to the mainland.  In Calabria they got on a train heading north to Termini in Rome, where they transferred to one bound for Naples.

It was a hot day when they arrived, but it wasn’t like the pounding dry heat of Santorini or Athens.  Naples was drowning in a thick, humid heat that sweating did nothing to help because there was no wind to make it evaporate.  Locals didn’t seem to mind, but the tourists walked around fanning themselves, their faces red and glistening from exertion.  Shops selling bottled water and gelato did very brisk business.

They reached Naples late in the afternoon, and as the train entered the city they could see a cruise ship in port.  Nat caught Clint peering at it, trying to figure out whether it was a familiar one.

“It’s not,” she said.  “Wrong company.  See the logo on the superstructure?”

Clint nodded and looked back down at the screen of his phone.  He’d just typed in the question would you like anything from Naples?  A flashing icon suggested that Laura Francis, back home in Nottinghamshire, was typing her reply.

“What are you looking for?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know yet,” said Clint.  “She hasn’t answered.”

“No,” Sam said, “I mean, why were you looking at the boat?”

“He thinks the Scorpio II is following us,” said Nat.

Clint shook his head.  “Next time we are definitely doing this on a cruise ship,” he said.  “If I’m going to hop from island to island around the Mediterranean without ever having time to stop and see anything, I’m gonna do it with room service.”

“Foot massages,” said Sharon.

“Wi-fi,” said Natasha.

“Cold beer,” Jim agreed.

“That’s it.”  Sharon nodded.  “When we get back, we’re telling Fury and the Queen that from now on we only travel by cruise ship.”

Nat grinned as she imagined that conversation.  Fury would roll his eye, fully aware that they were joking and determined not to dignify it with an acknowledgement.  The Queen, on the other hand, might just take them seriously.  She spent her own vacations in Monte Carlo and a series of palaces, so why not?

Clint’s phone vibrated.  He took a look.  “Oh, great,” he groaned.

“What’s it say?” asked Nat.

He turned the phone around to show them.  Laura’s reply said simply, surprise me.

Sam whistled.  “You’re being tested now, my man,” he declared.

“I know,” Clint said.  “And I don’t think one of those glitter-covered panda figures is going to do it.”

The moment they stepped out of Napoli Centrale, they were bombarded by vendors offering them tours and trinkets.  Nat kept her head down and tried not to make eye contact, but she did have to look where she was going and the Neapolitans were happy to follow the group out into the street.  Brochures, maps, hats, and sunglasses were all thrust into her face in quick succession, and it was very difficult to keep a hold on the instinct telling her to throw these people across the road.

“I have changed my mind,” Sir Stephen announced, as they shooed the last of them away.

“About what?” asked Sharon.

“About whether this is like going on pilgrimage,” he said, and turned to wave away a man offering tour tickets.  “No, thank you, Sir, we do not want to visit Positano!”  Returning his attention to Sharon, he went on: “this is exactly the sort of thing that greets a pilgrim in Canterbury.”

“Canterbury didn’t become a place of pilgrimage until the late twelfth century,” said Natasha, but she wasn’t going to worry about it much.  Sir Stephen’s world was not one that concerned itself with historical accuracy.

From the city, there was a clear view of Mount Vesuvius.  Mount Etna in Sicily was surrounded by other peaks, all of which had once been exit points for the volcano but were now extinct.  Vesuvius stood alone.  From this angle only one of its two cones was visible, covered with green woods all the way to the snow line.  There hadn’t been a major eruption since 1944, leaving the vegetation plenty of time to recolonize the slopes.

Even so, the mountain looked almost exactly like how a child might draw a picture of a volcano: a steep conical hill with a crater in the top.  Nat had to wonder how the people of Pompeii and Herculaneum had ever thought this was a good place to live.  Then again, she observed, here they were nearly two thousand years later, with people still living in Naples and Sorrento.  The very reason this city was called Napoli was because it was the New City, founded after an eruption had destroyed the older one.

Volcanic soil was excellent for wine grapes.  Maybe in Italy, that was enough to make people stay.

[the-record-columns]

Dec. 4, 2019: Columns

A cook book including a couple of recipes for life…

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Through the good offices of Ben Lane of Wilkesboro, I now have in my possession a fascinating relic from 1946. 

No, not Ben, but a fairly well preserved copy of the North Wilkesboro Woman's Club Cook Book.  The Woman's Club was established in 1920 and has been a fixture in North Wilkesboro ever since.  The cook book had recipes from the members and I am sure some others as well.  For me, having grown up on North Wilkesboro in the 50’s, many of the names were familiar.

  Some of the ladies who had recipes in the book were folks I delivered the Greensboro Daily News to as an 11-year-old boy.  Of them, one of my favorites was Mrs. Fred Hethcock.  The Hethcock's were a retired couple who lived on 6th Street in North Wilkesboro, just down the hill a bit and across the street from one of my other favorites, Carl W. Steele.  When I would go by on Saturdays to collect my 45 cents for the previous week’s paper, Mrs. Hethcock would always invite me into her kitchen and give me a glass of sweet tea—a treat like no other.  She would let me sit at her table and I remember she put lots of lemon in the tea the way I liked it.  Her recipe in the cook book was for shrimp sauce.

Another name I saw in the cook book was Mrs. William Marlow, Mary.  I was fortunate enough to get to know Bill and Mary Marlow through my association with the Lions Club of North Wilkesboro, and later, as a neighbor down the street from them.  They were just the kind of people you are thankful to have known and I can remember my daughter, Jordan, remarking about Mrs. Marlow's wonderful cookies, and the fact that the Marlow's always bought whatever stuff the school system had the kids out selling without complaint.  Mary Marlow had her recipe for Dream Bars in the cook book, which I have personally been lucky enough to have enjoyed.  I have also had many opportunities to speak with Mary, who had an accent I won't try to describe, except to say it was a wonderful Southern voice which was perfect for the stately lady she was.

There were lots of other familiar names in the cook book, Mrs. W.K. Sturdivant, Madge; Mrs. A.B. Johnston, Ruby; Mrs. Hoyle Hutchens, Virginia; Mrs. Maurice Walsh, Sina; Mrs. Jack Brame, Virginia; just to name a few.

 However, it is the two nuggets in the boxes I want to call your attention to.  They both caught me completely off guard and I was very pleased to see them.  The first is just past the title page and is called "Club Sandwiches," and the second was in the Pickles and Preserves section and is entitled "How to Preserve A Husband."

  These gals obviously knew their way around life, as well as the kitchen.

Club Sandwiches

A very special recipe from page 2 of the 1946 North Wilkesboro Woman's Club Cook Book

Take 80 club women, well seasoned by the experience of living--these should be firm, yet tender.  Mix well with equal parts of faith and hope.  Sprinkle in the spirit of service and add a dash of pep.  Stir in a heaping cup of tolerance, and let stand until all arguments have dissolved and the mixture has cooled.  Spread between two slices of courage with all crusts removed and wrap in a cloth dampened with the milk of human kindness.  This recipe will serve the entire community.

How To Preserve A Husband

Interestingly enough, this piece was in the "Pickles and Preserves" section of the cook book.

Be careful in your selection.  Don't choose too young, and take only such as have been reared in good moral atmosphere.  Do not go to market for him, as the best are always brought to your door.  When once decided upon and selected, let that part remain forever settled and give your entire thought to the preparation for domestic use.  Some insist in keeping them in a pickle, while others are constantly getting them in hot water.  This only makes them sour, hard and sometimes bitter.  Even poor varieties may be made sweet, tender and good by garnishing them with patience, well sweetened with smiles, flavored with kisses to taste.  Then wrap them in a mantle of charity; keep warm with a steady fire of domestic devotion, and serve with peaches and cream.  When thus prepared, they will keep for years.

 ‘In A World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind’ 

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

Note: This was not my planned topic this week but I have many friends either struggling with the loss, or caregivers dealing with  serious ailments of loved ones, and wanted to rerun this column from a few years back to remind us all to be kind, and be present.

 Tis the season… All the hustle and bustle, rushing here and there, making sure everything is perfect for the gatherings that are getting ready to happen. We sing holly jolly songs, take the kids to see Santa, make plans to see family out of town, and eat enough goodies to stuff a reindeer. We giggle and snort about tacky sweater parties, and maybe we roll our eyes at those that don't share the enthusiasm of the holiday; maybe even muttering "Scrooge" or "Grinch" under our breath.

But…maybe they have lost their joy for a very valid reason.  It's hard sometimes to see the melancholy, past all the glitter and lights. For many people, this is a horrid time of year; reflecting on who won't be home for holidays, especially if it’s the first one without them.  

I would like to share with you a song that my friend Brian Brown penned about his daughter, who was the poster child for Christmas, if ever there was one. .She was named "Bria", after her father, was the only daughter, and the baby of the family. Bria suffered from asthma, but that never stopped her from enjoying all things Christmas- singing, playing in the snow, all the fun kid stuff. It was after all, her favorite holiday.

Bria died in February 2015, after suffering an acute asthma attack at the age of 14. Christmas was never the same for Brian and his wife, or the rest of the family.

My Christmas is Gone

My Christmas is Gone

Hard to see the blinking lights

Tough to see the twinkling stars

Hearing them bells ring

just opens up all the scars

Happy families holding hands

humming holiday tunes

I'm Scrooge in the corner

wishing it was June

CHORUS

Please don't happy me this

Please don't merry me that

Cause my Christmas is gone

It ain't coming back

Even if Santa's sleigh landed right here

I'd step right over them reindeer tracks he knows my Christmas is gone...it ain't coming back

Yeah my Christmas is gone

It ain't coming back

This was her time of year

Loved decorating the tree

Singing those old Christmas songs; come adore on bended knee.

Everytime the snow fell

Bundling up to go outside

Fingers went numb

From the snowball fights

CHORUS

I got no more silent nights

No more decking the halls

Every day's now to be the same

Behind these four blank walls

There might be joy to the world

It just hasn't found me

My soul's laid bare

As Charlie Brown's Christmas tree

CHORUS

Brian wrote this song, "to find a way out of the dark pit of self pity while still embracing the sadness that is so important for healing.”

So while you’re out there, take a moment to make eye contact with people.

Be aware.  

Try to be the comfort in another’s holiday grief.

If you are the one grieving, know you are not alone.  

 HOTLINE 800-273-TALK (8255)  

Israel - The U.S. security net

 By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

Those who wrongly consider Israel as "illegal occupiers" of land deeded to her by God Himself, are woefully failing to accept the truth which, in plain language, means a Middle East without Israel would be nothing more than a region filled with overwhelming violence and chaos. 

In 2005, Israel unilaterally withdrew from the Gaza Strip hoping to receive peace in return.  It did not happen.  Prior to 2005, Israel vacated a significant portion of Judea and Samaria leaving the West Bank, which includes the Golan Heights, in the hands of Palestinian Arabs who, with the support of Iran, Turkey and North Korea, turned the area into a giant launching pad for missiles and terrorist attacks threatening Israel and every pro-US Arab regime in the region. 

In 1967, Israel seized the strategically significant Golan Heights from Syria in a defensive war - a war which she did not instigate.  Israel was again attacked by her hostile Arab neighbors without any provocation whatsoever. In only six days and against seemingly impossible odds, Israel emerged the victor. She successfully defended her land and her citizens and even gained land in the process. 

Israel's presence on the mountain tops and ridges and in the Golan Heights serves as a sort of security policy for Jordan and others who are friendly to the United States.  Having Israeli troops in the Golan is also a kind of security safety net for the U.S. negating the need to send U.S. troops to patrol the Golan Heights as unrest and war rage in Syria, as Iran continues to spread it tentacles in Lebanon and Syria with ambitions to control the land all the way to the Mediterranean Sea, as Turkey's president sets his sights on Syria with expansionist intentions, and as Russia continues to expand its presence in Syria, Lebanon and any other place in the Middle East where there is the slightest opening or where leadership is weak.

Controlling the Golan Heights is important not only to Israel but also to the entire world.  Damascus, Syria is less than 50 miles from the Golan.  In the Middle East, Damascus is the center for the proliferation of global terrorism and drug trafficking.  You might remember that Damascus welcomed Nazi war criminals who fled Germany and Poland following WWII.   

Keeping Israel in control of the Golan Heights is essential to maintaining stability in the region.  Anyone who thinks otherwise is simply not thinking. Israel's presence is one of deterrence from which the United States, and the world in general, greatly benefits.     

It’s a Carolinas Heritage Christmas

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

We have been busy elves working on our new Christmas Special.

The 2019 theme is A Carolinas Heritage Christmas. We have been filming on location in historic Gold Hill.

The people of Gold Hill kick off the Holiday celebrations with an annual event they call “The Lighting of the Fall Fires.” The event is always the Saturday before Thanksgiving and is held rain or shine. This year it rained, but that did not seem to dampen the sprits of the attendees.

When people arrive, they exchange their tickets for a bag of gold nuggets (painted gold that is). Once they have their nuggets in hand, they board a trolley that takes guests to their choice of three stops. The nuggets can be exchanged for various food offerings throughout the village.

I met a fellow at the Brunswick Stew station. He so loved the stew that he used three nuggets for three servings. He said it was the best he had ever eaten. Then we met a lady at the chicken and dumpling station who was in line for the second time. She said it brought back great memories.

The village was filled with all sorts of music for people to enjoy as they went from place to place. It was a friendly event with all the charm you might imagine.

Vivian Hopkins at the E. H. Montgomery General Store provided great assistance in our production as well as sharing a look into life in the village. The Montgomery is a popular location during the Holidays and throughout the year with weekly Friday Night Bluegrass gatherings.  

There were three fires. We were on location with three cameras at the largest fire when it was set ablaze. As the fire was set, I chatted with Darrius Hedrick and John Yelton who have been part of the event from the very beginning,19 years ago. Darrius said that the event transitions us into the Holiday season.  John, now in his 90’s, said we need to be thinking about what we can be thankful for.

We were enjoying our chat as the fire grew, so much so that Darrius looked at me and said with a calm smile, “We better move back a bit before my pants melt.” I suppose I was so caught up in the moment that I did not notice that the ground around us was starting to steam from the mist in the air and the growing heat of the blaze.  

It was great talking with Darrius and John as they were both involved in making the Gold Hill Village what it is today. Naturally, there are many people involved; however, at that moment I became very aware that “The Lighting of the Fall Fires” is much more than an event to raise money and awareness for the Gold Hill Historic Preservation Society; it is a celebration of the fact that Gold Hill has significant Carolina history and, most importantly, it stands today as the Historic Gold Hill Village and provides a glimpse into our past and comfort for our future.

We will be back in Gold Hill for more filming during the “Christmas in the Village” celebration which is always the first full weekend in December.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas Season!  Let’s make some new friends and traditions this year and if we do maybe depression will not be in our stockings during the upcoming months.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eleventh year of syndication.   For more on the show visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com and join the free weekly email list. It’s a great way to keep up with the show and things going on in the Carolinas. You can email Carl White at Carl@lifeinthecarolinas.com.  

[wecocogg-blog]

Dubai is the kind of place that has so much Instagram-worthy potential, you'll run out of camera memory before you run out of subjects.

Author: Neha Singh

We know that there are those that hate Instagram, but here's something no one can deny. Only the best shots make their way to Instagram. A great shot is what draws others right into your experiences - whether it's the shot of a natural landscape or a manmade marvel. Capture your journey in Dubai via your lens and tell your story. Here are 12 of the top Instagram-worthy spots in Dubai. 

Al Seef

Al Seef is all about bringing a merging of tradition with contemporary life. Get great shots of the traditional-looking eateries in Al Seef; these are modern places designed to look rustic. Capture the rustic heritage-style buildings with their old-worldly charm. Take pictures of the waterfront promenade and the many relics of Dubai's trading past that are placed around. Take a long shot of an abra boat carrying people across the canal. If you want to depart from the glamour of the main city and capture something more rustic, more laid back and truer to Dubai's roots, then Al Seef is your best bet.

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A post shared by Al Seef Dubai (@alseefdubai) on Nov 14, 2018 at 5:28am PST

The Dubai Desert

The desert allows you to take an array of pictures. You can focus on sunrises and sunsets and get some uber-romantic Instagram-worthy shots. Or you can focus on people enjoying dune bashing and camel riding, capturing their efforts against the sun in their backs. The incredibly-rich colours of the blue desert sky when juxtaposed against the red desert dunes makes for a wonderful contrast.

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A post shared by (@mydubai) on Jan 13, 2019 at 10:16pm PST

The Dubai Fountains

Focus on the Dubai Fountains in the light of day or in the dark of the evening, when the brilliantly-coloured lights glow bright. Take some pictures from the Burj's observatory deck and some from below. You'll get different perspectives of the fountain, each one contrasting the other and all of them incredibly beautiful. During the day, when the sunlight cuts prisms into the dancing water, your shots take on an otherworldly glow. Focus on each droplet as it expands into a million colours. Get your equipment in place before the fountain show begins so that you're ready for the best shots. The Dubai Fountain shoots up to 150 meters in height. Be sure to capture this beautiful shot from ground level, so that the water looks as though it is traveling to the top of the Burj. 

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A post shared by Burj Khalifa (@burjkhalifa) on Dec 2, 2017 at 4:54am PST

Jumeirah Mosque

The Jumeirah Mosque makes for some great shots, both the outside and the inside of it. At night, when the moon's light is rich, watch as the four domes are lit up and the city lights bathe the mosque in their glow. During the night, the mosque takes on an otherworldly glow. Take a few shots of the mosque during the day when the sun's rays reflect on the white marble as well. During sunset, the mosque is draped in a golden glow that looks beautiful in pictures. Capture the entire mosque in one long shot by adjusting your lens. Simply fantastic!

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A post shared by (@mydubai) on Nov 20, 2018 at 11:44pm PST

Dubai Miracle Garden

The Dubai Miracle Garden is an extravagant display of 109 million plus flowers. The flowers are crafted to resemble global landmarks. There is a huge Airbus 380 made entirely out of flowers. See if you can get some aerial shots of the entire garden. That'll be fabulous. Take long shots of the pathways and the incredible flowering plants all around. Take shots of the lovely butterfly garden and its amazing flower arrangements. 

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A post shared by Tata Estaniecki (@tata) on Nov 30, 2018 at 1:45pm PST

Madinat Jumeirah

Madinat Jumeirah is a reproduction of an old Arabian market. The only difference is that water canals cut through the alleys between the shops, giving Madinat Jumeirah a Venetian look. From here, you can get awesome shots of the incredible Burj al Arab. Focus on the shops and the restaurants and the amazing landscape of Madinat Jumeirah amidst the lovely canals. At the distance, you can see a fringe of palm trees surrounding the entire complex. Focus on the water canals with the Burj al Arab in the background. Alternatively, frame the Burj al Arab amidst the green palm trees for background.

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A post shared by Madinat Jumeirah (@madinatjumeirah) on Nov 18, 2018 at 5:12am PST

Dubai Marina

During sunset, take a cruise past the exquisite Dubai Marina and take a series of Instagram-worthy shots. Everything along your cruise will be extremely photogenic. Be sure to immortalize the incredible architecture, and the water canals flowing alongside the buildings and the sun's rays glinting off of the tall structures. The Dubai Marina is a stunning collection of buildings and water canals that make for lovely shots. Whether you're taking pictures of the Dubai Marina during the day or during the night, you are guaranteed the best Instagram-worthy spots In Dubai. 

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A post shared by malouhdez (@malouhdez) on Nov 30, 2018 at 9:51am PST

ATLANIS THE PALM

The entire Palm Jumeirah Island is a photographer's dream come true. Focus on the Atlantis The Palm with the fronds of the Palm Islands in front for a beautiful shot. If you can, take aerial photos of the Atlantis with the rays of the sun shining on it. Pictures of the sunset against the Atlantis are also great for Instagramming, with the sun's rays passing through the Atlantis's palace-doors. Distant pictures of the Atlantis at night, when it is fully lit up, are worth their weight in gold. 

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A post shared by Atlantis The Palm, Dubai (@atlantisthepalm) on Oct 10, 2018 at 11:00pm PDT

City Walk

The street art that lines the walls of the Dubai City Walk is something else indeed. Take some amazing pictures of the wall art, and the beautiful canopied cafes along the walk. The beautifully-designed streets of the Walk with their high-end stores and artwork offer endless opportunities to the creative photographer in you. 

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A post shared by City Walk (@citywalkdubai) on Oct 5, 2018 at 7:01am PDT

Dubai Parks And Resorts

Riverland Dubai offers a myriad opportunities for photographers. Imagine the recreated boulevards of Paris and New York. Consider taking shots of the most spectacular rollercoasters and other immersive rides. How about taking a shot of a giant LEGO structure at LEGOLAND Dubai? The lazy river with its screening of bushes and trees and the sunlight glinting off the water is a breathtaking photo opp. Browse through all the sections - Riverland, Legoland, Bollywood Parks and Motiongate for Instagram-worthy shots. You'll find millions of them. 

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A post shared by Dubai Parks and Resorts (@dubaiparksresorts) on Oct 2, 2018 at 6:39am PDT

La Mer

La Mer is a stunning beachfront marvel that glitters with innovation. At night, the entire beachfront arena shines with a million twinkling displays of glittering lights strung across everywhere. Take shots of the cute fish motifs and trendy cafes and restaurants. Focus on the beautifully designed restaurants at La Mer, such as Parkers, Salt and Masti. Get some shots of the action at night with the lights and the people and the incredible vibe at La Mer.

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A post shared by Things to do in Dubai (@thingstodoindubaicity) on Nov 28, 2018 at 8:36am PST

Dubai Mall Waterfall

When you enter the Dubai Mall, you'll see a huge waterfall that begins somewhere near the building's roof. Several beautifully-crafted sculptures of athletic divers are suspended in the water's path. It looks like they're permanently frozen while making the dive. Be sure to take some pictures from the top and from the sides for varying perspectives. Be sure to capture the shadows behind the sculptures, the ones that make it look as though they're real divers. From a distance, they do look like real divers taking the jump into deep water, until you know better. You'll be happy with your Instagram-worthy shots, yes you will!

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A post shared by Eric Cantu | Travel Addictâ& (@batmantravels) on Nov 20, 2018 at 9:43am PST

Whether you're focusing on Dubai's natural marvels or man-made marvels, you have plenty to aim your camera at. The city has many appealing aspects, both during day and by night. A shot of the buildings on the shore during the evening makes for an excellent picture, all lit up to welcome the night. 

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AUTHOR BIO An avid trekker, explorer and a true foodie; Neha Singh finds happiness in small endeavours of life and loves to pen them down as a cherished memory. A firm believer that we have just one life to live and so much to do, Neha lives every moment to the fullest. https://www.facebook.com/DubaiWikia/

[baryblupjeans]

The Lonely Journal Keeper - Chapter 2: Time

Read on AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/11407233/chapters/25771194

A war, a void, and a memory

The first town was reduced to a circle of black glass after only two days. The seven of them stood on the outskirts, their vision still hazy through the smoke that was still slowly rising from the surface. In a single moment, all the calm that Lucretia had felt before, all the tension and fear she had been slowly letting go of rushed back into her. It nearly knocked her down, but she stood, steadfast.

Lup, on the other hand, was inconsolable. The moment the town had come into view she had gasped, a chocked sound forced from her as she fell to her knees. And there she remained, her body hunched over, heaving with silent sobs. Her hand was clutched tight over her mouth as her eyes stared ahead.

Lup, the one who had fought with everything in her to save as much as possible, to preserve as many lives as she could. Lup, who had worked hour after hour, sleepless might after sleepless night to come up with a solution that would save them and this new world they had found. Lucretia wanted nothing more than to get down next to her, throw her arms around her and tell her it was okay. That it wasn’t her fault. No body could have predicted this of all things.

The surrounding area was eerily quiet. No birds, no animals. The people had fled, and any of the few survivors were long gone. Nobody knew quite what to make of it. A whole town, miles across, melted, reduced to nothing but glass.

It was still hot to the touch. Bulbous and fluid in places, Lucretia could not do more than hold her hand a few inches from it.

Despite the heat, she shivered.

They remained standing there for a while, nobody moving. Everybody stood somber and grave.

And despite everything she had been through, the horrors that she had seen, that she had lived, Lucretia was afraid. She was afraid of the destroyed city in front of her, the lives that had been lost. But most of all, she was afraid of what this meant. If one of the artefacts had been found, where were the others? Had they been discovered, moved around, and if so, who had them now? And what would they do with them? If Lup’s gauntlet had been enough to raze a city to the ground, then what could something like the animus bell, or the chalice, or the stone do?

“We… we should go.” Magnus. His tone was firm, but there was a shakiness in his breath that Lucretia could not dismiss. They all followed him without a word, the crunching of their footsteps over the charred leaves the only sound for miles.

That night it snowed. Her cabin was warm and weariness weighed heavy on her eyelids, but Lucretia couldn’t sleep. She crept quietly to the kitchen. There was no light except from the dim glow of the grey sky outside. It faintly outlined a figure sitting at the table.

“Lucretia.” Lup’s voice was hoarse and strained. Lucretia could tell that she had been crying.

“Lup, I… are you-“

“Lucretia, can I talk to you?”

Lucretia sat down at the table slowly, opposite Lup. She lit a candle and sat it between them.

“What do you need?” Lucretia tried to keep her tone as gentle as possible.

“Lucretia. I want to… I need to apologise to you.” Lucretia was taken aback. What could Lup possibly to apologise to her for?

“What? Why would you need to apologise?” Lup looked up for the first time, her eyes wide and glittering in the low glow of the candlelight. They were red and puffy, lined with dark circles. Her face was desperate.

“For this. For all of this.” She gestured helplessly around her, breathing in shaky breaths, “What we saw today? That wouldn’t have happened if I had listened to you. Your plan. It was a good idea! I was so focused on my research, I never even considered another option. I’m sure if we had stuck to your plan, everything would have been fine. Better than fine! God, Luc, you spent decades on that! How could I not have realised you must have had a solid shot?”

Lup slammed her fist against the table. Lucretia was stunned.

“Lup, we don’t know that my plan would have ever worked. I hadn’t even tested it out. I mean, what kind of shield could stretch over an entire planear system and still be strong enough to keep out the hunger?”

“But we didn’t know, Luc. I might have-“

“That’s right, we didn’t know. We couldn’t have known. We took a chance, and it worked. The scouts haven’t found us. We did what we thought would work the best. There was nothing more we could have done.”

Lup drew a long breath, seeming to steady herself just a little bit.

“I know. I know. It’s just… It was mine. I tried to hard all this time to protect the places we visited, and now it’s something that I created that ends up destroying it. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair, Lucretia.”

In one hundred years, Lucretia had never heard Lup sound so hurt. She grabbed Lup’s hands in hers and squeezed tight.

“Lup, listen to me. When I look at you, do you know what I see? I see a woman who gave everything, everything to save lives. Do you remember Troth? Lup, you saved her, and her entire planet. That town, those people, they weren’t your fault. They were the victims of a horrible, horrible accident, but if you hadn’t done what you did, it would have been a whole lot worse.” Lucretia could feel the tears prickling at her own eyes now, but Lup smiled.

“You know, Luc? I’m glad you’re here.” She got up, “thank you.”

“Good night, Lup.”

“Good night, Lucretia.”

Despite the growing dread in her stomach, Lucretia slept some that night.

The next few weeks were filled with baited breath and tension. Waiting. Waiting. Everybody was anxious to see whether their own artefact would resurface, and what damage it would cause. Lucretia, ever the realist, never clung to the hope that there would only be one incident.

As the weeks passed by, she was wracked with worries. Reconsidering the hiding place she had chosen, the nature of her staff, the power it held. Eventually, there was news of heavy storms destroying costal villages, coming seemingly from nowhere. Families, communities transformed at the hands of crooks, gangs, even unknowing children. Monstrous creations and possession. The news came from all sides.

It was not long until people realised the cause of these disasters.

Word spread quickly of the artefacts, seven grand relics that held immense power. There was a scramble to find them, wielding the power of even one of the relics meant the domination of any desired land.

Soon there were armies.

Battles were fought between cities, kingdoms that all wanted a share of the prize, a slice of the sheer power that the relics offered. The draw of them, the temptation that they radiated was too much for most, and the result was an endless cycle of destruction.

It was hard on all of them.

Lucretia struggled to watch, struggled to hear of the death and disaster that seemed to span the entire world over. It broke her heart to see the plan that they had spend so much time and energy on break down, to see what they thought would bring peace end in war.

Everyday, she watched her friends become quieter and quieter. Withdrawing into themselves. It was torture.

The only relic that had seemingly remained dormant was her own. While tha gave her relief, it did not stop the bloodshed.

Lucretia sat alone in her cabin. Fisher’s tank stood beside her. The fish was getting bigger every day, being fed on old documents and things they had found around the ship. Magnus would visit often, bringing with him wooden toys carved from the grove of trees outside.  

The pressure build every day. Lucretia could not stand seeing her friends, her family so tormented by the warring. She could not stand seeing this world tear itself apart over their creation. She pressed her forehead against the tank, the glass cool against her skin. She trailed her hand along the side. Fisher placed a glowing tentacle by her.

Suddenly, an idea. Fisher could take it all away. Erase all of the pain, fix everything. There would be no more sadness. There would be no more war.

No, no. She could never. She could never do that to them. It was too much. She put the idea put of her mind.

Fisher’s tank glowed softly in the corner of her vision.

__________

There was no other way.

Lucretia had not slept for days, instead staying in her cabin with her head in her hands. Outside was death, war, and casualty. Inside was nothing but suffering. She had read through her journals a million times. Everything was there, from the first day up until the previous evening.

It was all there.

She couldn’t possible do it. She couldn’t. The very thought of it terrified her. What would happen? Where would her friends go? What would they do? What would she do? Lucretia hated the feeling. It was so confusing and painful. She had a way to fix everything, to put it all right again, but she was so scared of what would happen after. Selfish, selfish! She had a solution. She had to do it. She gripped her pen so tight that her knuckles went red, then white. Then she threw it aside with a sob, snatching the ink brush from her desk.

She hesitated for a moment.

“After I do this,” she told herself, her voice barely more than a shaky whisper, “I can’t go back.”

The brush fell upon the first page of the first journal, spreading black ink across the page.

The days crawled by slowly. Again she scoured every journal. She relived every moment. Every world, every victory, every failure. Every time she had died. The best and the worst, the happy and the tragic. One hundred years of memories. After the last ink blot in the last journal, she took a deep breath and closed it gently.

That evening she had dinner with everybody. They talked about everything, their favourite planets, people they had met, stories they had collected. They smiled, they smiled despite everything and Lucretia’s heart swelled to see it.

And suddenly there were tears in he eyes. The others noticed, confusion and concern apparent on their faces as they asked her what was wrong.

And she couldn’t tell them.

And she knew that in the end it wouldn’t matter if she did. They wouldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m glad that you’re all here.” She managed.

She was returned with warm smiles.

The next morning there was a note on the table.

Be back soon – L

Lucretia made her decision.

She tensed as she held the first journal over the water of the tank. After this, there really would be no turning back.

Lucretia thought back to the year she had spent alone. Alone with none of her family to help her, she had survived. She had taught herself to fix the ship, to fix a space ship! She had run, and hid, and waited, and waited. Suffered and cried, but survived. She had survived!

Lucretia knew she could do it on her own.

That didn’t mean that she wasn’t scared.

It was one thing to be separated for a year, it was another to be completely forgotten, erased from the lives of those that meant the most to her.

But she would survive. She had done it before, and she could do it again.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as the journal pages fluttered open, drifting down into the water, “It’s just for a little while, I promise.”

It was a promise that she knew she would not be able to keep.

[limnotlimb-blog]

Music Memoir

chapter one: this must be the place (naive melody)

 “C’mon, Annie” Lauren elbows me in my side, “stop dragging ass!”  I push her and laugh, spilling her Miller Lite tall boy in the process.  We’re followed by our usual round-up: Tori, Gabby, and Blake.  I feel the bass in the air well before I see the party itself.   It was an old house, a couple miles down from our university campus.  It was our friend from high school’s housewarming party, and we didn’t know anyone else who would be there.  I was nervous, but had also found it’s usually more fun that way.  We can be anyone in the distorted light of parties with strangers.  The summer after high school, she was our first friend to get her own place and we were ecstatic to party somewhere besides our mom’s houses.  The door ajar, I push it open, feeling the warm air against my legs.  The traditional fluorescent lightbulbs have been abandoned for bulbs in hues of pink, orange, purple.  People are packed, not quite to sardines, but it was going to get there before the night was through .

My eyes drift, surveying the scene and people within it; warm eyes and sangria smiles across everyone’s face.  There’s beer pong playing right inside the door, a timeless game of skill and drinking. I move past a giggling couple to the table where drinks are in the kitchen and they had everything, and I mean everything.  I was impressed by the spread of refreshments, from cheap beer to the most popular liquors and even wine in addition to the bowl of sangria.  There were six packs of Gatorade stacked up on the left side, which act as a sort of holy water against the evil of tomorrow’s likely hangover.  I scoop some sangria, a tangy red with floating bites of oranges, into the signature solo cup of the same color.  I become best friends with a girl in the bathroom who had an extra hair tie, whose face I immediately forgot as soon as I stepped from the bathroom.  My boots stuck to the floor, creating a noise of tape being peeled from plastic as my heel escaped the layer of sticky, spilled PBR. I feel the laughter in the air almost more than the rhythmic bass itself.  The unmistakable verve of David Byrne’s voice echoes through me, “This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)” is welcomed readily and I can’t help but agree with the title: this must be the place!  Any party that ditches the tradition of electronic music in favor of 80’s pop automatically wins a place my heart and ears.  I lean against my best friend Blake and we smile, dancing to the irresistible nostalgia of the 80’s which we never lived through.  How long has this song been playing?  It feels longer than usual.  Or faster.  Is it the tempo?  It could be a remix.  Or did some asshole accidentally push the “repeat” button on their Spotify app and we’re doomed to repeat dance to this song until the end of the time? ��Ha! What a weird limbo to exist in, neither here nor there; neither of the 80’s nor modern dance music.  I know one thing for sure, if I was going to be doing the limbo, it would have to be with Talking-Heads era David Byrne.  Talking Heads eventually leave their spotlight, and is picked up by fellow nostalgia. Tears for Fears, DEVO, David Bowie, Hall & Oates, Prince, and the like; all my classic pop friends were here.  The strangers were strangers nor more.  They were the girl from the bathroom with the hair tie, the cute boy that pulled me in to play beer pong with, the smiling couple who just had to have us over for dinner sometime, and of course a few faces from high school in addition to the friends I arrived with.  

Under the lavender light I felt alive.  My heart swelled and I felt like a babe in the woods.  My wide eyes were naïve in this sweet light.  I felt like I could touch the stars of glitter across my friends faces and swim through the night.  I felt beautiful and infinite and all the clichés at once.  I didn’t want the night to end, and ended up passing out on the couch between my friends, still wearing my sticky boots.

Cover up and say goodnight, goodnight.

chapter two: golden years

 It’s the summer again, this time three years later.  It’s the summer of which two balloons, gold, were permanently taped up in my kitchen: “21” they read.  My birthday was before the official beginning of summer, a sunshine day in late May.  Every two weeks after that, more or less, one of our friends turned the same, ever-so-hyped twenty-one.  It felt like “Groundhog Day”, but instead of Bill Murray and a rodent, it was cheap beer and bad decisions .  I found myself in the same night with the same people with the same events playing again.  We felt originally liberated by the party.  But, by this time, house parties had grown old, and the thrill of paying too much for liquor in public was very much in trend.  It was a Tuesday.  Or a Wednesday.  It was some day, it was any day.  I remember I wasn’t feeling incredible.  Something inside me itched, and I bit my lip anticipating the night.  I was feeling an anxiety in going out again, already having a bad night worrying about having a bad night.  I had been snappy all day and was talked into going out to the bar, my friends convinced this would relax me.  Why not give it a shot, I thought.

Our friends dropped us off as they rolled downtown on their way to a nightclub instead.  Arm in arm with my boyfriend, Conner, we were followed by two more friends as stepped out into the pavement.  The day’s heat still radiated from the sidewalk as we flashed our ID’s to the bouncer. In the state of Utah, all alcoholic beverages purchased must be consumed within the fence of the patio, making it a very crowded space.  This patio wasn’t much of a patio at all, more like a wooden pig pen attached outside this building.  It was about five feet deep and thirty feet long.  It overflowed with loud twenty-somethings, chain-smoking cigarettes and breathing it into each other’s faces.  In the small space their laughter bounced off each other, each smile magnifying the last.  I couldn’t make out individual conversations because of the crowd, so they simply buzzed as a whole to me as I walked by.  The smoke was lit by the neon signs behind them, Budweiser AT THE TWILITE CLUB.  Vivid pinks and blues shadowed their faces in opposite directions.

We had to push past layers of bodies to make it the bar.  Two of their cheapest beers (Rainer tall boys) and two shots of whiskey, please.  While I gagged, I couldn’t deny the whiskey warmed my stomach and got me closer to where I wanted to be.  That anxious itch in my heart felt soothed, but I still felt tense about work.  I had worked somewhere for three years, and needed to quit.  One shot please.  I was pissed at the dent a stranger left on my car, another. I wasn’t making enough money to cover student loans? Fuck it, let’s do a whiskey ginger.  It tastes better anyways.  Starting to feel anxious about the money I’m spending here, too? Hey, treat myself, right?  The heat of anger left my heart and moved to my stomach.  I didn’t want to be an angry girl, I wanted to just be fun.  I didn’t want to snap at drunken compliments, I wanted to be the party.  I wanted what those pink-blue faces had out front, I wanted the smiles and to forget the rest of the world outside of this dingy bar. I wanted to be happy again.  I realized I ached for the easy summer after high school, when I felt forever was now.  I remembered my sangria smile and wanted to be that again.  

My thought was interrupted.  I had to pee. The lounge’s bathroom as painted an outdated pink and the line poured out.  Why did I even come here tonight?  The cheap drinks were hard to resist (whiskey sours for four dollars?!) but I sure was paying for it now in this endless line to sweet relief. Groups of girls and boys would pour out of these tiny single stalls, cackling in shrieks louder than when they went in.  One girl, donning a beanie labeled “baby” shoved into me.  I pulled back: “lighten up!” she yelled past the sound of her friends’ grinding teeth.  I made my way into the stall, finally, and pulled my skirt down and took a seat. That hyped-girl was right, I need to loosen up.  Why did I come here if I was just going to be pissed off about it?    It started feeling hollow to me.  I found comfort in the dim light before, leaning against friends in the old pleather booths.  They weren’t here anymore; they vacated as newer things excited them.  People familiar had left this scene and I felt terribly alone.  I wasn’t where they were, and home is where I wanted to be.  

Past the bar there was a jukebox.  A relic of a past I never knew, I still was fond of it.  I liked this jukebox.  I liked it because when I flipped through the selections again and again, I saw my friends.  I found David Bowie’s “Greatest Hits” resting after D’Angelo but before The Rolling Stones. I keyed in 6809, enter and Bowie’s “Golden Years” started to creak through the old speakers and serenaded the bar from the grave.  The twangy yet funk guitar rang in; and I moved my hips in rhythm.  I loved to dance but this felt foreign.  My legs moved wrong and arms were awkward.  That heat in my stomach returned, but not for long while it started working its way up my throat.  I moved past my boyfriend and the bodies, back into the baby-pink bathroom.  No line, I managed to grab a stall just before the whisky evacuated my stomach and right back the way it came.  Don’t let me hear you say your life is over, life’s taking you nowhere, angel.  Oh, Bowie, how do you know?  You’re an angel now; or maybe the mothership took you back to mars, Starman.  Come on, get up, baby.  Never in the twenty years we both lived on this earth did he call me baby my name, but it felt good to think he was singing to me.  Look at that sky, life’s just begun. Nights are warm and the day is young.  There was no sky in this stall, just a bittersweet pale pink.  I wiped my mouth and looked up nonetheless.  I felt cold in this bathroom, and rocked back.  I didn’t want these to be my golden years. Those my senior told me these were going to be the best years of my life, and that scared me.  What the hell was I doing I sat on the floor with my back to the wall.  There’s my baby, lost that’s all.  A soft knock on the door.

“Baby?” his familiar voice asked.    Once I’m begging you to save your little soul.  Standing up, I wipe my gagged tears.  I open the door and there’s my guy.  Conner takes my hand.  “Let’s go home”.

Come, get up, my baby.

chapter three: warm enough for you

The next day I wake up to my roommate’s cat sleeping on my face.  I picked him off me and he looks at me, annoyed. He blinked, meowed, and ran off. I wrap myself in my robe and make my way to the bathroom.  I run the water into the ivory bathtub.  As the water is running, I find my Bluetooth speaker in my roommate’s room.  I work my way back, stopping only to feed the cat, and stop the water, adding the finishing touch of pink rose Epsom bath salts to the blue water.  I find the album on my phone and press play.  To SZA’s sweet voice, I drop my robe and step in, feeling the warmth rise as I sink in.  

Why is it so hard to accept that the party is over? Bring the gin, got the juice

Bring the sin, got that too

 I’m glad I got over my aversion to contemporary music.  Thinking back to those summers before, I couldn’t believe I dismissed decades of music purely because of the time it was created. Pretentious, yeah, I thought I was the shit back then. It was as if I was somehow superior because I owned “Dark Side of the Moon” on vinyl and definitely listened to it before you had (despite being born twenty-three years after its release).  I remember holding my iPod classic, finding it proper I only fill it with classics.  At this early age, around fourteen, I had fallen victim to the “hipster mentality” that was gaining traction in my suburbs, with a dash of rigid loyalism to classic rock.  I would dismiss artists or songs, simply because they were popular. Looking back at this, I don’t completely understand why I would limit myself.  Music could make me feel so many things, why would I dismiss entire categories or eras of music simply to feel “cool”?  In my bath I still felt the cold shiver of cringe, the kind only past embarrassment could cause.  I felt I knew so much back then.  This was met by an irony I was well aware of, that at any point in time I will think I know so much.  And three years from now I’ll think the same about this moment, then three years from then, and three years from then, and so forth.  I’ll be in perpetual state of vanity and naïveté until the end of my days. That’s something I should just accept now, I figure, why fight it?  There are plenty of other things that have happened over the past few years, besides my slight increase in self-awareness.

Won't you just shut up, know you're my favorite

Am I...

The cat found his way back in and sat atop the bathroom sink.  He stared blankly at me again, got down, and walked over. He put his front paws against the rim of the tub.  “Mrow” he yelled.  I reached my wet hand out and waited. He gave sandpaper licks then gave me a wide-eyed stare.  His name was Bowie, which my roommate named due to the striped marks across face; not too unlike the Aladdin Sane cover with the blue and red lightning bolt across the rock star’s face.  I called him Bowie-cat, so no one would confuse him with rock-n-roll’s deity—as if that was going to happen anyways.  He could be the reincarnate, I hoped, as he was born around the time his human counterpart died.  There’s the vanity again!  If David Bowie decided to come back down to our earth I’m sure as hell it wouldn’t be this cat.  I could dream though, I figured.  

Bowie-Cat stepped down and I let my hand rest in the air after him.  I wanted him to stay, but who tells a cat what to do? I was alone in my dim bathroom, and despite the warm water I felt the unmistakable chill of loneliness.  I wanted my friends back, real and famous. I wanted Bowie and Prince back, I wanted my old friends from that summer after high school to come back.  I wanted my friend that overdosed to come back, and all his shitty friends too.  I remembered the night before.  I did feel better, in those moments.  All those people in the Twilite Lounge were in it together that night, in a pool of whisky and laid-back smiles.  We were swimming together in it and I felt a little less lost.

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

(Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya)

Is it warm enough for ya inside me, me, me, me

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

 SZA’s lament still echoed in my bathroom.  I lowered my face into the bathwater, smelling the rosewater and I submerged. I sink my nose in first, blowing bubbles against the water.

I get so lonely, I forget what I'm worth.

We get so lonely, we pretend that this works.

 I lower my face in and feel the warmth creep over my closed eyes and hair.  I want to incubate in here, have this rose bath become my cocoon. Then perhaps I could emerge once again in three years, doubly wise and not hungover.

chapter four: blackstar

It had been a few months since my last visit to the Twilite Lounge downtown. I know this because the leaves had abandoned their post and now crunched under my heel.   Conner and I had been lying low, spending our nights at home with our new friend: HBO.  We get a call; it’s our friend’s last night in Utah before he makes the move to upstate New York.  He was going to start over, his aunt had a restaurant up there or something.    His name was Bo, and he as a wanderer.  Twilite Lounge was his favorite bar, with his favorite drinks priced cheap and favorite drug dealers.  I look deep for courage and manage to gather it, somewhere between applying my winged eyeliner and burgundy lipstick.  One thing was still certain, dark lipstick made me feel like a bad bitch and I was ready to face the world.  

I take the liquor slower this time.  It’s hard to say no when your friends throw salt-rimmed tequila shot in your face yelling “Shots!”  I indulge and take one, and shake my head at the combination of salt, tequila, and lime. I was feeling confident that night, and the tequila only fueled that.  I see our friend Bo, and we join him in a booth.  The sound of pool balls clacking together and drunken hollers blurred and I smiled on all of them.

I wanted to see Bowie that night.  I wanted to feel the exuberance of his single “Fashion” or the unforgettable joy of “Under Pressure” where Bowie and Freddy Mercury of Queen belt together.  I clicked through and through… I couldn’t find his greatest hits anywhere.  My eyes frantically searched and the only Bowie I found was stark black star against a white square.  My heart sunk at this album—it was his swan song of an album: Blackstar.

“They took it off! Conner, it’s gone!  They put ‘Blackstar’ instead.  Why the hell would you want to listen that here?  That’s not a good song for drinking.”  I pointed harder against the glass while I spoke, as if that would magically change what was behind there.

“It’s what’s ‘cool’ right now.  Or, it’s what they play when they want people to leave.”  Conner smiled, “You know, bum them out and kill their buzz.”

             Conner put his shoulder around me and assured me the album was still out there, we could even listen to it on the way home.  My mind was still stuck on “Blackstar” while he comforted me, because David Bowie knew he was dying.  He knew for a long time, it was a cancer.  It was the first album without himself on the cover, it felt like a goodbye.  His face missing on the cover felt clear to me, we better get used to not having him around.  The most striking track, to me, would be “Lazarus”.  I may not be religious but I can appreciate a good old fashioned biblical allegory. Lazarus rose four days after his death by the hand of Jesus.  David Bowie wrote this song for an Off-Broadway production with the same name.  It followed the character that David Bowie played in 1976, in “The Man Who Fell to Earth”, an alien who came to Earth in search of water to save his home planet.  Spoiler alert for a thirty-year-old movie—the alien is sensitive to light and blinded by a paparazzi camera.  He is unable to fix his ship and return home, now stranded on the planet Earth. The production follows the alien years later.

David Bowie was asked to write “Lazarus” for this fictional character’s second story.  Despite it being for a musical production, it does feel thinly veiled to be biographical. David Bowie did portray the man who fell to Earth, and he act the same alien persona in his music.  Was he not the Starman?  Had he not contemplated life on mars?  He was a space oddity and beautiful.  

I stood frozen, lost in thought, my finger on the button and my eyes unfocused on the album cover of Blackstar.  Conner came up to me, and I showed him the tragedy of Greatest Hits’ goodbye.

David Bowie died three days after the release of this single, music video, and the album.  I remember waiting after I heard, I waited for four days.  I watched the milky white record of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars spin round and round, while I refused to take the needle off the record.  It spun in silence, but I didn’t want it to end. After the four days, David Bowie proved he was no Lazarus and did not rise—I felt alone without him in this world.

I stayed and closed the bar that night.  I had a pocket full of quarters and was determined to get that sweet high score on the Indiana Jones pinball machine up front.  I didn’t want to leave Conner and his friends, but I couldn’t go and be with them either.  I arrived late that night, and by time I arrived most were well on their way to a hangover the next morning.  I didn’t want to play catch-up, so we were working on two completely different wavelengths.  I felt uptight and, honestly, lame.  I felt like a boring old woman, only able to watch my friends from across the bar.  I felt like I couldn’t connect with them.  I nursed a local pale ale on tap, and played pinball wizard against the machine.  My final pin ball for the game slid past the two clickers and into the machine.  Game over.

             I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was Bo.  I said before, he was a wanderer.  I had only known him for a month or two, but he was my boyfriend’s best friend for the past six months when he wandered into Salt Lake City.  He had greasy fake-bleached hair and was covered in hand-poked tattoos.  His eyes were red that night and his jaw was working overtime.  I didn’t know how I felt about him as a whole.  He had once showed me his tattoo: the twin towers and a plane, reaching from above his hip bones to his nipple.  The ink was crudely tattooed into his side, resulting in what seemed like a toddler’s doodle, vibrated into his skin.  I didn’t know if it was in remembrance of 9/11, satire, or maybe an ode to the conspiracy theory he believed in.  He told me he was passed out on heroin at the time, and while he would never admit regret to anything you could see it in his eyes.

             He also showed me beauty in his poetry and his kindness.  His heart ached for those in pain, and I could see the art bursting out of him. He was grandiose in his stories, and while I suspected hyperbole I would never call him out.  There was something magical about this character, and I didn’t want to pop the surreal bubble he lives in.

             Without words, he wrapped me in a tight hug that pulled me off the ground.  He whispered to me, “I’m scared to go.  I’ll miss all this.  Don’t hurt him”.  Just as quickly as he had embraced me he was gone, sliding past bodies pulling a smoke out of his pocket to smoke on the patio.  I stood for a moment, dazed, and went to find Conner.  He and a handful of our friends were crowding a small booth in the back.  

             Conner and I were tired that night.  I still felt out of place and it showed—I was itching to get out of there.  I asked if we could just quickly slip away.  Conner looked me in the eyes, with a serious c’mon. We couldn’t leave without a real goodbye.  I knew, and I was avoiding it.  Bo was such a surreal character and he slipped into my life without precedent and it felt weird to have him leave.  Conner grabbed my hand and wove me through the bar.  We couldn’t find him anywhere.  I checked the girl’s bathroom stall and behind the bar, no Bo.  Conner checked the boy’s restroom and the patio, no go for Bo.  We saw a friend of his and asked him where Bo went; he said he saw him skate away about ten minutes ago.

             How fitting, for this character to leave with a cat’s goodbye.  He slunk out of our lives as easily as he slipped in.  Conner and I stared down the street in the direction his friend pointed, and I felt Conner accept his friend had moved on to his next misadventure.

             I drove us home that night.  My mind wandered while I drove us the brief distance to my house. I looked to my right and saw Conner’s face, the red of the stop light reflecting off his face .  I saw shimmer below his eye before he was able to wipe it away.  I looked back to the road and felt a guilt settle inside me.  I had judged Bo the first time I met him.  He was on a 24-hour cocaine binge and his mouth was running a hundred miles an hour while he talked to me about the magnificent craft of Charles Bukowski. I couldn’t help but think of course this guy likes Bukowski.  He was strange but left a mark.

             I parked the car and walked with Conner inside. He undressed and slid into bed in quick motions, and was out before I had taken my shoes off.  I could tell his heart was hurting; he was going to miss his friend.  I found him exhaling a slight snore, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one who heard him. Bowie-Cat came in, greeted me with a “mrow!” and silently jumped on the bed and laid on his pillow, next to Conner’s face.  I pet and kissed both of their heads and went to my living room.

             My mind was empty as I sat down to unlace my Doc Marten boots.  I was reflecting on the night, and to fill the void David Bowie’s Lazarus started to creep in.The kick drum and rhythmic picking of an electric guitar.  The saxophone chimes in melancholy.  Look up here, I’m in Heaven.  I’ve got scars that can’t be seen.  Bowie’s voice rang in.  I again thought of Bowie in Heaven, then I thought of Bo in Upstate New York.  I’d never been there, but maybe it could be his heaven.  I know Conner was going to miss him.  His sleeping mind was probably replaying tonight over and over.  

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen.  Everybody knows me now.

I judged Bo for the things he did.  For the binge-drinking and drug use, for his strange tattoos.

Look up here, man, I'm in danger.  I've got nothing left to lose.

I'm so high, it makes my brain whirl.

             As I kicked off my boots it began to sunk in. Bo was gone, David Bowie too.  It was like all the empathy I should have been feeling while I knew Bo himself flooded in.  I felt a shame boil in my belly.  It was like Bo fell to earth in Salt Lake City.  I started to understand, then.  These blue and pink faces weren’t necessarily free of loneliness or pain. In fact, it probably was felt inside them under the belly of cheap liquor like mine was.  We were all the same, just trying to be less alone. Things like drinking made it easier, it created a common denominator for people.  It became easier to talk, mouths became looser and social anxieties relaxed. Everyone was just trying to feel a little more connected, a little freer.  That’s what I felt those summers ago.  I felt liberated in the orange-pink light and fuzz of sangria.  Parties and bars and drinking, they were all methods to arrive at that feeling.  It may not have been a healthy reliance, but it felt good to exercise that right.  I deserved to feel connected, everyone does. Every pink and blue face I met deserved it.  We may have all fallen to Earth, blinded by its beauty, with nowhere to go.  We’re here on Earth until we’re not—until we return to heaven, mars, nowhere, or everywhere.  It’s easy to feel alien in these bodies, but we can find each other in the dark here, with the assistance of neon lights and long nights.  

Oh, I'll be free

Just like that bluebird

Oh, I'll be free

Ain't that just like me?

   The end.

   Tracks (In text)

This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) Talking Heads

Golden Years David Bowie

Drew Barrymore SZA

Lazarus David Bowie

 Tracks (bonus)

Kiss Prince

Head over Heels Tears for Fears

I Can’t Go for That Hall & Oates

Hung Up Madonna

Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider of Montreal

Heroes David Bowie