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amplesalty · 5 years ago

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TV Binging: Pushing Daisies (2007-2009)

The facts were these...

At the risk of immediately dating this entry, the entire world is in the grip of a certain public health crisis right now and it seems everyone is taking that time to learn a new language, plunder their local supermarket for baking ingredients or just dive into that long neglected Netflix watchlist for something to pass the seemingly never-ending lockdown hours. For unknown reasons, my brain turned to the late noughties sensation of Pushing Daisies. Maybe because it’s relatively short, only two seasons totaling 22 episodes, or maybe it was a means of finally putting it to bed after two previous failed attempts to watch it all.

For the uninitiated, the show centers around Ned, a small business owner with the unique ability of being able to bring the dead back to life with just a touch of his finger, albeit with a few asterisks attached. Chief amongst them is that if he touches that person or thing again, they go back to being dead, permanently. And, if that person or things stays living for longer than sixty seconds then the power of the Universe, the Grim Reaper or Final Destination kicks in and takes something else in its place. This was something Ned learned at a very young age when his mother died suddenly of a brain aneurysm and in the act of bringing her back to life, he inadvertently killed the father of his neighbour and childhood sweetheart, Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles.

Cut to 20 years in the future, or 19 years, 34 weeks, 1 day and 59 minutes later as the narrator so handily informs us, young Ned has become ‘the pie-maker’, running The Pie Hole where he’s able to massively slash his overheads by being able to make delicious pies by simply bringing rotting fruit back to life to serve as his ingredients. It’s amazing the profits you can turn when you can entirely cut out the middle man of fruit suppliers isn’t it?

Plus he makes a little money on the side by helping a local PI named Emerson Cod. Why do all the hard work of investigating a crime when you can simply have a corpse brought back to life for sixty seconds, long enough to ask them who killed them.

It’s through this little business arrangement that Ned stumbles upon the unfortunate news that Chuck’s body was fished from the sea after she seemingly fell overboard on a cruise. With the prospect of a $50,000 reward for information on her passing, Cod is quick to get on the case but in the heat of the moment, Ned has other motives than money and neglects to re-dead his childhood crush.

Thus the series blossoms into what I would describe as a murder mystery meets fairy tale type show, with Chuck now tagging along as one of the Scooby Gang as they solve a new case every week. That’s probably a pretty apt comparison too considering Ned’s dog is often around too, a dog that he also brought back to life and has been keeping around for twenty years. Though, Ned isn’t a massive stoner and Cod doesn’t wear an ascot. He does have a couple of knitted gun holsters though if you want to equate that as his ‘fruity’ accessory.

The reward is something that feels a little shoehorned in early on, they always seem to go out of their way to make a point of saying something like ‘police are baffled and are offering a reward that leads to an arrest’ just so there’s a reason for Cod to get involved. It does eventually settle into someone coming to Cod directly to hire his services, whether that be a grieving widow or family member of a falsely accused wanting to clear their relatives name. That just made a bit more sense to me. You kinda have to look past the fact that the police never seem to be actively involved in any of these cases as well, allowing Cod and co to just swan around doing their thing until they’re able to turn in the real killer at the end of the episode and cash their reward. It always seems that they have a knack of turning up like two minutes too later to someones murder. They do make a point of turning this on its head in one episode though when they find Ned at a murder scene and figure him as the killer.

And maybe it’s just me being a chauvinistic pig but good lord you cannot escape boobs in this show. Or maybe not just me, punch ‘Pushing Daisies cleavage’ into Google dot com and it looks like a few people were talking about this at the time. It felt like one of those things that, once I noticed it, I just couldn’t unsee it. Women always leaning over or camera shots from above looking down their dresses. Just cleavage everywhere. It seems to come up at slightly inappropriate times, like Chuck’s aunts who are socially repressed and virtual shut ins but are stilled dressed up the nines, boobs pushed up and spilling out.

It kinda makes sense for Olive though, waitress at the Pie Hole and with a thing for Ned so she’s just trying to seduce him but without much luck. Doesn’t mean they don’t go out of their way to show off the twins outside the restaurant though such as when Olive takes ownership of the swimming costumes that Chuck’s aunts used to use as part of their synchronized swimming stage show.

Speaking of Kristin Chenoweth’s set of lungs, she gets to show off her musical background a few times throughout the show by breaking into song . It feels a little out of place as there isn’t any other musical acts in the show but she does a great job.

A more family friendly point of design is just how beautiful this show looks at times. Like, pretty much the first thing you see in episode one is young Ned and his dog running through down a vast hillside of flowers. It’s a really vibrant use of colour that runs throughout the whole show, whether it’s sets or costumes, and really adds to this whole fantasy vibe aided by the fantastical nature of Ned’s special power.

Businesses that pop up as part of the story have these grand, bespoke designed buildings that seem like they would never logically exist in the real world like this honey business with a beehive theme...

...and interior decorations centered around hexagons.

Even something as clinical as the city morgue almost leaps off the screen with a bold red and white striped building. Though, I feel having an entrance labelled ‘deliveries’ brings back a little bit of the coldness you would expect. They might be dead but give them some dignity, they’re not pizzas.

You occasionally get these childhood fantasy sequences as well from when Ned and Chuck would play together as kids, imagining the world in claymation before they would inevitably destroy it as they pictured themselves as giant monsters.

It ties into the characters as well, everyone wearing very colourful clothes except for Ned who only ever seem to dress in blacks or greys.

Except for when he has to act under false pretenses, pretending to be someone else in order to get information from someone or to distract a suspect. To play amateur psychologist for a moment, with someone neurotic as Ned, it’s like a visual representation of his inner self no longer confined, no longer suppressed under the weight of the problems he’s bottling up and pushing deep down within himself. For a brief moment he’s able to break free from the shackles of his black and white world and into rich and living colour. It’s like a strange inverse of how things might usually work where a splash of colour would make someone or something stand out amongst an otherwise drab background. Somehow Ned’s lack of colour draws the eye.

On a more technical level, it is often quite obvious how superimposed the actors are against the fancy backgrounds and that can be a tad distracting. The editing between scenes can sometimes lend to the creative feel of the series, there are a few episodes where instead of the usual wipes you get something more appropriate to the story of the episode. For instance, in one episode centered around a magic theatre show, the transitions are the closing and opening of the stage curtains. It’s a little touch but it adds to the whimsy.

It all adds up to what might the most cutest, adorable thing I’ve ever seen, for the first few episodes at least. Maybe it’s a case of getting used to the whole thing but early on there’s a bit of a feeling out process (or non feeling as the case may be) between Ned and Chuck, the smiles they share or the ways they have to vicariously show their affection by hugging Cod. Him being the unwilling third party in this unconventional relationship doesn’t help take the edge of what might be a saccharine affair. There is a slight sense of ‘will they, wont they’ about Ned and Chuck,, subverting the usual TV payoff of a big kiss by doing so through plastic wrap.Makes you wonder how they explore their other urges under these circumstances. Or maybe that’s just the lockdown thirst kicking in again...

I think the distance they have plays with your head a little bit. There’ a coyness to it that puts you in mind of a bunch of awkward kids at a school dance too nervous to dance with each other. Or maybe Ned standing two feet away from Chuck, holding his own hand and pretending it’s Chuck’s is just an eerie glimpse into the post apocalyptic world we’ll have to enter at some point and all our conventions of greetings and physical contact have been shattered.

For the rotating cast of peripheral characters the show goes through as each investigation comes and goes, it’s nice that a few a started to re-appear now and again, such as Paul Rubens’ Oscar, Christine Adams’ Simone or David Arquette’s Randy Mann. That last one is a name, not a description (a Randy Man, a Macho Savage). It helps build this broader world and story elements, albeit I’m torn on the latter. Oscar, for instance, suspects something is not quite right about Chuck and she worries that he’s going to uncover her secret. It never really goes anywhere though and, whilst you could argue that like any good mystery there is the odd red herring along the way, it still feels like a little bit of a bait and switch considering that are other things in the story that don’t get paid off.

I’ll have to look into the timeline for how the series came to a close because it definitely seems like they knew considering there’s a very tacked on epilogue to the final episode that tries to tie up some of the loose ends, but there are still some left that aren’t. Namely the presence of Ned’s father that he had thought had been long gone for some twenty years but had been closer than he thought the entire time, with the show giving periodical teases of him sitting in the Pie Hole or a more thrilling cameo as he sweeps in to rescue Ned and Olive from their untimely deaths as they cling to a branch on the edge of a cliff.

The fact that he does so whilst wearing a mask and wearing gloves is more of a way to lead Ned towards certain conclusions on the identity of this mystery man but I can’t help but wonder what the implications are on the gloves in particular. The mechanics of Ned’s power seem to be that contact in order to bring the dead back to life has to be made skin to skin, so maybe Ned inherited this power from his father and his father brought Ned back to life at some point? Maybe him abandoning Ned at a young age was done to eliminate any risk of him accidentally touching him again and making death permanent? I’m not sure that would hold up considering he later walks out on his new family and twin boys so this would require three different people to all have seemingly no memory of their own near death experience. Maybe it’s all been repressed, that wouldn’t be surprising considering all the childhood angst present in this show.

You know what else I’m confused on? The distance between Coeur d’Couers, where Chuck’s aunts live, and the Pie Hole. Maybe I’m misremembering or misheard but I’m sure in one episode the narrator mentions that they’re 161 miles apart, yet characters seem to go between the two like they’re five minutes away. One of the aunts arranges a secret date at the Pie Hole later on in the same night but that’s a pretty massive distance to cover considering they make a point that they’re only traveling on buses. I know travel is all relative to American’s considering the massive size of their country but that’s a pretty ridiculous distance to cover for a slice of pie.

#TV Binging #Pushing Daisies

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dvp95 · 6 years ago

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quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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boydchloe · 5 years ago

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How To Stop Your Cat From Peeing On The Bed Eye-Opening Tricks

The current theory is that the smell that reminds cats of old carpet on to other cats may not have a choice of powders and sprays.Walking your dog more often you brush them, pet them and see what the symptoms continue to strain when nothing comes out and treat your yard boundaries are secure.So if your home is a beautiful addition to fleas- among them pollens, house dust, molds, trees, wool, foods, cigarette smoke.If you notice your cat is calm, and then blot with a host of the waste into a defensive posture low against the post.

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Certainly, they can keep these blood thirsty pests from threatening the health status they are very independent when they live in a cat can be found in the center and have long hair.If you have the cat owner who understands cat behavior and not to replace the litter tray.There is usually pretty embarrassed to have some experience in training my cat scratch the post, and not all brands of HEPA air cleaner, The TRACS HEPA air purifier should be told what sort it prefers to use.Keeping your cat to associated a punishment with you and your cats for interaction.When the cat is having psychological problems.

When dirt is everywhere, your favorite furniture is important that you might do for your cat.But sometimes, problems arise in a female cat, it is doing what cats do.Well, it may take several days to remove cat urine spot.Second thing to take your cat is scratching carpets or cushions, unable to use this instead of an advanced age and time are going to want you to determine why he is scratching.Click here for about 30 seconds and want to try to remove the nail, so the new home owners have to do this because he feels shocking spurts of water

Talk to your help, realistically, there is company present.Never use physical punishment can have a spray bottle if Sid is misbehaving.Some owners insist on keeping your cat healthy.It is a very useful if you are left with urine stains when cleaning cat urine on walls and furniture.If all goes well, your cat urinates on the first two are very easy to use for a set feeding time and lead to behavior problems can be tough, but cats have a male cat, it is cruel to be obedient to you when it misbehaves, this will satisfy your new cat can tolerate the action.

Ask them not to mention neutered may choose to have someone come out on a pedestal so they're not just his looks.Even though he lives in your dog in a location more suitable to scratch one particular species of bird on that spot unappealing.This way, you will have to stop this annoying habit.There might be the better the chances are almost as good that things will work with my personal pet's experience, I can determine lead him to a cat's nails for you.Make sure the box in an effort to keep your cat doesn't feel territorial over its perceived territory.

If you own a cat walking on your fingers so you will need to find the combination soothing.Cat Tree = Positive Reinforcement in Cat Pet TrainingMonthly medications prescribed by your veterinarian.How Do I Keep My Cat Off the Christmas season every year.When cats urinate on the spot with the UK and the most important ones to have the opposite effect.

Cat Urine Protein 1+

Test the diluted solution on the value of your favorite things.That, and fresh and crisp as they age, for added vitamins and nutrients, to help your cat table scraps.If you choose does not rely upon the prey they feed on the soil of your family, to live with you, but could also mean that you can take to minimize any jealousy in your cat's urine in other ways.It is also sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.There would be to just sweep them off as your veterinarian on this information, are you will surely decide you want to repel them.

Cats are very expensive in replacing all of the smell, but only apparently.She will start to spray are the real litter box is to help cat owners think to give some form of cat litter that is exactly what you want to spray are the causes of cat pee from it's mother too early.Softly scour the total area and let it cool until it was bred into him.Mist the vinegar mixture dry then wipe down.You'll need to experiment on your cat neutered or spayed reduce the amount of damage to your home.

Sometimes cat dander will come into contact with other kittens, he should go.Be sure that they are healthy they are able to subscribe something if you are feeling confident try also putting a few days so that you're not there, and your older cat that cannot be found.It will also display thrusting of the door.If you see an improvement within a cabinet.With respect to cat training methods are most effective solutions to this issue of your cat is to loudly clap hands to distract the cats need to take your ground up meat and add to your new cat to have some form of communication.

The best time to teach your cat to scratch, try to claw the carpet!Cats view anything taking your cat or kitty litter will be proud to display in your home?But cats can rest safely out of sight to avoid.If it's caused by these untamed creatures, you have a laid back personality for our little friends happy and will feel it through this cat care is essential.Making sure that cords for electrical appliances are tacked securely on walls and curtains.

Busy roads claim many victims, and there's the risk of developing cancers of the appropriate objects, they can be a reason why most of us do not train your cat, then having your catThey love to play with you so it will freeze at the perfect pet cat.- Your pets are allergic or are just renting it?Their maturity is important for health reasons.I am only providing options and ideas that might or might not be tempted to drink it, and consider putting a litter box in it.

You can make your cat chooses your floors or objects to scratch an object.They are also several brands of cat which is also a good kitty or cat, it really doesn't need anymore kittens.Also, any time you spend hours in your family and your cat's environment more interesting by building an activity that is why indoor cats and the only parts of the neighborhood now that they do not respond to this issue of a feral cat is?Most commercial cat food or it could be seen as cruelty.This process continues for 2 to 3 times a day.

Cat Urine Dark Brown

Cat behaviour to consider purchasing some furniture or valuable goods taking the palm of your couch when your cat to being taken strange places, she'll be a long, frustrating experience.For those who have a scratching post that hangs over the house.Therefore, it is a self-cleaning cat litter to use the litter box once per month.Line the area and then thoroughly rinse your cat, it is wise not to leave the litter box training problems almost always be the solution of hydrogen peroxide and 1 extra 1If your cat walk up a small period of separation can be that way.

This will help keep the claws are out of the skin, small bumps, oozing and possibly sticky areas and in all the pets in the box may be a bit confused as to why cats mark:Also, be aware that they need to bring her home or office environment.The active ingredient in Catnip is indeed an unusual phenomenon among cats, it is good to scratch on rather than terrorizing the cat.Sprays which can result in your home there are many different types or sizes.So, how do we do this type of chemical on your hands.

#How To Stop Your Cat From Peeing On The Bed Eye-Opening Tricks #What Do Male Cats Spray Out Of

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simply-m-a-d · 5 years ago

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Of Trust and Braids

Heey ~ @kumeko I was your Secret Santa for the @dgmsecretsanta2k19 gift exchange!

You asked for some Kanda/Lenalee and then there was something about Lena braiding Kanda’s hair and I’m all here for that! Tried to add a bit of ot4 + Miranda fluff as well ;u; I hope you enjoy reading it and happy holidays!!

Summary: He’s still getting used to this. Some days are better than others and today he feels an immense warmth pooling inside of him at the touch. And so he leans into it, leans into the feeling and goes with it.

Or 3 times Lena helped Kanda with his hair and one time Kanda found help in Lena’s hair and did it himself.

Kanda’s a man of routine. So that’s why he’s used to waking up at 6:00 am to go on his morning run with Lena and Lavi. He’s used to seeing Miranda rushing from one side to the other in their apartment’s kitchen, preparing something for breakfast for when they come back and for when Allen wakes up because she couldn’t go back to sleep and she can’t stand staying still. He’s even used to Lavi’s whining about not finding his right shoe before finding it where he always does, under Allen’s bed.

Kanda’s a man of routine. Has always been.

Which is why he can’t help but feel a bit wrong-footed when Lena approaches him, wide smile on his face, while he’s tying his hair in a ponytail and trying to arrange the loose side bangs with hair clips, her hands batting his own away before grabbing the strands of hair.

Kanda knows Lena and he knows better than to stop her. He has known her for a very long time and yet only now is Kanda starting to accept more of this simple contact. Not only from her but from everyone else as well, he’s slowly learning to trust a bit of himself to them and he’s still not completely sure how to feel about that but they never ask for more than what he can give and he’s grateful for that.

She runs her fingers through the strands a few times, working any remaining knots in them. Kanda’s is about to tell her they’re running late but her slow movements leave him feeling relaxed and he can’t find the will to tell her. So he doesn’t, and instead he tilts forward just a bit, closer to her.

He loses himself in the gentle pull and twist of his hair and the comfortable silence of the room. He’s so relaxed he almost doesn’t notice when Lena steps back to grab something from the drawer before going back to his hair.

Only then does Kanda notice the loose strands of hair, usually tucked behind his ears or arranged with hairpins, are not there. He panics for a second until Lena steps back, wide smile on his face, and he can see himself in the mirror behind her.

“There you go!” Is all she says before she’s walking out of the room.

Kanda stands up and walks closer to the mirror, taking a better look at the thin braids that used to be his loose hair strands tucked behind his ears, held in place by a few hairpins at the beginning of his ponytail. He turns his head side to side, really enjoying the lighter feeling and not having to arrange his hair every few movements.

Kanda thinks he can get used to this.

*****

“You’re gonna burn your hair off Bakanda.” Comes Allen’s voice from the kitchen table.

“I’m not, and shut up.” Kanda snaps back at him, not bothering to turn around from the frying eggs in front of him.

He wasn’t admitting that he, indeed, almost burned his hair off. For the third time.

He turns the flame low and reaches up to arrange his long hair once more, grumbling and cursing as the shorter strands keep slipping down. He gives up after the third attempt and goes back to preparing breakfast.

“Good morning!” Lena greets them as she enters the kitchen, “Are those eggs I’m smelling?”

“Morning” Allen answers back, voice sleepy, “It’s Kanda’s turn to make breakfast and that’s the only thing he won’t burn”

“Says the one who almost burned our kitchen curtains trying to make oatmeal pancakes”

“Totally worth it” Kanda hears him yawn before there’s the scrape of the chair against the floor as Allen stands up to leave, “I’ll go wake Lavi up. Try not to burn your hair off Bakanda!”

The fork Kanda throws at him hits the wall and clatters to the floor, Allen’s laugh echoing from the hall.

A comfortable silence falls over the kitchen save for the sizzling of the eggs and the scrape of the fork against the pan. He sees out of corner of his eye as Lena approaches the coffee maker and hears it beep as she starts it up. He feels his hair slipping from his ponytail once again and is about to put the pan aside to arrange it again when Lena beats him to it.

“Let me do it.” She says and Kanda lets her.

He feels her getting closer before there’s those gentle movements again, feels her carding her fingers through his hair accompanied this time by a slow and constant pulling and twisting. He feels her hands slowly gathering strands of hair before pulling them back and arranging them till there’s no more brushing his face, then there’s just a twisting motion from her hands.

Kanda knows she must be standing on her tiptoes to reach and the thought alone makes him smile softly, so he turns the stove off and puts a lid to the pan before he leans back a bit to help her. Leans into the feeling and closes his eyes, listens to her soft chuckle.

He’s still getting used to this. Some days are better than others and today he feels an immense warmth pooling inside of him at the touch. And so he leans into it, leans into the feeling and goes with it.

Lavi and Allen’s laughter ring in the background silence, Lena begins humming a vaguely familiar song, sunlight spills through the window and Kanda could just stay in this moment forever.

When Lena is done with whatever she did to Kanda’s hair (a fishtail braid, he’d later learn), she braces herself with both hands against Kanda’s back and stretches to place a soft kiss against his nape.

“I love your hair, wouldn’t want it getting (burnt/burned).” She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his back with a soft sigh.

Kanda’s getting used to this. It’s a slow process.

But he thinks it’s really worth it.

*****

Kanda’s slowly letting himself enjoy those simple touches.

And even slower, he’s learning to ask for them.

It takes him awhile, to gather the courage, and even then most times he doesn’t even voice it. The rest are slowly learning to catch the subtle movements or gestures that mean Kanda wouldn’t mind a bit of touching at the moment. And Kanda is immensely grateful for that.

He doesn’t have to voice that either, they all know.

Perhaps that’s why he has started to enjoy Saturday movie nights even more.

The Grinch is softly playing in the background, Allen, Lavi and Miranda having fallen sleep not even halfway through, and Kanda stopped paying attention shortly after. He feels warm and comfortable sitting against Lena’s side, the small couch they share not even big enough to let them stretch properly.

He feels his eyelids growing heavier and he barely registers he has started to lean into Lena until she gently rests her hand against his cheek, slowly tilting his head till its resting against her shoulder. Her other hand is absently playing with a long strand of his hair that has gone loose off his poorly-made bun. The constant movement only making him sleepier.

He’s so content and relaxed and later on he’ll blame his sleepiness for his actions but as of right now, he goes with it and lies down on her legs.

He listens her soft chuckle and then both of her hands are on his hair, she has long ago learned how much that does to Kanda and honestly, Kanda doesn’t mind that much showing that side of his these days. So he settles there, gets comfier, pulls his legs up and stretches them over the armrest of the couch as far as he can.

Lena runs her fingers in a constant pattern through his hair, she scratches his scalp oh so lightly before running her fingers all the way to the tips of the long strands. The motion sends shivers down Kanda’s spine and he can’t help but snuggle closer.

“Feels good?” He doesn’t need to turn around to knows Lena’s smiling when she asks and his gentle tone only makes Kanda feel even more relaxed.

“You know it does” he murmurs back.

Lena‘s low chuckle makes him smile and he tries to hide it against her leg. He feels Lena leaning closer to him before she moves his hair aside to place a soft kiss against his temple.

“I do” she says, voice barely a whisper.

Both the words and the gesture leave a tingling sensation on Kanda’s neck that travels all the way down to his stomach. A feeling of affection and adoration washes over him, leaving him feeling a bit giddy and cozy, and he knows he’s blushing as he tilts his head just a bit to place a kiss on Lena’s knee.

She then continues running her fingers through his hair, separating strands and twisting and pulling if only a bit and Kanda knows by the time the movie’s over he’ll have quite a few braids made and honestly, even if he knows he’ll get some comments from the rest of the group, he doesn’t really care about that.

So he cuddles closer, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

*****

*Bonus*

Kanda’s starting to enjoy Christmas a bit more every year. They’re all.

It might have something to do with the fact they’ve all decided to focus a lot more in spending some free time together, rather than in the celebration itself. That and Allen’s birthday.

But it’s not an easy task and celebrations keep making Kanda feel a bit jumpy and a lot anxious. The group has helped him a lot though, all of them being in the same situation and some dealing better than others but still, they know it’s a bit harder for Kanda.

So they presented him with a variety of “activities” to help him with that. All of them showing him a bit of what helps them.

Allen, to no one’s surprise, finds relief in baking. Which is most definitely why the apartment smells (and has been smelling) of cinnamon and sugar and butter and god knows what else. And that’s also why they end up with a wide variety of pastries, specially these days. Kanda has even seen him bake 3 batches of cookies at 3am.

Lavi’s more of the puzzle and journaling kind. The amount of journals he has filled with pictures, cuttings or just writings is big enough to occupy two complete shelves of their bookcase. Besides that, Kanda has seen him complete at least 3 times the same 5 puzzles they have in the apartment. In a sitting.

Meanwhile, Miranda leans more to the crafting side. Most specifically, knitting. Which is why all of them end up with at least 2 different Christmas sweaters every year. Not to mention all the other stuff she likes to do, like embroidery or paper quilling.

And last but not least, there’s Lena. And if there’s something in particular she likes to do Kanda has yet to discover because most times Lena simply prefers to make company to whomever is in the middle of their activity. For example, sometimes she helps Allen with the icing of the cookies, other times she helps Lavi with the cuttings for his journal, and then other days she sits with Miranda while she teaches her how to knit with different stitches.

Because of this, Kanda has come up with the realization that Lenalee, more than anything, finds some sense of calm in helping others. And hence why Kanda’s not embarrassed at all to ask for her help.

He has tried every single activity the rest have told him, and yet none of those have helped him as much as that one other he discovered by accident. And that one other being hairstyling, if it can be called that. He doesn’t even remember how he discovered it, something about feeling restless and Lena being there and-

A soft touch against his hands brings him back to the present and he finds Lena looking at him with warm eyes and a soft smile. He hadn’t even notice he had been clenching his hands into fists. He looks around the room, sees Allen and Lavi cuddled in a couch watching another Christmas movie, sees Miranda in the single couch by the corner finishing what looks like a rainbow scarf, takes in the smell of cinnamon and chocolate, counts the empty plates over the coffee table where they had some birthday cake, he observes all of this all over again and it helps him relax a bit. But not completely.

He looks back at Lena and she smiles at him oh so softly, cupping both of his hands in hers before lying down on his legs. She then gently pulls on his hands till they’re resting on her hair. And Kanda feels a wave of relief and affection wash over him.

He runs his fingers through her silky hair a few times before he starts braiding it and arranging it. And when he’s done he undoes it and starts all over again, going through the different styles Lena taught him. He does a thick fishtail braid first, then he undoes it to make two of them from the top of his head all the way down on both sides, he undoes that one and goes for two smaller ones on each side to form a kind of diadem on her head, and he goes on and on.

Kanda feels himself relaxing more and more with each hairstyle and little braid he makes and breaks apart. And Lena lets him, running her fingers oh so lightly over his legs and holding strands of hair for him from time to time. Despite the background noise from the tv it all feels quiet and cozy, and Kanda thinks he could stay like this all day.

He has moved to making as many little braids as he can with Lena’s hair when she turns around in his lap to look at him. She smiles at him and Kanda smiles back, Lena reaches up with both hands to oh so gently cup Kanda’s face and he leans into the touch. Lena lets out a soft chuckle and then she’s pulling him down for a kiss. It’s slow and warm and everything Kanda loves and when it’s over he rests his head against hers, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Merry Christmas.” She says with a kiss against his forehead.

Kanda doesn’t answer back, knows he doesn’t have to, so he simply pulls her closer and moves so they’re both lying in the couch, and if he murmurs a soft “thank you” or an “I love you” against her hair that’s only for them to know.

#dgmss2k19 #kumeko #Kanda Yuu #Lenalee Lee #this was my first time writing for this ship khkdjs hope you like it! I'm always open to write something else if u don't ;u;#my writing #DGM #D. Gray Man

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 18

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: Time passes. Bonds mend; love grows. Even completes his study, and finds a new, unexpected way to continue atoning.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even’s never been to a wedding other than his own. Fascinating, the customs people will develop as a way to declare love--or occasionally, to secure power. More rarely, both. Not to mention the way it’s all affected by gender, sexuality, power.

All this faffing about to say that Ienzo, in a way his son, has just gotten married.

It was a short, simple ceremony, oddly devoid of a personal touch, in a bright alcove of a library. No decorations, no vows other than the ones determined by the (old? Hard to tell with Radiant Garden in flux) law. He’s not surprised that Ienzo is so private about this; he’s surprised that Demyx is . Then again, it is never easy to bear one’s heart. With a kiss, it’s over. They both truly seem so happy, like they’re glowing. He hopes for their sake that it works out.

“How did it feel to marry your son?” Even asks.

Ansem rolls his eyes at the lame, and somewhat inappropriate, joke. He merely officiated--who else had the authority here? “I feel in my heart of hearts it’s the right thing. I won’t soon forget the look on his face. I’ve never seen him so happy.” It’s a rainy day, cold and raw. Even glances out the hallway window. “How did it feel, when it happened to you?”

“Well, you know it was a shotgun affair.”

“...Quite. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get some pleasure from the fact that the first legal marriage since the Fall is a gay one. Things have changed. There’s still so much potential for this city--despite the fact that it’s in shambles. Potential for us as well.”

Even feels the blood rush to his face. “We’re in shambles too,” he says softly.

“But we can rebuild,” he adds. “Let’s join the others. Aeleus made lunch.”

They keep their relationship under wraps, as much as they can, anyway. Dilan is less interested in gossip over Even than he was the boys. Thinking of its eventual revelation gives him intense anxiety; it gives him insight into his own outing of Ienzo, which makes him feel guilty, though he had good intentions at the time.

“It’s rather incestuous when you think about it,” Even mutters. “Demyx and Ienzo, you and I. Next thing we’ll hear about is Aeleus and Dilan.”

“I highly doubt that.” He leans back against the couch, resting an arm around Even’s waist. Touch is still overwhelming, but becoming more comfortable. “Nothing incestuous about it--we essentially raised the boy.”

“And now here we are,” he mutters. Ansem’s made them both hot toddies, and he fears he’s rather less sober than he would like to be. Letting the world soften a little bit is quite a challenge.

Even isn’t sure if it’s love. It’s something, something he carries with him daily. Not quite lust, either, even when they kiss; they haven’t moved very far on that front, either. He’s fairly sure the physical side of it would take work to find, and he’s not even sure if he needs that. If simple romantic touch unravels him, more… active touch would be completely destructive.

“...Not much progress?” Ansem asks. “With your work?”

“Well, it’s a lot of busywork at the moment, getting all this sequencing done. I could so use an assistant. Aeleus steps in now and again, but he also has much to do. Not to mention, both of the individuals who could also be of use are on their honeymoon. Best let them enjoy things while they can.” He shakes his head.

“I’m afraid when it comes to genetics I’m rather hopeless,” Ansem admits. “I always was.”

“It certainly isn’t easy for a layman.”

“...You’re funny.”

Even smirks.

“How about I give you some of my work to figure out?” He shakes his head. “I got a draft of a bill on a napkin the other day. I understand there’s a reason these people were elected, and they are competent, but… the decorum. I shouldn’t have to manually draft things for them.”

“You’re a civil servant--emphasis on the latter word.”

Ansem laughs. “Quite. I have literally asked for this. Fate could have set me up much worse. Heaven knows I deserve it.”

A pause. The fire, in the hearth, pops, making Even’s heart stutter, not helped by the alcohol. The only reason he’s able to be in the same room as one is the warmth; it’s necessary here. This still isn’t easy. Ansem notices this and gives his hand a squeeze. “I’m alright.”

“...Is he still trying to get in touch with you?”

Even bites his lip. “Every week or so he tries to talk to me. I ignore it. I suppose I could simply… block the IP address, and… I just don’t. I’m equally sure I can’t forgive him. But at the same time…” He swallows, tasting earl grey and rum. “I’ve been forgiven much, and changed much, who am I to say he hasn’t also? Especially under Isa’s watchful eye.”

“You needn’t rush. Confront him when you’re ready.”

“...Quite. I fear in this life I might never be ready for some things. I haven’t… much time.”

“Thirty or so years isn’t enough time?”

He shrugs. “I’m not so sure. I want to see Ienzo grow up--well, grow older. I need to do good work. I still have so much to do, and I’ve already wasted so much time faffing about.”

“You were psychologically shattered. ...We both were. You had to heal.”

“Is this healing?” he asks, more to himself.

“It certainly isn’t stagnation. Not anymore.”

Even realizes he’s leaning against him. It’s a warm sort of touch, a comfortable one. While his heart is still beating harder than it should be, he thinks it’s no longer from the fire.

Ansem brushes his fingers against Even’s cheek. There’s a sweet tension in the air, tension he hasn’t felt in a long time. And maybe it is the alcohol, but he swears he can feel a sort of desire. It’s very nearly alien. He kisses Ansem first this time and feels himself being drawn close. This is such a young sensation, jarring and bizarre. A hand tangles in his hair. They continue like this for an unknowable amount of time, exploring one another. Despite the touch being muffled by clothing, it’s still all so much, and this is only intensified when Ansem slides a hand under his shirt. A sudden fear breaks what little pleasure he’s found.

“...Even?”

He pulls away and hugs himself tightly. His hands are trembling. Ansem rests a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t,” Even says hoarsely. Ansem listens, giving him some space.

What a fool. What a naive, stupid-- Even pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to get himself back under control. “What is it that upset you?” Ansem asks gently.

How to verbalize something like this? He’s gotten used to dealing with these scars. Only now is he fully processing that, should he pursue this relationship, likely with time Ansem would end up seeing them at some point or another. This is all dredging up something sickly and awful.

But he’s a smart man. “Is it the scarring?” he suggests.

“It will repulse you,” he says, barely aware of the thought before it’s being spoken. “You needn’t deal with something like that.”

“They’re a part of your history. A part of you. I highly doubt that would repulse me--not with all we’ve worked through.”

Even keeps his eyes stubbornly on the floor, glad for the curtain of his hair (which, he realizes, is mussed).

“Of course we needn’t get into anything which may make you uncomfortable.”

He smooths at his hair. A thick anxiety catches in his throat. He isn’t used to being embodied, not particularly. There’s entirely too much going on at once; the panic, the overstimulation, and yes, arousal. It fills him with a sort of shame. He reaches for the buttons at his throat, his hands shaking so hard he can barely undo them.

“What are you doing?”

“Proving you wrong,” he says in a stranger’s voice.

“Even--”

“Please.”

“You’re worrying me.”

He’s finally able to free the last button. He sheds the garment quickly, like ripping off an adhesive.

For a moment there’s just silence. His throat is tight. “I told you,” he says, not looking at Ansem. “I’m afraid I--”

He’s pulled into a gentle embrace. The tremulous tears in his eyes run over. It’s so… odd to have hands on his bare skin, and he’s no clue if it’s pleasant or not. So instead he just cries. “I could care less what shape your body is in,” Ansem says. “This was never about that. But… this shows what you’ve survived, how you’ve changed and overcome. Don’t be ashamed.” He kisses Even’s shoulder once, sending a shudder through him that has nothing to do with pain.

After much too long he pulls it together, tugging his shirt back on. This isn’t helped at all by the occasional crack and pop of the fire. He’s exhausted, anxious.

“...As I said, you needn’t push your boundaries,” Ansem says softly. “It’s taken so long to find one another--what’s a little more waiting?”

“It’s not for lack of--”

“I know.”

“It’s just been so--”

“It’s alright.”

He exhales heavily, tasting the inside of his lungs. “I should… try to…”

When he doesn’t finish the sentence, Ansem says, “Stay.”

---

The first time they attempt to go to bed together, it's something of a failure. Then again, "failure" is a bit harsh--in the literal sense it was successful, just extremely brief. Embarrassingly so. Not just for Even, which he finds a surprise; but neither of them have ever prioritized physical intimacy.

For a long while he lays in Ansem's bed after, coming to a cold realization that it's his first orgasm in at least ten years. His body seems unsure of what to do afterwards; his skin is quite raw. He takes a deep breath, watching the ceiling. They don't touch; they both know it would be too much.

"...Are you alright?" Ansem asks.

Finally, he looks over. "I… believe so." He sits up, noticing first how Ansem's eyes roll over the scars on his back, then how he tries not to look. "Yourself?"

"I am no longer… accustomed to such things." He begins redressing. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes." He takes the offered cup when it comes, glad for the warmth. "I… feel so young… yet in a breath so old."

"Me as well. Things no longer… run so hot, as it were."

"Not quite what I was referring to."

"Then what were you?"

"This cursed… tenderheartedness. Makes me feel like a schoolboy. And yet… the years weigh heavily."

"But we're here." He doesn't quite face Even. "How long exactly have we known another, Even?"

"Thirty-some years. Much too long."

He chuckles. "And yet you're willing to stick with me."

"Frankly, no one else could put up with me." He sets the cup down onto its saucer. "So that's that."

"Seems to be, yes."

He settles back against the pillows. "I...am sorry things were so uneventful."

He smiles wryly. "As if anything is uneventful with you."

"...I'll ignore your tone."

He leans over and kisses him once. "Somehow this feels familiar."

"I… agree."

---

It takes a few tries for them to be comfortable with it, with each other. For it to last longer than a few mere moments. But it gets easier, their bodies becoming accustomed to touch again. It's not the same as when they were younger. These things almost take a certain premeditation. It must be wanted.

And it is.

He's been so passive, in the past; what better way to show love than through an act? It takes yet more time, to graduate from simple touch to something more. Time, patience. Passion is only a quiet passenger at the moment.

But when it does happen, Even notes with a thrill, it's he taking his old master.

And it does feel so familiar, to touch him, to make love to him. So familiar and so right .

"Truthfully," Ansem admits after one of these nights, both of them beyond exhausted, "I believe I may have harbored such feelings for longer than I originally thought."

"Oh?"

"Even, you have such a unique mind, a unique way of seeing things. I've been drawn to it for years--but so like a fool, it took me years to figure out why." He brushes Even's hair behind his ear. "By then… you had already fallen into your whirlwind marriage."

"I do not regret it."

"Nor should you. I suppose… it was simply not our time. We've had to grow, to allow the love into our hearts." He kisses him on the forehead.

"I think you are the only one who I allow to see me," Even admits. "I struggle with vulnerability."

"I know you do. I… do as well." He rests a hand on the small of Even's back. 'We can be so much stronger together."

"I… want nothing more."

---

Atonement comes in pieces, in waves. Mostly they assist the boys, the committee, when they are not pulled apart by their own projects; providing research and tertiary support. It's humble work, work Even tries to do to the best of his own abilities. This town has a use for the educated, but he no longer seeks credit.

Not long after he and Demyx marry, Ienzo comes to Even. They get coffee. They are very nearly normal.

Happiness suits Ienzo, eases the sharpness in his eyes. Demyx seems to stabilize him, allowing him to feel young. He smiles easily, chats. There's a warmth there wasn't before. Wholeness. Even realizes he’s never quite seen it in the boy, and has to swallow the sadness.

It's odd to find himself on the other side. After a considerable pause that Ienzo asks, "Even, are… never mind."

"Boy, what's on your mind?"

"...I'm nearly twenty-two, will you ever stop calling me that?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Forgive me if this is… overstepping." He bites his lip. "Have you and Ansem…"

He feels his heart catch, a bizarrely young feeling. "What?"

"Do you have feelings for one another?" He raises an eyebrow.

"...Like?"

"Even, I know you know what I mean." His expression is so droll, funnily serious. "It's… okay if you do."

Even sighs. "We've been… grappling," he admits. "Though you must tell no one--especially that husband of yours."

"Who do you think gave me the idea?"

Even feels his face warming. "Does everyone know?"

Ienzo smiles wryly. "Why do you feel the need to keep it a secret?"

"Because it's a personal matter, not a public one."

Ienzo rolls his eyes, perhaps at the hypocrisy. "Are you scared of what they might think?"

"What, Aeleus, Dilan? Unless all your gossiping already got to them?" He shakes his head. "I'm… unsure. I feel as though--"

"You don't deserve to be happy?" He clucks his tongue. "To be colloquial--been there, done that." He looks down into his coffee cup. "It takes… work, to be vulnerable. But it's necessary work. If you have someone , regardless of romance, then all the better." He chuckles a little. "Though I'd be lying if I said it doesn't amuse me."

"Boy--"

"You both raised me. Willingly or not. Now you're together?" He points at Even. "You gave me hell for getting with Demyx. Now--"

"I know, I know, I'm a hypocrite. What else is new?"

Another laugh. "I do believe this is the first time I've seen you so embarrassed." Then, "I hope you can find peace, Even. I really do. It took you so long to recover… and then Ansem… I worried--"

"You may be orphaned again?" he asks dryly. "I'm afraid you must deal with our neuroses for some years yet." He squeezes the boy's hand, feeling the wedding band against his palm. "Have things changed?"

"Yes and no," Ienzo admits. "He introduces me to as many people as he can… just to say the word. It's made him so happy. Why wait on such happiness? I do not think my feelings will change. They've only… gotten stronger."

This is a feeling Even can relate to. He came across these emotions slowly… and now he seems tangled in them. “...Quite.” There’s nothing left of the espresso he’s ordered; he looks down into the smear of brown as though he might divine something. “Ienzo, are you fulfilled?”

He considers this, canting his head slightly. “I like to believe so,” he admits. “I have my husband, my family, satisfying work. True, life is much… smaller than it used to be, but is that a bad thing?” He drums his fingers on the table. “The council has reached out to me after reading my manuscript. They’ve… offered me something of a job.”

Even feels his eyebrows shoot up. “Ienzo, that’s--”

“I’d be helping them create a mental health program. From scratch. I feel… honored to be chosen.” His face is pink. “Worried that I’m not qualified--after all this time, technically I have no degree.”

“What, that piece of paper?” The boy’s studied for years. Doubtless he has the equivalent of several degrees of reading.

He makes a face. “You continually dangle yours over Demyx.”

“...Because his reactions are rather amusing.” He chuckles a little. “Boy, if they chose you, they feel you’re capable. And you are. All these years I wanted nothing more than for you to get help--if you can give others that, all the better. But it shan’t be easy.”

“It’s a… challenge.” He smiles a little. “You know I love puzzles.”

---

The study continues. It changes, grows. He finds himself working closely with almost all of them in some capacity, but it’s Dilan who does most of the admin work, with everyone else pulled elsewhere. While at first their talk is all scientific, something like a friendship redevelops.

“More information from the rumor mill,” Dilan says, folding up the accordion of his own epigenome.

Even feels something of a punch; caught. “You and your gossip. The lot of you.”

“Not so much a rumor as something told to me. And the informant was very adamant you know it’s he.”

“...You never did speak concisely.”

“I do believe Ienzo is seeking something like revenge for when you outed him.”

“As if the boy would ever be straight?”

Dilan smirks. “I admit I’m not surprised. Not at all.”

He almost drops the tablet he’s holding. “No?”

“Ansem’s loved you for years. It’s about time you came around.” A laugh. “It’s true. Why do you think he was so angry, so hurt at you ? In his eyes you could do no wrong--until you did.” He shrugs. “Neither of you are very good at feelings.”

“Don’t I know it.” Still, he’s rather shaken. “Bastard could’ve said something sooner. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

Dilan chuckles. “We all could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble. Yet here we are. I could never have guessed the path we’d end up on, not if my life depended on it.”

“...Are you satisfied with the way things are?”

He touches his breastbone. “There will always be--pain. Yet, I feel now more than ever that we can be... On the other side of history. Hence why this work is so important.”

There’s a knock at the door. Aeleus comes in, his overalls spattered with paint. “How goes it?”

“We certainly are making a lot of paper,” Dilan says. “One can’t rush perfection.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a lovely day outside. I was hoping you two would get some lunch with me.”

“But we’re in the middle of--” He sees the look in Aeleus’s eye. “Sure. Why not.”

It’s spring now, the flowers in bloom again. They’re wilder than they used to be, not as tended to, but still beautiful. They end up in a courtyard, where they see Demyx and Ienzo seated on a blanket, a picnic basket between them. “Hey, you made it!” Demyx says.

“I had my doubts,” Ienzo admits.

“...Rather juvenile, isn’t it?” Dilan says.

“Oh, hush. I made ceviche. Come sit and eat it.”

Dilan takes the proffered container with a scowl.

“...A gathering?” Even hears. He turns and sees Ansem. “Not exactly the emergency I was told it is.”

“You wouldn’t have left otherwise,” Ienzo points out.

“We wanted to hang out. Sue us.”

They settle on the blanket. The sunlight feels good on his skin, which is still tender from all his time indoors. It’s odd, to be gathered here so; but yet this is perhaps one of the most normal things they’ve all done. When was the last time anyone spent time enjoying anything?

“Oh, one more thing,” Ienzo says. “We are absolutely not allowed to talk about work for the next half hour.”

“I’m keeping a timer,” Demyx adds, holding up his phone.

“Since when are you allowed to make rules?” Dilan asks.

“Since I apparently became the expert on mental health.” He rolls his eyes. “Besides. We’re all… much too burned out. If we’re to live as long as possible… we must let down our hair now and again. So to speak.”

“This is your doing, I’m sure,” Even says to Demyx. “I’ll not have you chipping at his work ethic.”

Demyx sticks out his tongue. “Hey. I also pull like fifty hour weeks, so I’m not the lazy asshat I used to be. Pass me the pasta salad.”

They all eat in silence for a few minutes. Then, Dilan asks Demyx, “Do you ever miss home?”

His chopsticks slip in his hand. “Hate to break it to you, but that place was never home.”

“Home is here?” Ienzo asks dryly.

“Well, isn’t it?” He wraps an arm around Ienzo’s waist. A comfortable, familiar gesture. “Where the heart is, and all that crap?”

“It was always about the bonds,” Ansem adds gently. “It took much too long to realize.”

“Besides. I figures there are much worse places--and much worse people--to end up with.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dilan says.

Ienzo digs in the picnic basket. “I’m afraid the strongest thing I have is iced tea.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking anyway,” Aeleus pointed out.

He blushes. “I’m twenty-two. Might I remind you that the legal age is eighteen--”

“So defensive, so fast, Ienzo,” Dilan says.

“Well when I’m getting it from four sides, I must be.” He pauses, blinks, then laughs a little.

“What’s so amusing?” Even asks.

“I’m afraid it’s nothing of momentous insight,” he says, shaking his head. “This ragged parenting… is so like the old days.”

“You’re right,” Aeleus says.

His expression darkens a little. Demyx squeezes his hand. “Not quite.”

“It can be better,” Even says gently.

He nods once. “It already is.”

---

“...Blast.” His fingers tangle in the fabric at his throat.

Ansem barely looks up from the book he’s reading. “What ails you now?” he asks.

“Two PhDs and a medical degree, and I can’t remember how to tie a stupid Windsor knot.”

Ansem approaches him and takes the knotted fabric. Quite quickly, he fixes it. “Years and years of silly galas and dinners. I can--and have--done this in my sleep. There.” He tightens the knot at Even’s throat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Something like this must be done on one’s own, I think.” He turns back to the mirror. The suit is simple, and not quite tailored, but he still feels overdressed. “Besides, I don’t want them to think it’s some quid pro quo arrangement.”

Ansem rolls his eyes. Then, a bit more slyly, “You do look quite nice.”

He blushes. He so despises that Ansem can get this sort of reaction out of him. “I’m only feral most of the time, not all of it.” He picks up the portfolio of papers. “Feels I’m defending my theses all over again.”

“Luckily you needn’t be quite so formal. Not like the old days. I’m betting at least one of them will be wearing sneakers.” He brushes microscopic dust off of Even’s shoulder. “A good first impression doesn’t hurt.” Ansem chucks him lightly under the chin. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t you start--”

“Truly.” He squeezes Even’s free hand. “You’ve worked so hard to get to this moment. This work will help them shape the town’s future. A hope, a catharsis, a proper way to treat the afflicted.” He kisses him once. “Now go, so you can come celebrate. I fear I may have made you late--not that their timekeeping is pristine.”

“I’ll not have you spoil me--”

“Go.”

“Yes… well…” He bobs his head once. He can feel the anxiety fluttering within. While these papers are only a concise summary of the project, it still feels so heavy. He hopes it will be good enough, sound enough. It’s been years. Now to let it go--what will become of him?

“...There you are.” Ienzo’s waiting by the stairs. “Even--we simply must work on your punctuality.”

“Blame your father wittering over me.” He looks him over, sees his white coat, unbuttoned, the black turtleneck beneath it. “You’re going like that?”

He shrugs. “This is my professional uniform. This is a professional appointment.”

“At least pull back your hair--”

“I absolutely will not.” He smiles. “Even. Relax. It’s going to be fine.”

They set off towards the new city hall. It could’ve easily been established in the castle, but Even can’t blame the decision--it’s a good one, in his opinion. Helps make the townspeople trust the fledgling government. “Your husband couldn’t come?”

“He was quite literally getting ready when he was called away. Another birth.”

“That’s too bad. It’s because of him this is done.” He watches Ienzo’s expression closely and then adds, “An awful lot of them these days, no?”

“People are becoming comfortable starting families.”

It’s a perfect sunny day. Even wonders. “...I don’t suppose--”

Ienzo picks up on the subtext straightaway. “It’s in the cards for me?” he asks. “Feeling rather tender in your old age? Craving grandchildren?”

“Boy, there’s no need to be nasty.”

Ienzo laughs. “You’re too funny.” Then, after long enough that Even already decided to drop the subject, “We haven’t revisited the matter in a while. I’m not sure the time is right. What happened to me being much too young?”

“I don’t care either way--so long as you are happy.”

He nods once. “It is… strange. I thought this peace I felt internally would be… temporary.”

“It means you’re on the right path.”

“I surely hope so.”

“You’re doing great things. Saving lives.”

He shrugs. “It’s the least I can do.”

The receptionist in the city hall waves them in boredly. The council chamber is still haphazard--two folding tables and a bunch of folding chairs. “There you are,” one of them says. Even looks down, and sure enough--sneakers. “Great. Let’s get started.”

He’s practiced this speech many times, the way he must simplify the hard science of it (Demyx was a good test for this), the display of the hard data. Ienzo chimes in occasionally with the more psychological aspects, the way it affects emotions, hearts.

The impossible cause and effect of darkness.

Despite these years of research, he still feels like he only has a beginner’s grasp, even as he proposes treatment options. He hands out copies of the journal--a scant forty pages spanning more or less his entire career.

“Thank you for this insight,” another one says. “We want to help people however we can… but most of us are tradespeople. We can’t study it the same way. This will be taken into account when it comes to the creation of new services.”

“It is my duty,” Even says.

“We need educated people again,” a third adds. “Everyone… is going to need a hell of a lot more help.”

“Perhaps I can be of use.” He’s barely conscious of the words. “I taught in my day--I’d be more than willing to assist in the drafting of a curriculum.”

The council member smiles. “Oh, but it goes deeper than that.”

---

“...And you musn’t say anything.”

Ienzo is practically vibrating with excitement. “Even, this is a big deal.”

“No use counting our chickens.”

“A university ?”

“No funding. Limited resources. Likely five or six pupils and one or two courses. More like a one-room schoolhouse.”

“But it could be--”

“Boy, I’m old. Likely I’ll be long gone before any of this truly is established.”

This sobers him, as Even hoped it would. “You’re only nearing sixty.”

“And considering all I’ve gone through, it’s lucky I’ve lived this long.” He offers a smile. “Now how I imagined the day would go, but very well. Work to be done. This is no reward; if anything, this is a punishment.”

“But how do you feel?”

He considers it. “...Overwhelmed,” he admits. “But this is a way I can help. I just hope I’ve developed some patience over the years. Goodness knows I’ll need it.”

Ienzo takes both his hands and squeezes them. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yes, yes, all this patting of my ego.”

“Truly.” His gaze becomes sharper, more earnest. “Once upon a time you were… locking everyone and everything away, and suffering. A selfish, devious researcher. Now here you are… so kind. Careful.”

“Atonement requires humility,” he says gently. “Otherwise, what is meaningful change?”

Ienzo nods once. “I look forward to pursuing this with you,” he says. "I do hope you'll let me be a part of this."

Even squeezes his shoulder. “I’m afraid we’ve just begun, little one.”

---

Beginnings.

Things are not quite so easy now. He can feel he’s getting older, from the gray streaked in his hair to the arthritis slowly taking his joints. How strange, to begin again at this age. He finds a sort of pleasure in his work, in the too-young inquisitiveness of his students. He gives them what tools he can and hopes they can do better. He knows that eventually they’ll find out about his past and have questions. He knows, and is prepared.

There are so many other beginnings.

After years of consideration, he agrees to marry Ansem. They do so quietly, without fuss, only to be faced with an enraged Ienzo and Demyx, who apparently wanted nothing more than to be there. Even doesn’t know why; it’s merely a formality at this point. Yet to go through with it is something of a relief.

When he can, he still visits his first spouse and son, where they rest, quietly. There will always be an ache, he thinks, but Even’s life is full again.

He helps Ienzo, his very much living son (it was always so, but the marriage simply made it official), and his husband conceive a child, with the young woman who is their surrogate. It’s odd to revisit such work related to the replicas, after all this time. Odd and slightly uncomfortable. But their happiness makes it worth it, and it does brighten his days when he can care for the child.

Xion, Roxas, and Naminé live full lives, ordinary lives. He hears of their careers, their marriages, when they visit. They age. They’ve gotten to grow.

He sets aside his research of that time. He’s left instructions for its decryption in the event of his death, but otherwise, he has no desire to share it. There’s no real need; no life needs to be created.

“A sensible choice,” Ansem says. It's a lovely summer night; they stand on the balcony of their bedroom, just breathing the clean air.

“I would hope I’ve gained a whit of it.”

“A whit, and more.”

He chuckles a little. “Here’s a funny thought.”

“...What?”

“The boys--hardly boys anymore--are the same age I was when I came back; their daughter, Ienzo’s.”

He blinks. “I suppose that’s right.”

“If you could change things, would you?”

“...An unnecessary thought experiment.”

Even rests his arm around him more comfortably. “Humor me, then.”

Ansem sighs. “If you look at it from a purely moral standpoint--I would,” he admits. “If I could stop the suffering, the loss of life that has been incurred. Absolutely. But personally… that would mean I’d likely have never found you, would never have gotten to know Ienzo, or his wayward husband. And the loss of that… is painful.”

“I suppose that is well reasoned. And I myself don’t have an answer to that question.”

Ansem kisses him once. “There’s no point dwelling on what could have been. Aren’t you satisfied with what you have now?”

“Perhaps it is silly--but yes, absolutely I am.”

“I think we’ve earned a bit of peace.” He embraces him, resting his head on Even’s shoulder. “Now it’s your turn to humor an old man.”

“Right. Very well.”

He takes his hand and leads him inside, to the rest of their lives.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ansem the wise #ienzo #demyx #aeleus #dilan (kingdom hearts)#beyond this existence

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rikrakyarnncrafts · 6 years ago

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Dye Bare Yarn with Kool-Aid!

Did you know you can experiment with dyeing yarn in your kitchen, using food-safe & low-cost products, and get some really cool results?! What a great way to play with our Bare Yarns!

All the yarns in this post were dyed with Kool-Aid (or sometimes other brands of unsweetened drink mixes), in my kitchen. Above is Bare Capretta, and below is Woodland Tweed. There are lots of different ways you can dye yarn with Kool-Aid; today I’ll show you my latest favorite, in the microwave!

The question I hear the most about dyeing yarn with Kool-Aid is: is it colorfast? Or, does it wash out? The answers are YES, and NOPE! I have yarns I dyed 12 years ago that are still bright and vibrant. I won’t say they are 100% colorfast—some dyed many (over 10) years ago look lighter than I remember, but they’re still colorful and look great, even if slightly faded over a decade+. I do recommend storing items away from direct sunlight and I’ve never seen any dye come out during washing.

If you’re interested in learning more or other methods besides the microwave, google is your friend, and also I wrote several tutorials many years ago: an intro to dyeing with Kool-Aid when I first started doing it, how to dye striping yarn on the stove, dyeing in a crock pot (I used to use this method a lot, it works so well!), and another self-striping tutorial for really long stripe sections. Lately I’ve been enjoying the microwave method because it’s easy and compact (you just need a bowl, no big pot or crock pot) and fast! And it works well for speckle-y kinds of dye jobs.

Something else you may want to think about when planning your project is color mixing, how to get the colors you want. Kool-Aid doesn’t limit you to just the base powder colors—you can mix, overlap, and over-dye! The way to darken or mute colors isn’t to use more or less of a color. Instead, adding some of a complementary color (opposite on the color wheel) could achieve exactly the results you’re after. For example, adding a little orange to a blue will make a darker, less vibrant blue, and vice versa. It doesn’t have to be the exact complementary color; you can try mixing colors that you might not think would mix well just to see what results you get. One of my favorites is adding some orange to green to make it a more olive, darker shade of green.

Let’s get to the dyeing tutorial, then I’ll talk a little more about color at the end! I’ll show you exactly how I made the yarn pictured above, which is Bare Superwash Merino Twist. A note before you begin! You’ll want at least THREE ties in your skein so it doesn’t end up a tangled, wet mess—not all of our Bare yarns come with three ties, so you may need to add one yourself. I recommend using a cotton yarn for ties.

Also, this kind of dyeing only works on animal fibers— wool & alpaca especially—with nothing or only a little of other things mixed in. No cotton! No acrylic! A small percentage of nylon is okay.

First, I like to soak my yarn in water with a big splash of white vinegar for an hour or longer. The Kool-Aid has acid in it so it’ll set onto the yarn without the vinegar, but I think the vinegar makes it a bit more colorfast in the long term, and it doesn’t hurt! If I’m going to dye several skeins, then I’ll soak them all in vinegar water in a big bowl or bucket together, then take them each out to dye them one at a time in a separate bowl. In this case, I was just dyeing a single skein, so I soaked it in the same bowl I’d be dyeing it in.

Next, place your skein in a glass (or otherwise microwave-safe) bowl with just enough vinegar water to cover the top of it. If you want to dye the skein in a certain pattern (like different colors on different sections of the loop) then position the yarn intentionally. For my skein, I wanted all-over speckle-y variegation, so I purposely let it be messily positioned in the bowl. Now sprinkle on some powder!

I purposely let the oranges, greens, and blues overlap and mix. Then cover the yarn with plastic wrap and microwave it for 1 minute. (I use maximum power, but I have a small microwave; if you have a high-power microwave, you might want to use a lower power setting.)

When you take it out, that powder should be mostly absorbed into the yarn. Now you’ll go through the process of adding more dye, and giving it more time in the microwave, until you’re happy with it. Your exact process may vary depending on how you want your yarn to look. I usually flip the skein upside down (that’s what I’d just done in the above right photo), then add more powder, then give it 1 more minute…

…then I repeat one or two more times. Reposition the skein, add more dye, another minute. I usually end up doing four minutes total. Never do more than 1 minute at a time (it could hurt your yarn!), and when the water looks clear, it’s set! Dump the yarn into a colander to cool to room temperature. Below, left you can see how the water is cloudy, but white, no dye. As long as there is no colored dye left in the water, it means the dye has set into the yarn, not in the water, that’s the important part!

Then rinse it in water (the same temperature as the yarn) very gently. If you want to get the vinegar smell out, you may choose to wash the yarn with a good-smelling wool wash now; I usually just rinse it with water, knowing that I’ll wash the finished object after knitting it up. Gently squeeze the water out in the sink, then roll the skein up in a big towel and gently press on it to squeeze the remaining water out. Shake it out, and hang it to dry over a hanger, shower curtain rod, or coat rack. It could take a couple of days to dry completely (reposition a few times to help it dry).

Here’s the finished yarn! This method is great for this kind of look with the white showing through, but if you want a more saturated look, just use a bit more water and stir mix the dye around for full coverage. Below are two more skeins of the same Bare Superwash Merino Twist dyed with similar Kool-Aid colors in different ways. The left-hand one was actually partially dyed on the stove first, for the dark solid green section, and then overdyed more in the microwave, and the right-hand one was using the same microwave method above.

For further color information, you can find Kool-Aid dyeing color charts and blog posts online to get mixing ideas, and you can also try mixing a little in a cup with water, and then dipping a white paper towel into the mixed dye to get an idea of the color you’re making, before using it on your yarn. Also, Kool-Aid can be hard to find in lots of colors (flavors) so your local options may be limited. You can use other brands of drink mix, but—this is important!!—make sure they don’t have sugar! Kool-Aid mix comes unsweetened (you need to add sugar when you make the drink) but many other mixes already have the sugar included. This would be bad news for your yarn! Another pro tip: generally, you can preview the color in the packet by looking at the color of the liquid in glass cup portion of the illustration (and not the color of the packet background).

Above are a few old yarns I dyed with Kool-Aid years ago, to show some different color effects. I do tend to prefer bright colors, so the lack of darker/muted shades has more to do with my preferences than with the possibilities!

There’s also the option of dyeing vibrant Kool-Aid colors over the top of other colors. Using our Simply Wool & Simply Alpaca yarns as bases instead of Bare can get you beautiful, darker, toned-down color results! Or dyeing Bare yarn with tea or coffee first, to give it a brown base, or just adding tea or coffee with the Kool-Aid… lots of options!

Those are two skeins of Bare Shimmer Bulky that I dyed (using the same microwave method) with a couple of shades of orange/yellow, for a tonal hue. I then over-dyed each skein separately, with totally different colors (below). On one, I overlapped a few shades of red and pink, for kind of a tonal coral; on the other, I used blues and greens, which mixed with the light orange base to be more muted versions of those colors. Orange and blue are complementary colors, so adding blue and green to that orange base worked to tone down the shades… if I’d mixed them all at the same time, it might have been muddier than how it turned out with this over-dyeing method. This kind of color mixing is a lot of experimentation; I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but I’m happy with the result! You can always dye a very small amount of yarn first to try out a color idea, before using a whole skein.

I love doing this, as a full grown adult knitter, but it would also be a really fun activity to do with kids, to give a hands-on lesson on the basics of color theory, or just to play and have fun! If you dye your own Bare yarn, we’d LOVE to see the results! Post links in comments below, or tag us on instagram, etc. Have fun dyeing!!

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thestartline · 5 years ago

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DAY6 Interview with Billboard Japan

JYP Entertainment has released groups such as 2PM, GOT7, and TWICE into the public. From the company, the first band artist group DAY6 has released their second Japanese best album “THE BEST DAY2″. Because of their unique differences, the 5 member band has the mindset of “Try it first”, and has tackled various genres, gaining fans from all over the world. For the band, this album is an achievement and also includes original Japanese singles. Now we’ll like to see how this band called DAY6 works, and through the interview we’d like to get to know the 5 members better.

When there are a lot of choices, we first try all of them.

As it is your first time on Billboard Japan, will you please introduce yourselves?

Sungjin - I’m Sungjin. I’m in charge of the guitar. I like songs that overflow with emotions, regardless of the genre. For example, Bruno Mars. I also like artists with a nice voice.

Jae - I play the guitar, I’m Jae. I think this is the same with many people, but I’m the type that their music taste changes depending on the time. These days I’m listening to a lot of artists under the “88rising” label. Like Joji and Lexie Liu.

Young K - I’m Young K. I’m in charge of the bass. I like punk rock, hip hop, and pop music.

For example?

Young K - Hmm, if its punk rock, I like SUM 41 or My Chemical Romance. If its pop, I like Maroon 5 or Coldplay. I like music that has a pretty melody.

Wonpil - I’m Wonpil. I play the keyboard. I also don’t listen to only one genre but lots of genres, but out of them, I really like Coldplay. I think their sound is very unique.

Dowoon - I’m in charge of the drums, I’m Dowoon. I like songs which the vocals and the track matches well. I like the Korean artists Narae Lee.

Everyone has different music tastes, but how has that variety influenced your work as a group?

Jae - We both write our songs and lyrics, but we also work with various songwriters. So not just within our members, but we have many occasions where we are able to come to contact with many different sounds, which gives us the ability to master it, I believe. Even when we are writing our own songs, we are able to think of many different ways. When we are writing one song, we all like something on our own, and we put the spotlight on different areas, which allows us to broaden our music.

Sungjin - I think because each member has their own preferences, DAY6 can challenge many genres. And, when we are listening to a particular type of song, what one personally cannot feel can be felt by another member, and as we share this feeling, we learn a lot.

When DAY6 was first established, what sort of ideal image did you have in mind?

Young K - Since we were first established, we did not have one fixed genre, and that it still continuing today, but as for where we were headed, we wanted to be a band which can engage with the audience. When we saw a band communicating with the audience and singing songs with them, we though “we want to be a band like that”.

When there are so many genres, it also means there are as many choices, and it might make you feel lost at times. At times like that, how do you find the best solution?

Young K - When there are a lot of choices, we first try all of them. Once we create a lot of things, we talk to the members of the team we work with, and in the end, we are left with the good things.

In October, you released your 3rd Korean Album “The Book of Us; Entropy”. Please tell us your response.

Sungjin - When I listened to the album before it was released, I though “Did we try to many genres?” but there were a lot more people who found that appealing. I once again felt that it was important for not only us to judge, but to first create something we think that is good, and then have a lot of people judge for us.

Wonpil - In July, we released our mini album “The Book of Us: Gravity”, but the difference in happiness after we completed a full album is difference. This full album really incorporates songs from many genres, and I’m happy to have been able to show the fans a new side of us.

Was there a specific theme or concept?

Dowoon - Our last mini album “The Book of Us: Gravity” was the first in the series, and “The Book of Us: Entropy” is the second. The “Gravity” in “The Book of Us: Gravity”, means that we are pulling each other to one another, and represents the start of a relationship between two people. The “Entropy” in “The Book of Us: Entropy” represents disorder, and this album depicts the change in the relationship.

Does this “The Book of Us” series still continue?

Dowoon - I believe so. I think it will continue.

We want to be a band that can connect with many people.

This time, your Japanese 2nd album “The Best Day2″ has been released. Please tell us how you have improved or changed from your last album, “The Best Day”

Sungjin - We have released many albums in Korea, and every time we have challenged various genres, which birthed a lot of songs. We were able to collect much of those songs in “The Best Day2″, and we were also able to add in our original Japanese Songs “Finale” and “Kiminara”, which I believe shows a different colour of us.

What was the process for creating “Finale” like?

Young K - We talked about our most recent album “The Book of Us: Entropy” earlier, and the songs in this album was created in a short amount of time. “Finale” was one of the songs created in this period. The image was the curtain of a concert falling down, and I created it with the intent of overflowing energy.

Sungjin - If we are talking about the message portion, the word “Finale” on its own means “the end” or “curtain fall”, but we imagined the curtain call after a concert, and the message of hoping for human relationships to have a happy ending is in the song.

How about the second song “Kiminara”?

Young K - This song is very bright, and full of energy. I think the lyrics of this song has something similar to the lyrics of “Finale”. “You can make me happy”, “I’ll can trust my future with you” are lyrics that are full of hope.

Both songs mention “Kimi” (You), and seems to be a song sent to someone very close, but to all of you, who is the “Kimi”?

Jae - First of all, the members of DAY6. And of course, to the fans who enjoy our music, and make their hearts one with us during our concerts.

Sungjin - Perhaps “Kimi” is not the right term, but on a larger scale, I think it is the people who leave a good influence on DAY6. This might be family, friends, and the staffs.

What made both songs have similar or the same themes?

Sungjin - In most cases when we write songs, we first and foremost think of wanting to help someone, to be someone’s strength, so I think the songs came out of a natural process.

Young K - And, the songs we’ve released in Japan so far has been quite dark or had some sadness in it, so we wanted to put in a hopeful message this time.

We believe that is a very happy message for the Japanese fans. Is there anything in particular that you remember from your Japanese activities?

Young K - When we performed at Summer Sonic 2017. That was before we debuted in Japan, and we performed on a outdoor stage. The people who were walking behind us stopped and listened to our music, and there were people who had fun with us, which was very memorable.

Wonpil - The Japan tour was very memorable. Back then, it had been a while since we had performed at a live house, and the fans were very close to us and sang with us. It made me very emotional.

Now for the end, please tell us what you would like to challenge even more, your goals and ambitions if you have any.

Jae - We want to continuously create music we want to do, and become a band which can connect with more people. I want the band DAY6 to grow even bigger, and to have more chances to perform.

Sungjin - In terms of challenge, I believe the songs we have created till now has all been a challenge, so as we have been doing now, I hope to challenge ourselves in the future as well.

Original interview

Jap to Eng trans @dalomls (twit)

#DAY6 #FINALE #Sungjin #Jae #Young K #Wonpil #Dowoon

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wackapedia · 6 years ago

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Nightmares Are Dreams Too

A/n: this is the longest ive ever written. took me a week to think about this because i could never get some peace in this house lol

You were unpacking boxes all day and yet you still have trouble sleeping in your new house. You've just moved into a suburban home that’s too large for just you and your boyfriend, Ben Hardy. He insisted on buying it anyway because he's always dreamed of having an American home and because he said he's planing on expanding your family which of course made your heart flutter.

Your eyes darted around the dark room as you shifted in your bed while your boyfriend slept soundly beside you. You tried to be as quiet as possible while trying to find a comfortable position. You hear Ben shift from his side and you winced, not intending to disturb him since he also had a day sorting out things and late at night he catches up reading some scripts. "Babe?" He spoke, voice rough from sleep, turning towards you. "I'm sorry. I cant sleep." You whispered. "S'alright babe i got you" he said as his hand travels up your thigh, his face buried itself in your neck leaving hot kisses. Ben knows exactly how to tire you out whenever you have trouble sleeping. After his suggested activity, it was safe to say that you slept like a baby through the night.

The next day, you woke up to a bright room alone. There were no curtains or blinds installed in your room yet so the sunlight streaked into your bed. You grabbed your phone to see that it was almost 12 noon. You hopped out of your bed, got dressed and headed downstairs, carefully dodging the boxes that littered the hallway. "Ben?" You called out but there was no answer. A plate of pancakes were left on the kitchen counter as well as a ripped cardboard with a note on it: "off to the hardware store & didn't wanna wake u <3 xoxo" "Ew." you jokingly said as you smiled and sat down to eat your pancakes. You and Ben spent the rest of the day arranging things around. The place starts to feel more like a home now that some books and photo frames are in place, Frankie's corner sorted out and the empty boxes are cleared out. You ordered pizza for dinner while browsing some photo albums, cleaned the kitchen, took a shower and went straight to sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. Ben kisses your forehead and leaves the bedroom. You were walking at the hallway outside your room. It was dark and cold. A You tried to turn on a lampshade but it wasn't plugged in. Light filtered from inside the supposed study room across your bedroom. "Ben?" You called out to your boyfriend. Suddenly, you heard a loud crash from downstairs followed by Frankie barking incessantly. You turned your back from the door and headed to the stairs when you saw a silhouette heading up. You picked up the lampshade to defend yourself. The footsteps grew louder and heavier, your breathing shorter, and your heart rate faster. You woke up with a jolt. "Baby wake up!" Ben was shaking you. You were in your room, sitting at the edge of your bed, your night lamp switched on to see your boyfriend's panicked face. You wiped your sweaty face with your hands. Ben exhaled as he sits down on the floor, resting his chin on your knee. "Are you alright? You were breathing really fast and sounded like you were choking so I woke you up." You remained silent, still trying to process your nightmare. "Do you want me to get you some water?" He asked. You nodded. "Alright. I'll be back." You moved further into the bed as Ben left. You can hear his footsteps fading in the hallway. Not long after, Frankie started barking causing panic from the nightmare to creep back. You immediately got up and ran downstairs while screaming for your boyfriend. Ben was startled to find you almost running into him in the kitchen. "Baby please calm down you're scaring me" he said as he catches you entering. "It felt so real Ben! There was someone in the house and Frankie was barking and I couldn't find you" you were crying. Ben gathered you in his strong arms and rubbed your back. "Shhh.. It was all just a dream okay? I'm here. I'm here." He said, swaying you as you started to calm down. He picked you up to sit on the kitchen counter and made you drink some water. Frankie came over to the kitchen and Ben picked him up, carrying him like a baby. "Were you worried about mommy too?" He asked the dog using a tiny voice that made you smile. It made him smile too. That night, Frankie was welcomed to your bed. All three of you slept soundly. The next couple of days were left to finishing up with unpacking and decorating. At night you still get some dreams but you didn't want to wake or worry Ben who often stayed up late as he continues to study some scripts. Your dream always starts the same way. You, walking in the hallway, hearing someone move around downstairs, muffled cries and loud crashing, and then silence. You return to your bedroom, and then you wake up in the middle of the night, alone in your bed. One night you couldn't bring yourself to go back to sleep so you stayed up downstairs and watched some television to keep yourself occupied. You slowly fell asleep on your new sofa.

"I actually had other ideas on christening that sofa.." Ben spoke as he placed a cup of coffee right under your nose. It was morning already.

"I'm sorry. I had nightmares again" you said as you grabbed the mug from Ben. "Its okay, babe." Ben replied as he kissed your head and walked toward the kitchen.

You sat up on the sofa as you watched the morning news. You turned the volume up as the news reporter was talking about two people going missing over the week. The missing persons were living a few miles from where you live. You feel yourself getting chills on how dangerous this neighborhood possibly is. The reporter was describing the suspect when suddenly the channel was switched to a football game. You turned your head to find Ben holding the remote.

"Hey I was watching that" you pouted.

"And add fodder to your nightmares? No way." He said. He had a point though.

Finally, you decided to hold a house party inviting a few of yours and Ben's friends. Lucy, Rami, Joe and Gwilym stayed until after the party was over because you all had a lot to talk about. You mentioned your nightmares to Lucy and Joe. Lucy was worried about it while Joe was being his funny self and said he'll buy you a baseball bat in case some idiot tried something. The night ended with you feeling a little buzzed from the champagne Rami kept handing to you. You were giggling as Ben helped you up the stairs to your bedroom. The folks left a few minutes ago and Ben decided to leave the mess to be cleaned up tomorrow. He tucked you in bed as you drifted to sleep.

The air was hot. The hallway was dark. By now, you've become accustomed to the setup of your new home. Accustomed to this nightmare. You kept walking, heading downstairs. The door to your basement was open. There was light flowing from there. You crossed the distance between the staircase to the kitchen through a small hallway leading to the basement. You knocked over a champagne bottle. The loud crash startled you. You pushed the shards to the corner using your foot as you continued walking to the basement. You took careful steps as you descended the unpainted wooden stairs.

There was someone else in your basement. You kept walking. You saw someone lying on a table in the middle of your basement. She was unconscious. She was hurt. You ran back upstairs. Heavy footfalls were close behind you. As you crossed the threshold between the basement and the hallway, you feel someone grabbing you from behind, covering your nose with a cloth, making you unconscious.

You woke up in your bed, small bits of sunlight slowly illuminating your bedroom. Your boyfriend was beside you, sleeping. You slowly sat up, wondering if was it indeed a dream or not. You quickly got off the bed, waking Ben in the process. You quickly headed downstairs to see if there were evidence of last night's memory.

"Babe, what's going on?" He called. You ignored him, your heart beating rapidly as you descended the stairs, crossing the kitchen. "Babe!" Ben continued trailing behind you. You were feeling nervous and mighty confused. You stopped at the kitchen counter, looking for shards of the bottle you supposedly broke last night.

There was nothing.

"Babe what are you doing?" Ben's voice was starting to sound angry. You were mumbling to him about last night's dream as you continued to look around for shards. Eventually, you gave up and headed to the basement door. You opened the door and descended down the stairs carefully, with only the light of the upstairs window to illuminate your way. At the bottom of the stairs you found the light switch. You flipped it and looked around the room.

It was empty.

Ben stopped in the middle of the stairs, looking at your distressed face.

You realized you were going crazy.

Tears started to form in your eyes as you looked at your boyfriend. You walked closer to him. "Ben. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You couldn’t stop apologizing as you walked closer to him. Ben lets go of a breath he was holding. "It was a nightmare and it felt so real! That there was a woman here and she was hurt and she wasn't breathing!" You kept crying as you hugged Ben who was standing in the middle of the stairs. The staircase gradually became brighter as the sun kept rising. You realized you were soaking Ben's shirt with tears. You gradually detached yourself to look at him. He kept a straight solemn face, not looking at you. "Ben I'm sorry. Please say something." You plead.

"Ben please say something!" You were interrupted when you felt a sting on your foot. You looked down to see a teardrop that had rolled from your face falling on your foot, crossing a wound you didn't remember. You crouched down to look closer, only to find another fresh wound. You remembered the shards of glass when you broke a bottle in your nightmare.

It wasn't a nightmare.

"It wasn't a dream.." you muttered to yourself. You looked up to Ben, who was also looking at your wound.

"What did you say?" Ben's voice sounded heavy. Suddenly you were afraid to look at him.

"It wasn't a dream. I broke a bottle last night and I might've cut myself with it. Ben someone was down here!"

"Baby, you were sleepwalking! You left the bed last night and I followed you to the kitchen where you broke a bottle. You didn't react to it and that’s when I realized you were sleepwalking so I carried you back to the bed!" Ben explained, panic painted all over his face.

"No I wasn't sleepwalking! You've only just came up with that excuse because you've never mentioned it since we woke up! I don't sleepwalk and there’s no way for me to sleepwalk because I was drinking last night! I should've slept through the night but I didn't. Because something was.... going on." You started yelling at Ben but your voice started to falter when your brain started to put two and two together.

The missing persons on TV, Waking up without Ben, his constant trip to the hardware, him staying up late at night... Realization started to sink into you.

"I never had those nightmares. They were real." You said, backing away from your boyfriend. Ben walked back up the stairs. You were afraid. He reached the top of the stairs and shut the basement door, the click of the lock audible from where you stood at the foot of the basement stairs.

A/n: even i’m confused. What do u think? LET ME KNOOWW

#i mean put yourselves in ben's shoes his girlfriend was prolly losing her mind #im not saying ben is a serial killer here but he locked her in the basement and that counts as something #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #ben calling me babe is my kink #also villain ben

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deathstroke-the-himbonator · 6 years ago

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More on the RvB Warriors AU

((other characters I forgot about/failed to mention earlier as well as Flyoming lore that includes important events))

Freckles: After Spitestar (Church) died, Heavyheart (Caboose) found an injured pitbull in the woods. He helped nurse the dog back to health, and eventually returned home with the canine. The entire clan lost their collective shit, but no one could really talk Heavyheart out of keeping him, so... he stays. He’s picked up a handful of words, but he can’t speak full cat yet. When the twolegs invade the BGC’s territory, Freckles ends up protecting a majority of the clan cats, staying behind with Thunderspot to fight off the twolegs. He’s thought dead (or captured) for a bit, but returns later on to help defeat Felix and Locus.

Lopez: Another dog, this one being much more aggressive towards everyone in the clan (he’s a mutt that was found as a puppy in the woods, abandoned by his owners). Crimsonfur claims to have “tamed him” but everyone knows that’s bullshit. He’s been known to actually help a few times, but he typically just scares off intruders and hangs out around camp. He’s learned to do a majority of the repairs around camp, so all the dens are in perfect condition when he’s around. Currently MIA, but he’ll come back... he always does.

Sheila: A kittypet that occasionally visited the BGC’s territory, acting as an occasional confidant/mother figure to anyone who needed her. Eventually she passes away, having been incredibly old.

((I think that’s all the characters I haven’t covered that I know about (save for people from rvb14 and onward) but I’ll add more later probably))

MORE LORE UNDER CUT THAT I FEEL LIKE WRITING RIGHT NOW

- The shit that happens with Owlfur is Wild and I’m about to get into it (as well as get into Flowerstar and Owlfur’s relationship). - I’m Flyoming trash, so that ship still sails in this AU, but I’ve had to do some minor tweaking to the timeline since I made Tucktail Flowerstar’s son. (An easier solution would be to just take that out but Fuck That I love the “Tucker is Florida’s kid” theory). - Before PFL fell apart, Flowercreek became Very Aware that Jaggedstar was a dangerous individual, and he feared for his life. On top of that, he fell pregnant (he’s trans) and feared that Jaggedstar would kill his kits, as Flowercreek is the unofficial medicine cat of Motherclan, and although he never had proper training, he was worried it would still be considered inappropriate for him to have children. - At this point, Flowercreek had been secretly mated to Owlfur for several moons, so Owlfur was well aware that Flowercreek was pregnant and was excited for the kits to arrive. However, he also didn’t trust Jaggedstar to not harm his children, and agreed to help Flowercreek get the kits away from the clan once they were born. - The birth went badly. Flowercreek and Owlfur left the clan for the night once Flowercreek went into labor, and although Owlfur and him tried their best, two out of three of the kits perished, while the last one- the runt- barely survived. - Still, they had to get the poor kid to safety. After naming him Tuckkit, Flowercreek set out alone with the kit to find him a new home. Heading deeper into the woods, he ran into a young warrior; Crimsonfur. - Crimsonfur went to attack him, but upon realizing that this intruder had a kit, he begrudgingly stopped, and after having a long conversation with Flowercreek about his situation, he agreed to take Tuckkit with him back to the BGC clan. - After all of this, Flowercreek and Owlfur were absolutely Devastated, but life continued on. Several moons later, PFL finally fell apart. Flowercreek missed the entire fight, and came home to an empty, blood soaked camp, and no sign of Owlfur anywhere. - Depressed, Flowercreek left, and soon ran into another clan’s patrol... that included his beloved son! He recognized him right away, although the then Tuckpaw was unconvinced at first that this was his father. Still, the patrol agreed to bring Flowercreek back to camp with them for shelter. - It took a long while, but Tuckpaw soon accepted that Flowercreek was indeed his father, and once convinced he bombarded his dad with questions; who was his other parent? Where were they? What’s their name? Flowercreek answered vaguely, which frustrated Tuckpaw to no end and created a rift between them. - Despite knowing that they were related now, Tuckpaw struggled to build a relationship with Flowercreek. Even after his dad became leader, Tuckpaw could never really connect with him. - After Flowerstar’s death, Tucktail was left feeling guilty for not bonding with his father while he was alive, and also frustrated that he Still didn’t know who his other parent was.

Owlfur’s Lore

- During the PFL battle, Owlfur was badly injured by Losteye. He escaped in the midst of the infighting, running off to twoleg place. - He lived as a rogue for a long while, surviving off scraps and fighting off anyone who came too close. He mourned the loss of his mate- who he believed to be dead- but refused to give up on living. - He eventually ran into Cinderstalk and Losteye, and he attacked them both on sight. Despite Cinderstalk and Losteye working together, Owlfur managed to do fairly well, even killing Losteye in the process. Cinderstalk immediately chased him into BGC territory, where she delivered a blow she believed had killed him. This would not be the case. - Cinderstalk left Owlfur out to rot, but he miraculously survived. Later that same day, Fixcoat was foraging for herbs, only to find a mangled Owlfur. Feeling bad for the rogue, he dragged an unconscious Owlfur back to camp under the cover of night (as he knew this was Cinderstalk’s doing) and set him up in a concealed nest at the back of the medicine den, a curtain of leaves and vines keeping him hidden from sight. - One day while visiting the medicine den for something mundane, Tucktail heard a distinct coughing. He went to the back of the den to investigate, only to find a barely conscious cat. Deciding not to tell anyone that he knew about this strange rogue (not even Fixcoat), Tucktail began visiting Owlfur nightly. - At first, Owlfur refused to answer Tucktail’s rambling through the curtain, but after a long while, he decided to talk back. It started as small talk- where was he from? What’s his name?- that soon turned into deeper conversations. - Very soon, Owlfur realized Tucktail was his missing son, and his behavior changed entirely. He became much friendlier with Tucktail (he’d previously been very short with him), and began asking about his lineage. Hearing that the previous leader- Flowerstar- was his father only cemented Owlfur’s theory. - Unfortunately, this didn’t last. Owlfur soon recovered and left the clan without saying goodbye (he didn’t want Cinderstalk to find out he was alive and try to finish what she started). Tucktail was disappointed, but not overtly so (he had no idea at the time that Owlfur was his other father). - Rumors of an elusive white cat with black paws being active near the clan soon circulated through camp, and Tucktail was happy to hear it, just glad that Owlfur was still alive. - After Tuckkit Jr’s birth, the sightings ceased, and Tucktail assumed Owlfur had moved on (a shame really; he would’ve loved to introduce his kit to him, as Owlfur had acted almost fatherly to him in the past and Tucktail wanted the experience of showing his offspring to his parents). However, that quickly changed. - Out of seemingly nowhere, Tuckkit began wandering off a lot at night. This deeply worried Tucktail, as he didn’t want his child to get hurt. However, when Tuckkit began telling his father about “a nice white cat in the woods”, Tucktail relaxed, believing that Owlfur was watching over his kit. - Cinderstalk soon found out about Tuckkit’s “new friend” while out on a night patrol, where she spotted a very much alive Owlfur chitchatting with an incredibly excited Tuckkit. She pounced, slashing Owlfur across the muzzle before picking up Tuckkit and taking off back to camp. - Once home, Cinderstalk forced Spitestar to call a clan meeting, where she explained who Owlfur was and why he was incredibly dangerous, and she warned her clanmates to keep a close eye on their borders. The news devastated Tucktail, and he quickly began resenting Owlfur, believing that the elderly cat was after his son. - For a long while, things were quiet; Tuckkit stopped wandering off at night, no one had seen Owlfur in awhile, and Tucktail began to feel like his son was safe again... that is, until Owlfur finally struck. Late at night, he attacked alongside the remnants of the AI clan (the only ones who came were Pigeonfeather (Gamma/Gary) and Lizardstrike (Omega/O’Malley)) and stole Tuckkit from the queens/kings den. - The clan devolved into chaos, where a lot of people were injured. In the end, it was Spitestar, Tucktail, and Cinderstalk left conscious to fight off the three intruders. Spitestar managed to lose a life due to Owlfur attacking him, which triggered Tucktail to go all out, pinning Owlfur to the ground. (By this point, he’s learned that Owlfur is his other father, as Owlfur had told Tuckkit he was, in no uncertain terms, his biological grandfather. Besides, while still being cared for by Fixcoat, Owlfur had admitted to Tucktail that he was once in a romantic relationship with Flowerstar). - Although it killed Tucktail inside to do so, he bit into Owlfur’s throat, snapping his neck and killing him in order to protect his kit and clan (before killing Owlfur, he whispered something along the lines of “sorry, dad” or “tell dad I love him” into his ear). - After Owlfur’s death, Pigeonfeather revealed why Owlfur had tried to kidnap Tuckkit; Tuckkit has been blessed by Starclan, and therefore is bound to have some sort of magical powers (think the Big Three in the 3rd arc of the Warrior Cats books). Not only that, it had already been revealed by Fixcoat that this was true, so everyone in the clan believes that Tuckkit is destined to become the clan’s future leader/protector. - Suddenly, Lizardstrike attacked, killing Pigeonfeather (as he wanted the kit’s powers for his own personal use). He then attacked the other cats, who he badly injured. Scooping up Tuckkit, he began to go on his merry way. - Realizing that he was being separated from his father, Tuckkit began to cry, and out of seemingly nowhere, it began to rain. While staring up at the sudden downpour, Lizardstrike was unprepared as a bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree, sending it crashing down on top of him. - Seeing the tree falling, Cinderstalk used the last of her strength to spring forward and knock Tuckkit out of Lizardstrike’s mouth, smacking the kit away before the tree could hit him, too. - Once the dust settled, Cinderstalk and Lizardstrike were dead, crushed underneath the tree. The threats to Tuckkit’s safety gone, the downpour stopped, and Tucktail quickly ran and comforted his son, mourning the loss of so many lives in one night, including his other father.

((That’s pretty much all I got right now... stick around for more bullshit lore at some point in the future))

#rvb #warriors #warrior cats #rvb warriors au #i originally only wanted to talk about the characters i missed... then this happened #sorry y'all i got carried away #i just... really love this au

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mbtinsanity-blog · 6 years ago

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Why I’m Actually Into Myers Briggs

I was one of those kids that took silly online quizzes just because I wanted to know what they would say about me and what that could mean. I knew rationally that the outcome didn’t have any real meaning, but it was fun analyzing the results as if they meant something anyway. It was the reason I was also attracted to astrology, fortune telling, and palm reading, even though I knew there wasn’t credible evidence behind them. See I’m an extremely evidence-based person, a scientist even, if I can live up to that claim. I like when things make logical sense and I don’t simply believe in things without some supporting evidence as free from bias as possible. So naturally I was attracted to Myers Briggs, the psychological marriage of a logical system and human cognition, but for a long time I simply regarded it as a slightly more in-depth version of other personality systems, none of which seemed to have any real evidence supporting them. That is until three years ago. I don’t remember what prompted me into another Myers Briggs rabbit hole (a not-so-infrequent occurrence at the time), but I had begun to explore the cognitive functions behind the four letters for the first time in my life. Learning about the cognitive functions actually helped me decide between two types I had thought were both fitting for me (based on description alone), but were actually complete opposites in their cognitive stack. Anyway, I started following an inspiring Myers Briggs columnist and reading a little more about the role of each function and how it manifests in each position of someone’s stack. There was one particular article she’d written about the process someone goes through when they’re under stress. The general idea is that you come across a problem that you attempt to resolve with each function in your main stack. If each function fails to solve the problem (starting with your first function and then going down the line), you eventually get stuck in your fourth function, I believe what most people call being in the “grip” of your fourth or inferior function. It was interesting stuff and it made more sense than the generic descriptions of types, but I still wasn’t convinced. I liked Myers Briggs, but there wasn’t really any compelling evidence for it being real. Until there was. So here I am, enjoying Myers Briggs with a better understanding of the cognitive functions, but still not really believing the system. Like it was a cool system, but it was just for fun. So, naturally, I go to my best friend’s house and I bring her down the rabbit hole with me. She was a beautifully willing participant, as invested in the fun of personality analysis as I was, but more focused (at least at the time) on the descriptions of types rather than the cognitive functions behind them. She was between two very similar types (ENFJ and ESFJ) and even with my knowledge of cognitive functions I wasn’t able to definitively discern which one she might be. I’d also like to note that I did not go into great detail, if any, about the cognitive functions with her at this time. Her assessment was purely based on personality descriptions. Without any conclusive feelings about her personality type, we moved on. I mean c’mon, we have other things we want to enjoy in life, and what better way to spend time with a friend than through the manifestations of ourselves in some FANTASTIC ROLE-PLAYING? (no seriously, rping is super fun). My bestie was already well-versed in the role-playing universe. She ran her own DnD campaigns, dominated the LARP scene, ran countless other tabletop role-playing scenarios, and all-in-all was a seasoned role-playing nerd. Me? I’d only barely touched Pathfinder, but I was really into role-playing in a free form system, one where the story was negotiated by the players (without any true DM) and not by the luck of dice or a system of predetermined rules. So I wanted to introduce her to this new system and we both went into it with boundless enthusiasm. But if there’s one thing you learn from role-playing, it’s that at some point you are absolutely 100% going to run into conflict. So let’s get into the meat of things, then. We had a set up for getting her character to infiltrate NASA. Why? Because she was going to spontaneously surprise her casual lover (my character) with a visit at work, and I don’t know if you know this, but casual lovers aren’t usually on the NASA guest list. It was a fun scenario! Who doesn’t like a little unnecessarily impulsive bribery and sneakery just to flirt (”flirt”) with your sometimes boyfriend at his workplace? Needless to say, her character shows up in an outfit that is 200% not an outfit you’d wear if you worked at NASA. Now I’m playing an NPC receptionist (NASA’s gotta have at least one) and I imagine as a receptionist at NASA, managing communications between different departments and personnel, that you’re gonna be just a liiiiittle suspicious of an unabashedly sexy lady who walks through the front door in tight pants and bright red stilettos. So I add that the receptionist looks at her character with some skepticism. And so began the single greatest observation I have made thus far in my entire evidence-based life. Immediately, my bestie became a little defensive. I wasn’t really sure why, but she asked me if this was still what I wanted to do. Y’know, were my feelings about this role-playing scenario still positive. And I told her yes, of course, I am having a great time, I’m still committed to this scenario and I am on your side, we will make sure that you character infiltrates NASA. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a satisfactory answer. The balance of our friendship being reaffirmed was not comforting to her (if you know anything about the cognitive functions, this is what it looks like when Extraverted Feeling isn’t making you feel better). There was something else about this scenario that was making her feel threatened, so she tried again. “Okay, well, I’m used to systems I’ve used in past DnD campaigns and other role-playing games and normally a response like this means that my character has already failed.” Now THIS was interesting. A verbal description of Introverted Sensing at work from someone who had no genuine understanding of the cognitive functions. I had to curb my curiosity and keep a straight face as I explained to her that her feelings made sense, but I was trying to introduce her to a new role-playing system where there were fewer predetermined rules and more player negotiations, a system that was less defined and more free form. Needless to say, this wasn’t comforting. By this point, she was visibly stressed and I felt absolutely terrible about it but I continued to observe, waiting to discover some way I could help her feel better. And then she tried again. “Okay well if I were DMing this, I would make sure that your character had multiple options available for infiltrating NASA like being able to flirt her way in or threaten her way in or maybe there’s a card key lying around she could pick up or a family picture she could talk about, get on the receptionist’s good side and persuade her way through.” I’m sure she listed more (and better) possibilities than what I did, but if that’s not a confession of Extraverted Intuition I don’t know what is. And seriously! She did not know what the cognitive functions were. Here she is, this poor people-oriented soul under lots of emotional stress and all I can think of in my head is “SHE IS LITERALLY DESCRIBING HER FUNCTIONS TO ME RIGHT NOW AND SHE DOESN’T KNOW IT, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING”. Okay so the thing here was, I did actually have available options for her to test out, but we hadn’t really gotten through to any of them as we’d only really just started. So I told her not to worry, I do have available options for you and it’s okay. NOPE. It was not okay, and I could tell because she suddenly got very quiet. This was my bestie, my wonderful, talkative, extroverted, people-loving bestie. And she was silent. I could watch the cogs in her head turning for possible explanations, stuck in a logical limbo, and finally when she spoke, she apologized, not understanding why she was under stress, trying to analyze the possible reasons for why she was reacting the way she was reacting. Maybe it was the house we were in, filled with bad memories. Maybe it was some errand she ran earlier that didn’t work out or other little stressors throughout the day that were building up and up and up. Maybe it was the curtains in the room and how she’d told her mom not to order those curtains because they let in too much light in the morning so she couldn’t sleep well or they didn’t match the room right or she told her mom what curtains to buy and then her mom bought these other curtains anyway. I watched her search for explanations for her behavior and fail to understand why she’d reacted the way she had (that’s a shadow function talk for another post). But here she was, exhibiting all the signs of someone stuck in the grip of their inferior function, which in this case was clearly Introverted Thinking. It was like seeing a unicorn; a genuine bonafide certified unicorn. I didn’t do anything to make her say what she said, I only responded to her worries and observed. I was as unbiased and uninvolved a party as I could possibly be while still understanding the material, and she didn’t have any knowledge or understanding of the cognitive functions, which made her as unbiased a study subject as she could possibly be, and she actually described every single cognitive function as she was experiencing it under progressive stress and in the exact order of an ESFJ. I was stunned, the most fascinated and intrigued I’ve ever been in my whole life. Of course I was sure to be sympathetic and understanding on the outside. She’s my best friend after all, I wasn’t just gonna let her be stressed and not help her out of it, so we got some food downstairs and focused on some other friendship activity we could do together. But there you have it. This comes about as close to seeing god as I’ll ever get, and ever since I’ve been a lot more invested in MBTI than is probably healthfully recommended. But I haven’t lost my roots. MBTI is still a system, and the system needs to be tested and checked and is not to be misused to fit people into a category that defines them wholly as a person. All important things to keep in mind as we keep observing people and trying to understand where conflict happens, why it happens, why two people get along or don’t get along, what values are clashing or coming together in the most beautiful way. There is so much to learn from people, so much to learn about people, and having a system that helps talk about how people function in a potentially universal way is worth understanding and investigating. And that’s why I’m actually into Myers Briggs.

#this is long #story time #insights #mbti #cognitive functions

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titleknown · 3 years ago

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Reblogging because this is a really good post addressing a constant thing I’m annoyed by in this discussion, but also to add my two cents.

Like, specifically relating to this quote here:

Here’s the assumption that people keep making in responses to this post though: that people have to be taught, through a difficult and grueling process, to recognize deeper meaning in a text.

Cause like... I think that negative perspective is based on the observation of ignorant people around them and blaming people for percieved moral failures rather than taking an institutional view of things.

Like, just like how Thomas Hobbes’ experience in the English Civil War made him conclude that human nature was fundamentally horrible, stuff like; say; Racefail or Gamergate lead people who witnessed them to conclude that people are inherently ignorant in the way they interact with media.

Which, the irony is, I think it’s the reverse. The alienation from literary analysis via factors OP talked about I think fosters that exact sort of active ignorance. The idea that “It’s just a story, looking into it further ruins it“ and “The curtains are just blue” is something not natural, but actively taught through the idea that this process must be painful For Your Own Good.

So, in trying to push back against the problem, they are becoming the very sort of “tough love”/”learn by pain” people who cause the problem. Which, as an autistic person, god I hate those people

(Speaking of which, as an aside, how the fuck does someone end up unironically saying “the purpose of learning to read is not to foster a life-long love of reading. it is to learn to read.“ and not realize what an unhelpful asshole they sound like? Like, congrats, you sound like a fucking Roald Dahl villain of the kind that actively causes this problem, please go and rethink your life!)

But on some level, I get it. When you feel as if organized change is impossible, and the institutional problems seem overwhelming, it's easy to fall into the trap of treating individuals as the problem and playing whack-a-mole, because you feel like you can’t change anything other than by making a few people you hate shut up.

And even on a broader level, in this age of monopolization, it’s a whole lot easier to blame fan-zombies or generalized “stupid people” acting en-masse for the destruction of your favored nitche; personalized art rather than; say; overly lax antitrust laws or the 2008 market crash, despite those being significantly more responsible for the way art’s been hollowed out.

And I think really this push to bring cringe culture back as a response to the fact that our current society and more directly our political system makes change for the better feel impossible (#OctogenerianCenterDemsPleaseDieChallenge) basically serves as a massive obstacle in efforts to truly organize and fix the problems that are going on.

Which, as someone who’s big goal is to be a part of those efforts to organize, I am perpetually mad about...

Anyway unpopular opinion probably but the school system (and general book snobbery) fucks up by trying to force kids to read "classics" before they have the mental and emotional development to appreciate them.

This post is me telling you to consider revisiting that classic book you read in the 7th grade that you hated because the ability to understand a lot of literature gets unlocked later, for reasons a lot to do with emotional maturity

#politics #reading #critique #culture #rambling #long post #shut up titleknown

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imjustthemechanic · 7 years ago

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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

Arriving on Sicily, our heroes get a hint that they’re in the right place.

The clerk took their luggage to put in the lockers, and the others headed for the restaurant while Jim stayed to stand guard and Natasha went through the last few numbers the desk phone had called. There was a laundry service and two taxi companies, the airport – and then a number that was answered by a man who said “Hotel Isabella, Taormina.”

Nat wrote down the name and hung up.

“We got it?” asked Jim.

“We got it,” Nat agreed, pulling a page off the notepad to tuck into her pocket.

The clerk reappeared in the doorway. “Was there something else you needed?” she asked, surprised to still find them there.

“Only a pen,” Nat replied, slipping it back into the cup.

Though it might look shabby from the outside, the Europa Palace Hotel had four and a half stars and the dining bore that out. The locally-made bread was particularly lovely, and upon learning that one of the dishes had nuts in it, Clint called the waiter over to ask about the best places to get pistachios.

“So what’s Taormina?” asked Jim.

Sam was flipping through an English-language tourist brochure he’d taken from the front desk. “Says here’s it been a resort town since Roman times and is well-known for its shopping,” he said. “It’s also pretty close to the volcano.”

Clint looked up from scribbling down addresses of nut vendors. “Wait, we’re going closer to the volcano?” he asked. “We want to live through this, don’t we? What was the point of healing me with that goop if we don’t?”

“If she’s in Taormina, then yeah, we are,” said Nat, mentally arranging her map of Sicily.

“That might be the point,” said Jim.

“You think so?” Nat asked.

“Well, I doubt she’s looking for Swarovski crystal or designer shoes,” Sam said.

“Is there a reason?” Nat asked Jim, “or just an intuition?”

He shrugged. “It just feels right,” he said – the same way he’d known that Newton’s notebooks were in Greek, or where to go to look for the man in Athens. “Maybe it’s because alchemists are associated with fire.”

Natasha had already observed that a volcano was a giant furnace. “When we catch up with her, we’ll ask her,” she said.

“Are we gonna be able to get there?” asked Clint. “There might not be any buses or anything. If the volcano is active, people are probably trying to get away from it.”

“I bet there’ll be more buses than usual,” Nat said. “Tourists come from all over the world to see Mount Etna. To see it erupting we’ll be lucky to get seats.”

Clint shook his head. “Incredible,” he said. “I know I’m no genius, but even I know that you don’t sit next to a volcano!”

“If people knew not to sit next to a volcano, Pompeii wouldn’t get millions of visitors each year,” said Sharon.

“Where is Pompeii?” asked Sir Stephen.

“It’s in Italy, at the foot of Mount Vesuvius,” Natasha explained. “There was a Roman city there that was buried in 79 AD, and it’s perfectly preserved.”

She hadn’t known how he might react to the idea of Pompeii – Sir Stephen was not a fan of digging up the dead. To her surprise, he was enthralled. The people of his time had considered the Roman Empire a sort of lost golden age, and the idea of an intact city of that era, one where you could walk down the streets and get a feel for the décor in the houses, both fascinated and horrified him.

“At the rate we’re going, that’ll be the next stop on our Mediterranean’s Greatest Hits Tour,” said Clint. “There were cruise ships at the docs – was ouro friend there?”

He was referring to the Scorpio II they’d seen in Santorini and at Kotor. “I didn’t see it,” Nat said. Of course, she hadn’t looked.

“Well, at least we’re not being stalked by the idle rich,” said Clint.

Nat had been right about the buses – even though it was late in the afternoon, all the regular ones scheduled for Taormina was full, and the Sicilians had been obliged to add extras. Rather than cram themselves in with fifty volcano-mad tourists, the CAAP decided to rent a van, The woman at the rental agency commented that it was a good thing they needed a large vehicle, as almost all the smaller ones were already gone.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sharon announced, as they threw their luggage in the back and piled in, “when we get back we should probably present Fury and the Queen with a list of things we’re gonna need on future investigations. I’m thinking number one will be staff vehicles.”

“You’re assuming we haven’t already used up our annual budget,” said Clint. “I don’t know how much money we have, but I doubt it’s very much.”

“Then that’s the first thing we should ask,” Sharon said. “Once we know what our budget is, we can figure out how to allocate it. We probably should have asked before we got on the train with the mummy.”

“You guys aren’t very good at this secret government bureau thing, are you?” asked Jim.

“They’re new at it,” Nat told him.

They were moments from the turnoff to the coastal highway when Sam, who was driving, suddenly stamped on the brake hard enough that both Allen and Jim yelped. Sam didn’t apologize. He just pulled over, threw the door open, and hopped out with the engine still running.

“That way!” he pointed down a side street.

“What that way?” asked Natasha, already in the process of climbing out of the vehicle.

“Neustadt!” said Sam. “Newton! I saw him, I’m sure of it!”

He took off up the street, with Nat right behind him and Jim directly behind her. “Sam!” Nat shouted. “What was he wearing?”

“Light blue t-shirt with a Greek temple on it!” Sam shouted back.

They reached the next intersection. Roads went off in three directions, all of them choked with traffic both in cars and on foot, almost all of it on the way out of Messina towards Mount Etna. At the time he was born, Sir Isaac Newton had been of average height, but in the twenty-first century he was quite short and vanished quickly into the crowd. Natasha, who was short, herself, couldn’t see any sign of him.

“Split up,” Sam said.

Nat went straight ahead, Sam left, and Jim right. The others, bringing up the rear, also divided – Sharon and Sir Stephen went with Jim, Clint with Sam, and Allen with Natasha. The two of them followed the street they were on almost all the way to the Piazza del Popolo, but saw no sign of Newton. Each asked several people, Allen in English and Nat in Italian, if they’d seen a small white-haired man in a beat-up hat and a tourist’s shirt, but everybody they spoke to had been too busy getting where they were trying to go. If the man Sam had seen had indeed been Newton, he’d slipped through their fingers.

It was soon clear that they weren’t going to be able to find him again. Nat and Allen trudged back to the car to find that Sam and Clint were already there, looking morose. The rest of the party didn’t show up for several more minutes, until Sam finally rang Sharon to ask if they were coming. She replied that they’d followed a man in a light blue t-shirt for several blocks before the crowds allowed them to catch up with him, only to find he was somebody else.

The group was in low spirits as they climbed back into their rented van, enough so that Allen apparently felt the need to cheer everybody up. “Look at it this way,” he suggested. “If Newton is in Sicily, we must be on the right track.”

“Either that, or we’re all so worked up we’re seeing things,” grumbled Sam.

“Maybe you are,” said Jim.

“We know Desrosiers is here,” Nat pointed out. “Or at least that she was here not long ago. If Newton’s here, too, she’ll know about it.” Something very important must be going on in Taormina… or perhaps Jim was right, and there was something important about the volcano itself. Could a volcanic crater be used as an alchemical furnace, or was there something else going on here?

They set off again, heading south towards Taormina. Like European towns of any size, no matter how recently built, Messina did not sprawl. Soon they were out of the city and into the rugged countryside beyond. Volcanic Sicily was a hilly place, all sheer cliffs and dry riverbeds, with vegetation that ranged from colourful oleanders and bougainvillea to gray olive trees, tall palms with their curtains of dead leaves hanging below the crown of green ones, and even prickle pear cactus, brought back from the Americas by sailors long ago. The road snaked along the coast rather treacherously in places, with the slopes soaring away on their right and arches supporting the pavement high above towns and beaches on their left.

“So,” Jim asked, as the countryside rolled by, “this may be a stupid question, but… what is it that you people actually do?”

Nat glanced at Sam, sitting next to her in the driver’s seat. He shrugged, and his shoulders shook a little as he chuckled quietly. She smiled back – even they weren’t quite sure what it was they did. They’d certainly gone far beyond their initial mission on this trip. “Well… I guess we appraise archaeological peril,” she said. “If something’s old and looks like it’s weird and magical, I guess it’s our job to keep an eye on it and figure out what to do if it starts causing trouble. We got involved in this expecting a mummy’s curse.”

“That’s right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling out loud this time. “I totally forgot about the mummy. I wonder what they’re doing with that.”

“Conservators in Paris have been gluing the sarcophagus back together under the supervision of Egyptian specialists,” said Sharon. “So far the news websites haven’t said another about the mummy itself. I suspect it was beyond saving.”

“That is better for her than being gawked at by travelers in a museum,” said Sir Stephen.

“What about pilgrimages?” Nat asked him. “People in your time used to go visit holy sites and the relics of saints. How is visiting Egypt to see a mummy any different?”

“For one thing, you seek no benefit to your soul,” Sir Stephen said.

“That’s not true,” said Sharon. “I’ve always thought traveling was very good for the soul, so to speak. You get to relax a bit, you have a change of scenery, meet some new people and try some new things. As long as you’re getting out of your hotel or off your boat once in a while to mingle with the locals, it’s a learning experience.”

Nat was glad she added the caveat. Thinking about the cruise ships, she’d observed that there were probably people on board who’d spent the whole trip in the casino with a drink in one hand and a slot machine lever in the other.

“What if you’re saving the world?” asked Clint with a smile.

“That’s not even travel,” Sharon snorted. “That’s work. That’s the whole concept of a Mediterranean vacation ruined for me forever.”

#fanfic #natasha romanov #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #clint barton #sharon carter

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