#but my friend and i r holding each other accountable to sketch every other day

[nikoco11]

the joys of pen and paper

[jarofmiseries]

meet   pandora   marino   

g’day mates, just arrived to the bbq with this baby, so without further delay here’s my baby-girl’s intro. it happens to be all over the place which i apologise in advance as i have a shocker of headache - would i have liked it to be better oh but of course but here’s what we’re left with. sloppy somethings that’s for damn sure. here’s quick info along with some wanted connections! 

s t a t s   .

f u l l   n a m e   :   Pandora   Gioia   Marino  a g e   :   Twenty-one b i r t h d a y   :   31st   October  z o d i a c   :   Scorpio s e x u a l i t y   :   Pansexual  o c c u p a t i o n s   :   Cashier at Gio’s & Babysitter  s i d e   h u s t l e   :   Art forger   l a n g u a g e s   :   Fluent in English & Italian

p h y s i c a l  .

f a c e   c l a i m   :   Kiernan Shipka v o i c e   c l a i m   :   Kiernan Shipka h e i g h t   :   5′0 ft b o d y   s h a p e   :   Rectangle s k i n   t o n e   :   Pale, speckled all over in pale golden freckles e y e   c o l o u r   :   Hazel  h a i r   c o l o u r   :   Dyed blonde, natural ashy brown roots always on show and ribboned through the blonde in natural streaks.  t a t t o o s   :   She has one that she got with her mother on her eighteenth birthday. Wants to get more but money is going towards certain things and rest of her money in a bank account located in Italy. 

p e r s o n a l i t y   .

m b t i   :   ENFP

imaginative and original, these individuals are often very artistic, even in appearance.

may not be up front about all her cards, tends to keep them close to her chest, despite being such an open personality. in her art pieces that haven’t been forged to make a bit of each cash for her and her family, one might be able to see the sorrows, passion and stories painted on a canvas.

she’s very creative and likes to dabble in a bit of everything. she has her own fashion sense, paints based off the world around her, and lives in the moment looking for her next source of inspiration.

she is loyal to her friends no matter what, but she does occasionally get her feelings hurt easily. but when her feelings are hurt, she doesn’t talk about it. she simply states she’s upset and walks away until the problem is fixed. or never speaks of it again. hoping for water under the bridge. 

pandora states things in very matter-of-fact ways.

she has a hard time letting go of people and will associate them with other things in order to feel their presence again. she has a good memory for details.

pandora obtains pretty good people skills from the years of working at her father’s store... now her brother’s store. not to mention how her personality blends well with children from the positive ways in which she clings to when in their presence to make sure they all see the glass half full and purposely to let them hold on to their innocents for as long as they can in a town like Charming.

not big on confrontation in the slightest but will throw hands if she feels she needs to. 

always content with life. 

q u i c k   i n f o   .

Pandora happens to be the baby of the Marino family, the apple of her father’s eye and the ghostly smile on her mother’s lips whenever the blonde happened to be around with that all said it is easy to guess life was much easier on her. Free from not having to live up to family obligations, giving her the freedom to go down the path of art instead of the stable route of college. 

Her parents have always been her biggest fans in her art works since the day she picked up a paint brush.

Giovanni would always note how much she remind him of his mother in looks where as her personality a lot like her mother in peak of her youth. Never did she take it well, not wanting to be a knock off nor having the expectations of trying to live up to either of the women in her family as she never wants to disappoint them. 

When her father passed away four years ago, Pandora found herself at a crossroads of trying to still discover herself and wanting to keep his memory alive but how does one keep the dead alive without some strange experiment. So, she was lost, a drift in this crazy world. And has never truly unearthed who she’s supposed to be which means re-creating herself monthly almost.

Clearing out the attic once not long after her father passed away, she found a box of her father’s old sketch books and there she sat in the dust filled attic and the torch light travelling over fine detail. This was the staple in her life, by continuing with art, her father would never truly die as he’ll live through her in every art piece. In this time in the attic, may it been the age dust she inhaled went to her head, she started to copy works of art from the one book that was in the box of her father’s things. 

It would’ve been two solid years until she was able to re-create famous artworks down to the paints or even the paintbrushes used, technique flawless that it started to get her attention from buyers and one of her older siblings stepped in to help her out in being the front in a sense for the replicas. Rerouting money transfers from America, Germany and many other countries before stopping in Italy or where the trail goes cold. Because rich snobs deserve to be conned out of their money.

c o n n e c t i o n s   .

the big ex

slowburn relationship - rewatched sabrina living for calbrina

best friends like two of them

a father figure that she has latched onto - besides her brother. 

someone from the wicked wolves that wants her to join because they got wind of her art works.

bad influence 

neighbours - tends to sing loudly whenever in the back shed which is her mini art studio or sleeping on their front yard after a night out. 

personal driver because she does have a driver’s license

it’ll be super cute though if a mc member is teaching her to ride a motorbike before the car.

honestly anything will do !

[thiswasinevitableid]

I would love for you to do the sharing favours professionally from the rivalry/ friends to enemies to lovers for the prompt fill for indruck? (I'm on mobile so can't copy the whole prompt) 😁

“ we’ve been begrudgingly sharing favours back and forth to help each other out professionally but this time i need you to do something more personal and you know you wouldn’t have gotten that account without my help last month or that promotion so you owe me.”

Content note: There’s a brief description of Indrid’s ex being verbally shitty to him.

“No, nuh uh, aboslutely no fuckin way.” Duck maneuvers the last butterfly bush into its display row, stands up to find Indrid glaring at him.

“Why not?”

“Indrid, we see plenty of each other at work. I’m not gettin roped into some evenin shindig with you just because you asked.”

He heads inside, the skinny, pale-haired man on his heels.

“Duck, please, I help you out all the time.”

“Yeah, with work. And it’s only now and then.” He settles behind the counter, checking off the deliveries that have already happened. Indrid stays on the other side of it.

“Oh, really?” he arches a dark eyebrow (of course the guy dyes his hair), “what about the time I made sure city hall chose us for the five year landscaping contract even when you were the one who was supposed to be working on winning them over?”

“That how we’re playin?” Duck leans on his elbows, staring Indrid down, “because I seem to recall it was me who helped convince Mama that havin a little florists space so you could do your arrangements was a swell idea.”

Indrid opens his mouth to retort when the phone rings.

Duck grabs it, “Mama’s Nursery and Landscapin, Duck speakin. Oh, howdy Winthrop. Yep, expectin the last orders this week, then we’ll get started on that zen garden. Uh huh. I see. We’ll see what we can do. You have a nice day now.”

He clicks the phone off, “I hate the rich bastard, but he wants us to do the landscapin on their summer home, which’ll be a nice chunk of change.”

“See! There’s another one you owe me. You have such a hard time being in the room with him, the only reason we got the hospital garden job is because I turned on the charm.”

“Is that what you call it when you get that weird smile on your face?”

Indrid groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. When his hand drops away he looks...defeated. 

He and Duck may bicker, may compete from time to time, but Indrid’s a good guy. Hell, Duck will even admit (begrudgingly) that he often enjoys how much the two of them work together. 

Duck sighs, forces his brain to switch from arguing mode to problem solving mode, “Indrid, what’s all this about?”

“I told you, I have an art showing.”

“Right, but why do you need me to go. Why do you need anyone, ain’t your job at those to make small talk and hope people say nice things about your drawins?”

Indrid swallows, picks at the front of his work apron, “He’s going to be there.” He says meekly. 

“He-oh fuck, you mean The Shithead?”

Indrid nods.

“He tryin to pull some stunt to make you take him back?”

Indrid laughs bitterly, “no, he’s been all over his social media bragging about how he’s going to turn up with a hot date to my show,  “show me what I gave up” and all that. Dani saw it and warned me so he couldn’t take me by surprise. I have so few friends in town, and everyone but you has work or something else that night. I thought it would be nice to have someone I knew with me.”

Duck thinks about Indrid’s ex. The guy’d come into the shop plenty of times, often making a big show of putting a possessive arm around Indrid (who never seemed to enjoy the gesture). At least, that’s what he always did when Duck was around. Worse, whenever Indrid was describing a new landscaping design, or working on an arrangement, the ex would pick at it, say how it was bad or lacking, that it would never work and no one would like it. And Duck would watch the glimmer dim in Indrids’ eyes, watch him go quiet (find him more than once sniffling and wiping his eyes furiously in an outbuilding once the guy left).

He looks back at the other man, who is staring at his scuffed converse. 

“Where am I meetin you and what time should I get there?”

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

Duck gives a tight smile to the group of hip twentysomethings crowding the door of the building as he squeezes through. It’s some art space/ coffee house/ bar that isn’t quite his scene, although he likes that it’s warm and lively as opposed to the fluorescent lights and weird silence he was expecting. 

He doesn’t spot Indrid right away, and so takes a moment to look at the drawings on the wall. They’re Indrid’s alright, he can recognize the ways they overlap with the sketches he does for arrangements or the plans he draws up for gardens. And they’re incredible, black and white with pops of color, a few abstract or dreamlike but many seeming more like still lifes. 

One in particular catches his eye and he stares at for a good two minutes, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar. 

“Ahem.” 

He turns, and has to forcibly stop his jaw from dropping.

Indrid is in dark slacks and some sort flowy black shall-jacket thing over a bright red shirt. His hair is tousled on purpose, rather than from getting it caught on plants.  

Has he always looked this good?

“Thanks for coming.” He says awkwardly, extending one of the two glasses he’s holding to Duck. 

“This all looks amazin.” Duck says, taking the drink with a smile. Indrid relaxes at that.

“Oh, I’m, uh, glad you like it.”

“What’s this one of?” Duck points to the drawing he’d been staring at.

“It’s of a really lovely, big cork oak up on one of the eastwoods trails. I like to go there on weekends and sketch.”

“Hold up, that the trail that ends at the little lake?”

“Yes.”

“No fuckin way! I hike that nearly every weekend. Amazed I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m usually off the trail a little ways.” He grins sheepishly when Duck looks aghast at this confession, “I know that’s not allowed but I’m able to get such different perspectives on the things I draw.”

“If, uh, if you wanted to, maybe we could go up together some time. Could leave you to do your drawin while I hiked and then, dunno, maybe get lunch of somethin?” 

Indrid looks a little surprised at the suggestion, but recovers quickly, “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

Duck stays by Indrid as he makes the rounds, asking him about the different drawings and enjoying the way he animatedly describes the process and idea behind each. 

The Shithead arrives about forty-five minutes in. Duck spots him first, complete with a date on his arm. The date is tall, slender, with pale hair, looking like Indrid if he were a model rather than just a regular guy. Or, Duck thinks as he watches the ex preen, as if someone took Indrid and erased all the things that made him so interesting to look at.

“Ex just got here.” He murmurs, and Indrid stiffens beside him. Duck, seized with a sudden need to protect him from that jerk, places an arm reassuringly on his lower back. Indrid glances at him, face unreadable, but relaxes into the touch. For the next fifteen minutes, whenever The Shithead makes a loud, derisive comment, Duck will squeeze Indrids hand or brush his fingers down his back and Indrid will shake off the words. 

There are several people wanting to buy drawings and so Indrid excuses himself to go thank them.

“Knew you’d be the one to pick up the scraps.” Says a familiar, unpleasant voice.

Duck turns, levels The Shithead with his most disinterested gaze. 

“Nice to see you too. And I ain’t got the slightest clue what you’re referrin to.”

“He was always talking about you. ‘Oh, Duck knows so much about native plants,’ ‘oh, Duck has such good ideas.’” He says it in a mocking, high pitched imitation of Indrids lilt and Duck wonders if he can get away with physically throwing him out of the building. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t surprise me that when I traded up, he went crawling to you. Honestly, you can do much better.”

“Beg pardon?” Duck growls.

“Let me see, how to put this in terms you understand? Why waste your time on a weed when you could have a prizewinning rose?”

“Because,” Duck says through gritted teeth, “sometimes people call things weeds just cause they don’t behave exactly how they want ‘em too, or because they don’t see the value in ‘em.” He steps closer to the ex, not noticing that he’s stopped whispering, “You fucked up. You were shitty and Indrid had the good sense to dump you and now you’re doin some petty shit to try and hurt him. He’s amazin at what he does, he works hard, he’s funny, and he’s so handsome I wanna look at him every damn day. You didn’t see the value in him. That’s your loss. Now fuck. Off.”

The Shithead is about to say something when a hand grabs his shoulder. His date is behind him, looking pissed.

“Hold on, you asked me out to try and hurt your ex?”

“Uhhh, babe, no, I can explain.”

Duck smirks, turns to check on Indrid just in time to see him slip out a side door.

“Goddammit.” He mutters, quickly following him. 

The door opens into an alley, and Indrid is standing with his back to him. When he turns, his hands are over his mouth and his eyes are wet. But he doesn’t look unhappy.

“You like me.” He whispers. 

“Uh” Duck scrambles, “well, yeah, we’re, uh, friendly types, fuck.”

“You think I’m handsome.”

“Shit, you heard all of that?”

Indrid nods, Duck sighs.

“Fuck it. Yeah, I think you’re handsome. And all the other stuff. And lots of, uh, other stuff that I didn’t say but could’ve.

Indrid steps closer, “Is the part where you admit all our arguing has been the only safe outlet for your, um, passion for me?”

Duck snorts, “Hell no, sometimes you need a fella who’ll tell when an idea ain’t feasible. But…” He meets Indrids hopeful gaze and smiles, “I’d be lyin if I said I ain’t thought about what it’d be like to be a different kind of partner to you.”

Indrid reaches for him, and Duck goes willingly into his arms as the taller man blushes and says, “Yes, I’ve thought about that quite a lot as well.”

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

 Dani’s glad Indrids’ show is open so late. It means she and Aubrey can go once Aubreys’ act is over. She even texted Jake and Hollis, asking if they wanted to check it out too (also, if Indrid’s ex was there, having someone who looked like, and basically was, the head of a motorcycle gang would come in really handy).

When the four of them reach the bar, she peeks in hoping to see Indrid, but can’t spot the taller man (or Duck) anywhere.

“Huh, maybe he left?”

“Or maybe he’s taking a little ‘break.’” Hollis makes airquotes before pointing up. They all look towards the balcony, which clearly isn’t in use for the party. 

It is, however, in use for the two figures currently occupying it for a long and intense looking kiss. One is wearing red glasses, the other lets out a laugh that unmistakably belongs to Duck Newton. 

“We should give them some privacy.” Aubrey says. The other three look at her, and then she grins.

“Just kidding! WOOOOOO GET IT DUCK!”

“ABOUT FUCKING TIME DUDES.”

“GET A ROOM!”

“I’M SORRY ABOUT THEM BUT GOOD FOR YOU!”

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

The sound of his friends catcalling them breaks Ducks concentration for all of two seconds. Then he flips them the bird, and goes back to the very important business of making out with his boyfriend. 

[mlleedom]

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

February 2002

I don't know what it is, but every time I see a white guy walking towards me, I tense up. My heart starts racing, and I immediately begin to look for an escape route and a means to defend myself. I kick myself for even being in this part of town after dark. Didn't I notice the suspicious gangs of white people lurking on every street corner, drinking Starbucks and wearing their gang colors of Gap turquoise or J Crew mauve? What an idiot! Now the white person is coming closer, closer - and then - whew! He walks by without harming me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

White people scare the crap out of me. This may be hard for you to understand - considering that I am white - but then again, my colour gives me a certain insight. For instance, I find myself pretty scary a lot of the time, so I know what I'm talking about. You can take my word for it: if you find yourself suddenly surrounded by white people, you better watch out. Anything can happen. As white people, we've been lulled into thinking it's safe to be around other white people. We've been taught since birth that it's the people of that other colour we need to fear. They're the ones who'll slit your throat!

Yet as I look back on my life, a strange but unmistakable pattern seems to emerge. Every person who has ever harmed me in my lifetime - the boss who fired me, the teacher who flunked me, the principal who punished me, the kid who hit me in the eye with a rock, the executive who didn't renew TV Nation, the guy who was stalking me for three years, the accountant who double-paid my taxes, the drunk who smashed into me, the burglar who stole my stereo, the contractor who overcharged me, the girlfriend who left me, the next girlfriend who left even sooner, the person in the office who stole cheques from my chequebook and wrote them out to himself for a total of $16,000 - every one of these individuals has been a white person. Coincidence? I think not.

I have never been attacked by a black person, never been evicted by a black person, never had my security deposit ripped off by a black landlord, never had a black landlord, never had a meeting at a Hollywood studio with a black executive in charge, never had a black person deny my child the college of her choice, never been puked on by a black teenager at a Mötley Crüe concert, never been pulled over by a black cop, never been sold a lemon by a black car salesman, never seen a black car salesman, never had a black person deny me a bank loan, and I've never heard a black person say, "We're going to eliminate 10,000 jobs here - have a nice day!"

I don't think that I'm the only white guy who can make these claims. Every mean word, every cruel act, every bit of pain and suffering in my life has had a Caucasian face attached to it.

So, um, why is it exactly that I should be afraid of black people?

I look around at the world I live in - and, I hate to tell tales out of school, but it's not the African-Americans who have made this planet such a pitiful, scary place. Recently, a headline on the front of the Science section of the New York Times asked Who Built The H-Bomb? The article went on to discuss a dispute between the men who claim credit for making the first bomb. Frankly, I could have cared less - because I already know the only pertinent answer: "It was a white guy!" No black guy ever built or used a bomb designed to wipe out hordes of innocent people, whether in Oklahoma City, Columbine or Hiroshima. No, friends, it's always the white guy. Let's go to the tote board:

· Who gave us the black plague? A white guy.

· Who invented PBC, PVC, PBB, and a host of chemicals that are killing us? White guys.

· Who has started every war America has been in? White men.

· Who invented the punchcard ballot? A white man.

· Whose idea was it to pollute the world with the internal combustion engine? Whitey, that's who.

· The Holocaust? That guy really gave white people a bad name.

· The genocide of Native Americans? White man.

· Slavery? Whitey!

· US companies laid off more than 700,000 people in 2001. Who ordered the lay-offs? White CEOs.

You name the problem, the disease, the human suffering, or the abject misery visited upon millions, and I'll bet you 10 bucks I can put a white face on it faster than you can name the members of 'NSync.

And yet, when I turn on the news each night, what do I see again and again? Black men alleged to be killing, raping, mugging, stabbing, gang banging, looting, rioting, selling drugs, pimping, ho-ing, having too many babies, fatherless, motherless, Godless, penniless. "The suspect is described as a black male... the suspect is described as a black male... THE SUSPECT IS DESCRIBED AS A BLACK MALE..." No matter what city I'm in, the news is always the same, the suspect always the same unidentified black male. I'm in Atlanta tonight, and I swear the police sketch of the black male suspect on TV looks just like the black male suspect I saw on the news last night in Denver and the night before in LA. In every sketch he's frowning, he's menacing - and he's wearing the same knit cap! Is it possible that it's the same black guy committing every crime in America?

I believe we've become so used to this image of the black man as predator that we are forever ruined by this brainwashing. In my first film, Roger & Me, a white woman on social security clubs a rabbit to death so that she can sell him as "meat" instead of as a pet. I wish I had a nickel for every time in the past 10 years that someone has come up to me and told me how "horrified" they were when they saw that "poor little cute bunny" bonked on the head. The scene, they say, made them physically sick. The Motion Picture Association of America gave Roger & Me an R [18] rating in response to that rabbit killing. Teachers write to me and say they have to edit that part out of the film, if they want to show it to their students.

But less than two minutes after the bunny lady does her deed, I included footage of a scene in which police in Flint, Michigan, shot a black man who was wearing a Superman cape and holding a plastic toy gun. Not once - not ever - has anyone said to me, "I can't believe you showed a black man being shot in your movie! How horrible! How disgusting! I couldn't sleep for weeks." After all, he was just a black man, not a cute, cuddly bunny. The ratings board saw absolutely nothing wrong with that scene. Why? Because it's normal, natural. We've become so accustomed to seeing black men killed - in the movies and on the evening news - that we now accept it as standard operating procedure. No big deal! That's what blacks do - kill and die. Ho-hum. Pass the butter.

It's odd that, despite the fact that most crimes are committed by whites, black faces are usually attached to what we think of as "crime". Ask any white person who they fear might break into their home or harm them on the street and, if they're honest, they'll admit that the person they have in mind doesn't look much like them. The imaginary criminal in their heads looks like Mookie or Hakim or Kareem, not little freckle-faced Jimmy.

No matter how many times their fellow whites make it clear that the white man is the one to fear, it simply fails to register. Every time you turn on the TV to news of another school shooting, it's always a white kid who's conducting the massacre. Every time they catch a serial killer, it's a crazy white guy. Every time a terrorist blows up a federal building, or a madman gets 400 people to drink Kool-Aid, or a Beach Boys songwriter casts a spell causing half a dozen nymphets to murder "all the piggies" in the Hollywood Hills, you know it's a member of the white race up to his old tricks.

So why don't we run like hell when we see whitey coming toward us? Why don't we ever greet the Caucasian job applicant with, "Gee, uh, I'm sorry, there aren't any positions available right now"? Why aren't we worried sick about our daughters marrying white guys? And why isn't Congress trying to ban the scary and offensive lyrics of Johnny Cash ("I shot a man in Reno/just to watch him die"), the Dixie Chicks ("Earl had to die"), or Bruce Springsteen ("I killed everything in my path/I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done").

Why the focus on rap lyrics? Why doesn't the media print lyrics such as the following, and tell the truth? "I sold bottles of sorrow, then chose poems and novels" (Wu-Tang Clan); "People use yo' brain to gain" (Ice Cube); "A poor single mother on welfare... tell me how ya did it" (Tupac Shakur); "I'm trying to change my life, see I don't wanna die a sinner" (Master P).

African-Americans have been on the lowest rung of the economic ladder since the day they were dragged here in chains. Every other immigrant group has been able to advance from the bottom to the higher levels of our society. Even Native Americans, who are among the poorest of the poor, have fewer children living in poverty than African-Americans.

You probably thought things had got better for blacks in this country. After all, considering the advances we've made eliminating racism in our society, one would think our black citizens might have seen their standard of living rise. A survey published in the Washington Post in July 2001 showed that 40%-60% of white people thought the average black person had it as good or better than the average white person.

Think again. According to a study conducted by the economists Richard Vedder, Lowell Gallaway and David C Clingaman, the average income for a black American is 61% less per year than the average white income. That is the same percentage difference as it was in 1880. Not a damned thing has changed in more than 120 years.

Want more proof? Consider the following:

· Black heart attack patients are far less likely than whites to undergo cardiac catheterisation, regardless of the race of their doctors.

· Whites are five times more likely than blacks to receive emergency clot-busting treatment after suffering a stroke.

· Black women are four times more likely than white women to die while giving birth.

· Black levels of unemployment have been roughly twice those of whites since 1954.

So how have we white people been able to get away with this? Caucasian ingenuity! You see, we used to be real dumb. Like idiots, we wore our racism on our sleeve. We did really obvious things, like putting up signs on rest-room doors that said WHITES ONLY. We made black people sit at the back of the bus. We prevented them from attending our schools or living in our neighbourhoods. They got the crappiest jobs (those advertised for NEGROES ONLY), and we made it clear that, if you weren't white, you were going to be paid a lower wage.

Well, this overt, over-the-top segregation got us into a heap of trouble. A bunch of uppity lawyers went to court. They pointed out that the 14th Amendment doesn't allow for anyone to be treated differently because of their race. Eventually, after a long procession of court losses, demonstrations and riots, we got the message: if you're going to be a successful racist, better find a way to do it with a smile on your face.

We even got magnanimous enough to say, "Sure, you can live here in our neighborhood; your kids can go to our kids' school. Why the hell not? We were just leaving, anyway." We smiled, gave black America a pat on the back - and then ran like the devil to the suburbs.

At work, we whites still get the plum jobs, double the pay, and a seat in the front of the bus to happiness and success. We've rigged the system from birth, guaranteeing that black people will go to the worst schools, thus preventing them from admission to the best colleges, and paving their way to a fulfilling life making our caffe lattes, servicing our BMWs, and picking up our trash. Oh, sure, a few slip by - but they pay an extra tariff for the privilege: the black doctor driving his BMW gets pulled over continually by the cops; the black Broadway actress can't get a cab after the standing ovation; the black broker is the first to be laid off because of "seniority".

We whites really deserve some kind of genius award for this. We talk the talk of inclusion, we celebrate the birthday of Dr King, we frown upon racist jokes. We never fail to drop a mention of "my friend - he's black..." We make sure we put our lone black employee up at the front reception desk so we can say, "See - we don't discriminate. We hire black people."

Yes, we are a very crafty, cagey race - and damn if we haven't got away with it!

I wonder how long we will have to live with the legacy of slavery. That's right. I brought it up. SLAVERY. You can almost hear the groans of white America whenever you bring up the fact that we still suffer from the impact of the slave system. Well, I'm sorry, but the roots of most of our social ills can be traced straight back to this sick chapter of our history. African-Americans never got a chance to have the same fair start that the rest of us got. Their families were willfully destroyed, their language and culture and religion stripped from them. Their poverty was institutionalized so that our cotton could get picked, our wars could be fought, our convenience stores could remain open all night. The America we've come to know would never have come to pass if not for the millions of slaves who built it and created its booming economy - and for the millions of their descendants who do the same dirty work for whites today.

It's not as if we're talking ancient Rome here. My grandfather was born just three years after the Civil War. That's right, my grandfather. My great-uncle was born before the Civil War. And I'm only in my 40s. Sure, people in my family seem to marry late, but the truth remains: I'm just two generations from slave times. That, my friends, is not a "long time ago". In the vast breadth of human history, it was only yesterday. Until we realize that, and accept that we do have a responsibility to correct an immoral act that still has repercussions today, we will never remove the single greatest stain on the soul of our country

© Michael Moore, 2002.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2002/mar/30/features.weekend

I read this excerpt from Moore’s book at an open mic night at a coffee shop shortly after the book release in 2002. Moore has been labeled contentious and divisive. He was at the cutting edge in helping those impacted by the water crisis in Flint, MI. I can relate to this piece as I have never been harmed by a black person and what I have seen in the media throughout my 4+ decades has been a complete disconnect. 

[throwaway-myshot-account-blog]

So I sort of made this account to post fanfiction too embarrassing to post on my main but anyway this one is really trashy.

It’s titled Can’t Sleep and wowza look at that

Hahaha I hate myself and I’d like a tall glass of death please

But well I haven’t really touched it all that much for a while. I started this on the way to and in New York and then when I went home later that day the pace just kept slowing down. Have some delicious OOC trash while I dig myself a grave

~~~

Peggy’s phone rang on the coffee table as she opened her bag of chaaaps. She reached for it and cradled it between her shoulder and her ear.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Peggy, I can’t sleep,” Alex groaned on the other side.

“I know, right Peggy? He’s not studying!” Hercules said, on a different side.

“Believe me, I tried,” Alex said. Peggy chuckled.

“Yeah? What is it?” she asked. The ‘must be pretty important’ was left implied.

“I…” Alex began, “Well, it’s like, uhm, I mean…” Indeed, whatever it was left the ordinarily very articulate A. Ham like this.

“Come on, Alex! We squad, ain’t nothing you can’t tell us!’ Herc said.

“... It’s John,” he murmured only loud enough to be heard. Peggy squealed.

“Ooh, gurl! You gotta give all the deets!” She said while swinging her legs wildly on her couch.

“Hold on, we gotta get Gil in on it!” Herc said. All three of their phones started ringing. Alex sighed.

“Salut?”

“Gil, it’s Alex!” Herc shouted. Lafayette cringed from the volume on his phone, which didn’t work until his headphones came unplugged.

“I can speak for myself,” Alex said stubbornly.

“Alex and Jackie, you mean!” Peggy added. Laf inserted his headphone wire again.

“Quoi! Que fabuleux!” It was the sound of sheer excitement. Alex felt his phone ringing again.

“Who did that?!”

“Hello?” A gruff but warm voice came over.

“Monsieur George!” Laf answered. Alex buried his face into his knees.

“Ah, son! You can just call me Pap like the others, you know.”

“It’s Alex!” Peggy said, “And Herc!”

“Sons, Peggy. Alex, you haven’t called me all week.”

“Ooh!”

“Est-ce true?”

“Alex’s in trouble!” Peggy exclaimed. Alex mumbled nonsense sheepishly.

“I had two tests yesterday, three today, and a four hour debate club meeting on Tuesday,” he said. Lafayette tsk tsk tsked.

“It was only two and a half hours until you showed up, Alex,” Herc said.

“At least come visit soon,” Washington said. “So what is it?”

“Alex’s got something going on with Jack,” Peggy said with a mouth full of chaaaps.

“Son?” Alex didn’t respond, only exhaling loudly. “I see.”

“What does Pa have to do with this anyway?” Alex said.

“I think that’s a story to tell now,” Lafayette said in a hum.

“Oh, yes Gil!” Peggy said.

~~~

Lafayette watched John and Alex from the window of Washington’s home. He sighed as he watched them talk. Maybe he would hear what they were saying if he was looking from downstairs.

“Son?” He turned around to see George. “What’s wrong?” Lafayette huffed, and went back to looking out the window. George sat with him on the window seat. After a moment, he spoke.

“They are the ones who are together. It’s like I’m only here.” George glanced at him.

“Do you truly feel that way?” He asked. Lafayette nodded. There was another pause.

“John’s father is making him study abroad in Europe,” he suddenly said. Lafayette snapped his head around. He stared wide eyed at George. “It’s true,” he said, “He’ll be gone for two years.” His expression was detached, but there was pain in his eyes- one of his sons would be leaving soon. “His father never really liked my son anyway.” It wasn’t an endearing term- the adoption papers said Alexander was indeed his son. “Believe me, Gilbert. Alex invited all of you here for a reason.” To say goodbye.

“But I still don’t know what makes Alex special to him,” Lafayette said.

“Son,” George said, “Do you know how Maria and Peggy love each other?” Lafayette perked up.

“Oui?”

“More than anyone in this world can love each other? How they love each other like they are each other’s world?” Lafayette thought to himself for a second. “I have reason to believe that while Alex treasures all his friends dearly, his relationship with John is of a different nature.” And for the first time in Lafayette’s seventeen years of life, he realized why John and Alex were so close. Thoughts of himself and Hercules like so would come much later.

When he looked back at them two, Alex was holding John’s hand. Lafayette went downstairs to be with Hercules.

~~~

“He always did know,” Lafayette added in the end.

“Mhmm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” Alex said.

“Don’t you understand your own feelings for yourself?” Lafayette replied. Peggy and Hercules laughed.

“Oh Gilb, you know Alex can’t figure out these kinds of things on his own!” Peggy said. Alex grunted, but he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed with his friends or his pops.

“You two are and have always been inseparable,” Washington said.

“Not just inseparable,” Lafayette said, “You two have a, how I say, undeniable love!” Alex buried his face into his hands, pointlessly hiding his blush from no one.

“Gil, I’m not sure…”

“Did I stutter?”

“Alex, you gotta tell us what happened now!” Peggy said.

“The fact is I don’t know where to start,” he said, “I guess that’s why I can’t sleep.”

“From the beginning, duh!” Hercules interjected.

~~~

Alex, at age fourteen, had even less of a filter than he did sitting in his college dorm on the phone with his friends.

“This is your new classmate,” Mr. Bartow said. He turned to Alex. “Would you like to introduce yourself,” he whispered now, “Or would you prefer if I did? I know not every new student is comfortable with it.”

“It’s fine,” Alex said, though with a strong accent. He faced the class.

“Right, and your name is?” Mr. Bartow said.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he said. A few people in class who weren’t quite paying attention looked now.

“What?”

“Alexander Hamilton! A-L-E-X, A-N-D, E-R.” At that moment, John, who was normally doodling anytime Mr. Bartow said anything, looked up- and he saw Alex’s eyes gleaming with a brighter kind of light than he’d ever seen.

“A-alright Alex, that’s quite enough. Sit down wherever there’s an open seat.” John suddenly found himself with a new neighbor in class 3.

“What are you drawing?” Alex said. John pushed his arms over his notebook. Alex pouted. “Come on. I won’t laugh, I promise!” He tentatively pulled his arms away.

“... Turtles.” Alex peered over them, and John peered over him. He couldn’t stop looking at that light in him.

“They’re cute!” John felt himself blushing and now used his arms to cover his face. “What? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I guess,” John said, and then quietly, “I love turtles.”

“Really?” Alex smiled.

“Yup,” he said, now less tense. “I know everything about them.” Alex was now flipping through his notebook, full of sketches and paragraphs about turtles and zero notes for Mr. Bartow’s class.

“This is so cute,” Alex repeated. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“I-I, uhm…” What was his name? “John.”

“Jahn?”

“John.”

“Jahn!” Alex said. He looked plenty happy with himself, and that was enough at the moment.

~~~

“Alright, maybe not that beginning beginning! We all already know this!” Peggy said impatiently.

“And I was there, too,” Hercules added.

“I never knew about this,” George said inquisitively.

“Tell me where to start then!” Alex said.

“What about the time you started calling him Jackie?” Hercules said.

“How did you start calling him that?” Lafayette asked.

“Right, you weren’t there.”

~~~

John sat in the recital hall, otherwise used for detention. And while he wasn’t the perfect student by any means, he wasn’t a troublemaker- and being here terrified him, more so than whatever fights he picked. After all, what would his father say? There were only three other people in the room- a teacher to supervise and two other people giving each other and John nasty looks. He shrinked into his seat.

The door slammed open.

“Sorry I’m late!” Alex stormed in, and now he was also getting nasty looks.

“Last name?” The teacher said.

“Hamilton.” They signed his name off the list.

“Sit down somewhere. No talking, eating, drinking, or messing around. You can do your homework,” they droned in a way that proved they didn’t really care whether Alex did or not. He sat right next to John.

Oh god no, John thought. Now he’s going to think I’m a troublemaker, John thought. I really wanted to be friends with him too, John thought. Alex leaned over.

“So what are you in detention for?” He asked. John was now slightly less tense.

“I-I got into a fight someone.”

“Huh. Really? That doesn’t sound like something you would do.” John looked away. “I did too!” Alex said with a grin. “Anyways, did you beat them?” This shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“I- Not really. I just punched them once,” John said sheepishly.

“So did I!” Alex said. “What were you mad at them for?” John sighed.

“Do you really want to know?” He said. Alex nodded. “You know that girl Sally?”

“I’ve seen her around,” Alex said.

“Well someone started saying things to her. I don't want to say them myself, but he was plain nasty. He was acting like he was better than her! That wasn’t right,” John said. He took a deep breath. “I was just so mad! And then… I guess it just happened.” He was staring at the ground. He didn’t know what else to say- words couldn’t convey how his blood boiled or how the adrenaline raged until it pounded in his ears.

“Jahn, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked up at Alex now.

“You think so?”

“Yeah!” John couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“So why did you punch someone?” he said. Alex shrugged.

“Alex,” he groaned, “That’s so stupid!” But he only said it because he knew Alex was, in fact, not stupid.

“I think the guy I punched was Thomas,” Alex remarked.

“Him!”

“What!”

“That’s the guy who said those nasty things to Sally!” John was seething.

“I think he learned his lesson,” Alex said. He took his hand. “Hey, it’s okay now, Jahn.”

“You can, like…” Alex watched him as he spoke. John realized Alex had all the world’s light in his eyes when he was talking to him. He turned away when he felt his face turning red. “You can call me something else if it’s easier. I don’t know. Like Jack?” Alex didn’t say anything after a few seconds and John was getting very, very nervous.

“Okay, Jackie!” John looked back at him, and Alex was absolutely giddy. He brushed his hair from his face like it was an old habit. “Jackie, I like you a lot.” Then he kissed him on the cheek.

~~~

“Then Thomas got replaced by you in the French transfer program,” Peggy finished for Alex.

“Je vois.”

“It was a damn good trade if there ever was one,” said Alex.

“Amen to that!” Hercules said.

“Of course you’d say that, Herc!” Peggy added in a lilt.

“What are you implying here, Peggy?” George asked.

Then came a chorus of “Nothing!” from the others. Alex rolled his eyes as fondly as one could do so.

“Anyways this is a Alex call. He’s practicing talking without extensive annotations and a written speech!” Peggy said. Everyone laughed at his expense, even his Pops. “Really though, keep telling!”

~~~

“Hey, Alex,” John said as he wrapped his arms around him from behind. “Wanna learn how to cuddle in South Carolinian?” Alex scoffed from where he sat, though no one could deny he was smiling.

“I told you we were here to study, not to mess around.” He put his hand on John’s arm anyway.

“That’s what you think, Alex,” he said playfully. Then the blithe tone left his voice. “This is the only time I can meet you without my dad knowing.” Alex turned around.

“Jackie, there’s no way he can keep us apart even if he wanted to.” Well he does want to, John thought to himself. He didn’t say it. “Jackie?”

“Yeah?” John’s eyes flickered to meet his.

“Is something wrong?” Everything. His father was talking about sending him to London to study law. There was so much wrong with it. John didn’t like law, to begin with. His mother argued on his behalf where he would’ve only yielded to his father’s wishes.

And then there was Alex. His father didn’t like Alex, to put it nicely. He wasn’t subtle about it either, despite what he might’ve thought. And he didn’t like that John was closer to him than he was to other girls his age. John knew if he was sent away, at least a miniscule fraction of a percent of the reason was to forget about Alex.

It wouldn’t work.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” John said with a shaky smile.

Alex’s eyes were one of his favorite things in the world. And he loved to be with him, as if it made everything fine where it wasn’t. He loved to be with him, even though it made his heart pound like it was bursting out of his chest. He loved to be with him even if it made him feel so, so helpless.

This wasn’t love, John told himself. Love was supposed to feel nice. Like excitement, like you were flying. No, this felt like somebody had mercilessly set his heart aflame and he was supposed to pretend it wasn’t burning.

“Good,” Alex said as he smiled back.

“Mes amies!” Lafayette waved as he walked into the library with Hercules.

“Hey Gil, Herc! Didn’t you have a project to do with Burr?” Hercules grinned.

“No, actually. He had a last second date with Theo,” he said. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“You mean Mr. Bartow’s daughter?” Everyone knew she had a boyfriend. Hercules scratched his chin.

“Yeah. He might not look it, but he’s a definite ladies man. I’m pretty sure every guy our age is into ladies anyway.” John looked askance.

“Yeah… Ladies.”

~~~

“You know, I thought he was going to tell me something important but I didn’t know what it was,” Alex said. “I think he-“ Every phone on call started ringing again.

“Guys, seriously? Again?”

“It’s just Washington’s phone jacking up,” Peggy said, “I bet he still uses the thingie with the number wheels!”

“A rotary dial?” Lafayette said.

“Same difference!”

“It’s a trimline…” George said.

“Can we get back to the man of the hour?” Hercules asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said, “Then Jackie really did go. About the time he left for abroad…”

~~~

“Alex…” John said. They were standing in front of Washington’s home, a foot in the garden and half hidden by hedges. “I wanted to ask you about something.” His voice wavered. Alex shushed him.

“I know. It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything about it.” They were rather close and Alex was playing absently with his hair, his mind running wild on the inside. A comfortable silence fell over them, and John thought about leaving it be.

“No, it’s not about me… Leaving,” he said. It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the truth either. “I don’t think I ever asked you before, but…” His voice broke at the end. Alex could feel him trembling.

“Jackie?! What’s wrong?” He took his hand then, not knowing what else to do. John curled his fingers between his.

“How did you handle your mom dying?” His breath was heavy as he spoke. Alex watched tears overflow from his eyes. His chest seized painfully trying to keep himself from crying. John had been staring at Alex intensely to keep himself grounded, but every moment that passed sent him sinking into darkness.

“Jackie.” Alex pulled him into his arms, and he fell into the familiar comfort with no objection. “You’re okay,” Alex said. John was a mess of sobbing and wailing. “You’re okay.” Alex held him while stroking his hair gently.

“I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with it. For me, I’m just glad I’m still alive if she can’t be,” he said, “Sometimes it feels like she died for me.” It was a little detail that Alex had never told anybody, but it felt appropriate. Jackie’s relationship with his parents had always been... Strange. He lifted his head from Alex’s shoulder.

“She’s gone,” John said as if he were realizing it for the first time. “She’s gone, Alex!” His face scrunched up and another suffocating wave of tears came.

“Jackie. You’ll be okay,” Alex said. “I know it’s hard.”

“No!” He gripped Alex’s shirt, which was already wet with tears. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back!” John cried. “She’s gone and that’s why I’m being sent away! She’s gone!” His throat was beginning to go sore from the yelling. It was an unspoken rule that Alex wouldn’t be able to talk to him as long as John’s father had anything to say about it.

“Jackie, I’m here with you now,” he said in a hushed tone. Alex brushed the stray hair from his face, it having become tangled sometime before. “Would that be enough?” John shook his head.

“No,” he whimpered weakly, “I’m going to lose you next.” He pulled Alex closer. They were losing precious time by the second but neither of them could stop the tears.

“I could…” Alex’s voice was thick with apprehension. “I could find a way to go with you.” It wasn’t the prospect of leaving what he’d always known- Alex had done it before. But the closer John was to his friends, the worse his father was.

“No! You can’t. I won’t let you,” John said with a steely resolve. “You could have a scholarship to Columbia. I won’t let you.” But his heart cried for Alex.

“Jackie…” Alex whispered, “I would do anything to be with you.” He wrapped his arms around his waist, but then John pushed him away.

“No. Don’t make me change my mind.” Alex was clearly hurt. John broke down a little then. He pressed his head against his chest. Alex buried his face into his soft, dark curls, sniffling. Neither of them had to see how much this hurt for the other. John felt light, wet tears landing on his head.

“Jackie, you’re the closest… Friend I’ve got,” he said.

“Alex… Do not throw away your shot.” John tilted his head back and looked into his eyes, for what he thought was the last time. Alex had his forehead pressed against his. John had a sudden strange thought; what would happen if their lips met? Even if the thought was wrong to him, it didn’t change the fact that John could feel the warmth from Alex’s breath. And Alex had a sudden strange thought as well; Jackie is beautiful. He wasn’t just gorgeous or attractive, he was a work of art. And God made him exquisite inside and out. He was everything, intelligent, sweet, brave. John swallowed, staring at Alex’s mouth.

“I… I think you should say goodbye to Gil and Herc,” Alex said.

“Yeah. Me too.” They stood there, a foot in the garden and half hidden by hedges, Alex’s arms around his waist one last time. Then John pushed him away again, for real.

~~~

About 241 years ago, the University of Columbia was known as King’s College.

~~~

“Let’s play I Spy. I Spy something starting with S,” Peggy said, giggling.

“What is Sexual Tension for 400?” Lafayette answered. Alex grumbled to himself.

“Wrong game, Gil,” he said. He sighed. “I thought I might’ve just needed to get my thoughts together, but I still can’t sleep. This isn’t even this first time.”

“Oooh, Alex’s got it bad!” Peggy teased.

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” George said.

“I ha- What would I even tell him?” Alex complained. “‘Hi Jackie, I stay up all night wondering when and how I fell in love with you!’”

“Oh that’s ridiculous! You two have always been in love. You’re âmes soeurs!” Alex buried his face in his hands.

“Gil, how old are you again? Eight?”

“Eight and a half!” Hercules cheered.

“Are you gonna skip the entire two years?” Peggy asked. “I mean… You were really different then.”

“Oui.” Lafayette said. “It’s like they tried to rip-“

“Is it that metaphor with the band-aid?” Peggy said.

“That also works, but I was going to say they tried to rip Cupid’s arrow out of his heart, but it only tore it open and left him still in love.” Alex was speechless.

“Damn, Gil,” Hercules said, “That is ice cold.”

“But it’s fine!” Peggy interrupted, “You guys got to see each other again at Columbia!” Alex smiled fondly.

“Yeah.”

~~~

This is the difference between learning law and regular college studies; there’s no syllabus week. There’s no break and no wait for new students to catch up with the hellish pace. But it’s fine. Non-stop is just Alex’s speed. Halfway into the second day, he’s already carrying two textbooks and pages full of notes when he hears it.

“Alex!” His heart skips a beat at the voice but his mind won’t admit it. “Alex!” He turns around but he’s already crashing onto the ground from John’s weight.

“J-Jackie?” He sees the dark brown curls and freckles like constellations and green eyes and he never even had to ask. John’s laughing from sheer joy, as if it’s by some miracle Alex remembers him, much less his nickname.

“Oh god, Alex,” he cries, “I am never leaving you again.” All of two years fades away in that moment. It never mattered that they were apart. When John looks into his eyes, the thing he realizes most is that he’s here now, and that’s enough. Alex puts his arm around him.

“I’m going to be late to class,” he says. John sighs against his neck.

“Me too.” Alex kisses his cheek.

“Friday. Library?” He feels him nodding his head against his chest. “Alright.”

John sits up from on top of Alex. He grabs his bag and hands Alex’s textbooks to him. He moves closer to him, just like he might say or do something, still sitting on Alex’s lap. There’s something hanging on his lips, a word, a phrase, a kiss…

Say something.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Alex.” He said that. Why did he say that? It’s the understatement of the century. But he’s going to burn himself to death if he says anything else. So he smiles politely and floats away from Alex like a long-gone dream slipping away, taking his bag and his sketchbook and that piece of Alex’s heart.

---

Now I’m going to go home and freshly vomit up what everyone really follows me for: Lams dicc succing

[saxitlurgartblog]

So I was REALLY excited to draw the kids with their parents/legal guardians (full families will have to wait for another day, cuz Steven is the youngest of four and Nellie has a million brothers)

Nellie just has a dad because her mom done R-U-N-N-O-F-T. Her dad is a mechanic (or a cop, I haven't quite decided). He's a sweet man, but he's spineless and totally lost without someone telling him what to do. As the only female left in the family, Nellie has had to pick up slack and take over the "mom" responsibilities (like cooking meals, and cleaning the house, and making sure her brothers don't kill each other)

Paula never knew their parents; they were raised by their grandpa and his friend in Alaska, but when he died, Aunt Julie (Paula's mother's sister) came up from the mainland to take Paula down with her. Aunt Julie is a lawyer who is VERY proud of being an American citizen and rejects the traditions she was raised in. However, Aunt Julie's not so good with kids, and both of them are stubborn, so she and Paula often end up butting heads over her strict rules.

Steven is the only one with two parents, and they spend almost all their time arguing.  But neither of them hold grudges. Ten minutes after an argument is over, neither one can remember what was about.  Everyone in Steven's family is loud, bossy, and opinionated, so family dinners are more like six-way arguments with everyone shouting over everyone else. And Steven wouldn't want it any other way. That loud, raucous chaos is his battlefield, and he's loving every minute of the fight.

If you want to see the week’s art, plus sketches and other rewards you won’t see on any of my other accounts, go support me on my Patreon! I post everything on Mondays, and I got some cool rewards for people who support me.

[cddump]

Again (Sitting Two, 1950 words)

Casper left the coffee on the counter. After what he experienced, the shock alone was enough to jolt him onto the next level of being awake, though he knew even the strongest cup of coffee could only take him in particular so far. The longest a strong cup has ever given him energy was about two hours before he felt the extreme exhaustion that has always plagued him. At least the cold air was enough to keep him from collapsing on the street. The thought of falling asleep on the sidewalk only to be awoken by a stray dog has always been a fear of his. Then again, he had never thought about being caught in public with a stack of porno mags. Casper let out a quick laugh at the situation as he made his way through the quiet streets. He briefly considered calling for a cab to make the walk easier on him, but the trip went by quickly and without incident. In fact, having to wait for the cab to find him and then take him to the apartment complex would have most likely taken longer than simply walking there on his own. The apartment complex was a familiar sight to him, having seen it multiple times online. The small fenced garden formed an entryway with a proud oak tree on the right hand side of the center pathway that lead into the modern complex. Largely square in structure, the pale building in front of him reminded him of a skyline in and of itself. A thin rectangular section of the building stuck out taller than the rest of the building where the staircases rested, and each top floor room raised the roof by another foot or two while each corner was higher than the center rooftops. Casper smiled to himself. The building would be fun to sketch out when he had time to do so. Tall rounded garden lamps dotted the pathways, softly illuminating the walkway for him. The entrance's glass doors opened easily as he entered, and the right hand wall was lined with mail slots, complete with name plates. He could see his own name already placed on a mailbox at the end of the wall. The left wall had a small security room with a glass pane separating it from the rest of the lobby. A dark skinned man sat on a small swivel chair reading a newspaper. He wore a tan shirt and dark pants, and Casper could see a walkie-talkie sitting on the counter next to him along with a wall of black and white monitors on the wall behind him, surveying the various locations of the apartment complex. The man looked up from his paper as Casper entered, who smiled bashfully as he pulled out the key to his apartment. “I've just moved in,” he explained. The security guard nodded once before returning to his paper. He seems a little too lax for this position. Instead of fretting on it, Casper walked passed the lobby and towards the first hallway of the complex.

He had lucked out and managed to get a first floor room, which was a great plus for him. The idea of having to climb multiple staircases every day was a torturous one, and he was grateful for being able to dodge that particular bullet. The tile flooring caused Casper's footsteps to tap loudly in the empty hallway as he approached his room. Room 117 stood in a red door frame against the white walls, lined up along with the other red doors beside it. He reached for the door handle and thankfully found it to be locked. Thank god. The movers didn't leave all of his possessions unguarded. Just as Casper reached into his pocket for the key, he heard a door hastily thrown open behind him. “Stop right there, scumlord!” Turning around, Casper found himself face to face with a scrawny man in a white tank top and black shorts. His face had the beginnings of a beard outlined on it, and the spectacles he wore were large and round, like a literal pair of drinking glasses strapped to some frames. “How dare you try and sneak around into my new neighbor's apartment?! What did you do to him, did you eat him? Take his flesh for your own as a disguise?! Who sent you?!” With each word, the man got closer to Casper until he was pushed up against his room's door, and the man's face was so close, Casper could smell a faint trace of the man's dinner. Or at least, he hoped that was what the cheese smell was. “What are you talking about?” Casper clawed desperately at his door handle in an attempt to unlock it. “Hold up a sec,” the man said as he backed away, “is that a duffel bag? You homeless, man? I get that you want a place to stay but you can't just take advantage of an empty apartment.” “What?! No! No, you've got it all wrong! I'm the guy who's moving in here!” “Aha! So you did eat my neighbor-to-be! Are you a Skin Walker? You ain't walking in my skin, Skin Walker!” “A what? No, listen! My name's Casper. I just moved in today!” “Casper?” The man rubbed his chin in thought. “Well that's the dude's name, yeah. But how do I know you're the real Casper and not a Skin Walker? Or worse, an FBI agent pretending to be him?” Casper didn't answer and instead brought his hands up in a confused shrug. “That's a good point,“ the man responded, “and well made as well.” Casper decided not to tell the man that he never made a point, or even said a word. “So you're Casper, huh? My name's Alex. Alexander Blanket for long. Sorry for grilling you like that. We live in a scary world and gotta be careful, ya know?” “Uh...” Alex brought his hand up to shake, which Casper grasped carefully, afraid of what might happen when he did so. “You know why we're gonna be good friends?” Casper almost responded with 'because I'm going to avoid you forever,' but held his tongue. “Two reasons. The first is because you stayed totally calm while I was giving you the third degree. A smart man stays cool and collected during uncertain times. Men like us are hard to find. The second reason is because you've got a firm grip. Very firm. Shows confidence, just like me. Men like us are hard to find.” “You repeated yourself.” And the only reason my grip is so strong right now is because I'm terrified. “Repetition is good. Shows the importance of statements. But you knew that already because you're an important man. Like me. Men like us are hard to find.” “...Right.” It was then Casper realized they had been shaking hands for over twenty seconds, but he wasn't sure how to disengage. “You were smart to take the ground floor as a room, you know. Smart. Real smart. like me. Men like us--” “Are hard to find, yeah.” “See? Repetition.” “Why is the ground floor important?” “It stops the aliens.” “The...aliens?” “Yeah, the aliens. Keep up, man. You ever been abducted by aliens?” “Can't say I have.” They were still shaking hands. Alex's was particularly sweaty, which made Casper nervous, thus made him sweat as well. “Me neither. Know why? Cuz I always lived in a ground floor apartment. Aliens can only get you if you live in a house by yourself. It makes it easy for them. Of course, they don't mind snagging someone if they live in an apartment, but living on the ground floor makes it harder for them. It's even more difficult when you board up your windows.” “You boarded up your windows?” “You don't?! Maybe you're not as smart as me. Like me, rather. You still got a lot to learn I guess.” Casper finally pried his hand away from Alex. He wiped it against his jeans and did his best to keep a neutral expression at the cool air he felt against his wet hand. “Yo, lemme ask. Lizardmen or Molemen?” Casper blinked. “...Sorry, what?” “Which one do you think lives under us?” “I... molemen? I don't know.” “Interesting. It's because we live near Canada, right?” “Are you saying Canada hides molemen now? And what was that about aliens?” “Forget the aliens, man. Keep up. The colder atmosphere of Canada is too harsh for Lizardmen. That's your thought process, right? But it doesn't matter since they live deep underground. You didn't take that into account.” “...R-right.” “Either way, I'm gonna find out. I've been digging a tunnel in my room as a bunker for when the inevitable human wars come. That's why I demanded a ground floor apartment, you know.” “I thought you took a ground floor apartment because of the aliens.” “I told you to forget about the aliens, man. Keep up.” “Does the landlord know about your digging? Or did you get a permit or something?” “Pfft, of course not. What would be the point of a secret bunker if everyone knew? I'm only telling you because you seem smart and I want you to live when it comes to it.” “So you dug an illegal tunnel is what you're saying.” “Man, can you really say you're 'free' in this country if you can't even dig a hole without permission?” “I'm pretty sure one of the reasons you need permission is so you don't hit a septic tank or something.” “Don't let them brainwash you, dude. Think for yourself. I know you can do it, you're smart. Like me. By the way, I saw some burly dudes coming and going into your apartment earlier today. They your brothers? Boyfriends? All of the above?” “What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Casper's exhaustion was amplified as the conversation went on, and he was ready to go to bed. “Hey bro, what you do is your business. I ain't here to judge.” “They were movers. They were just bringing my stuff in for me... Wait, why didn't you stop them like you stopped me?” “Cuz they looked super strong, dude. They could probably kick my door down if they wanted to. My window's boarded up so I can't really escape this room if I needed to.” “Sounds like a fire hazard.” “You're a fire hazard. Sorry. I didn't mean that. Anyway. I gotta get going. That tunnel won't dig itself and I've got a meeting with someone tonight. Let me know if you need help with anything, yeah? That's what neighbors are for, after all.” “Right.” “Just not tonight. Starting tomorrow, let me know if you need anything.” “Helpful,” Casper rubbed at his tired eyes. “Peace, man. Keep your eyes peeled.” “I'll...do that.” Alex retreated back into his own apartment as Casper unlocked the door. Once inside, he slumped against the door and sighed heavily as he slid to the ground. Was this his life now? Living next to a conspiracy theorist? Another yawn escaped his mouth, but Casper knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now. Not for another half an hour, at least if he were lucky. A new location would definitely mess with his sleep schedule. He looked at the living room he had just entered and saw cardboard boxes stacked on top one another. “Might as well do some unpacking before going to sleep,” he told himself.

[almeida99stephens-blog]

How To teach Yoga In The corporate Market (Half 2)

How To show Yoga In The corporate Marketplace (Half 2)

Whereas drinking lots of water is without doubt one of the efficient and dependable magnificence secrets that you can safely try, placing a doubtlessly harmful substance in or on your physique is a danger that you shouldn't take. A person can lose the ability to move their physique when they are going to sleep or when they are just waking up. Whereas these aren't all of the weapons included in the game, the community has gathered what data it can from promotional gameplay videos and leaks from the lucky Alpha players on Xbox One. Nonetheless fashionable journey video video games like Syberia and Syberia II have been published each for that Pc and Xbox. Jonathan Blair is an avid PS3,Computer, and Xbox 360 sport participant who additionally operates several gaming blogs educating fellow gamers how to multibox. Our mysterious protagonist, who busts out of a high-tech jail on the outset, is a dab hand with each a samurai sword (assigned to Y) and a laser blaster (the best stick). One in every of the most popular platforms out there right now (with imitators nipping at their heels) is named Zwift. My December 20, 2008 article attracts out my stance concerning piracy. Yesterday (16/1/2013) early within the morning (we at all times keep Ollie in overnight if it's cold as his owner goes to bed early and Ollie will not stay residence) we let Ollie out to go home for his breakfast.

3 Missing system files /dev/null and /dev/console

Queue refinery

1000Hz Polling Charge

Addictive and endlessly rewarding to play

Lots of pet-minions who will provide help to in battle

Mass Effect Andromeda

fortnite aimbot

AI mode to play Single Participant Sport / in opposition to a computer

Visit your friends’ Villages and see who can build the very best village

The size and form of the thumb buttons has been tweaked, making it simple to rock your thumb upwards to press them but maintaining them out of the way in which of unintended pinky clicks. Fantasy league tend to be thrilling than most different on-line games due to their dynamic and real time nature. To write down a fantasy novel that works, your world, your characters and the intention, journey or quest should all fit collectively. They take HD aerial pictures of constructing Nano Qx Bnf Overview works, real state, make video promos from a short aerial distance and have become Hollywood´s finest mates by taking nice and steady video take from the air. Be the best sniper in each setting! In addition to this, it enhances the senses and will increase alertness to combat the danger. Each battle display is separated into horizontal ‘rails’ which you hop between by holding ‘L’ or ‘R’ and pushing the stick up or down.

fortnite hack for pc

To state: "I train Yoga lessons," just isn't enough of an explanation - if the particular person you discuss to has a psychological picture of Yoga as only a bunch of pretzel poses, displayed by show-offs. Someway, your feelings change into more important than the precise issue and the other person is forced to think about how you are feeling. Obviously by way of graphics and technical features of game play the trends are quite apparent. This multiplayer game has PVP mode and cooperative multi taking part in and also, has astonishing play mechanics. It is a Group-centric game and allows you to make use of weapons together with melee weapons. The water is frequently circulating, which allows the fish to swim and the system to keep the water transferring. Much of the fun in Asphalt 7 comes from its on-line multiplayer mode, which permits gamers to go head to head in races via each local and Wi-Fi and bluetooth, and even world by na internet connection. It will eventually insure you search for the top half high quality merchandise or product by David Clayton skilled internet promotion.

Scratch retains the case of the hexadecimal digits, so it will remember if a variable was saved as "0xe" or "0xE" on the Cloud. You will have to debate the type of neighbourhood you are in and if it is safe or not. Now this sounds easy in idea however I'm positive you will agree it is far from simple to practise! Plus, there’s a dynamic weather system and a day/night cycle to help add a new problem to the combat. Search for therapists or establishments that clearly supply onsite seated massage, it is somewhat of a specialty in massage. To sum all of it up, different video clip video on-line video games are meant to entertain people. Guild Wars, The Previous Republic and Star Wars are a few of the most popular MMO games. What are you ready for? Yow will discover these extremely exhausting riddles in many various matters, depending on the realm you are most occupied with.

But doesnt it sound even better if your own home has wheels and can be simply transported wherever you go? It presents an thrilling blend of MMORPG and strategy, as you develop to command extra mafia thugs. Do they need to strive the services? If you do not want to lose the lustre and shine then you could have to maintain it nicely. Draw up loads of sketches to visualize what you wish to create. They're a surprisingly nice selection of lodges close to Paramount’s King Island for family journey. There are just a few causes for this. Accountants are amongst probably the most trusted professionals in our society. Goldman sachs bank usa has been round for over a century and marcus is one in all their manufacturers that provides no-payment, mounted-price personal loans, along with excessive-yield on-line financial savings accounts and certificates of deposit. There is a growing consciousness in the know-how circles in regards to the idea of availability. Is there an answer to this quandry? Final Billiards which features time-bombs as a substitute to pool pool balls.