#i invite you to put down the miller high life and think for three whole seconds

[spoonyruncible]

I genuinely do think of myself as a very chill unbothered person, and that’s at least mostly true but I get deeply frustrated when I see people failing to grasp simple concepts and then dismissing those concepts as ‘stupid’ instead of maybe trying even one percent harder.

Since it’s June one I’ve seen a lot is either willful misunderstanding of Pride or an outright refusal to accept that a word can contain nuance and multiple definitions. “What have they got to be proud about? They didn’t do anything.” I’ve seen the same complete nonsense said about every pride movement, disability pride, black pride, AAPI pride. And the absolutely lukewarm takes I’ve seen are so stomach-churningly shitty that I have the common sense to just disengage and walk away and complain on my own blog.

My least favorite take is “Well, they just want to feel special.” Ah, yes, feeling special, the very reason that motivates me every morning to wake up. I feel so special I’m estranged from my family. Countless frightened people have confessed their truth to loved ones and heard exactly that, “You just want to be special. You want to make everything about you.” I was fortunate enough to hear, “For fucks sake, we know you’re autistic but can you stop telling people?”

The reality of it is so simple, so easy, that it’s bizarre this keeps needing to be said. Pride doesn’t mean the the immutable nature of your body, your history, or at times your very soul is an accomplishment in and of itself, it means that you’re not ashamed even though other people say you ought to be. Like, I could explain this to a small child with zero difficulty. Good Lord, I grew up hearing “Rebel Pride” from people living in Kentucky which was a Union state. If anyone anywhere just ‘wants to feel special’ it’s Kentuckians with uglyass Confederate battle flags.

[sunnysidekit]

Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

[arysafics]

Dreams

Rated E, ~3,900 words

Summary:  Bellamy is home from college for the summer, and it's both a blessing and a curse that his gorgoues step sister, Clarke, wants to spend time with him. Written for the 2019 kink meme.

Bellamy wakes up to a body landing on top of him, jolting him out of his dream, which he’s pretty sure was just about to get dirty. He groans, opening his eyes one at a time to find out who his small but violent attacker is. Ah, the subject of his dream. His stepsister, Clarke. He should have guessed.

“Wake up,” she says, grinning. She’s got him pinned to the bed, her legs straddling him, wearing a flimsy little nightie and, quite clearly, no bra. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers himself, and he’s just thankful there’s a nice thick duvet separating the two of them.

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, he makes sure he’s looking at her face.

“What time is it?” he groans. He’d gotten in late last night, after the long drive home from college. His mom had been up to greet him but Jake and Clarke were both in bed asleep. Aurora had made them go to bed, since it was going to be after one by the time Bellamy got home.

“It’s just before seven,” Clarke tells him.

“Why?” Bellamy whines.

“You should have woken me up when you got home last night, so I’m waking you up now.”

“God, you’re such a brat,” Bellamy huffs.

“You know you love me.”

He does love her, that’s no question. He’s sure he’d let her get away with pretty much anything, although that hasn’t always been the case. He was fourteen when his mom married Clarke’s dad, and gaining a twelve-year-old sister was probably the worst thing he could have imagined. Clarke hated him too, and they spent most of their time getting each other and themselves into trouble.

But they grew close in the six years that followed, and now Bellamy can’t imagine his life without her. So yeah, he definitely loves her. Sometimes he’s sure he loves her like a sister, like he’s supposed to. Other times… his eyes fall to her protruding nipples, and his cock twitches. The dream she’d woken him up from isn’t exactly an anomaly either. And he’s pretty sure most brothers aren’t using their sister as their go-to wanking material.

Worried she’ll guess what he’s thinking, Bellamy moves quickly flipping her over so she’s the one on her back, and tickling her sides. Clarke dissolves into giggles, squirming underneath him, trying to bat his hands away. They’re probably too old for this now, but Bellamy can’t help himself. He loves to hear her laugh, and he loves to see her squirm. He especially loves the way her huge tits jiggle with every movement.

Her nightie rides up her thighs and Bellamy’s heart speeds up, sure he’s going to get a glimpse of her panties. But Clarke quickly grabs the hem and pulls it down.

“Bell, stop,” she says, still laughing. “Oh my god, stop, I’m not wearing anything underneath! You’ll see my pussy!”

Bellamy stops, his face growing hot, his semi-hard cock jumping to full attention. He pulls away quickly, putting an acceptable distance between him and Clarke.

“Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. The only other things going through his brain are god please show me your pussy and what kind of tease comes into her stepbrother’s room wearing only a scrap of silk and no underwear? Both options seem less than appropriate.  

Clarke sits up, her own face redder than he’s ever seen it. “I should go and get dressed,” she says. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast, big brother.”

With two words, she puts him in his place, reminding him of why he can never have her, no matter how much he wants her. Sure, biologically they aren’t really related. But in every other sense of the word, they’re siblings. They grew up together like siblings. Their parents expect them to behave like siblings.

If Clarke knew the things he thinks about her, she’d probably be scandalised. She’d think he was a disgusting pervert, lusting after his stepsister like that. It’s not her fault she grew into the sexiest woman he’s ever seen. But then again, Bellamy also can’t help it if he gets hard every time he so much as thinks about her.

After she’s gone, Bellamy throws himself back onto his bed, covering his face with his hands. God, it’s so much easier to pretend when he’s away at college. Yes, he still gets hard when she’s talking to him on the phone, but he can pretend it’s because of external factors, and not her husky voice sounding like some kind of phone sex operator. And as soon as she hangs up, he can distract himself with some other woman.  

But here, she’s in his orbit at all times. She usually walks around the house in barely any clothing, teasing him, whether she knows it or not. It’s absolute torture. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through three months of this before he goes back to college.

His cock throbs painfully. He tells himself he’s not going to masturbate over his little sister. He’s not an animal, he can control his urges. But another voice in his head reminds him that they aren’t actually siblings, and that there’s nothing wrong with finding her attractive. Nothing wrong with getting himself off to the thought of her writhing around in his bed.

He looks to the door, making sure it’s shut. Then he sneaks his hand into his boxers, letting his fist close around his aching cock. He leaves his boxers on, just in case Clarke decides to come barging back into his room. He strokes himself slowly, letting himself imagine what would have happened if Clarke hadn’t made him stop tickling her. If she hadn’t noticed her nightie riding up, and she’d exposed herself to him. God, he wants to see her pussy so bad. He wants to touch her there, taste her, push his cock inside her and fuck her senseless. She could do with a good fucking, he thinks.

Bellamy picks up the pace, continuing to fantasise about fucking her while she’s wearing nothing but that nightie. He imagines ripping the flimsy thing to pieces so he can see her tits bounce as he fucks her. He imagines getting his mouth on her pretty pink nipples, sucking so hard she cries out. He imagines her begging him to let her come, and then begging him to fill her with his come. When he comes into his boxers, he imagines he’s coming inside her, that his hand clenching around his cock is her pussy, though he knows his rough hand could never compare to her soft wet cunt.

He feels ashamed of himself for a moment, lying on his bed, panting, his boxers full of his own come. He gets up, peels them off and throws them into his laundry basket, before heading towards the shower, where he knows he’ll probably get himself off again.

  Bellamy has organised to catch up with some of his old high school friends that night. Clarke gets all sulky when he tells her he’s going out.

“I thought you were going to be home, otherwise I would have organised to do something as well,” she says, pouting. They’re in her bedroom, which is weird for him. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. He’s avoided being in her room ever since he first realised he had a thing for her. Three years.

“I thought you’d be sick of me by now,” Bellamy jokes. They’ve already hung out together all day. Mostly binge-watching Clarke’s new favourite show, her legs across his lap, wearing a crop top and a tiny pair of shorts, while he tried not to touch her too much or stare at her very noticeable camel toe. If he doesn’t get away from her for a few hours he thinks his dick might actually become permanently erect.

“Are you sick of me? Is that why you’re going out?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bellamy says. “It’s just one night. You and I have all summer to hang out.”

Clarke doesn’t seem in any way placated by this information. Bellamy loves that she wants to spend time with him, he really does. She makes him feel wanted, more wanted than anyone, even his own mother, has ever made him feel. But he really needs to let off some steam if he’s going to be around her all summer.

He thinks one of his friends from high school, Roma, might be down for some action this summer, no strings attached. Exactly what Bellamy needs.

“You could invite some friends over,” Bellamy suggests. “Mom and Jake are out, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”

Clarke sighs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he says.

“I’m not mad.”

She lets him pull her into a hug, stiff for a moment before she melts into him. He loves the way her breasts feel, pressed against his chest. He pulls away. Over her shoulder, he notices the large teddy bear lying on her bed, one he’d given her years ago after he won it on some game at a carnival. He grins, walking over to it.

“You still have this?” he asks, picking it up off the bed. It’s a little worse for wear now, the once pure white fur is yellowing, and it’s missing an eye. It looks well loved. He taps its little plastic nose. “Isn’t eighteen a little old to be sleeping with a teddy bear?”

“It’s comforting,” Clarke says defensively, grabbing the bear’s arm and pulling it from Bellamy’s grasp. She does seem a little embarrassed about it though. Bellamy thinks it’s cute. He likes that she still sleeps with something he gave her, that she finds it comforting.

“Okay,” he says. “I didn’t mean to judge. I’ll see you later. Tomorrow, maybe. I might stay at Miller’s.”

“Fine.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her before he leaves. She can be exasperating sometimes.

  The truth is, Bellamy’s high school friends are less fun than he remembers. Sure, it’s great to catch up with them, but he’s ready to go home by nine-thirty. And even though Roma seems keen, Bellamy can’t bring himself to go through with it. So he heads home. Clarke will probably still be up, and he kind of really wants to know what happens next in that show they’ve been watching.

When he gets home, he’s disappointed to find the lights downstairs are all off, and he figures Clarke either went to bed early or found something better to do than sit home alone all night. He heads straight to his room, intending to maybe read a chapter or two of his book before he goes to sleep.

He pauses when he gets to the door of his room. It’s closed, but there’s a sliver of light underneath. Did he forget to turn it off before he went out? He puts his hand on the door handle, and as he’s about to turn it, he hears a moan. His stomach flips over. Clarke. She’s in his room. Moaning.

He debates with himself whether to go in or leave. Is she alone? Was that a sex moan or a something else moan? And most importantly, why is she in his room? He has to know. He swings the door open. He’s so not prepared for the vision in front of him.

Clarke, naked from the waist up, on his bed, her eyes closed and her mouth open. He manages to tear his eyes from her naked, bouncing tits to trail down her body. Between her legs is that fucking teddy bear. She’s humping it desperately, it’s plastic nose against her clit. Her pussy is hidden by a pair of boxers. His boxers, he realises, and he almost has a heart attack. He stares at her a little longer, watching as she fucks herself on the bear. Then it hits him. Those aren’t just any pair of his boxers. It’s the pair he was wearing this morning, the pair he came in and then threw in the laundry basket.

God, he thought she was so sweet and innocent, at least when it came to sex. But now he’s watching her masturbate using a teddy bear he gave her, on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of his dirty, come-stained boxers. She’s filthier than he could have imagined. His heart is racing and his cock presses painfully against his zipper. He should probably either leave, or alert her to his presence, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.  

She moans again, pressing herself harder against the bear’s face. “Bellamy,” she moans, and his stomach drops, thinking for a moment she’s realised he’s standing there. But no, she’s still focused on fucking herself, whining, her face contorted in desperation. She’s thinking of him. Bellamy feels like he can’t breathe. It takes all his self-control not to go over there, wrench the bear from between her legs and replace it with his cock.  But he has to see her finish.

She gasps for air, dropping her head, still grinding her pussy down on the bear with an urgency that let him know how desperate she is to come. But it seems like she can’t quite get there.

“Please, please,” she whines, echoing Bellamy’s thoughts. He wants to watch her come so badly. Needs to see what her face looks like when she orgasms, knowing all the while she’s thinking about him.

She opens her eyes. Her gaze falls on Bellamy and her eyes widen, panicked.

“Oh my god,” she cries. Her arm flies across her chest, trying to hide her tits from him, as if he hasn’t been watching them bounce up and down for the last five minutes. “Oh my god, oh my god.” She turns away, rolling off the bear and onto her stomach, hiding her bright red face from him by pressing it into his pillow. “Don’t look at me!”

Bellamy steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. “Why not?”

Clarke groans. “You aren’t supposed to see me like this. You’re my brother. It’s wrong.” Her voice is muffled by the pillow. She’s clearly totally humiliated by him catching her.

Bellamy walks over to the bed and sits down beside her. “And yet you were thinking about me, weren’t you?”

Clarke doesn’t respond, just squirms with embarrassment. Bellamy’s eyes rake over her. He can’t really see anything he’s not supposed to, now her tits are hidden from his view. But she’s left a nice big wet patch on his boxers. She really is soaking. Does she know she’s sitting in his dried come? Surely she must. She’s not that naïve.

“Clarke, look at me,” Bellamy says softly. Clarke reluctantly turns her head towards him. Her face is still a brilliant red, and she looks like she might actually cry. “I’m not mad or freaked out and I’m definitely not laughing at you, okay?”

Clarke nods. “How long were you there?”

“A while.” Bellamy reaches for the bear. “So that’s what you use this for, huh? You use it to get yourself off?”

Clarke nods again. “I named it after you.”

Bellamy flushes. Fucking hell. Knowing she wants him too, it’s a lot to handle. He knows he absolutely should not fuck his step-sister. But he can tell she wants so badly to be fucked, and by him.

“How often?”

“I don’t use the bear that often,” Clarke whispers. “It feels really good because it feels wrong to do that to a toy you gave me, but…” she trails off, squeezing her eyes shut, like she can’t believe she’s telling him this. Bellamy swallows.

“And how come you’re in my room?”

Clarke won’t look at him as she answers. “I was just going to sleep in your bed,” she says. “Sometimes I do that when you’re not here. And I knew it would smell like you because you just slept in it last night.”

“And then… you went through my laundry?” Bellamy asks, reaching out to finger the bottom of his boxers.

“They were just sitting there on top,” Clarke says. “And I couldn’t help myself.”

“I came in them this morning,” Bellamy tells her. Just in case she doesn’t know.

“I know,” she whispers. “I—I wanted your come. I think about you coming inside me all the time.” Bellamy just about combusts when she says that. She’s so fucking filthy he can’t stand it. “I like knowing you got yourself off in here this morning. I was pretending you thought about me when you came.” She buries her head in the pillow again. “I’m really sorry, I know I shouldn’t think about you like that. I’ll stop, I swear—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says hoarsely. “I was thinking about you.” He can hardly believe she doesn’t know this already. Otherwise, why confess all that stuff?

She turns back to him. “You were?”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. “God, yes. Clarke, you were in my bed wearing no panties. It’s all I could think about for the rest of the morning. You’re all I ever think about. For years. You have no idea how much self-control it takes for me not to touch you inappropriately. Fucking hell, I nearly died when I saw you tonight, in my boxers, humping that teddy. And when I heard you say my name…” He groans, dropping his head down. His cock is throbbing. He wants her to know what she does to him.

“Bell,” Clarke whimpers. “I was so close, I—”

“I know,” he swallows. Clarke bites her lip. He knows what she wants. It’s what he wants. She rolls over onto her back, putting her tits on display for him. She watches him, looking sultry, as she slides her hand down the front of his come-stained boxers. Fucking hell. She’s even more brazen now that she knows he wants her too.

“That’s it,” Bellamy says, unable to help himself. “Play with your clit, baby. You were so close before. Come on, faster.” Clarke fingers herself rapidly, quickly working herself up to where she was before, panting, desperate, ready to come.

“Come on, Clarke, just a little more,” Bellamy says. “You’re nearly there. Does it feel good?”

“Uh huh.”

“I love watching you play with yourself,” Bellamy continues. “You look so pretty like this, all flushed and desperate. Are you gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes. Oh god, yes,” Clarke moans. Her hand stills, clutching her pussy as she comes, arching off the bed, her mouth open as she comes almost silently. “Bell,” she gasps. “That was so good.”

He can’t help himself then, she looks so beautiful post orgasm, half-naked in his bed. He leans down to capture her lips with his, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. She moans into his mouth, and he slips his tongue into her open mouth while his hands grip her waist tightly. She clings to his neck, pulls him closer, letting him devour her, kissing him back just as hard. Bellamy pulls away, breathless.

“You’re not done, are you?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“I’m so fucking hard, Clarke. I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” she says. Bellamy’s hands shake as he pulls his shirt over his head. Clarke reaches for his chest, tracing her fingers over the hard planes of his torso while Bellamy fumbles with his belt and fly. He sheds his pants, and Clarke’s fingers trail even lower, over his waistband, circling the tip of his cock through his boxers. His breath hitches, and he swears he nearly comes right then, with her touching him so gently.

She tugs on his boxers and he helps her get them off, revealing his erection. Her eyes are heavy on his cock, but she glances up to meet his eyes as she runs her finger along the underside, making him shudder.

“You’re so big,” Clarke murmurs. “I imagined you’d be big.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t scare you?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I want you inside me.”

“God, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. He leans down to kiss her again. He reaches between her legs, slipping his hand into the boxers she’s wearing to feel her soaking cunt. Clarke whimpers as he presses a finger into her. She drags the boxers down her thighs, wriggling out of them until they reach her knees, where Bellamy catches her wrist.

“Leave them there,” he growls. Clarke nods. Bellamy bring his lips to her neck, on top of her now, his hand back between her legs. But she’s wet enough already, and she’s already come once, and he doesn’t think he can wait any longer to put his cock in her. Clarke seems just as impatient, reaching for his cock, teasing him with her fingers. She spreads her legs as wide as she can with the boxers around her knees. Bellamy removes his fingers from her cunt, pressing his cock against her instead. And fuck, he’s so close to fucking her.

Clarke moans as he enters her. She’s so fucking wet, and her tight walls feel amazing clenching around his thick cock.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” Clarke says, but she thrusts against him, desperate for his cock deeper inside her.

“You feel so fucking good. I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

Bellamy can’t resist that. He pushes all the way into her, and she lets out a small whimper.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pulls out. Slams into her again.

“Fuck,” she gasps. Bellamy can’t hold back any longer. He fucks into her, and she meets him with every thrust, humping against him they way she did with the teddy bear.

“You gonna come again?” Bellamy asks, his voice strained, desperately trying to hold on as long as he can.

“Yes. Just—” Clarke puts her hand between her legs, rubbing her clit while he fucks her. “Yes, Bell. I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Her thighs tremble and she shuts her eyes, and her walls clench around him as she comes, squeezing his own orgasm from him.

“Me too, Clarke,” Bellamy pants. “Fuck. I’m coming inside you.”

“Oh god,” Clarke moans. Bellamy spurts his come into her, satisfying some animalistic need to fill her up with his seed. He tries not to crush her as he falls on top of her, spent. He rolls away from her, their combined come coating his dick. His come leaks from her pussy, and Bellamy feels a pang of sick pride.

“I want to taste it,” Clarke says. She slides her hand between her legs, gathering his come on the tip of her middle finger. Bellamy watches in awe as she brings it to her lips and sucks it into her mouth.

“Fucking hell, Clarke. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe,” she smirks. “You taste so good. Want to try?”

“God, you’re so depraved,” Bellamy says. Clarke laughs.

“What about you? You just fucked your own sister.”

“You’re not my sister.”

“I was your sister this morning,” Clarke smirks.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Good.” Clarke leans over, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip. “I’m keeping your boxers, by the way.”

[hcpeisms]

trigger warnings: suicide, war, violence, death, strong feelings about war in general, ptsd (if you squint), horrible things. long post!

This uniform.

That is the only thought running through his head. This uniform.

He wore this uniform for five years. The insignia on the sleeve is worn from the countless battles it had seen. The fabric is torn in places, faded with time, faded from the sun and the sand whipping around it when he dove for cover, when he crawled to help his friends, when he was trying to survive.

There are patches that he had stitched together, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the spot near his wrist, the left one, close to the old scar now covered by a tattoo. ‘Give ‘em Hell’ peeks from under the sleeve and Dane pulls it further to cover up the words. This uniform.

It still holds the heat from the battlefields, somehow pulling his conscious back to his time overseas. The sand itches, paranoia gives him an image of a scorpion crawling up his leg. He brushes the thoughts off, reminding himself where he is. The light yellow of the walls , the chatter that comes from the hall behind the curtains. The curtains; sleek and pristine, polar opposite of himself and his assemble. He doesn’t feel the heaviness of his rifle in his hands, but that weight had shifted onto his shoulders a long time ago. The tattoo threatens to peek from under his clothing again and he resolves to pull it more violently. Loose threads from the stitches catch his attention and his fidgets. This uniform. It’s falling apart. Serves it right, just like it served its wearer a long time ago.

Eight years ago he had worn the fatigues with pride. In some sense, he still did. When his eyes met the camouflage in the mirror, he swore his posture straightened and the confidence that had shone from his face withered away. This uniform. It was nothing but  bad memory now, the stitches, the tears, the faded texture, the stubborn bloodstains still clinging to it, the stains he tried so hard to wash away over and over and over again when he had been sent home. A bad memory. A reminder.

A loud voice snaps him back from his memories and a portly man approaches him from the small gap in the curtains. His fingers twitch to salute his superior, but he is no soldier anymore. A balled fist is what the man sees, and the disapproving glare that is sent his way could not be more obvious. “Second Lieutenant Moreno --” He begins and Dane wants to snap at him, hiss that he doesn’t use that title any longer. But his jaw is clenched shut and his lungs are burning for air as the General stares him down. Small, beady eyes. Looks like a rat, that’s what Dane knows for sure. The man with a condescending sneer, coals burning in his eyes as he tries not to talk down to the young LT.

“If your father---” The man begins and Dane growl. His brows crease and a wave of heat runs through his body, seizing up his muscles and throwing his stomach into a whirl. Bile rises to his mouth as he returns a warning glare at the superior officer, and he quiets down before making the biggest mistake of his life. A glare is held for a few moment more and Dane feels his jaw aching against the grit it is under. The General scoffs and pushes past Dane who in turn does nothing. Eyes set on the curtain. Inanimate. Pristine. His father would be disappointed in him, were he alive. The thoughts are overwhelming when they are brought up. His father. Dane shakes his head and tries to coax his muscles to relax -- pain is starting to set in and stars dance across his vision. And that fucking tattoo. Another yank at the sleeve covers it well enough.

His name is called.

 “Next up, give a big welcome to Second Lieutenant Daniel Patrick Moreno, a man known for --” the woman has a shrill voice and Dane steps through the curtain before she has time to continue. He doesn’t need his platoon called out, he doesn’t need her to tell them where he has been, for how long, or why. The microphone is quickly snatched from her hands and she reels, but joins the polite applause that fill the room, the noise that bounces off the walls. The noise slowly fades off into silence and Dane puts the mic back in its slot on the podium. The lights are bright enough for him to avoid seeing the eyes boring into him, the reporters impatiently clicking on their notepads, or his old friends that might’ve showed up.

The silence lasts, lasts, longer than he realizes. Anxiety isn’t something Dane experienced before, or had trouble with in the past. Not on the battlefield, not for months after he returned home. Bouts of nightmares weren’t unusual. Neither were the panicked gasps he sometimes noticed himself take when the war was on the news.

“You heard my name. I’m not going to repeat it.”

Strong start. Murmurs erupt in the hall, irritating his ears.

“You should ll know, I have not used my rank in eight years. I am not in charge of any platoons. I am not a soldier anymore.”

More murmurs, someone asks a confused ‘what’ somewhere to his left. Confusion. Perfect.

He waits for them to quiet down. He hears his own breathing in his ears. The rush of blood.

“I was invited here because my father was ranking high in our army, and I’m the closest they could get to him. So I'm taking this opportunity to clear this mess out of my head, to clear this blood out of my lungs.” For how long had he kept quiet about those days, about the hell that he went through, what all of them went through? When it was all on his shoulders. Lieutenant... What a fucking joke.

“I need to dig holes to bury the dead.” A chuckle. Pained, silent, but it echoes in the large hall.

He thinks about Jefferson, Espinoza, Miller... Toby. He thinks of his dad. He thinks of the hundreds of faces he knows but doesn’t have a name for. He thinks of the men and women he has seen on the news. He thinks of those who returned home, and those who did not. He thinks of himself. Which one is he?

“Look at all of you here.” He straightens up. The memories are bad, simmering just beneath the surface of a man whose ego is barely intact. A man who shields, deflects with arrogance. “You haven’t seen battle.” Someone to his right murmurs about reporting from a crime scene once. He wants to scoff. Grab the murmurer by the throat and smash their head against the wall until there is nothing but a bloody mess left. No, enough blood. Enough.

“I'm so fuckin' sick of everyone's lack of honor,” The mic still catches his voice. The mumbling has stopped. No one is writing. His head swirls with everything he wants to yell at these people. The ones who put words to a paper, claiming to bring justice to the horrors their soldiers face abroad.

“I'm so sick of everyone's willingness to settle,” He knows his words are coming out choppy. Hurt. Anger mingling with fear and disbelief. They brought him here to praise the press. But they aren’t pulling him back.

“Tell me, why is no one prepared to die, for anything?”  His voice rises and he hears his own words round back to him, reaching every nook and crevice in the room, the frustration dripping into his every word. Jefferson. Damn idiot, fearless and dangerous, the king of the weaponry. He could talk for hours about the guns at their disposal, spend more hours cleaning them. He died trying to shield his teammates from the bomb intended to kill all of them. He saved his squad. He was buried a hero.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what a man is without pride,” His voice trembles and he can feel his hands shaking as he places them on the edge of the podium. Espinoza. She came from a family of soldiers, the only girl in the litter of eight brothers. Told she would never become anything akin to her siblings. Bashful grin on her face as she straightened her fatigues, pointing at the name tag. ‘They said I wouldn’t make it here’. She was twenty-three when she was gunned down, the first victim in an ambush no one saw coming. It was quick, painless, but the stains her blood left on Dane’s uniform never washed away.

“Do you know what fear does? Fear eats you alive,” Dane swallows. He can’t deny he was afraid, terrified when he landed in his destination, the desert air ripping through his lungs, the heat bearing down on him. He ground beneath him felt shaky then, the sand uneven. He was greeted by his superiors. He was eager. Afraid, but eager. Miller was always scared. He wasn’t cut out to be a soldier, but he came through as a medic. Miller, meek, silent Miller. ‘Mouse’ as they called him back then, with his big eyes and nest of hair. Dane squeezes the edge of the podium, the wood digging into the scars of his palms painfully. Remind him he’s not there anymore, that he made it back. The pain grounds some, and he always thought it to be bullshit. Now, it anchors him to the hall, keeps him from seeing every bad scene he went through. Miller. God, Miller wasn’t cut out to be in the field, but neither was he to be in the war zone, patching up soldiers. Missing limbs from bombs, gunshot founds severe enough to kill, death and misery all around him. Miller shot himself five months after arriving, leaving nothing but  sealed note to his mother behind.

“You forget those who give their whole lives to serve you, so you wouldn’t have to be afraid.” Toby. He doesn’t want to think about Toby, not really. Not about how he wasn’t shaken by the death, how he kept everyone in line when Dane forgot how to, when he sat on his bunk staring at the wall of the tent flapping in the winds that broke against it from the outside. A model soldier. The first time they met, they fought, two massive ego’s lashing on the field while others either egged them on or tried to pry them away from each other’s throats. A week later they found common ground. Toby had been the one. Every soldier has the one, someone they would go through fire for, someone whose life held a higher place than your own. Toby had been the one. And then he was injured, caught by a bomb rigged to blow at the lightest nudge of the door. ‘Back to America.’ That’s what they told him after a while. ‘They say he’s not gonna make it.’ was the last he heard about him.’I’m sorry kid’ they added.

“I lost everything in the war.” Friends. Trust. Innocence. He knew he didn’t come home with the affliction many acquired after seeing the bloodshed. Trauma was a part of a soldier, and that was it. Composed, even when every mistake you ever made plays like a movie behind your eyelids when you think about it too much.

“A war we waged. A war we send innocent men and women to fight while you and the big deciders here sit on your asses making decisions that affect everyone else but yourselves. When we put our life and limb on the line so you can write shit about us in the papers. We sacrifice to keep your country safe, but when we return home you cast us aside on the slightest notion that we might be unstable. You close the doors for us and wonder why no one wants to fight for you anymore. you throw us into the fire and ask us why we’re screaming when you burn away every part of us that held humanity.” He takes a breath of air. The hall is silent.

“And you smile when a soldier returns home sane, when his eyes are bright and he hugs his family. The next day the bodies are returned home, and you don’t even count them. You focus on the man who came home. You write your story about him and how his family is doing while there are hundreds of men waiting to be buried, while their mothers and fathers lay by their caskets and wail over their lost children. You glance at wives and husbands mourning their lovers, the mothers and fathers of their children. You skim over the children who are still wondering where their mommy or daddy is. And you focus on the man that sits on his porch and recites to you a story, The story, that you want to hear.”

He feels the silence surround him. No pens scraping. No mumbles, no hushed tones. Utter silence.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

And Dane smiles briefly, triumphantly, before he walks off the stage, thumb gracing over the tattoo on his wrist.

Toby grins as he revs the makeshift tattoo machine in the middle of their desert encampment. Toothy grin, scraped hands, no plan. It stings. Desert air trapped beneath his skin with the ink that settles there. Toby chuckles and claps him on the shoulder when it’s over. He pulls Dane into a choke hold, making fun, joking. Dane holds up the tattoo to see it properly. There, messy handwriting, yet somehow pleasing, all black ink.

Give ‘em Hell       -T.

[peterknowsshit]

Road trip (Leg 1, Part 5) Pride in the Pines #TheRedDoorsWrite

Peter:

-I knew there was a reason I packed this shiny gold vest at the last minute. I had even pulled it out of my bag at one point, sure there was no way in hell I was going to need it on the trip. But just like every other time my fucked up version of a Spidey sense was tingling, I ultimately gave in and trusted that it meant it would come in handy at some point. And low and behold, here we were. We had seen the advertisements all over Northern Arizona for Pride in the Pines. And decided it would be a fun thing to check out before we rolled out of the state to continue our trek west. As I eyed myself in the mirror, it felt like something was missing. Reaching for one of my hats hanging on the pegs near the bed, I tried my usual brown one on for size and shook my head. I may not know shit about fashion. But I knew that didn’t work. Tossing that one on the bed, I reached for the black one. There it was. That was the missing piece. With a grin and a nod, I made my way out of the bus in search of @MyJokersWild-

Tori:

[I could have watched him a thousand times try on hat after hat and the reaction would have still been the same. It was no secret that @PeterKnowsShit was a fine specimen to look at but put him in that button up and vest? Well, let's just say that soft sigh that left my lips was paying homage to women across the world that ever had a thing for a man that knew how to rock an entrance and the color gold.] My Gods.. [When you did the spin for me to fully take it all in, I couldn't help but laugh almost nervously.] You can't be serious right now. Peter Pan! [Wolf whistling, I wasn't even sure I knew what I was asking but I did know one thing, the festivities that awaited us that night were something I was never going to forget, especially with the likes of you in that hat.]

Peter:

-My grin was instant when my eyes landed on my pretty bird, and I let out a chuckle at that wolf whistle- Well, I was second guessing the C-3PO vest. But if it gets that reaction out of you… -winks as I walk up and place a tender kiss to your lips- Have you ever hit up one of these pride things before, babe?

Tori:

Not here but elsewhere I have! [It wasn't my first rodeo at a PRIDE celebration and once I had turned into a free spirited teen like my mother, there wasn't one I missed since. Whether it was to pay my respects to those few that had gone before me, celebrating in their honor and in general or to be with others of my kind, I always looked forward to the month of June every year. This year however, was even more special because I got to spend it with you. That fact fueled my excitement the more I checked you out in your attire for the evening and I gave you a quick kiss back, careful not to get any more glitter on your clothes. Let alone your mouth as our chariot awaited. Our sights set on downtown where you could already hear the buzzing of the car horns and music blaring from loudspeakers. The energy alone, was calling our names like a corner street light coming on would. That being the signal from childhood that it was past time to come home.]

Peter:

-The closer that we got to our destination, the more palatable your excitement got. And I found myself stealing even more glances than usual at you. It didn’t help the way that colorful eyeshadow seemed to make your eyes pop even more, and briefly had me wishing that my vest had been a more vibrant color to match- I’ve been a couple times for various reasons. -grins- It’s always a good time. But I have a feeling this year is going to top even those. -places a hand on your thigh, giving a playful squeeze- Anything in particular that makes Pride for you? Something you have to see or do to make it complete?

Tori:

You mean besides one of the famous shows and a joint? A toast at the end of the night! Mmm, pancakes at IHOP or Denny's sounds amazing too. [Who was I kidding? Of course, I only had to ponder your question for a moment when instantly a shot of Peppermint Schnapps with a Miller High Life came to mind, a dear old friend's signature drink in memory and a tale that would spark laughter in all those who heard it was soon to follow as you made the drive for us and parked once we arrived in true stoner fashion. One of the clubs had to be in our sights but not before we made our way over to the walkway of tents you had every plan of showing off to me then. The smile on my face only widened the closer we got as I heard the hostess with the mostess over the outdoor intercom system. The celebrations

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PLQR0kBLvU&feature=youtu.be

Peter:

-As we made our way through all the different tents, most of them adorned with shirts that said things like, ‘Adam and Steve, not Adam and Eve,” I couldn’t ignore the loud booming music from the drag tent. My eyes occasionally flicking over there to catch glimpses of big wigs and colorful lights. By the time we reached the end of the row, I turned to you with a raised brow- What is it with Liza Minnelli and drag queens? This is like the third one I’ve heard...

Tori:

It won’t be the last either. She is an icon, mine. Judy Garland’s daughter. [Smiling as we made our way down the rest of the strip, the make-up was flawless, not a hair out of place and as I walked through with you, to the human eye, we were mingling with the stars. Liza, Madonna, Janet Jackson, Cher, and Lady Gaga, were all in attendance and let me just say, they did not disappoint. Nor did Mariah Carey number three four and five. Between merchandise booths from local artists and the bars open for curbside, there wasn’t a stone left unturned when it came to celebrating, or showing our love and support for our community, our friends and our family. Having reached the end of the row, we were having to make a decision to go either left or right. Either way we chose, the day of adventures already proved we were in for a treat and I ducked my head inside the first tent on my right to see what was going on inside, dragging you with me. The scent of that powerful herb hitting my senses like a ton of bricks was too inviting to ignore once I caught wind of it.] You smell that, Peter Pan? [That’s when we found them, or maybe I should say they found us. There she was as if I had plucked her right out of the movie itself and before you know it, her voice like velvet filled the air. Mother Judy. It was Dorothy, in the flesh. “My my, if he’s Peter Pan, hold up Tink. They do not make men like him anymore, honey.” I flat out snickered. That smile growing incredibly wide as the ladies, Mariah number six and myself, fawned all over mine as we shared not one but three blunts going around our little drum circle and what they had signed us up for next was something that was going to go down into the history books indeed.]

Peter:

-Sitting there in that vest, you would think I would be the brightest one in the room. But the way these women were dressed made it look like I was wearing a potato sack of boredom. And the more times I was passed to, the more vibrant everything seemed to become. Looking down at the blunt in my hand as I slowly exhaled, I popped my brows. This shit just might give my homegrown pride a run for its money. I was so lost in that thought, that I didn’t even notice the music getting louder, and was caught by surprise when an impeccably manicured hand pushed me back. Before I could utter a word I was overwhelmed by the smell of expensive perfume and hairspray. Not my pretty bird. Definitely, not my pretty bird. I wish I could tell you which one it even was that was now using me as a prop to their show but all I could see was hair. Lots of hair coming to swallow me whole. It got in my nose, my eyes, and as I coughed and choked a little at the taste of aforementioned hairspray, in my mouth. As I worked to pull my head back and breathe non aerosol air, I briefly wondered if this was the way that I was going to go. A long ass life burned out in a blaze of glittery glory. But just as the desperation was starting to take over, the song ended and my lap was free again. Taking a big gulp of air, I realized even though the wig had departed my lap, there was still enough hair in my mouth to make another of my own. Shooting @MyJokersWild a look of desperation, I attempted to pluck the hairs from my tongue-

Tori:

A human chair? My Peter Pan? [I laughed. That blunt now long gone but the conversation between Dorothy and myself had still been in full swing as I chanced glances @PeterKnowsShit’s way, making sure he was alright with the sudden burst of attention he was getting. The second his hat went however, all bets were off, that long hair of his not just my undoing but the collective “Girrrrrl.” that sounded around the makeshift dressing room could have been heard two streets over if you asked me. “Do you see him, Dorothy! Right off the cover of one of those romance novels. He has to be in the show! The crowd will eat him up honey if I don’t first!” All those big hopeful eyes were on him, even the Mariahs’ were laying the eye fucking on thick and I couldn’t help but nod my head, giving him a wink.] Just one song.. [Cracking up, I was still high as hell but managed to get back up on my feet, Dorothy already joining @PeterKnowsShit with the rest of the ladies and I gave him the universal hand gesture for grabbing a drink, knowing that if I was feeling thirsty as hell, so was he as our newfound friends began to help you get ready with the sounds of I’m coming out starting to play.]

Peter:

-I was still picking the hair out of my mouth when I vaguely heard @MyJokersWild referring to me as a human chair. And damn if that wasn’t an accurate description of what I had just been through. I was still reeling so much from the first round that I didn’t even fight my hat being plucked from my head and placed atop another wigged one. Was that one of the Mariahs? Hell, if I knew. But I was interrupted from that thought process when the chorus of, ‘Girrrrl,’ sounded around me. Now my eyes were darting between dramatically made up faces as they plotted my ass being part of the show. What the hell was going on here? Bringing my eyes back to my pretty bird as she joined right in on the encouragement, I knew I was outnumbered- What all does this entail? -my brow cocked in a show of are you fucking kidding me when Liza number one answered with, ‘Don’t you trust us?’ I had to bite back an answer of, ‘To thoroughly suffocate me and make me the first vampire ever to die at the hands of a drag queen? Yes.’ Apparently I wasn’t going to be answered as a chorus of laughs now filled the dressing tent and suddenly I was being accosted by brushes and pink fuzzy blobs of nope. Now, I was cursing every thought I had about not being colorful enough because I was sure by the time this was done, I was going to be everything but bland. Suddenly a blast of cold and perfumed something hit my face, causing me to blink rapidly- Fuck! That burns? What the hell was that? Satan’s piss? -Another round of laughter at my expense as my hair was tousled and then they all stepped back admiring me. ‘You know what he would be perfect for?’ Liza number one turned to one of the Mariahs with a knowing nod. My eyes flicking between the two of them as they seemed to have a silent conversation- What? What would I be perfect for? I’m not wearing a dress. -Finally they seemed to hear me as Mariah shook her head, “Oh, no, no, honey. A dress you will not wear. You’ll just join Belle over here in her rendition of Beauty and the Beast. Damn it, I forgot the mask. But we’ll make it work.” Next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the stage, bright lights shining on me as I looked out at the crowd which was now packed. I had made it clear to them that dancing was not my strong suit. So, if they expected me to do anything complicated, they were going to regret it. After many attempts to teach me to “flow” across the stage and me nearly tumbling off the side as I blinked through the mountains of spray glitter they had sprayed on me, they finally took my words to heart and allowed me to stay put in a chair. Luckily, this time around the wig was some complicated up do that stayed out of my face. And Belle proved to be a little more hands off as she danced around me, mouthing the words. What I hadn’t accounted for was how fucking long the song was under those bright lights. Now, that damn vest was working like a sauna, causing me to sweat. And wouldn’t you know it, Belle was sweating too under that dress and wig. She was also getting awfully fucking touchy again. I tried, man. I fucking tried to be a good sport. Grinning through the pain as that shit dripped into my eyeballs. I wasn’t going to see right for a week. Then she propped herself in my lap again, sweaty body to sweaty body as she casually slid that glove from her hand, and flicked it out into the crowd just in time for another fucking song to start. Glaring up at Belle with red, glitter filled eyes, I mumbled- I thought it was just one song? It took a few notes before I recognized what fucking song it was now. Just in time for Belle to stand, ripping off her dress to reveal a sparkly bodysuit beneath, and striking a pose as she mouthed the lyrics, ‘It’s raining men!” To my horror several leather clad men jumped up on the stage and began gyrating around me. I attempted to get up only to be slammed back into the chair and held there by Belle’s surprisingly strong grip, a quick shake of her head that had a small drop of glitter sweat flicking from the end of her nose and smacking me right in the middle of the

forehead. Nope. This was done. I promised one song. I struggled with Belle as she motioned for her dancers to help her out. Now the Village People from Hell were holding me in place as Belle did dances that would make a stripper blush. Then it happened. That glittered up chest was being pressed to the side of my head as I clawed and fought for freedom. I don’t know what the hell those boobs were made of, but it definitely wasn’t soft. And as she turned to the crowd in a dramatic flourish, I seized the opportunity to jump up and yank myself free of her hold. Only to trip on that motherfucking wire of her microphone. Haven’t these people heard of wireless microphones? Instinctually, I reached out in an attempt to break my fall, which only brought Belle down with me, in a faceplant right to the groin that I couldn’t have planned if I tried. With a shove of Belle, I was up off that ground and jumping from the stage in a beeline for the exit of that damn tent. Only stopping once I was sure I was free to send @MyJokersWild a text- Oh dear God, it got in my mouth again. Help!

Tori:

I’ll be right back... [Famous last words and sure enough, I sing-songed all four of them before I ducked completely out of @PeterKnowsShit’s line of sight, realizing the words had left my lips before I could stop them as my mind finally caught up, and of course I knew better. I. Knew. Better. A jinx, was a jinx was a jinx as my dad would say and in this case, it was a given that the moment you did say those words, the next thing you knew, you’ll be two songs deep into a rescue mission while still waiting for those celebratory free gratis drinks you were gifted for helping out. My Peter Pan was being a good sport about the whole thing, totally and completely on board through the rainbow filled haze we found ourselves in.. One song, @PeterKnowsShit had agreed to just one and I had reassuringly went along with it because seeing him up there, well, it just added to the “Remember that one time..” list of memories we were making here. So when I saw Dorothy’s head pop up not a second later out of nowhere while I was standing in line for the bar, I couldn’t help but wonder what awaited me upon my return. My view of the stage had been nearly blocked off by paying customers more than ready to wet their whistles and before I knew it, Dorothy’s arm was hooked around mine, dragging me to the front of the line, calling in a favor or two no less, I was sure when the stools before us suddenly opened up and the invitation presented itself. “I can’t thank your man enough! All of us have had our fair share of turns playing Beast for Crazy Belle all month! The goddess herself has smiled down upon me with the likes of you two!”] If you don’t mind me asking, why do they call her crazy? [When I was met with a “You’re about to find out.” Drinks now in hand, or one hand rather, I watched as Dorothy graciously grabbed my free hand and helped me climb up on the stool to get a better look, seeing how she had done the same only seconds ago. Before I could fully take it all in, a flash of gold filled the sky as a surge of bodies surrounded and began piling up on the stage. The big finale was raining men literally. And just like with lightning, realization struck again.] Oh no… [It wasn’t just a finale, it was an encore too. Every performer from along the boulevard, was making their way up to the stage just in time for us all to see @PeterKnowsShit almost levitate, and yes, I mean close your eyes and up you go levitate. It wasn’t even ninety seconds later that he was in that sitting position one minute, and almost off the stage the next… Almost. Life as we know it sometimes has a way of making our wildest dreams come true and in that moment as the stage was descended upon by every color of the rainbow, I laughed at the sight of you popping out of what could only be described as a huge pot of gold. And while you were magically delicious, Belle was no match for your Beast literally when she met him in the form of your crotch. That was it. You were gone in a sea of wigs galore and lifting my head back, I let out a loud whistle before taking a leap of my own down off the stool, drink still in hand when I got that incoming text alert from you. “Oh dear God, it got in my mouth again. Help!“ As quick as my fingers flew across the screen with an “OMW” back, I was just as quick to fire off another one too.] I can’t believe you stuck your dick in crazy! [Hitting send, I laughed again and sent a follow up before pocketing my cell as I made my way outside, in search of you. That’s right. He didn’t know it yet but I saw it all and pancakes were most definitely on the menu. I just had to know if @PeterKnowsShit preferred Denny’s or IHOP.....]

Peter:

-The sound of @MyJokersWild calling my name jarring me out of my trance as a grin instantly spreads across my face at the sound of your laughter. I was about to point out again that had I known she was referred to as Crazy Belle, I would’ve resisted the whole thing a little harder. Only I was interrupted by the waitress appearing at our table with our pancake orders. Now my mind was effectively redirected to the doughy goodness that would soon be filling my mouth. And by the time both plates were set in front of us, I had already placed the blueberry syrup I knew was your favorite in front of you, and was reaching for the OG for myself. Taking the time to draw designs on my pancakes with the syrup as I poured, I only looked up at your question. “Thinking about the night again?” That knowing smirk you sported causing me to chuckle low, and shake my head.- Baby, I’m going to be thinking about last night for ages to come. -picks up my fork, cutting off my first bite, and popping it into my mouth before offering you a closed mouth grin- #TheRedDoorsWrite #Pride

[chasholidays]

Hi first thank you second here is a very loose prompt idea: Bellamy talks to himself/someone else in Tagalog and Clarke w/ her huge crush wants to know what he's saying so she can maybe start a conversation and he'll notice her except it turns out he's talking about her in Tagalog

Italics indicate conversations in Tagalog!

Bellamy tells his grandmother about his cute neighbor for two reasons: one, she keeps asking if he’s seeing anyone right now, and two, he figures the odds of said neighbor ever finding out about it are fairly low. She has, occasionally, been in the hallway or at the bus stop while he’s talking to his grandmother about her, but he can’t imagine she knows Tagalog, and if she does know, she’s never reacted to anything he’s said, up to and including things about how she’s cute and he’s working on talking to her.

And, okay, that second one is a lie, but, again, this is his grandmother. Who is very concerned about him since he and that nice girl Gina broke up, and hasn’t it been a while, and anyone would be lucky to have him.

He loves his grandmother, he does, but he’s kind of glad he only has one of them. He doesn’t need any more people pressuring him about his love life.

“We’ve never even spoken,” he’s telling her, one morning in April, as he walks to the bus stop. “I only know her name from her mailbox.”

“Why not?” she asks. “You live next door to each other, you must have things to talk about.”

“If I ever need to borrow an egg from someone, she’s the first one I’ll ask. But I’m good at just buying my own eggs. It’s fine,” he adds, before she can protest. “The buses here aren’t great. I’m sure sooner or later ours will be late and I can start talking to her about that.”

“You usually talk to me when your bus is late,” she points out, not unreasonably. He likes to call her on his way into work. It’s a nice time for both of them to chat, and there aren’t a lot of those, considering the time difference.

“I’ll hang up on you and talk to her next time if you want.”

“That would be the smart thing to do.”

He does hang up on her not long after that, but not to talk about how the bus is running late, even though it is. The bus is always a little unreliable; it has to be a lot later than this to be worth remarking on.

So it’s up to his neighbor to say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Bellamy’s never actually spoken to Clarke Griffin before. He just knows she lives next door to him and is pretty and still reads physical books, so he can see she has good taste and seems like someone he’d get along with. It’s nothing deep or profound or anything; at best, it’s safe. She’s someone he can idly think about without any danger of anything happening.

Or she was, until she decided to start a conversation.

He stops halfway to putting his earbuds in and smiles at her. “Sure, what’s up?”

She worries her lip. “On the phone, is that Tagalog?”

He makes himself not react, which isn’t that hard. She was behind him walking, so she might have overheard the whole conversation, but this doesn’t feel like a trap, the gotcha moment where she reveals she’s secretly been eavesdropping on him for the last three months.

It’s still dangerous territory, but at least he feels safe saying, “Yeah. This is when I call my grandmother. She’s in Manila, so it’s just after nine at night for her.”

“That’s cool,” says Clarke. “I pretty much just talk to my grandparents on holidays and birthdays.”

He doesn’t have a particularly good response to that, but he also feels as if he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t have to justify how much he talks to his grandmother to her. “Yeah,” he says instead.

“So, this is weird, but–I’ve been wanting to learn another language. Would you maybe be willing to teach me some Tagalog?”

Weird feels like something of an understatement. “You just want to learn a foreign language? Any foreign language?”

“Pretty much.” Her smile says she knows what he’s thinking. “I took Spanish in high school and then forgot everything as soon as I wasn’t required to do it for a grade anymore. I tried to pick it back up on Duolingo but when I don’t have someone to talk to I have trouble with actually keeping up. But I like knowing other languages? I like using that part of my brain. Again, I know this is completely weird, you can just say no, I won’t be offended.”

“That really is weird,” he says, but he finds himself smiling. “I’m trying to figure out what actually happened here. You overheard me on the phone, decided hey, he speaks a foreign language, cool, then researched what I was speaking and decided to ask me to teach you?”

“Obviously it sounds bad when you actually just say what I did,” she says, and he laughs.

“Obviously, yeah.”

The bus shows up before he has to answer, but when they get on, Clarke claims an empty pair of seats, cocks her head at him in invitation, and she is really cute. He should definitely be working on talking to her, even if she’s totally weird.

“I’ve never actually taught anyone Tagalog,” he says. “I just grew up speaking it. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I was thinking I’d buy a book and we could just practice once a week, maybe? It’s also possible I’m kind of new in town and don’t have a lot of friends yet,” she adds, when he doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t say,” he teases, and she gives him a somewhat sheepish smile.

“The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

“I feel like in this conversation alone you’ve admitted to having way more than one problem.” He pauses, thinking it over. “You know, if you just want to hang out, we don’t have to learn Tagalog. That’s not a requirement for friendship.”

“But it’s more efficient,” she says. “Make friends and learn a new language.”

“Or we could start with friends and go from there,” he says. “I’m doing drinks tonight with some other people, if you want to come along.”

“You don’t have to–” she starts, and he figures if she can ask him for Tagalog lessons because she’s been eavesdropping, he can admit he’s checking out her reading material.

“Did you like The Fifth Season?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. I’m on the waiting list for the second one but I’m thinking about just caving and buying it.”

“I’ll bring it for you tonight if you come.”

Her smile is always beautiful, but he’s never had it turned on him before. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “What are friends for?”

*

“My neighbor asked me to teach her Tagalog,” he tells his grandmother, the next week.

“I hope you said yes.”

“Then how would I tell you about her?” he teases. “I told her to come to the bar with me and Miller, and she did. We talked about books.”

“And are you going to talk more about books?”

“I think so, yeah. She only moved here a few months ago, she doesn’t know a lot of people yet. And I think she wants to chat. She just sat down next to me.”

“I see how it is. Now that you have a girl you like to talk to in the morning, you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“That’s exactly how it is,” he agrees, with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.”

*

Bellamy has to admit, he likes his new routine a lot more than his old one. Not that his old routine was bad, but it’s nice, following up his morning call to his grandmother with a chat with Clarke. They aren’t doing actual Tagalog lessons, but Clarke does seem to be pursuing the language on her own, and she’ll ask him about vocabulary and grammar, not actually based on his conversations, just on her own, independent study. She doesn’t seem to be getting any closer to understanding what he’s saying.

Then they talk about books and work and their lives, whatever comes to mind. They always sit together on the bus, and they even start leaving the apartment building together. After a few weeks, he explains how his grandmother half-raised him, back in Manila, and Clarke shares details of her own family.

It feels like they’re on their way to being friends, which is cool, albeit a little terrifying. She was supposed to be a safe, unrealistic crush, and now he talks to her every day, likes her as a lot more than just a concept or a construct. He likes her, the real one, and it’s nothing he was ever prepared for.

His grandmother tells him he should just tell her, before it gets worse, and the idea does have some appeal, but he doesn’t really know where to start.

“All you have to do is tell her you’d like to go on a date with her,” says his grandmother. “Watch out. If you don’t do it soon, I might tell your sister about this.”

“That’s just cruel,” he says. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

As usual, once he’s ended the call, Clarke closes her book and turns her attention to him. “How do you guys have so much to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I call my mom about once every two weeks and I never have that much to say to her.”

“You manage to talk to me every day,” he says, and to his surprise, she flushes.

“It’s not easy.”

She clearly says it without thinking, and he has to laugh. “You don’t have to, you know.”

There’s a pause, and then she leans forward, wetting her lips. When she speaks, the words are deliberate, purposeful. “I couldn’t figure out anything to talk to you about, so I figured I could ask about Tagalog. It was the only conversation starter I could come up with other than knocking on your door and asking to borrow some sugar.”

He has to laugh. “Yeah, I was going to borrow an egg from you if I had to.”

“Yeah?”

He looks over at her, feeling half his mouth tug up at the corner. “You know what I’m talking to my grandmother about most days? You. She thought I needed to start dating again, so I told her my neighbor was cute. I thought it was pretty safe. I didn’t think I’d ever actually talk to you.”

“Did you tell her we started talking?”

“I did, yeah. She thinks I should ask you out.”

“I have to say, your grandmother sounds like a very intelligent woman,” says Clarke, and he grins.

“She likes the sound of you too. I told her you had good taste in books.” He wets his lips. “So, are you busy tonight?”

“I’m not. And you need something to talk to your grandmother about in the morning, right?”

“Right,” he agrees. “She’s going to love this.”

*

It’s about a year before he and Clarke can coordinate a trip out to visit. His cousin gives his grandmother a ride out to meet them, and Clarke’s language studies have progressed far enough that she can say, “Hello, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

They’ve spoken on the phone, so it’s not as if it’s really the first time they’re talking, but meeting in person always feels different.

“She is pretty, like you said,” his grandmother tells him, once she’s given Clarke a hug. “And good taste in men too. Did you get all that?” she adds, to Clarke.

“Not quite all,” she says, picking her words slowly. “Bellamy says my book is–less good.”

“It is,” he says, and switches to English. “I’m hoping we can find something better here. She just bought one online.”

“Well, I said you’re very pretty and my grandson has good taste,” she tells Clarke, linking their arms. “And now you can tell me all the things Bellamy won’t when we call.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asks, with a somewhat overdramatic sigh. The whole effect is probably spoiled by the way he can’t stop smiling, though. Octavia will be here the day after tomorrow, and then he’s got two whole weeks to spend with all his favorite people. It’s hard to be anything but excited about the whole thing.

“You always say that,” says his grandmother. “But we all know you’ve been looking forward to this for months.”

“I have,” he agrees. “But now I’m going to have to learn a new language so I can say nice things about Clarke behind her back.”

Clarke laughs. “Well, there are worse problems to have, right?”

He takes his grandmother’s other side as they head back to the car, feeling warm and fuzzy and content in spite of–or perhaps somewhat thanks to–the jetlag. He’s here and Clarke’s here and they’ve got a whole vacation for her to get to know his family. He’s never gotten this far with anyone else, and he’s hoping Clarke’s the only person he ever brings home, now.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “It could definitely be worse.”

[betweenorbits]

I’d always imagined it would be uplifting, that I’d be standing with friends and a planet at my back or behind some great captain: watching Intel or Zara or John or Amelie dress down the ignoble while I protected them from the hidden assault. Or that it would just happen naturally, without any serious issues. But they were all so far, well, not all of them. But I was standing there. Amelie had agreed, Invel had agreed, and Jimmy and Term. Brutus, well, I don’t understand what Jimmy (Mayor and Mayor’s Wife to you) and our bubble Term did, but Brutus sent the code. I was informed, not particularly politely, that it wasn’t my problem to get Brutus’ consent, that the two Silicate Generals would take care of it. And they did. Amelie had sent her code to me as a physical as a letter apparently, and Invel had sent a proxy, but I’m not ready to talk about that, I couldn’t let myself think about what it meant. But I had the codes, I would push the button.

The IPC council chamber, deep under the rocks of Luna City (Hubble City officially), was grandiose Brutalist trash, high stands of carved concentric layers, full of lights and chamberlains, councilors, Xorp executives, and elected officials from all across the solar system. The beautiful diversity of the Solar System was incredible, but the balance was sliding back towards mercantilist aggrandizement at a scale that worried the future. And for some reason, a large fraction of them in this room, were conspiring against Mars. 

The rallying point of Expansionist policies, Mars, was putting a cramp on the designs of Xorp and autocratic government asset creation. Not every Executive, but any Executive. We had friends in many of the national governments of Terra, but not too many, who were still overly concerned with their own citizens, because of centuries of ecological and economic (they were still taught separately) mismanagement. The Loonies were our friends, but largely fractured and concerned with their Barrio politics. The isolated communities of the O’Neills and Asteroids, and the small Jovian research communities supported us as the same ‘oppressed’ peoples, but they were beholden to the same capital rich Xorps or governments that put up the money for the original settlements. And, many of the Xorps saw benefit to the tapestry of humanity, or some of their top executive felt that way. 

It was difficult to piece apart the competing goals of these chambers, in Geneva (where the UN relocated), and here in Luna City; but the statistical nature of our work clearly meant only one thing: a cabal not in our favor. We had known so long ago it could happen, and had fought for balance, had fought for patience, had cajoled, tricked, traded, and made alliances that protected our rights, and in general making sure that life improved for the settlers and citizens of the Red Planet. But what about all peoples? What about our Silicate friends, when would they have a seat at the table? Would humanity always choose the xenophobic path where the game was setup to make a formless and changing ‘us’ the first priority. It had happened so often in our ‘glorious’ history. 

Would our governing bodies always be designed for that centrism that Invel and I, in particular, had spent our lives fighting against? Someday we would go further afield, after those probes sent back their data from Centauri’s planets, or when we reached the next system or the next; somewhere we would find others out in the stars, and would humanity greet them as people or as ‘them.’ If the treatment of Silicates was indication, the current trajectory was poor. This is what Jimmy left the limelight for, to ‘hide’ out of sight and make a place of their own. The silicates wanted to be ready, and Jimmy and Term and other bio-metal brains I didn’t know were ready for their voices to be heard. We fought for ‘people’ everywhere, for every shape, every governance, every strand of dna, or line of code, for values that ignored species or race or orientation, the belief that we were an ‘all’ even when we are wildly different. 

But still, I sat in a painfully uncomfortable chair—wood if you can believe it, since no expense was spared for the delegates—watching my favorite clock system in the solar system. Up high ticked the atomic counters, the system timing array headquartered here on Luna, but Solar Coordinate time was taken from all the primary standard clocks in the system. Fifteen gorgeous clocks, of three different standards were mixed for uncertainty and then beamed out to the waiting billions. The old standards: ytterbium and strontium optical ran in Paris and Boulder for historical reasons; but the gorgeous new thorium nuclear fountains that graced Mercury, the Solar standards Labs liberating at the Earth-Moon-Sun L5 lab, two Venusian O’Neill’s, and at the Mars Technical University were the primary standards fed here, and mixed for output, were the real clocks of humanity, showing a staggering system wide fractional uncertainty of 10^(-26)! I tried to read the papers that came out, but alas, the freedom of information from Terra on such matters was just as poor as when I left grad school. The council chamber had a direct feed, 90 km or so of cable, which went to the Standards Lab on the Imperial Campus. Kept running on directly was System Standard time, and from it was calculated the official times all around the Solar System, lovingly displayed on brass handed clocks, with bold-type font under each movement; they showed the time in Denver (the North American Union’s new capital), Geneva, Pearl City, Hubble City (all of Luna kept the same time since it was all underground anyway), New Greenwich on Mercury, and Burroughs on Mars (our first city). The second was the same, everywhere, and I watched them tick by, not listening to the debate, waiting for the dramatic moment. 

I would start talking before it kicked off, in order to not be interrupted by the beeps and chimes of phones, communicators, across the chamber; but John would just tell me I was being dramatic again—probably true as well. Melody was with the underground at this moment, probably in her office, telling the teams where to go, readying the cry. Jarvis was sitting next to me, a wonderful boy. He is a young thirty-nine, the elder statesman of the mission here; a genius, the star student of the Applied Political department back on Mars—devious, honest to a fault, and ambitious. He was here to watch, as I’d told him it would all kick off here, the reactions in the chamber because I would be too busy not fucking up my lines. He invited the newspeople too, at least the ones that we we thought should definitely be there. I’m sure every consular staff knew that we had asked them to come too, there are no secrets from these people, it is their job. Normally there wouldn’t be stereo reporters, the top political career ones, at a regular meeting of the IPC where the agenda was tariffing amongst the Voyageur—the spacemen, sky jockeys, traders, void-caravaneers, smugglers, whatever you’d like to call them—on multi-legged trips. More and more looks, I’d noticed, or Jarvis told me later, that people kept looking at the two of us, dressed in our finery, knowing something was happening. 

The Xorps: Tharis and Vensus Conglom, and the rest, had smug, assured politicians here in the chamber. They were cooking up something terrible, and John’s discovery was surely connected. Invel’s proxy mentioned something about it as well, but the key thing was that the Xorps had convinced the major governments back on Earth that something needed to change to keep the Red Planet in line. The only way to stop it, well, was to change the timeline, to do the thing that I had promised the whole solar system, that we wouldn’t have: a war. 

And I’d talked with Mayor, Term, and the whole crew, and I was going to break my promise to Invel: I was going to go too far. I would go too far because, because if we didn’t, it would all disintegrate. I close my eyes, willing this all to be a dream, the choking, gagging feeling climbing up my throat, the feeling and the reality dancing in my chest, my heart sounding too fast; but the mind reminds, with emotions, visions, memories and pain, that this terror and this moment was what I had wanted. I had been ready for 30 years. 

I put my hands on the table and thought, two minutes till zebra hour, time to make hay. My feet were rooted in the soft rock, sweating in their thin socks and soft-shell coverings with modern gore-tex stickies to keep me from floating off around corners at 1/6 g. Both hands pressed into the desk, the w-shaped veins and arteries, and dark aged spots on my hands reminding me of my grandfather or perhaps because I wore his ring, my wedding ring, today of all days. And, I pushed myself to my feet, not too hard that I shot out of my seat and ended at the roof, which had happened to high-grav newbie representatives in this chamber. Across the oval, a representative from Venus was speaking, I don’t know about what, but sye stopped in mid-sentence when I stood. The chair, a quiet, ferocious young person from Pearl City, looked over at me and asked, “Do you have something to add to this discussion Ambassador Miller?” 

“I do your honor, and I would appreciate it no one would interrupt me for the next two minutes, I trust you will understand why,” I said, and took two deep breaths, and had I been a believer, I would have sent off a prayer to any deity that would hear me. I noticed, Mallory Padwr, the great political analyst slap her camera person, telling him to focus on me carefully, her eyes alight with what she would assume would be something weighty. I’d always liked her, so sharp, I wish she had been from Mars. “I wish to briefly address you: honored delegates, friends, foes, citizens of Sol, organic, bionic, and semi-conductor alike, and especially my friends from Mars. It is a lifetime’s achievement that I stand here before you today. It has been my eternal honor to serve you all, in whatever capacity you will have me. This council was founded with so many hopes, a new way to solve humanity’s oldest problems: rewarding endeavor, legislating anger and fear, legislating the distribution of the power that the creativity and drive of so many individuals to the great mass of our citizens who share the light of this small, yellow star. This has always been difficult, in any scheme humanity has tried, and in some ways this has been a startling success; but in others, we have failed once more. Once more we stand looking at a future where the gulf between those that have and those that do not is widening. Once more, we seek to classify different echelons of humanity, making wealth or genetics or cellular structure the basis for moral or political worth. Once more, the wolves in our hearts have marshalled the might to impress their own will over those of other thinking beings. Once more, the powerful seek to utilize law as justification for the unacceptable oppression of those who dissent.

“I have spent my life dedicated to the belief that war is a state of lawlessness in the human condition, that war is the complete opposite of civilization. Each election, debate, discussion, or side I have taken has been to further and not to diminish civilization; further that it is the role of each individual to expand the thoughts and rights of their fellows, and it is the responsibility and honor of officials such as ourselves to be the custodians of the fraternity of empathy, civilization. Your honors, I find this council lacking.” 

Throughout the beginning of the speech, there was a hush, and then a murmuring, the crossing of eyebrows and the shaking of heads. Several key players looked on apparently impassively, but they were the architects of the current fracas, and their surprise was a re-evaluation of the scheme. I smiled to myself as I imagined how their thoughts would change over the next few minutes. By the end of my breather, delegates were talking loudly with their colleagues, with chattering punctuations of ‘crazy’ and ‘what on earth is he talking about?’ and my personal favorite ‘uppity miner.’

“Chair, do we have to listen to this nonsense?!”

The chair agreed, “Dr Miller, while I much appreciate your prosaic style, I must agree that if you only have a few half-hearted injuries to spew at this council, that I will be forced to find you in contempt and ask you to sit down and reconsider wasting our time,” said the delicately worded steel-eyed promises of the chair. 

“Please, please, I’ve not lost my marbles colleagues, I’m still the same practical and demanding opponent or comrade as you are used to, so let me give you some facts, and then I will allow you or the press to ask me questions.”

The chair said dryly, “I’m not sure the press should be allowed to ask questions inside a legislative proceeding, it sets a bad precedent; however, we can of course grant you two more minutes for your remarks.”

I bowed briefly, “Thank you Chair.” 

I straightened up. “The facts: Mars has been the joint colonial holding of several Terran nations, under the charter of operation of Tharsis Mining, Infinity Xorp, and several others; and under the protection of the IPC. We have been granted delegates to this council due to our population, but never full autonomous control over rules of commerce, emigration, taxation, or the like of our space. Our outstanding commercial success for our corporate masters not-withstanding, the freedom of the peoples of Mars been a subject long-overdue, and much derided for the last thirty years by this council and those like it. The people of Mars, in conjunction with other marginalized peoples of this Solar System thus declare their severance with this council, declare themselves free of political or economic association with any entity that believes it owns or directs choices without the expressed opinion, through election by the people, and declares our debts paid. The people of Mars ask that representatives of the relevant parties make themselves available for discussion about the roles that their organizations would care to play within the Martian sphere of influence in the future, but rest assured that it will not be in the form of governance. All infrastructure vital to the survival and livelihood of the Martian People will be retained by the Martian people as part of the same statement of Independence.

“Any resistance will be viewed as an aggressive act, and these oppressed people shall not be caught defenseless. The nascent Republic of Mars will deport all Peacekeeping Forces of the IPC, except those that wish to join the Republic as citizens, and will defend its right to Independence with every fiber of being at our disposal.

“As of, let’s see, six minutes ago, to protect these rights, an interdict has been placed on travel between the inner planets, including Luna, and the outer planets and stations until a new accord has been ratified by all relevant authorities. Any craft seeking to break this interdict will be viewed as an act of war against the people of Mars, and will be treated as a hostile force, except where sanctioned by the Republic. Does anyone have any questions?”

Suffice to say that many people clamored to be heard at once. I stayed standing, though my legs shook under the strain. The large council doors opened, and in them stood a stone man, several other silicates, and a healthy, exhilarated, but messy Melody and some of her apparent group of revolutionaries. The council could not help but notice that all of the menacing shadows in their door were armed. A hush fell over the chattering children as the image of a silicate holding a gun, the stillness of resolve painted on the faces of the revolutionaries at their door. And then, General Mayor spoke: “The interdict has been enforced on the Port, and our forces are deployed and ready to maintain protection on the craft aiming for the gates.” 

“Thank you General, was there any resistance,” I asked quietly, listening to the audaciously silent council chamber, with every eye and lens on the ancient Silicate form, an anger from the crowd turned to chill foreboding at the clinical descriptions from the non-human person.

“Yes, but there seem to be few casualties at this moment. The majority of the capital ships are in orbit, and we have hailed them and will discuss their surrender. We are waiting to hear back from the other system targets. We expect to maintain Republic victory of any engagements with 96% likelihood, though we expect hostile casualties as the chance of immediate surrender seems, unlikely.” 

  “General, I would appreciate it if you would also answer any questions that the councilors or the press has for you, would you join me?”

“I’d be honored to Mister Miller. Long Live the free republics of Sol!” and with that, my friend Jimmy walked across the hall towards me as tears rolled down my old and tired face.

[rilenerocks]

At seven years old, I have now become a Chicago girl. My family has moved into the third floor of an apartment building at 7746 S. Cornell.

One block to the west is Stony Island which is a major thoroughfare through the city. The Chicago Skyway is close by and we are never supposed to play in those places because of the heavy traffic and the stranger danger. But I look at them from our alley and from the back porch steps three stories high, where the boiling afternoon heat turns our apartment into an inferno in the summer. There are so many vehicles moving in steady streams in many directions. I am not in Sioux City any more.

This apartment only has two bedrooms. Mom and dad are in one. My two sisters and I are in the other. My brother is in some makeshift space on the back porch. There is aluminum foil put up to reflect the sun away from his bed. I am too young to be upset at the major downsizing from our Iowa house to this small space. In retrospect I realize that this move was much harder for my older brother and sister who were more established in their Sioux City lives. They have to adapt to a new social structure because we are now living in a much more sophisticated and wealthy area than in Iowa where class didn’t seem as obvious. Or maybe I was too little to notice class then. Our apartment building is on the fringe of that wealthier neighborhood and we go to school with kids who are used to a whole other economic existence.

As kid number three, I have the advantage of observing the problems of my siblings and figuring out strategies to survive. My parents,who were driven by desperation to make this move, didn’t have the psychology chops to understand the ramifications of this sea change. They were naive. This move created what my mom called “two separate families,” my parents with the older siblings and my parents with me and my younger sister. Whether true or not, I think my mom was wrong to tell us that. At least she told us two young ones. I really am not sure what she said to the big kids. Dorothy the boundary-less. But I digress. Mrs. Miller is our landlady.

She is broad, with greasy, straight salt and pepper hair which is straight, cut in one length to just below her chin. She is brusque and I want to be away from her. Sometimes her family comes to visit and by their accents, it seems they’re from the south. There is a pale-skinned, pale-haired, pale-eyed girl about my age. We play together in the gangway which separates our apartment building from the one next door. I make up most of the games. I did the same thing with Robin, the boy I loved in Iowa. With him we played, the butterfly, the spider and the fly. He had a dual role as the mean spider and the savior fly. I was the butterfly. With this pale girl, we are playing island natives. We trade off who is the girl and the boy. The heroine’s name is Fayaway. She is always in danger, being captured and then being rescued. Although nothing actually sexual happens between us, through the prism of time, I recognize that these were erotic forms of play. Apparently I am always in love, as soon as I recognized the beginnings of that feeling.

Our block is primarily apartment buildings, some three units and others six units. There are a few duplexes. There is only one empty lot on the block. I go down there to collect grasshoppers. In summer, my sister and I screw our roller skates to our shoes and go down the sidewalk making metallic, grinding sounds on the journey to collect the bugs. I bring them back to the ledge at the front entry of our building and conduct experiments. I dissect them and move their pieces around to see what happens. Sometimes their separated parts keep moving after my operations. I have no idea how that works but it interests me. We say that the grasshoppers are spitting tobacco juice at us. Our lawn consists of a small patch of dirt, maybe 4’ by 4’ with some wan blades of grass. I am now in the urban world of bricks and mortar. That’s what I adjust to, with the alleys, sidewalks, gangways and apartment basements as my play ground. Iowa becomes a memory. In summer and on weekends, kids pour out of the buildings and we all play together. Our hide and seek games have a two block radius because there are so many kids in the game. We need lots of space for hiding. I remember going into dark basements and have a hard time believing the freedom of those days. We play kick the can in the alley, concentration and those hand clapping games that have songs attached.

Concentration is a game where you say, thinking of, names of, cars, beginning with, A. We go from cars to colors to flowers and so on. This is semi-spoken and semi-sung. The hand games have songs too like, a sailor went to sea, sea, sea to see what he could see, see, see. Our hands move fast and we have special clapping styles. Sometimes if we go too fast, the game breaks down and we start over. We play jump rope and hopscotch.

There is always something to do outside. My mom opens the front window of the apartment, calls out or whistles and we run home for dinner. After we eat, a big gang of kids runs to the corner to wait for Harry, the ice cream man.

He wears a white coat and hat and rides a bike with small freezer on the front of it. For a dime you can buy a popsicle, a fudgsicle, an ice cream bar, a dreamsicle or a push-up. I love chocolate popsicles the best. I am bigger than a lot of the kids. While we wait for Harry, I lie on my back and flex my knees toward my chest. The smaller kids sit on my feet and I push them through the air. I push Johnny Lothrop so far that he flips over and breaks his collarbone. His parents are very angry and I’m afraid they want my parents to pay. Johnny has to wear a neck brace. For days I’m afraid to go out and I stand in the little front hallway, looking out longingly at everyone playing. Our block is filled with all kinds of people.

We have several Greek families living near us. Elaine and Anna Sonios live across the street. They’re older than me. Their parents own a grocery store on 79th Street. They celebrate different holidays than we do and on occasion we get invited in and are given treats. We get Greek halva which is nougat with pistachios. I can still taste it. Elaine and Anna’s parents are very strict. When they have lots of guests, the girls climb out the windows to run around with the rest of the kids. Constantine Athanasoulias lives on our block as does Johnny Latsoudis. Johnny is handsome. There’s another cute boy on the block named Kenny Jones. I have a crush on him. He has a line in the middle of his lower lip that makes him look special. He has an older brother named Edward James but everyone calls him Edgy. The first African-American student at my elementary school, Horace Mann, moves onto our block. Her name is Sandra Greene. She is tall and athletic. Her skin has reddish tones and her face has high cheekbones. I think she’s beautiful. I often wonder whether she is part Native American. Down the block there is a family from somewhere in the Middle East. A little girl whose name is Lu-el plays outside. She is odd. The big kids try to make her eat dirt with a stick. Sometimes when I look back I feel like the kids are just this side of Lord of the Flies. One day Lu-el drops to the ground and is having a seizure. We run and get my mother who comes and puts a tongue depressor in her mouth so she won’t swallow her tongue.

Our block is full of action. One day I am outside when a mean-faced teenager named Harry Hess comes up to me and calls me a fucking kike. I know this is bad so I go tell my mother. She comes storming outside and yells at Harry and explains to me that some people don’t like us because we’re Jewish. I’ve never heard the “f” word either. I’m getting my first lessons in prejudice. Cornell is an ethnic swirl and there’s a lot to learn.

My grandparents live right around the corner on 78th Street. I can still smell their hallway. It smells like chicken soup and pepper and schmaltz. Schmaltz which is flavorful chicken fat is saved and put in a jar in the fridge and is used for cooking and us smeared on everything. Why did everyone not die of heart attacks? My grandmother is a wonderful cook. But when we visit, we sit at her white porcelain table with blue embossed flowers and eat apricot jelly on rye bread and cantaloupe cut into chunks. The chicken and friccasees are for special occasions. One of my uncles and his wife live “north” on Kenmore but then they are suddenly south on Euclid. We get together with the extended family every weekend and have big meals. We sing a lot. Favorites are You Are My Sunshine, Tell Me Why and Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. We shop locally on 79th Street.

There is Heller’s drugstore and Feldstein’s delicatessen. Feldstein’s has a big barrel full of penny candy. There are yellow jawbreakers wrapped in red rope candy. There are little wax bottles filled with juice. Wax is definitely a thing because there are big was lips you bite down on and wax mustaches. There are white candy cigarettes with pink tips and pastel gums that are shaped like cigars, with a gold label like the ones on real cigars. There are pink, yellow, white and blue hard sugar dots that are baked onto paper- you bite those off. You can get a package of pixy sticks or Lick-a-made which is nothing but flavored sugar. Tiny ice cream cones filled with colored marshmallows. Chum gum. Those were the treats we got on hot Saturday afternoons when we all piled into the laundromat with our bags of clothes, sheets and towels. How I hated the laundromat. The wringer washer in Iowa was long gone. My parents wouldn’t own a machine again until they moved near me in my adult life, almost 30 years later.  But while we took turns there, swapping out the wet loads and folding the hot things from the dryer, there was shopping.

  There was Dessauer’s butcher shop where my mom would order a piece of book roast. I don’t even know what that is. The butcher shop smelled of blood. I knew that even though I hadn’t smelled blood before. There was Wee Folks, the toy store where you could get Silly Putty. Eventually I got a Barbie doll at that store. Mine had red hair and a hole in her head. She could wear either a bubble hairstyle or if you wanted a change, you’d reach into the hole and pull out a ponytail. My favorite doll was one I’d gotten in Iowa from my grandmother. She was a Madame Alexander doll with a porcelain face and a stiff blue dress with white trim. She had one other outfit. Buying doll clothes was too expensive so I made more out of Kleenex and rubber bands. I still have her, though she is in pieces.

The Avalon theater was on 79th Street, within walking distance of our apartment. Sometimes we went with our friends. It was a fine old theater with stylish boxes and a balcony. If we shared a box of Milk Duds, they were real caramel with real chocolate covering that cracked when you bit them. I saw scary movies with Vincent Price and always liked the cartoons that played before the feature film. Movies were pretty cheap. Life felt good to me in those first years on Cornell.

We went to Rainbow Beach on the weekends. The adults all stayed on the grassy lawn of the abutting park  but I went to the water where I learned to swim by copying other people’s actions. My brother worked at the concession stand there and it felt exciting to eat something away from home. They put mustard on the hamburgers which came wrapped in thin white tissuey paper. Mostly we ate at home. On weekends, we got food from the deli, like salami and bologna and bagels and lox. Those were welcome treats. For the most part, I was a happy kid. But there were troubles brewing. My dad worked for the Chicago Motor Club in the day and at Polk Brothers at night. My mom worked occasionally but she had bad bouts of ulcerative colitis and often wound up staying home. She worked at Time-Life Books and The University of Chicago hospital where she was in accounts and the beginnings of Medicare. My dad was the one who came to bring my little sister and I home for lunch as our school didn’t have a lunchroom. We ate a lot of eggs and salami. I knew there was economic stress. I always worried about my mother’s health. She would go in and out of hospitals, events which frightened me just like the first time it happened when I was four. My brother and sister were adapting but they each had struggles. My brother became a fringe person who only had a few friends. My sister was more socially entrenched but she was unhappy. The small space we shared rumbled with emotions, some spoken and others beneath the surface. I kept my younger sister close to me. She was physically little and I wanted whatever was coming in my direction from the big people to be kept away from her. I was pretty young to be thinking those thoughts but I was worried a lot about the obvious economic stressors and the impact they were having on our household. I was impacted too by those like everyone else. But I found ways to respond that prompted my dad to give me my new nickname – weasel. I liked that one. I thought it was apt. When I felt the anger, sadness and anxiety of the older people, I wanted to make things better, for them and for me. So I found my own ways to deal with the childhood issues that have big impacts on how we feel about ourselves. My go-to skill became lying. When it was picture day at school and so many girls pranced in dressed in fancy outfits with fancy shoes, I’d get asked, “where are your dress shoes? It’s picture day.” And I would clap myself on the forehead and say, “oh I forgot.” Worked like a charm. I started to figure out that there might be a way around, over, under or through  any obstacle or problem that was in front of you. While I was playing and doing my little kid stuff, there was another part of me developing, the part that is the core of who I am as an adult. No depression, no acting out, no ulcerative colitis for me. I was going to be the person who found my way through everything, with as little personal damage to me as possible. I am still that person. The Chicago school days are next up in my memory journey which I’m going to leave for my family.

The Living Spaces #2 Chicago Girl At seven years old, I have now become a Chicago girl. My family has moved into the third floor of an apartment building at 7746 S.

[thejadehermit]

Little Angels by Sophiacharlotte

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12529560/1/Little-Angels Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxXxxx Deploying was the worst. In more ways than one for Daryl. Watching the guys (and two girls) in his unit, with long faces as their families circled around them, fluttering in worry, and sorrow. Trying to be brace and hold back tears, gave the family members a creepy fake vibe, that always creeped Daryl out. That is if he had any family. He had made a mandatory appearance at the party on base. No one really wanted to be there, no one really wanted to spend any part of the last few moments home at some stuffy afternoon barbecue. , but he went, because it was expected, and as soon as he was able he hightailed it out of there. If Merle was alive he probably would have been there. Hell free booze and barbecue, Merle would have been all over that, but he was gone now. In the taken by the addiction that had taken hold of merle's life when he had been injured ironically in the service. Honourably discharged Merle's life had spiralled, addiction to pain killers had grown into more, the gateway to a major drug addiction that had taken his life. Daryl was alone, the only family he had the members of his unit. It was better that way, no one to worry while he was gone. No one to care if he didn't make it back. This was going to be a long deployment. Longer than most, 18 months. He could understand why the guys had long faces. With a sigh he headed out, wanting a drink before he made it to sleep tonight. Heading to a local watering hole. Xxxxxxxxxxxxx The Rusty Star was a bar, that was off base, but close by, it was where most of the forces got from the base hung out. As well as a nearby navy base. That had caused some good natured rivalries, but mainly just facing off against each other at pool or darts. The camaraderie was still there. Daryl entered, not surprised that the place was almost deserted. Most of the patrons were probably at the barbecue being held in their honour. He sat at a table he liked to think of as his, and watched as a waitress came from the back, spotted him, and picked up her order pad, heading towards him with a smile. She was new. He'd never seen her before. The Rusty Stars uniform consisted of short denim shorts and tight t shirts. The owners weren't idiots they knew most of their customers were men. She pulled off the uniform better than most though. Long legs, graced her petite frame. She had curves that put the other waitresses to shame. He noticed she had on a pair of sensible flats, her legs didn't need any help from the shoes. She had a short pixie cut, with a shock of red curly hair, and a delicate neck. He glanced down at her name tag to see what her name was; Carol. She came up with a sweet grin, not the outright flirty fake sexy stares the other waitresses tried to lay on thick for tips. He found himself surprised at the way a spark of heat was flaring in his gut. This wasn't the type of girl he usually went for. He went for quick and easy drunken hook ups. "What can I get you soldier?" Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx She'd spent most of the evening sitting with him. Laughing and teasing him. Watching with a smirk as he would flush brightly at her teasing. Fucking hell he was tied up in knots at this girl and of course he was leaving tomorrow. She just ended a relationship. She was twenty eight. Friends with one of the waitresses who helped her get this job. She was going back to school in the fall. When it was time for her to close up, he wasn't even buzzed, he'd had a total of three beers over a couple of hours. She'd been so easy to talk to, he'd forgotten about drinking. He offered to walk her home when he found out that she was renting a room at a local motel that gave summer rates to students. She invited him in. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "This is crazy." She whispered, he had her backed up against a wall. His lips firmly on her neck her legs wrapped around him. He wasn't even sure how they got here, but he needed her. He set her down for a minute to whip off his t shirt, he needed to catch up she was only in her shorts he'd already helped her remove her t shirt and bra. "You want me to stop?" He asked. Please no, don't let her want to stop. He would die if she wanted to stop. She moaned, threading her fingers through his hair. "God no, don't you dare stop. It's crazy to do this against a wall when there is a bed right there." He grinned and picked her up. Lying her on the bed, kneeling between her legs and popping the button on those damn shorts that where driving him insane all night. Peeling them down her legs along with a bright red thong. Fucking hell, she was as hot as hell. He groaned as he lowered his head between her legs. His mouth sucking lightly on her clit before he went to work with his tongue. She was rocking her hips, moaning loudly, one hand clenched in the sheet, one hand in his hair. Pulling softly, it was spurring him on, making him crazy. He damn near wanted to tell her to pull harder. She came suddenly, her whole body arching up tightly like a bow, and she cried out. He shed his pants and boxers before she had caught her breath, but she stilled grabbed his hand. "Inside me...now." She muttered. "Yes ma'am" he said with a smirk. Pushing himself into her. It should have been hard and fast. He should have pounded into her, like he'd been planning. But somehow when he got inside of her, he couldn't go fast. He needed this to last, and he wasn't sure why. Sex had never been intimate for him. He was pretty sure that this was though. Long slow stokes, while they maintained a breathless eye contact. He couldn't help himself but to touch her face in awe. He wanted to worship her body all night long. "Fuck" he muttered as she came again And he followed her over the edge. "What have you done to me Carol?" Afterward she was drowsy, he knew she was exhausted. She snuggled into his shoulder, and gave him a tender kiss right above his heart. "Stay safe when you're gone..." she murmured "stay safe." Then promptly fell asleep. He felt his heart painfully clench in his chest. She was the first woman he'd ever felt this connection too. It was scary. Scarier than what he would face the next 18 months. He slipped out of bed standing there watching her, brushing her hair out of her face tenderly. Wanting to wake her. He slipped out the door without even knowing her last name. It was better this way, or so he thought. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 12 months later Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A year in this godforsaken hell whole and he still had not become accustomed to this dry stifling heat. It was unrelenting, no breaks from it at night, it seemed to dry out his skin and every mucous membrane. Dry eyes, a dry nose, a dry mouth and suffocating heat. He had a private bunk thankfully. Daryl was sure his restless sleeping pattern would have done in even the most patient of bunk mates. His thoughts turned to as they so often did, Carol, the waitress from The Rusty Star. He wondered where she was, how she was doing if she ever thought of him, the way he thought of her. He thought about her, all the time. Reliving that night. Wondering if he made a mistake not finding out her last name. Not giving her his. He sighed it was for the best. He told himself that over and over. He sighed flipping on his laptop. Might as well go over the mission for tomorrow. He noticed he had a notification of a message on Facebook. He never used Facebook, he'd mainly created a profile, to get notifications on the recreational baseball league he was in with some of his unit. He hated baseball but the guys had asked so he'd joined. It was two am, and he had nothing better to do, so he checked the message. It was from Rick Grimes. His best friend from high school, they had lost touch. Rick had heard about Merle's death and that Daryl was deployed and offered his support. It was nice if him. He sent him back a quick message saying thank you, and that he was agreeable to visiting when he was back in the states. Curious, he opened Facebook. Looking through Rick's friends, he found himself creeping through the profiles of friends from high school curious about where they were now. Michonne, Rick's second wife, had a friend who looked familiar. When he looked at her picture more closely he recognized her as Andrea. One of the waitresses at The Rusty Star. It overtook him then. He was totally snooping but he started looking through Andrea's massive list of friends and her pictures when he saw her. Carol Miller. It was Carol, his Carol. His heart was thumping in his chest as he clicked on her name, but she had her profile set to private, but that wasn't what was setting his heart at an irregular rhythm. It was her profile picture. A picture of her and Andrea and a few other women obviously at some kind of baby shower for a heavily pregnant Carol. It was also her wall picture of twin girls. A fanciful sign in the back said three months old. They were wearing onesies that said Mommy's Little Angels. He was pretty sure he was looking at a picture of his daughters.

[blackbatpurplecat]

My Thoughts on Batman #14

By popular demand (which surprised me and now I feel honored <3 ), here’s a little review on the latest issue of the current Batman run, #14: Rooftops Part 1.

What’s the story?

After the arc I Am Suicide, we are finally back in Gotham and follow BatCat through the city. Both are the main characters and apart from three speech bubbles of Clock King, even the only characters that speak and act in a fairly simple narrative.

The mood’s pretty melancholic; Batman reveals that Catwoman’s death penalty has been revoked by the President, thanks to Amanda Waller. Even though we’ve never seen or heard of any evidence against Selina. All we have is her claiming to have killed almost 300 men and that’s apparently enough for a death sentence... Yeah. Sure. Ugh. Now Catwoman needs to go to Blackgate, I assume for theft, and Batman has to take her in that same night. You can feel the tearful goodbye hanging above them and their mutual feelings for each other don’t make it any easier. It’s simply what we’ve seen over and over: Batman is struggling with two sides. He knows what’s right (arrest the criminal) and he knows what he wants to do (let the woman he loves go free), and those two things cancel each other out. We know he will always pick the side of the law but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt less.

Catwoman, also saddened by the turn of events, pretty much accepts her faith though. She knows what’s coming for her and tries to lighten the mood a little bit by making suggestive comments and initiating a lovely make out session beneath the stars. She states that she wants one more night, living and enjoying her freedom. 

They again bring up the mass murder committed by her. Bruce doesn’t believe that Selina killed almost 300 people and wants to prove her innocence, yet he doesn’t know how. Selina repeats that she did kill those guys and promises to give him the truth if he takes her to Blackgate in the morning instead of right then and there. While Bruce states he knows she’ll try to flee, Selina replies she knows he will come after her.

So since they’ve come to some kind of an understanding, Selina very obviously suggests making the monster with two backs to say goodbye. Well OF COURSE! A farewell fuck! Since we still have no idea why or for how long Selina has known Bruce’s identity, we don’t know if it’d be their first (and last) time or if they’ve done it before. If they’ve been having an on-off-relationship like over the last decades or only fucked like in The New52. We can take into account that we’ve seen Bruce talk fondly and intimately to her so it’s not only fucking. But since I don’t care for anything outside of this issue, I’ll go with my own assumption and say “first time.” Bitter-sweet would be an understatement.

But, alas, the Bat signal pops up in the sky and dutiful Batman reacts just like we’d ALL expect him to react - work now, have fun later! But this time, he invites Catwoman to come along.

We jump to a clocktower where Batman faces Clock King who rambles on like a Bond villain and gets knocked out by Catwoman who swings in from behind. Is their work done, can they finally bang? The Bat signal in the sky says NOPE! So they go from villain to villain, Batman kicks the shit out of a various number of Rogues, Catwoman stays in the background and asks if that’s how he spends all of his nights.

Eventually, Catwoman grows tired and frustrated with him constantly postponing their boning and finally wants to do what she wants to do - breaking & entering! And Batsy comes along. Reluctantly.

They break into an apartment where Bruce sees a stolen cat figurine floating in the middle of the room. “It’s hanging by a thread, too thin to see” - God knows why. Selina simply grabs the cat and tells Bruce to run. They jump out of the window before the apartment explodes. Oh, and the apartment also belongs to Selina who had rented it under the name Holly Robinson. Ehm... okay...? Dunno what to do with that info. But another, more important thing: was that her alarm system in case another thief broke in and stole the cat? She would just... blow them up???!!! The thread is too thin, not even she can work around it so in order to take the cat, you HAVE to pull it down and trigger the explosion. This trap was set up with the intension to kill! What the fuck, Selina?!

BatCat watch the burning building from a rooftop far away and we learn that Selina owns the floors above and below the apartment and the sprinklers are awesome and everyone there is safe - again WHAT THE FUCK??? NO! This is fucking dumb! And Selina’s apparently so damn rich that she can rent 3 whole floors high in a skyscraper in the middle of the city?! WHAT?! And after revealing that load of info, she shows us that there are diamonds inside the cat figurine, kind of like a piggy bank for bad times.

She wants Bruce to have the diamonds and tells him to build dozens of orphanages after she’s gone. Sure. Because BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE needs financial support... Okay, let’s say the diamonds are a donation. Okay, I can buy that.

And to conclude this issue, Selina throws the tiny diamonds on the ground, takes her mask off, they start making out and FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY HAVE  S E X!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, what did I think of all this?

I really liked the art. Sure, it’s not the best art I’ve ever seen but it looks good and it’s definitely better than what Guillem March did in the Catwoman run. BatCat look like real people, no extreme poses or overdone, dramatic movements. There are some not so pretty angles here and there and on the first page, Batman’s face looks like covered in dirt but in general, the art is quite decent! Especially in the last panels where it matters the most!

The first two and the last two pages are wonderful. Buy the issue for those four pages, they are SO worth it! Everything inbetween is filler. The BatCat teamwork is way too short and while Batsy roughing up some C-List Rogues looked funny, it wasn’t engaging or anything. If it was meant to prove a point, I didn’t need it. I know that his duty will always come first. But I can try and interpret something into it if you want me to: Bruce kept pushing the expected sex back more and more, the Bat signal was the ultimate cockblock in this issue. But at the very end, the Bat signal shines above them while they’re going at it cowgirl style and Bruce does not shove her away to grab cowl and cape. Maybe it’s supposed to show us that for once, something or someone was more important than the Mission. And it would be incredibly rude to leave in mid-coitus.

The BatCat sex scene is like a kiss to my soul. I’ve been wanting some decent love scenes of my ship for so SO SOOO LOOONG!!! Lois and Clark got so many good ones, there are some of Bruce and the Demon Spawn, hell, there’s even a (granted, awful) sex scene between Batman and Black Canary! Why has it taken decades for DC to release a decent BatCat sex scene??? It’s what we freaking deserve!!! And I want every single BatCat shipper to see it!!! We’ve been denied something magical for too long, not only Batsy and Kitten were frustrated with this lack of sexy times.

And it’s even not creepy or rapey or anything, no! It’s very tastefully drawn, it’s sensual and lovely and just beautiful! They even drew Bruce’s scars all over his body, nice attention to detail. BUT fucking on hundreds of tiny diamonds CAN’T BE COMFORTABLE!!! Imagine rolling around naked on Legos! Not so sexy, heh??? What if you get one up the crack? They are sharp and can cut your ass skin open!

Now, apart from the nonsense I’ve already mentioned, like the booby trap, Selina’s financial situations, the weird laws Gotham operates in, and the mass murder bullcrap, there is one thing that I absolutely detest in this issue: the dialogues! Holy fucking shit! Has King ever in his life talked to another human being? Or heard people have conversations?! The dialogues are awful! This is Nocenti level of awfulness in my opinion. Imagine if Frank “I’m an insane sexist racist asshole” Miller and Nocenti had a hate child and that hate child was writing dialogues. THAT is what King produces in this issue! He even recycles big chunks of those terrible lines! And don’t get me started on the fact that BatCat STILL call each other “Bat” and “Cat”. Ugh, that’s so fucking dumb. My God, honestly, try to skip the dialogues, guys. It’s what I had mentioned before; King tries to sound so deep and clever while he delivers a pile of bullshit.

Will I go back to this issue in the future? HELL YEAH!!! I would print the sex panels out and frame them and put them on my walls!!! The art thankfully saved the issue from becoming another generic DC fart. They could have easily screwed up the emotional scenes between BatCat but artist Mitch Gerads did a great job with the facial expressions, the close-ups, and the angles. You (thankfully) don’t need the bad lines to understand what’s happening between our leads. Just look at their faces and you’ll feel what they feel.

And I am SO thankful that we FUCKING FINALLY got a beautiful BatCat love scene! I hope there are many more to come in the future!

Part 2 got the teaser “The final farewell?” - I hope we will finally find out what the deal is with that stupid as fuck mass murder plot. It annoys the hell out of me that King keeps going back and forth “yes, she did it”, “no, she didn’t”, “but she clearly states she did it”, “but he doesn’t believe it”, “but she says it” etc etc. It doesn’t make the plot more exciting or interesting but frustrating and boring. Just like the “will-they-won’t-they” DC have been doing with BatCat for decades now.

The way they’re handling it at the moment, the next issue will probably reveal the biggest twist *gasp* that she did not kill almost 300 people! She only claimed it and willingly went to Arkham and wanted to be sentenced and put to death because................. ?????????????? And then she will flee and lay low. And we will be without our beloved Kitten again. And that was important to the plot HOW?!?!?! Who needed it??? Ugh, King really isn’t the best writer.

Tl;dr Batman #14 is THE issue for BatCat shippers!!! Just marvel at the panels and don’t read the dialogues.

[networkingdefinition]

Chili Quotes

Official Website: Chili Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• A little blue-eyed blonde in a red hot sweater, wants to spice my chili, I think I’ll let her. – Toby Keith • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • Any man that eats Chili and Cornbread can’t be all bad – Carroll Shelby • Anything that improves people’s expectations of a meal is good for the world. Anything that weans even one kid or one adult away from Chili’s or T.G.I. Friday’s is definitely a win for the good guys. – Anthony Bourdain • As human beings, we are the only organisms that create for the sheer stupid pleasure of doing so. Whether it’s laying out a garden, composing a new tune on the piano, writing a bit of poetry, manipulating a digital photo, redecorating a room, or inventing a new chili recipe – we are happiest when we are creating. – Gary Hamel

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Chili', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Chili dogs, funnel cakes, fried bread, majorly greasy pizza, candy apples, ye gods. Evil food smells amazing — which is either proof that there is a Satan or some equivalent out there, or that the Almighty doesn’t actually want everyone to eat organic tofu all the time. I can’t decide. – Jim Butcher • Chili is much improved by having had a day to contemplate its fate. – John Steele Gordon • Chili is not so much food as a state of mind. Addictions to it are formed early in life and the victims never recover. On blue days in October, I get this passionate yearning for a bowl of chili, and I nearly lose my mind. – Margaret Cousins • Chili is one of the great peasant foods. It is one of the few contributions America has made to world cuisine. Eaten with corn bread, sweet onion, sour cream, it contains all five of the elements deemed essential by the sages of the Orient: sweet, sour, salty, pungent, and bitter. – Rex Stout • Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder. – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni • Dropkick Murphys get me going, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana… plus, all the regular hip-hop stuff. – Kobe Bryant • Early readers assumed the Book of Mormon people ranged up and down North and South America from upstate New York to Chili. A close reading of the text reveals it cannot sustain such an expansive geography. – Richard Bushman • Embarrassment felt a lot like eating chili peppers. It burned in the back of your throat and there was nothing you could do to make it go away. You just had to take it, suffer from it, until it eased off. – Sarah Addison Allen • From 1973 to 1982 I ate the exact same lunch everyday . Turkey chili in a bowl made out of bread . Bread bowl George. First you eat the chili then you eat the bowl . There’s nothing more satisfying than looking down after lunch and seeing nothing but a table. – George Steinbrenner • I bet you a handful of Chili’s coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish. – Corey Taylor • I have my once-a-month nachos, but it’s soy cheese and turkey chili on it, so it’s somewhat safe. But it’s still a big vice for me, because I have a big bowl of it. – Jenny McCarthy • I like chili, but not enough to discuss it with someone from Texas. – Calvin Trillin • I love that whole princess mentality, but I also like throwing my hair in a ponytail and just wearing jeans, going on a hike and then eating a big chili-cheesebur ger. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • I love to cook. I make an award-winning turkey chili. – Joely Fisher • I once absent-mindedly ordered Three Mile Island dressing in a restaurant and, with great presence of mind, they brought Thousand Island Dressing and a bottle of chili sauce. – Terry Pratchett • I set up stations, buy a big vat of chili, and then guests do what they want to do – and I still get to party. – Emily Henderson • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If I were a food, I’d be a Chili because you know.. I’m hot. – Louis Tomlinson • If the waitress has dirty ankles, the chili is good. – Al McGuire • If you are a bad putter, you will not make a putt. If you have a tendency to chili-dip wedges, you’ll be chili-dipping them all over the place for sure. Whatever your weakness, it will come up in spades during the Ryder Cup. – Johnny Miller • If you want to make a chili, you’re going to break some cows. – Merlin Mann • In the Chili Peppers I’m a part of that world in a pretty big world and that’s just the way it is. – John Frusciante • It stinks of trains and that chili with the chocolate in it. Ooooh, books!” he exclaimed suddenly, making a beeline for the small library. (Al) – Kim Harrison • It’s a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down. – Neil Young • I’ve been on a team that won the world championship of barbecue. But barbecue’s interesting, because it’s one of these cult foods like chili, or bouillabaisse. Various parts of the world will have a cult food that people get enormously attached to – there’s tremendous traditions; there’s secrecy. – Nathan Myhrvold • Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the mouth and the mind. – Jane Hirshfield • My dad gave me a haircut… and it wasn’t a very good one. When I went out of the house, my friends got on my case and said it looked like someone put a chili bowl over my head and cut around it. – Chili Davis • My music is rock. I listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers and I listen to one of my songs, and if I don’t give you the same emotion, then I go back and re-spit. – Kanye West • Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili. – Harry James • Oh God almighty, another Detroit monster is Chad Smith of the Chili Peppers. Their music is intoxicating between Flea and Chad Smith. They’re contemporary because they’re still making good records, but I don’t think there’s anything new that has a groove and soulfulness. The Chili Peppers just stink of soul-and that’s the ultimate compliment. They continue what James Brown created. – Ted Nugent • On Bill Clinton: “If left to my own devices, I’d spend all my time pointing out that he’s weaker than bus-station chili. But the man is so constantly subjected to such hideous and unfair abuse that I wind up standing up for him on the general principle that some fairness should be applied. Besides, no one but a fool or a Republican ever took him for a liberal. – Molly Ivins • On Hillary Clinton, who was an ardent Goldwater supporter in 1964: ‘If he’d let his wife run business, I think he’d be better off. … I just like the way she acts. I’ve never met her, but I sent her a bag of chili, and she invited me to come to the White House some night and said she’d cook chili for me. Someday, maybe.’ – Barry Goldwater • One day, I’ll be listening to a bunch of Ray Charles, the next day it’s nothing but Red Hot Chili Peppers. The next day it might be Tupac all day. – J. Cole • Opening cans of chili in zero gravity to see how it looks, that’s something that went wrong. – Trish Sie • People were going to geometry class and I was swimming through vats of chili on ‘Even Stevens.’ It was like a dream! – Shia LaBeouf • Remember, FDA employees are serious about fear. We pay these people to panic about an iota of rodent hair in our chili, even when the recipe calls for it. FDA employees are first-class agonizers, world champions at losing sleep. When Meryl Streep got hysterical about Alar, they actually checked the apples instead of Meryl’s head. – P. J. O’Rourke • She looks uptown, but she ain’t really. She’s into football, she likes my chili. – John Anderson • Take me ham away, take away my eggs, even my Chili, but leave me my newspaper. – Will Rogers • Tension translates to your guests. They’ll have a much better time having chili and baked potatoes than they would if you did roast duck with a wild cherry sauce and then had to lie down and cry for a while. – Nigella Lawson • The chili I ate made for an explosive bathroom experience. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but I missed the toilet entirely. – Seth Green • The Chili Peppers have a real strict two-week on/two-week off policy – aside from me, everybody has families. – Josh Klinghoffer • The guy we want to get is the guy who did the Aerosmith album which is coming out in two days, and a Chili Peppers album, and a couple of Pearl Jam albums. We want to get someone that will sort of bring out the high energy aspect more than the dreaminess that was on the last album. – Mike Gordon • The suit was so clumsy, being pressurized, it was impossible to get two hands comfortably on the handle and it’s impossible to make any kind of a turn. It was kind of a one-handed chili-dip. – Alan Shepard • This is my dream. I ain’t giving up. I see a band like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they’ve had their ups and downs, but they’ve continued with heart. We look up to that. I see Papa Roach being around for another 15 years. We’ve always wanted to be a career band. – Jacoby Shaddix • When I’m doing a book tour in the States, I’ll wake up in the room sometimes in an anonymous chain hotel, and I don’t know where I am right away. I’ll go to the window, and it doesn’t help there either, especially if you’re in an anonymous strip and it’s the usual Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Chili’s, Applebee’s. – Anthony Bourdain • When Lollapalooza started, and I was really into Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden. I went to that Lollapalooza tour twice, I think. – Adam Richman

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[equitiesstocks]

Chili Quotes

Official Website: Chili Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• A little blue-eyed blonde in a red hot sweater, wants to spice my chili, I think I’ll let her. – Toby Keith • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • Any man that eats Chili and Cornbread can’t be all bad – Carroll Shelby • Anything that improves people’s expectations of a meal is good for the world. Anything that weans even one kid or one adult away from Chili’s or T.G.I. Friday’s is definitely a win for the good guys. – Anthony Bourdain • As human beings, we are the only organisms that create for the sheer stupid pleasure of doing so. Whether it’s laying out a garden, composing a new tune on the piano, writing a bit of poetry, manipulating a digital photo, redecorating a room, or inventing a new chili recipe – we are happiest when we are creating. – Gary Hamel

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Chili', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Chili dogs, funnel cakes, fried bread, majorly greasy pizza, candy apples, ye gods. Evil food smells amazing — which is either proof that there is a Satan or some equivalent out there, or that the Almighty doesn’t actually want everyone to eat organic tofu all the time. I can’t decide. – Jim Butcher • Chili is much improved by having had a day to contemplate its fate. – John Steele Gordon • Chili is not so much food as a state of mind. Addictions to it are formed early in life and the victims never recover. On blue days in October, I get this passionate yearning for a bowl of chili, and I nearly lose my mind. – Margaret Cousins • Chili is one of the great peasant foods. It is one of the few contributions America has made to world cuisine. Eaten with corn bread, sweet onion, sour cream, it contains all five of the elements deemed essential by the sages of the Orient: sweet, sour, salty, pungent, and bitter. – Rex Stout • Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder. – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni • Dropkick Murphys get me going, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana… plus, all the regular hip-hop stuff. – Kobe Bryant • Early readers assumed the Book of Mormon people ranged up and down North and South America from upstate New York to Chili. A close reading of the text reveals it cannot sustain such an expansive geography. – Richard Bushman • Embarrassment felt a lot like eating chili peppers. It burned in the back of your throat and there was nothing you could do to make it go away. You just had to take it, suffer from it, until it eased off. – Sarah Addison Allen • From 1973 to 1982 I ate the exact same lunch everyday . Turkey chili in a bowl made out of bread . Bread bowl George. First you eat the chili then you eat the bowl . There’s nothing more satisfying than looking down after lunch and seeing nothing but a table. – George Steinbrenner • I bet you a handful of Chili’s coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish. – Corey Taylor • I have my once-a-month nachos, but it’s soy cheese and turkey chili on it, so it’s somewhat safe. But it’s still a big vice for me, because I have a big bowl of it. – Jenny McCarthy • I like chili, but not enough to discuss it with someone from Texas. – Calvin Trillin • I love that whole princess mentality, but I also like throwing my hair in a ponytail and just wearing jeans, going on a hike and then eating a big chili-cheesebur ger. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • I love to cook. I make an award-winning turkey chili. – Joely Fisher • I once absent-mindedly ordered Three Mile Island dressing in a restaurant and, with great presence of mind, they brought Thousand Island Dressing and a bottle of chili sauce. – Terry Pratchett • I set up stations, buy a big vat of chili, and then guests do what they want to do – and I still get to party. – Emily Henderson • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If I were a food, I’d be a Chili because you know.. I’m hot. – Louis Tomlinson • If the waitress has dirty ankles, the chili is good. – Al McGuire • If you are a bad putter, you will not make a putt. If you have a tendency to chili-dip wedges, you’ll be chili-dipping them all over the place for sure. Whatever your weakness, it will come up in spades during the Ryder Cup. – Johnny Miller • If you want to make a chili, you’re going to break some cows. – Merlin Mann • In the Chili Peppers I’m a part of that world in a pretty big world and that’s just the way it is. – John Frusciante • It stinks of trains and that chili with the chocolate in it. Ooooh, books!” he exclaimed suddenly, making a beeline for the small library. (Al) – Kim Harrison • It’s a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down. – Neil Young • I’ve been on a team that won the world championship of barbecue. But barbecue’s interesting, because it’s one of these cult foods like chili, or bouillabaisse. Various parts of the world will have a cult food that people get enormously attached to – there’s tremendous traditions; there’s secrecy. – Nathan Myhrvold • Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the mouth and the mind. – Jane Hirshfield • My dad gave me a haircut… and it wasn’t a very good one. When I went out of the house, my friends got on my case and said it looked like someone put a chili bowl over my head and cut around it. – Chili Davis • My music is rock. I listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers and I listen to one of my songs, and if I don’t give you the same emotion, then I go back and re-spit. – Kanye West • Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili. – Harry James • Oh God almighty, another Detroit monster is Chad Smith of the Chili Peppers. Their music is intoxicating between Flea and Chad Smith. They’re contemporary because they’re still making good records, but I don’t think there’s anything new that has a groove and soulfulness. The Chili Peppers just stink of soul-and that’s the ultimate compliment. They continue what James Brown created. – Ted Nugent • On Bill Clinton: “If left to my own devices, I’d spend all my time pointing out that he’s weaker than bus-station chili. But the man is so constantly subjected to such hideous and unfair abuse that I wind up standing up for him on the general principle that some fairness should be applied. Besides, no one but a fool or a Republican ever took him for a liberal. – Molly Ivins • On Hillary Clinton, who was an ardent Goldwater supporter in 1964: ‘If he’d let his wife run business, I think he’d be better off. … I just like the way she acts. I’ve never met her, but I sent her a bag of chili, and she invited me to come to the White House some night and said she’d cook chili for me. Someday, maybe.’ – Barry Goldwater • One day, I’ll be listening to a bunch of Ray Charles, the next day it’s nothing but Red Hot Chili Peppers. The next day it might be Tupac all day. – J. Cole • Opening cans of chili in zero gravity to see how it looks, that’s something that went wrong. – Trish Sie • People were going to geometry class and I was swimming through vats of chili on ‘Even Stevens.’ It was like a dream! – Shia LaBeouf • Remember, FDA employees are serious about fear. We pay these people to panic about an iota of rodent hair in our chili, even when the recipe calls for it. FDA employees are first-class agonizers, world champions at losing sleep. When Meryl Streep got hysterical about Alar, they actually checked the apples instead of Meryl’s head. – P. J. O’Rourke • She looks uptown, but she ain’t really. She’s into football, she likes my chili. – John Anderson • Take me ham away, take away my eggs, even my Chili, but leave me my newspaper. – Will Rogers • Tension translates to your guests. They’ll have a much better time having chili and baked potatoes than they would if you did roast duck with a wild cherry sauce and then had to lie down and cry for a while. – Nigella Lawson • The chili I ate made for an explosive bathroom experience. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but I missed the toilet entirely. – Seth Green • The Chili Peppers have a real strict two-week on/two-week off policy – aside from me, everybody has families. – Josh Klinghoffer • The guy we want to get is the guy who did the Aerosmith album which is coming out in two days, and a Chili Peppers album, and a couple of Pearl Jam albums. We want to get someone that will sort of bring out the high energy aspect more than the dreaminess that was on the last album. – Mike Gordon • The suit was so clumsy, being pressurized, it was impossible to get two hands comfortably on the handle and it’s impossible to make any kind of a turn. It was kind of a one-handed chili-dip. – Alan Shepard • This is my dream. I ain’t giving up. I see a band like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they’ve had their ups and downs, but they’ve continued with heart. We look up to that. I see Papa Roach being around for another 15 years. We’ve always wanted to be a career band. – Jacoby Shaddix • When I’m doing a book tour in the States, I’ll wake up in the room sometimes in an anonymous chain hotel, and I don’t know where I am right away. I’ll go to the window, and it doesn’t help there either, especially if you’re in an anonymous strip and it’s the usual Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Chili’s, Applebee’s. – Anthony Bourdain • When Lollapalooza started, and I was really into Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden. I went to that Lollapalooza tour twice, I think. – Adam Richman

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[oneness913-blog]

What did you do in 2017 that you'd never done before?

  Writing a grant, managing budget, crowdfunding, giving a serious (normative) gift to Sarasa (last year she was perplexed with a pair of glass sandal), Starting a master’s degree, making a pledge to become a teacher in Japan, Being a camp leader, BBQ on the beach with Sarasa, Volunteering, Spending a full week with the same kids, Paying for tuition, Getting on a train just to get a fresh air, Buying a monthly train pass, Watching the entire episodes of Doctor Who within two weeks. Hanging out with James’ sister. Keeping track of daily expenses (barely). Trying to recruit undergrads to form a squad to make an impact in child welfare. Going to a friend’s funeral.

New places I visited: Totsukawa village in Nara, Chikusa in Hyogo, Child Care home, reformatory, more than 30 different schools, Noto (Ishikawa pref).

Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

   My resolution for 2017 was, probably, to write reflections often, and that is exactly one thing I wish I had done more. All anxious feelings for the future is circular in nature and reflecting more through writing would have helped avoid it. I will totally make more new year’s resolutions, and will try harder to keep it. It’s about time to consciously structure life!

What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?

-More music in life (didn’t know how music could uplift my feeling!)!

- courage and confidence to actually do things that are wanted by me.

-time to sit down and write

-daily planning of how to spend time

-more chats with friends from wes

-going to rando local meetup events

What date(s) from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

   -Sep 25 to Oct 1: A week of internship at a local elementary school made me absolutely fall in love with hanging out with 6th graders, and this led me to get elementary school teaching license.

  -Sep 15: Former Cross st. neighbor Matt Burgunder visited Osaka and we talked about deep shit over sake. This day was the day I heard I got a grant. Matt and I opened up and became closer, and that was awesome, fun thing.

  -Nov 10 Xian visited Osaka, and we ate a bunch of foodies and talked lots. I was very, very happy to be able to reconnect with Xian again, a while after graduation. We discovered that Pizza-okonomiyaki was the best thing to eat in Osaka.

   What was your biggest achievement of the year?

   -coordinating a US-Japan youth exchange program to tackle cyberbullying. The challenges included communication with a variety of people and institutions, managing budget, facilitating high school students’ discussions while simultaneous interpreting.

What was the best thing you bought?

  -a beautiful (?) pair of piercing for Sarasa. I feel like a boyfriend now. hahaha. And a work table from IKEA. It was Sarasa’s suggestion (or order) and was totally, absolutely worth the money. I can watch Doctor Who so much more comfortably.

Where did most of your money go?

   drinking and eating out with friends, coffee at cafes, traveling with Sarasa.

What did you get really, really, really excited about?

    Traveling to Kanazawa with Sarasa, giving her a (real) present for Christmas/Three year anniversary. This reflection has made me realize I am much more of a romantic (?) or a family guy than I thought. LOL

What song(s) will always remind you of 2016?

       Honestly, no song is attached to 2016.

Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder? thinner or fatter? richer or poorer?

I am slightly, but very meaningfully, richer. at least money wise, thanks to some of the project incomes. Sarasa says my tummy is becoming like a young child’s and I must hit the gym, and I have registered for a membership but have been lazier than ever. I should reflect on this later. Speaking of happiness, I am definitely happier because I are a little more sure of what I want for my career (teaching). Around this time last year I was debating whether I should fly away and disappear into rural cities in Mexico. Now I am serious thinking about finding a teaching-related career there. Sarasa is going to graduate and come back to Japan soon and that is making me feel so much more hopeful for the future. I probably got a little more used to long-distance. I have never recommended it to anyone though.

Having met a lot of young people and remembering each kid as a whole set of personality and face makes me feel like I exist in this world. The idea of educating to change the world is nothing compared to three or four real persons speaking to you in your head whenever you try to recall. Working with them has boosted my self-efficacy as well.

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Exercise!!!! I should have done more bouldering. I get shy going to gyms in general for an unknown reason but I’ll break out of the shell. Reading more books with some directions of learning would have made this year much richer in general. Both fiction and nonfiction. And going to bed early. I am definitely aging and feel exhausted after doing nothing until late at night.

On a side note, I wish I had double checked schedules before booking flights.

Plus, I wish I had studied Spanish. Maybe I’ll make that my New Year’s resolution.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

   Thinking (or talking to myself) without writing down. I wasted a lot of time lamenting the sad reality and status quo of people or norms I encountered on a daily basis, obviously in vain.

    If I write down thoughts and stay objective about them, I would have developed real plans to improve whatever I didn’t like, or at least be convinced and move on to newer topics of thinking. That’ll be my new year’s resolution

  Browsing through social media as if some posts will answer my questions. Now I know it won’t.

Did you fall in love in 2016? 

I feel like I know Jenna Coleman personally after watching Doctor Who straight up.

How many one-night stands?

     hmmmmm actually, zero.

What was your favorite TV program?

   To reiterate, Doctor Who is the best thing that happened. It is holding my mental sanity. Nigeruwahajidaga Yakunitatsu was helpful in seriously considering life in marriage.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Once Erin Chase told me hate is toxic. Since then whenever I am inclined to hate someone I try indifference instead. I grew indifferent to my relationship with a person this year.

What was/were the best book(s) you read?

   Kasai No Hito [people of family court]. It is a series of comic books that feature a family court judge who restores youth who committed crimes and resolves conflicts of married couples trying to divorce through using metaphors of plants. In the justice system where legal solutions are primary means to “resolve” issues, he is an inspiring counselor-judge who is always watering plants, hiking, and not doing much reading and end up saving lives of those who come to the family court. His words are oddly wise and that was my favorite part.

What were your greatest musical discoveries?

  I can’t think of anything.

What did you want and get?

   I wanted to find a topic of research or interest that is very grabbing. I didn’t find it. Instead, I learned a lot of small facts about child welfare, youth psychology, education systems, etc. And my relationship with Sarasa has become more stable.

What was your favorite film of this year?

Moonlight. I usually watch tons of scifi films, but this film led me to reinforce my interest in welfare. It was viewing black communities as just communities, not black communities. In other words, it invited me into the community and experience it.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

    I was facilitating elementary school kids’ discussions on how they are going to teach smartphone rules to even younger children in Kobe. I think they celebrated my birthday, and I was so happy. I turned 25, still unbelievable. 

What did you do for the New Year, Valentine’s, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, and any other holidays?

   New Year: I reluctantly and thus very slowly studied for an entrance exam to master’s program.

   Valentine’s: I forgot its existence, which exploded Sarasa and she almost broke up with me. So as a token of apology, I sent her a bottled wine with a photo of us in it. To make sure I forgot about it, I printed the date as February 15. LOL

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? 

  making new local friends to share intellectual and reflective discussions, or doing these things with friends scattered around the world. Now I know this is the most important thing to my life.

  What kept you sane? 

  Monthly hangouts with a friend from Wes. Every month, someone came to visit me. Yvonne, Xian, Matt, Sarasa, thank you! And my family’s constant support is always underrated. Caught up with my personal petty anxiety, reading New York Times and other critical articles on the devastating reality of the world, from changing political climate to humanitarian crises, woke me up and put me right. This was big. Also almost daily skype with Sarasa is the basis of my sanity.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

  Jenna Coleman. It was my first time ever googling a celebrity’s name.

Who did you miss?

  Sarasa and all my friends with whom I share deep shit. I miss prof. Miller too. hahaha

Who was the best new person you met?

Sarah, who is helping out the US-Japan youth exchange program. She is always on top of shit and is truly excited to see the kids grow. Definition of trust.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2017:

   Sensation fades. Act before thinking, and you will feel joy.

What were your inner conflicts you could not resolve in 2017?

  It is the same conflict that I have been facing all years since college. Do I want to pursue teaching-related work or literature/history related work. But! Writing this made me realize I held a false belief that by getting a teaching experience in Japan I will lose chances to extensively read, write and discuss philosophy, intellectual history and literature in career. Whenever I get bored from finishing tasks related to teaching path, I feel awfully misplaced and am taken over by the nostalgia of intellectual conversations with friends at Wes.

  However, one thing that is clear is that I can continue reading and writing on history and intellectual history through working as a teacher. Let’s not forget that.

  Plus, is nostalgia a proof that I would enjoy going back to academia? What does it mean to read and write and discuss academically?

  Another  conflict I have always had is to live in Japan or in other countries... This has too many factors and everything depends, so I should get over this conflict and be always specific when thinking about locations of residency. And I want to use English, rather than Japanese, for my critical inquiry.

2018 2019               

-get licenses

-intl. exchange program experience

-psych research

-explore topics to inquire about (sociology? contemporary history?)

2020 --> 2022

-teach at elementary/reformatory

-Find what to do next

-Try to produce knowledge (research in psych? soci?)

2023 (age 31)

-PhD in Europe or US

or

-NGO in Mexico --> UNICEF and development career?

2026 (age 34)

-get a teaching position at a university (might not be possible though, with the rise of online education opportunities)

and -Found an organization that does something fun

or

-work for intl. organization while conducting research

2030 (age 40)

-??? cannot even imagine.

What did you like about the projects your worked on? What aspects of those projects do you wish to continue? What other projects do you wish you’d done more of?

1. AK Youth Exchange Project

I liked being paid for the work that helps solve problems that could lead some youth to suicide. It was fun to be the only culturally fluent person to facilitate discussions. Particularly, kids on my side are excited, and I enjoyed being able to be part of the team that can give them this opportunity to them. It feels great to be able to contribute to a local village initiative (Chikusa) that has educational resources that can enrich the lives that touch them. Using my skills to uplift kids with lower self esteem also made me feel good. Writing grant and answering many questions from the grant-giving organization was energy consuming, I think I was able to learn valuable lessons of what to say to whom so that I can invite them into my own world.   I did not like that I had to be swung from left to right by a couple of people who exert age-based authority. I also hate that I do not have a say to certain parts of the project because I am a student. I do not necessarily seek for the highest leadership position, at least I wish I was part of all conversations. I hated being treated as a person who does not have the deciding power. Particularly, the process of paying for my income was not sufficiently explained, and it is still delayed. Those in authority of protecting human rights in Japan are neglecting one of the most important duties. This drives me crazy, I get furious every time I give a thought to this. I will always exchange contracts when there is a salary involved. People really do not care. And be a person who cares. All of the delays could have been avoided if we all met regularly. The problem is that these people say they commit to this without having the necessary time or will to do so. I can’t stand having to be the only listener when I am the youngest. Hate it so much.I would like to continue working on giving chances for youth to think and speak freely about problems and participate in the ecosystem of politics. I guess this is sort of fighting ageism.I hope to do more of intellectualizing this practice-- maybe write a piece to analyze the ecology of this project? Why not! This may lead to a practice report to be published somewhere, talk to Prof. Bauman about it?I was very happy to meet some of the new team members. I would like to continue meeting those who have interests in making the world a better place for disadvantaged youth. It felt nice to connect to a scholar over many rounds of online conferences. I also love traveling, which is so important to my life. I would like to devise more projects that have travel components!! 

2. Getting a teaching license in elementary, junior high and high schooI liked that I had something that would give me a paycheck in a couple of years. One class on human rights was quite an informative and inspiring one in that it taught me precursors who were working for disadvantaged youth and family in rural Japan. That is one reason I can be proud of being a Japanese person.Most of the classes were terrible in that many scholars speak of their ill-informed self-indulgent lectures. Besides understanding the sad reality of malfunctioning academia in Japan, I learned nothing.I wish to continue learning the history of human rights-oriented teachers in the past, and present, globally. That is something that pushes me to work hard to work for disadvantaged people in general. My struggle, in the new lens I just through of, is my tendency to connect with those in the past, rather than those in the present. Or is that what I hope is the case to be the heroin of tragedy?I also have to admit that some classes from Seisa were quite informative in terms of history of education in Japan, as well as what the gov’t has done in shaping the direction of curriculum, effective teaching methods of science and math. That’s not nothing, probably useful skills, but I’m not sure if I can say I fully enjoyed it.

3. Seminars to children and parents 

I definitely enjoyed traveling on train! Train rides make me feel like I am important and so does wearing suits. Pay was very good and I am thankful for that. Conversations with school principals have been somewhat fun, although they aren’t really intellectual. Many of them seem to be swung by newspaper headlines instead of deeply analyzing the reality...  I also enjoyed speaking to an audience of parents and children. The content was developed by Takeuchi-sensei and speaking his content makes me feel like I am doing something good to society, but the thought that it is not mine lingers on. I guess I am learning how to speak, behave and stuff, just instruments. I don’t expect too much from this besides these learning and pay.  I did not like that it was not my original work and that the conversations aren’t so abstract. There isn’t many critical arguments, just questions for the audience. I wish there was more of an discussion that I could provoke in the audience, but to be honest most of the arguments are just plain normative thoughts. I want radical thoughts that change the way I view reality. I want change. I guess boredom overclouds me here.I would like to continue making money from these, but would like to dramatically change slides. At least for children, I want to engage more with them to check the possibility of radical and critical thinking.

4. Flattering Prof. Takeuchi’s students 

  I admit I find it rewarding to engage in conversations with them through critical assessment of the organization. I just complain how authoritarian and dogmatic the organization is in the form of constructive criticism, and I am not sure if some of the sophomores felt my negativity. Talking with sophomores is sometimes fun but I wish we had more of critical discussions on anything. Many students try to say things that please Takeuchi-sensei and I hate that. I would like to be more critical and original in any speech I make and I believe that is how I contribute in general.

I do not desire going to their spring camp and be part of their leadership because I don’t really see myself creating a youth organization where members are uncritical. I also want to discuss intellectual, more challenging things with people who have vocabulary. 

I would like to continue going to smartphone summits occasionally to hear the changing relationships between emerging technology and lives of young people. Besides that, I think I am done and now is the time to move on to my passion, using the communication skills I acquired from these programs.

5. “offline” summer camp

I definitely enjoyed investing my time and energy in working with some of the youth who are struggling with parental over-managing, lack of social skills, lack of communication with parents, etc. When it came down to was their social life problems. It was very inspiring to see that kids who lacked skills to engage with others in effective ways came to be able to do that in 5 days, through extensive chats, play, discussions and simply living together in nature. Structured counseling-like programs also helped them face their problems and claimed the courage to get over.

I enjoyed seeing how kids’ behavior changed, and their emotional energy, not fully expressed, was very pleasant to feel. The camp master’s lessons on “life” felt quite meaningful to be part of, like killing fish taking life and continue the circle of life. What is the point of life?

I was so happy to be able to connect to a girl that at first I didn’t feel would connect to very deeply. She seemed so shy, didn’t talk much, and didn’t show facial expressions. But she cried when I gave her a farewell letter. It taught me that being able to express is a skill that not everyone has the privilege to have. But so what? How much do I care about it? Maybe it was fun but I guess this is sort of like my hobby?

I did not like how youth services people had to call college facilitators over to a kid who was actually intentionally left alone because he was tired of socializing only to show their boss that kids are being cared for. I would argue that an intellectual, confident move would have been to explain fully to their boss that these college facilitators are strategic about engaging with kids, and ask them to articulate their strategies later. I know people aren’t perfect, but it made me angry and Prof should have confronted it. I wish there was more of a critical discussions, rather than top-down advising from camp leaders and adults to youth, honestly. I want more democratic organizational structures with high, and diverse abilities.

“You told me I should be kind to myself. But you should also be more kind to yourself.” -In a letter from a student.

She might have identified the darkness that clouds my path ahead, that I do not know how to satisfy myself. It is true. I do not know what makes me happy honestly. What makes me happy? Writing like this soothes me and makes me feel like I matter to myself. How can I make myself matter to myself?? That is the question this student taught me to think about.

Not sure if summer camps would be my thing, but I would like to continue engaging very deeply with others. Because by doing so, she tried to wonder about my nature and offered such an insightful letter to me. This is a very, very important question to myself. Care for self, and think about what to do that can make me care for myself.

Well but still the song-singing felt so touching and it restored my faith in some of the basic values of being in company with others, having nice friendships.

6. Facilitation for youth programs

  There were some moments I felt quite fulfilling when I was able to help kids be vulnerable and open up. It was also rewarding to compliment them and they seemed really happy and became confident in what they do.

  And the topics included addiction to cyberbullying and usokoku and those are serious concerns for youth. I felt that by being part of the programs that help youth and adults understand the status quo of cyber life, I mattered to the world. That is a great feeling. However, I wish I would be able to feel more Adrenalin pumping though. In other words, although I felt I mattered to the world, I did not matter to myself. To my self, I wasn’t great enough; should my assessment scale be changed or my actions changed?

I would like to continue participating in these programs to better understand both changing and unchanging truth about human lives. but what is actually it that would make me feel like I matter to myself?

7. Volunteer at Kodomohiroba

  This is one of the biggest reasons I feel I would enjoy becoming a school teacher. Every time, I stepped closer to opening up the students who are totally at a loss; parents have brought them to Japan with their reasons and put in school systems that do not have the sufficient support system. But some students seemed so happy talking with me who tries to connect with them through variety of means. It’s like the kids were waiting for me to touch their lives. Maybe they were waiting FOR me to touch their lives so that I can feel like I matter to myself. At the end of each volunteer, I always feel fulfilled, having done great things. Why? It’s not an academic discussion, but I just really enjoy that informal mingling with kids who have different backgrounds and see them open up to me. It’s kind of like me traveling to other countries and meeting with young locals (esp. Mexico) and connecting with them.

I will absolutely continue to volunteer at this organization and find what makes me feel that I matter to myself. Or just simply joy? Is a simply joy enough?

I also enjoyed working with people of various ages and occupations. It is an environment where I can stay faithful in people’s care for civil duty and philanthropy.

I did not like how understanding of students isn’t systematically shared. Maybe I would step up and suggest creating a database of students’ needs, study skills and backgrounds. A

8. Volunteer at elementary schools

It was as joyful as to forget my feeling of being misplaced. I liked my social skills developed a bond with many children. When it comes to building ties, the teachers weren’t an exception. Being able to connect with people as human beings is a rewarding experience. I was particularly happy that children found me interesting, and I found them interesting. With this mutual act of finding each other simply interesting, I cannot help but be nostalgic of the unforgettable sensation and the feeling of my existence mattering to myself through reflective conversations with friends. Maybe I like to be reflective and understand something deep in human thoughts? This leads me to think of reformatory education as one of my potential career paths again. 

I also enjoyed thinking about the role of music in children’s development. From music classes to sports day activities, music seemed to play a large role in facilitating the construction of ties among children. 

There isn’t much I did not like about this project, I think. I would like to continue visiting the elementary school and analyze in what way I want to work with people.

9. Working with UNICEF

I liked that I am working with an intl. organization. That’s cool because it is a symbol of globalization and celebration of cultural diversity. I enjoyed having conversations with some of the smarter people too. Working with UNICEF helped me contextualize seemingly trivial voices of youth I hear hear and there in the changing dialogues of human rights protection.

If possible I would like to keep learning about what is going on around the world. I would love to intern at either in Japan office, NY office or in Mexico to better understand what international organizations can and cannot do, and see how much I like being part of them.

What other projects do you wish you’d done more of?

-I wish I had done more reflective writing and talking. This is to identify project ideas that ring my bell. I am looking for ways to use my life so that I feel I matter to myself.

(Be concrete)

-reading history books for pleasure

-Investment

-read more in psychology, criminology, developmental psych, etc, especially reformatory education-related stuff

-Launch statistical analyses projects

-

New world of career in 2018?

-internship at ...

--> reformatory? can I work with youth on reflection?

-volunteer at...

-try to meet with ...

[mysteryshelf]

MERRY MYSTERY WEEK: BLOG TOUR - The Body in the Casket

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF Merry Mystery Week Special!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The Body in the Casket

by Katherine Hall Page

on Tour December 4, 2017 – January 12, 2018

Synopsis:

The inimitable Faith Fairchild returns in a chilling New England whodunit, inspired by the best Agatha Christie mysteries and with hints of the timeless board game Clue.

For most of her adult life, resourceful caterer Faith Fairchild has called the sleepy Massachusetts village of Aleford home. While the native New Yorker has come to know the region well, she isn’t familiar with Havencrest, a privileged enclave, until the owner of Rowan House, a secluded sprawling Arts and Crafts mansion, calls her about catering a weekend house party.

Producer/director of a string of hit musicals, Max Dane—a Broadway legend—is throwing a lavish party to celebrate his seventieth birthday. At the house as they discuss the event, Faith’s client makes a startling confession. “I didn’t hire you for your cooking skills, fine as they may be, but for your sleuthing ability. You see, one of the guests wants to kill me.”

Faith’s only clue is an ominous birthday gift the man received the week before—an empty casket sent anonymously containing a twenty-year-old Playbill from Max’s last, and only failed, production—Heaven or Hell. Consequently, Max has drawn his guest list for the party from the cast and crew. As the guests begin to arrive one by one, and an ice storm brews overhead, Faith must keep one eye on the menu and the other on her host to prevent his birthday bash from becoming his final curtain call.

Full of delectable recipes, brooding atmosphere, and Faith’s signature biting wit, The Body in the Casket is a delightful thriller that echoes the beloved mysteries of Agatha Christie and classic films such as Murder by Death and Deathtrap.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery Published by: William Morrow Publication Date: December 5th 2017 Number of Pages: 238 ISBN: 0062439561 (ISBN13: 9780062439567) Series: Faith Fairchild, 24 Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

“Have Faith in Your Kitchen,” Faith Fairchild said, answering the phone at her catering firm. She’d been busy piping choux pastry for éclairs onto a baking sheet.

“Mrs. Fairchild?”

“Yes? This is Faith Fairchild. How may I help you?”

“Please hold for Max Dane.” The voice had a plummy, slightly British tone, reminiscent of Jeeves, or Downton Abbey’s Carson. The only Max Dane Faith had heard of had been a famous Broadway musical producer, but she was pretty sure he’d died years ago. This must be another Max Dane.

She was put through quickly and a new voice said, “Hi. I know this is short notice, but I am very much hoping you are available to handle a house party I’m throwing for about a dozen guests at the end of the month. A Friday to Sunday. Not just dinner, but all the meals.”

Faith had never catered anything like this. A Friday to Sunday sounded like something out of a British pre-World War II country house novel—kippers for breakfast, Fortnum & Mason type hampers for the shoot, tea and scones, drinks and nibbles, then saddle of lamb or some other large haunch of meat for dinner with vintage clarets followed by port and Stilton—for the men only. She was intrigued.

“The first thing I need to know is where you live, Mr. Dane. Also, is this a firm date? We’ve had a mild winter so far, but January may still deliver a wallop like last year.”

A Manhattan native, Faith’s marriage more than 20 years ago to the Reverend Thomas Fairchild meant a radical change of address— from the Big Apple to the orchards of Aleford, a small suburb west of Boston. Faith had never become used to boiled dinners, First Parish’s rock hard pews and most of all, New England weather. By the end of the previous February there had been 75 inches of snow on the ground and you couldn’t see through the historic parsonage’s ground floor windows or open the front door. Teenage son Ben struggled valiantly to keep the back door clear, daily hewing a path to the garage. The resulting tunnel resembled a clip from Nanook of the North.

“I’m afraid the date is firm. The thirtieth is my birthday. A milestone one, my seventieth.” Unlike his butler or whoever had called Faith to the phone, Max Dane’s voice indicated he’d started life in one of the five boroughs. Faith was guessing the Bronx. He sounded a bit sheepish when he said “ my birthday,” as if throwing a party for himself was out of character. “And I live in Havencrest. It’s not far from Aleford, but I’d want you to be available at the house the whole time. Live in.”

Leaving her family for three days was not something Faith did often, especially since Sunday was a workday for Tom and all too occasionally Saturday was as he “polished” his sermon. (His term, which she had noticed over the years, could mean writing the whole thing.)

Ben and Amy, two years younger, seemed old enough to be on their own, but Faith had found that contrary to expectations, kids needed parents around more in adolescence than when they were toddlers. Every day brought the equivalent of scraped knees and they weren’t the kind of hurts that could be soothed by Pat The Bunny and a chocolate chip cookie. She needed more time to think about taking the job. “I’m not sure I can leave my family…” was interrupted. “I quite understand that this would be difficult,” Dane said and then he named a figure so far above anything she had ever been offered that she actually covered her mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

“Look,” he continued. “Why don’t you come by and we’ll talk in person? You can see the place and decide then. I don’t use it myself, but the kitchen is well equipped—the rest of the house too. I’ll email directions and you can shoot me some times that work. This week if possible. I want to send out the invites right away.”

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to talk, Faith thought. And she did like seeing other people’s houses. She agreed, but before she hung up curiosity won out and she asked, “Are you related to the Max Dane who produced all those wonderful Broadway musicals?”

“Very closely. As in one and the same. See you soon.”

Faith put the phone down and turned to Pix Miller, her closest friend and part-time Have Faith employee.

“That was someone wanting Have Faith to cater a weekend long birthday celebration—for an astonishing amount of money.” She named the figure in a breathless whisper. “His name is Max Dane. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Even I know who Max Dane is. Sam took me to New York the December after we were married and we saw one of his shows. It was magical—the whole weekend was. No kids yet. We were kids ourselves. We skated at Rockefeller Center by the tree and…”

Her friend didn’t go in for sentimental journeys and tempted as she was to note Pix and Sam skated on Aleford Pond then and now, Faith didn’t want to stop the flow of memories. “Where did you stay? A suite at the Plaza?” Sam was a very successful lawyer.

Pix came down to earth. “We barely had money for the show and pre-theater dinner at Twenty-One. That was the big splurge. I honestly can’t remember where we stayed and I should, because that’s where—” She stopped abruptly and blushed, also unusual Pix behavior.

“Say no more. Nine months later along came Mark?”

“Something like that,” Pix mumbled and then in her usual more assertive voice, added “You have to do this. Not because of the money, although the man must be loaded! Think of who might be there. And the house must be amazing. We don’t have anything booked for then and I can keep an eye on the kids.”

The Millers lived next door to the parsonage and their three now grown children had been the Fairchilds’ babysitters. Pix played a more essential role: Faith’s tutor in the unforeseen intricacies of childrearing as well as Aleford’s often arcane mores. Faith’s first social faux pas as a new bride—inviting guests for dinner at eight o’clock— had happily been avoided when her first invite, Pix, gently told Faith the town’s inhabitants would be thinking bed soon at that hour, not a main course.

Faith had started her catering business in the city that never slept before she was married and was busy all year long. Here January was always a slow month for business. The holidays were over and things didn’t start to pick up until Valentine’s Day—and even then scheduling events was risky. It all came down to weather.

Pix was at the computer. Years ago she’d agreed to work at Have Faith keeping the books, the calendar, inventory—anything that did not involve any actual food preparation.

“We have a couple of receptions at the Ganley Museum and the MLK breakfast the standing clergy host.”

The first time Faith heard the term, “standing clergy”, which was the town’s men and women of any cloth, she pictured an upright somberly garbed group in rows like ninepins. And she hadn’t been far off.

“That’s pretty much it,” Pix added, “except for a few luncheons and Amelia’s baby shower—I think she baby sat for you a couple of times when she was in high school.”

“I remember she was very reliable,” Faith said.

“Hard to believe she’s the same age as Samantha and having her second!” Pix sounded wistful. She was the type of woman born to wear a “I Spoil My Grandchildren” tee shirt. Faith wouldn’t be surprised if there were a drawer somewhere in the Miller’s house filled with tiny sweaters and booties knit by Pix, “just to be ready.” Mark Miller, the oldest, was married, but he and his wife did not seem to be in a rush to start a family.

Samantha, the middle Miller, had a long-term beau, Caleb. They were living together in trendy Park Slope, Brooklyn and Sam, an old-fashioned pater familias, had to be restrained from asking Caleb his intentions each time the young couple came to Aleford. Pix was leaning that way herself, she’d told Faith recently, noting that young couples these days were so intent on careers they didn’t hear the clock ticking.

Faith had forgotten that Amelia—who apparently had paid attention to time— was Samantha’s age and quickly changed the subject to what was uppermost in her mind—the Dane job. “Where is Havencrest?” she asked. “I thought I knew all the neighboring towns.”

“It’s not really a town so much as an enclave between Weston and Dover. I don’t think it even has a zip code. I’ve never been there, but Mother has. You can ask her about it. The houses all date to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I believe there’s a gatehouse at the entrance. It’s an early equivalent of the mid century modern planned communities like Moon Hill in Lexington. Havencrest wasn’t a bunch of architects like that one though. Just very rich Boston Brahmin families who wanted privacy and plenty of space. I wonder how Max Dane ended up there? From what Mother has said, the houses don’t change hands, just generations.”

“I think I’ll check my email and see if there’s anything from him yet,” Faith said. “And maybe drop by to see Ursula on my way home.” Stopping to visit with Ursula Lyman Rowe, Pix’s mother, was no chore. The octogenarian was one of Faith’s favorite people. She turned back to the éclairs, which were part of a special order, and added a few more to bring to her friend.

“I know you’ll take the job,” Pix said. “I’m predicting the weekend of a lifetime!”

***

Excerpt from The Body in the Casket by Katherine Hall Page. Copyright © 2017 by William Morrow. Reproduced with permission from William Morrow. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Katherine Hall Page is the author of twenty-three previous Faith Fairchild mysteries, the first of which received the Agatha Award for best first mystery. The Body in the Snowdrift was honored with the Agatha Award for best novel of 2006. Page also won an Agatha for her short story “The Would-Be Widower.” The recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award at Malice Domestic, she has been nominated for the Edgar Award, the Mary Higgins Clark Award, and the Macavity Award. She lives in Massachusetts, and Maine, with her husband.

Catch Up With Our Author On: Website 🔗, Goodreads 🔗, & Facebook 🔗!

  Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Katherine Hall Page and Witness Impulse. There will be 3 winners of one (1) physical copy of Katherine Hall Page’s The Body in the Casket. The giveaway begins on December 4, 2017 and runs through January 14, 2018. This giveaway is open to US addressess only.

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MERRY MYSTERY WEEK: BLOG TOUR – The Body in the Casket was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

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Chili Quotes

Official Website: Chili Quotes

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• A little blue-eyed blonde in a red hot sweater, wants to spice my chili, I think I’ll let her. – Toby Keith • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • Any man that eats Chili and Cornbread can’t be all bad – Carroll Shelby • Anything that improves people’s expectations of a meal is good for the world. Anything that weans even one kid or one adult away from Chili’s or T.G.I. Friday’s is definitely a win for the good guys. – Anthony Bourdain • As human beings, we are the only organisms that create for the sheer stupid pleasure of doing so. Whether it’s laying out a garden, composing a new tune on the piano, writing a bit of poetry, manipulating a digital photo, redecorating a room, or inventing a new chili recipe – we are happiest when we are creating. – Gary Hamel

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Chili', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Chili dogs, funnel cakes, fried bread, majorly greasy pizza, candy apples, ye gods. Evil food smells amazing — which is either proof that there is a Satan or some equivalent out there, or that the Almighty doesn’t actually want everyone to eat organic tofu all the time. I can’t decide. – Jim Butcher • Chili is much improved by having had a day to contemplate its fate. – John Steele Gordon • Chili is not so much food as a state of mind. Addictions to it are formed early in life and the victims never recover. On blue days in October, I get this passionate yearning for a bowl of chili, and I nearly lose my mind. – Margaret Cousins • Chili is one of the great peasant foods. It is one of the few contributions America has made to world cuisine. Eaten with corn bread, sweet onion, sour cream, it contains all five of the elements deemed essential by the sages of the Orient: sweet, sour, salty, pungent, and bitter. – Rex Stout • Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder. – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni • Dropkick Murphys get me going, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana… plus, all the regular hip-hop stuff. – Kobe Bryant • Early readers assumed the Book of Mormon people ranged up and down North and South America from upstate New York to Chili. A close reading of the text reveals it cannot sustain such an expansive geography. – Richard Bushman • Embarrassment felt a lot like eating chili peppers. It burned in the back of your throat and there was nothing you could do to make it go away. You just had to take it, suffer from it, until it eased off. – Sarah Addison Allen • From 1973 to 1982 I ate the exact same lunch everyday . Turkey chili in a bowl made out of bread . Bread bowl George. First you eat the chili then you eat the bowl . There’s nothing more satisfying than looking down after lunch and seeing nothing but a table. – George Steinbrenner • I bet you a handful of Chili’s coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish. – Corey Taylor • I have my once-a-month nachos, but it’s soy cheese and turkey chili on it, so it’s somewhat safe. But it’s still a big vice for me, because I have a big bowl of it. – Jenny McCarthy • I like chili, but not enough to discuss it with someone from Texas. – Calvin Trillin • I love that whole princess mentality, but I also like throwing my hair in a ponytail and just wearing jeans, going on a hike and then eating a big chili-cheesebur ger. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • I love to cook. I make an award-winning turkey chili. – Joely Fisher • I once absent-mindedly ordered Three Mile Island dressing in a restaurant and, with great presence of mind, they brought Thousand Island Dressing and a bottle of chili sauce. – Terry Pratchett • I set up stations, buy a big vat of chili, and then guests do what they want to do – and I still get to party. – Emily Henderson • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If I were a food, I’d be a Chili because you know.. I’m hot. – Louis Tomlinson • If the waitress has dirty ankles, the chili is good. – Al McGuire • If you are a bad putter, you will not make a putt. If you have a tendency to chili-dip wedges, you’ll be chili-dipping them all over the place for sure. Whatever your weakness, it will come up in spades during the Ryder Cup. – Johnny Miller • If you want to make a chili, you’re going to break some cows. – Merlin Mann • In the Chili Peppers I’m a part of that world in a pretty big world and that’s just the way it is. – John Frusciante • It stinks of trains and that chili with the chocolate in it. Ooooh, books!” he exclaimed suddenly, making a beeline for the small library. (Al) – Kim Harrison • It’s a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down. – Neil Young • I’ve been on a team that won the world championship of barbecue. But barbecue’s interesting, because it’s one of these cult foods like chili, or bouillabaisse. Various parts of the world will have a cult food that people get enormously attached to – there’s tremendous traditions; there’s secrecy. – Nathan Myhrvold • Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the mouth and the mind. – Jane Hirshfield • My dad gave me a haircut… and it wasn’t a very good one. When I went out of the house, my friends got on my case and said it looked like someone put a chili bowl over my head and cut around it. – Chili Davis • My music is rock. I listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers and I listen to one of my songs, and if I don’t give you the same emotion, then I go back and re-spit. – Kanye West • Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili. – Harry James • Oh God almighty, another Detroit monster is Chad Smith of the Chili Peppers. Their music is intoxicating between Flea and Chad Smith. They’re contemporary because they’re still making good records, but I don’t think there’s anything new that has a groove and soulfulness. The Chili Peppers just stink of soul-and that’s the ultimate compliment. They continue what James Brown created. – Ted Nugent • On Bill Clinton: “If left to my own devices, I’d spend all my time pointing out that he’s weaker than bus-station chili. But the man is so constantly subjected to such hideous and unfair abuse that I wind up standing up for him on the general principle that some fairness should be applied. Besides, no one but a fool or a Republican ever took him for a liberal. – Molly Ivins • On Hillary Clinton, who was an ardent Goldwater supporter in 1964: ‘If he’d let his wife run business, I think he’d be better off. … I just like the way she acts. I’ve never met her, but I sent her a bag of chili, and she invited me to come to the White House some night and said she’d cook chili for me. Someday, maybe.’ – Barry Goldwater • One day, I’ll be listening to a bunch of Ray Charles, the next day it’s nothing but Red Hot Chili Peppers. The next day it might be Tupac all day. – J. Cole • Opening cans of chili in zero gravity to see how it looks, that’s something that went wrong. – Trish Sie • People were going to geometry class and I was swimming through vats of chili on ‘Even Stevens.’ It was like a dream! – Shia LaBeouf • Remember, FDA employees are serious about fear. We pay these people to panic about an iota of rodent hair in our chili, even when the recipe calls for it. FDA employees are first-class agonizers, world champions at losing sleep. When Meryl Streep got hysterical about Alar, they actually checked the apples instead of Meryl’s head. – P. J. O’Rourke • She looks uptown, but she ain’t really. She’s into football, she likes my chili. – John Anderson • Take me ham away, take away my eggs, even my Chili, but leave me my newspaper. – Will Rogers • Tension translates to your guests. They’ll have a much better time having chili and baked potatoes than they would if you did roast duck with a wild cherry sauce and then had to lie down and cry for a while. – Nigella Lawson • The chili I ate made for an explosive bathroom experience. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but I missed the toilet entirely. – Seth Green • The Chili Peppers have a real strict two-week on/two-week off policy – aside from me, everybody has families. – Josh Klinghoffer • The guy we want to get is the guy who did the Aerosmith album which is coming out in two days, and a Chili Peppers album, and a couple of Pearl Jam albums. We want to get someone that will sort of bring out the high energy aspect more than the dreaminess that was on the last album. – Mike Gordon • The suit was so clumsy, being pressurized, it was impossible to get two hands comfortably on the handle and it’s impossible to make any kind of a turn. It was kind of a one-handed chili-dip. – Alan Shepard • This is my dream. I ain’t giving up. I see a band like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they’ve had their ups and downs, but they’ve continued with heart. We look up to that. I see Papa Roach being around for another 15 years. We’ve always wanted to be a career band. – Jacoby Shaddix • When I’m doing a book tour in the States, I’ll wake up in the room sometimes in an anonymous chain hotel, and I don’t know where I am right away. I’ll go to the window, and it doesn’t help there either, especially if you’re in an anonymous strip and it’s the usual Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Chili’s, Applebee’s. – Anthony Bourdain • When Lollapalooza started, and I was really into Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden. I went to that Lollapalooza tour twice, I think. – Adam Richman

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[equitiesstocks]

Chili Quotes

Official Website: Chili Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• A little blue-eyed blonde in a red hot sweater, wants to spice my chili, I think I’ll let her. – Toby Keith • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • Any man that eats Chili and Cornbread can’t be all bad – Carroll Shelby • Anything that improves people’s expectations of a meal is good for the world. Anything that weans even one kid or one adult away from Chili’s or T.G.I. Friday’s is definitely a win for the good guys. – Anthony Bourdain • As human beings, we are the only organisms that create for the sheer stupid pleasure of doing so. Whether it’s laying out a garden, composing a new tune on the piano, writing a bit of poetry, manipulating a digital photo, redecorating a room, or inventing a new chili recipe – we are happiest when we are creating. – Gary Hamel

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Chili', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_chili img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Chili dogs, funnel cakes, fried bread, majorly greasy pizza, candy apples, ye gods. Evil food smells amazing — which is either proof that there is a Satan or some equivalent out there, or that the Almighty doesn’t actually want everyone to eat organic tofu all the time. I can’t decide. – Jim Butcher • Chili is much improved by having had a day to contemplate its fate. – John Steele Gordon • Chili is not so much food as a state of mind. Addictions to it are formed early in life and the victims never recover. On blue days in October, I get this passionate yearning for a bowl of chili, and I nearly lose my mind. – Margaret Cousins • Chili is one of the great peasant foods. It is one of the few contributions America has made to world cuisine. Eaten with corn bread, sweet onion, sour cream, it contains all five of the elements deemed essential by the sages of the Orient: sweet, sour, salty, pungent, and bitter. – Rex Stout • Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder. – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni • Dropkick Murphys get me going, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana… plus, all the regular hip-hop stuff. – Kobe Bryant • Early readers assumed the Book of Mormon people ranged up and down North and South America from upstate New York to Chili. A close reading of the text reveals it cannot sustain such an expansive geography. – Richard Bushman • Embarrassment felt a lot like eating chili peppers. It burned in the back of your throat and there was nothing you could do to make it go away. You just had to take it, suffer from it, until it eased off. – Sarah Addison Allen • From 1973 to 1982 I ate the exact same lunch everyday . Turkey chili in a bowl made out of bread . Bread bowl George. First you eat the chili then you eat the bowl . There’s nothing more satisfying than looking down after lunch and seeing nothing but a table. – George Steinbrenner • I bet you a handful of Chili’s coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish. – Corey Taylor • I have my once-a-month nachos, but it’s soy cheese and turkey chili on it, so it’s somewhat safe. But it’s still a big vice for me, because I have a big bowl of it. – Jenny McCarthy • I like chili, but not enough to discuss it with someone from Texas. – Calvin Trillin • I love that whole princess mentality, but I also like throwing my hair in a ponytail and just wearing jeans, going on a hike and then eating a big chili-cheesebur ger. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • I love to cook. I make an award-winning turkey chili. – Joely Fisher • I once absent-mindedly ordered Three Mile Island dressing in a restaurant and, with great presence of mind, they brought Thousand Island Dressing and a bottle of chili sauce. – Terry Pratchett • I set up stations, buy a big vat of chili, and then guests do what they want to do – and I still get to party. – Emily Henderson • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If I were a food, I’d be a Chili because you know.. I’m hot. – Louis Tomlinson • If the waitress has dirty ankles, the chili is good. – Al McGuire • If you are a bad putter, you will not make a putt. If you have a tendency to chili-dip wedges, you’ll be chili-dipping them all over the place for sure. Whatever your weakness, it will come up in spades during the Ryder Cup. – Johnny Miller • If you want to make a chili, you’re going to break some cows. – Merlin Mann • In the Chili Peppers I’m a part of that world in a pretty big world and that’s just the way it is. – John Frusciante • It stinks of trains and that chili with the chocolate in it. Ooooh, books!” he exclaimed suddenly, making a beeline for the small library. (Al) – Kim Harrison • It’s a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down. – Neil Young • I’ve been on a team that won the world championship of barbecue. But barbecue’s interesting, because it’s one of these cult foods like chili, or bouillabaisse. Various parts of the world will have a cult food that people get enormously attached to – there’s tremendous traditions; there’s secrecy. – Nathan Myhrvold • Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the mouth and the mind. – Jane Hirshfield • My dad gave me a haircut… and it wasn’t a very good one. When I went out of the house, my friends got on my case and said it looked like someone put a chili bowl over my head and cut around it. – Chili Davis • My music is rock. I listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers and I listen to one of my songs, and if I don’t give you the same emotion, then I go back and re-spit. – Kanye West • Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili. – Harry James • Oh God almighty, another Detroit monster is Chad Smith of the Chili Peppers. Their music is intoxicating between Flea and Chad Smith. They’re contemporary because they’re still making good records, but I don’t think there’s anything new that has a groove and soulfulness. The Chili Peppers just stink of soul-and that’s the ultimate compliment. They continue what James Brown created. – Ted Nugent • On Bill Clinton: “If left to my own devices, I’d spend all my time pointing out that he’s weaker than bus-station chili. But the man is so constantly subjected to such hideous and unfair abuse that I wind up standing up for him on the general principle that some fairness should be applied. Besides, no one but a fool or a Republican ever took him for a liberal. – Molly Ivins • On Hillary Clinton, who was an ardent Goldwater supporter in 1964: ‘If he’d let his wife run business, I think he’d be better off. … I just like the way she acts. I’ve never met her, but I sent her a bag of chili, and she invited me to come to the White House some night and said she’d cook chili for me. Someday, maybe.’ – Barry Goldwater • One day, I’ll be listening to a bunch of Ray Charles, the next day it’s nothing but Red Hot Chili Peppers. The next day it might be Tupac all day. – J. Cole • Opening cans of chili in zero gravity to see how it looks, that’s something that went wrong. – Trish Sie • People were going to geometry class and I was swimming through vats of chili on ‘Even Stevens.’ It was like a dream! – Shia LaBeouf • Remember, FDA employees are serious about fear. We pay these people to panic about an iota of rodent hair in our chili, even when the recipe calls for it. FDA employees are first-class agonizers, world champions at losing sleep. When Meryl Streep got hysterical about Alar, they actually checked the apples instead of Meryl’s head. – P. J. O’Rourke • She looks uptown, but she ain’t really. She’s into football, she likes my chili. – John Anderson • Take me ham away, take away my eggs, even my Chili, but leave me my newspaper. – Will Rogers • Tension translates to your guests. They’ll have a much better time having chili and baked potatoes than they would if you did roast duck with a wild cherry sauce and then had to lie down and cry for a while. – Nigella Lawson • The chili I ate made for an explosive bathroom experience. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but I missed the toilet entirely. – Seth Green • The Chili Peppers have a real strict two-week on/two-week off policy – aside from me, everybody has families. – Josh Klinghoffer • The guy we want to get is the guy who did the Aerosmith album which is coming out in two days, and a Chili Peppers album, and a couple of Pearl Jam albums. We want to get someone that will sort of bring out the high energy aspect more than the dreaminess that was on the last album. – Mike Gordon • The suit was so clumsy, being pressurized, it was impossible to get two hands comfortably on the handle and it’s impossible to make any kind of a turn. It was kind of a one-handed chili-dip. – Alan Shepard • This is my dream. I ain’t giving up. I see a band like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they’ve had their ups and downs, but they’ve continued with heart. We look up to that. I see Papa Roach being around for another 15 years. We’ve always wanted to be a career band. – Jacoby Shaddix • When I’m doing a book tour in the States, I’ll wake up in the room sometimes in an anonymous chain hotel, and I don’t know where I am right away. I’ll go to the window, and it doesn’t help there either, especially if you’re in an anonymous strip and it’s the usual Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Chili’s, Applebee’s. – Anthony Bourdain • When Lollapalooza started, and I was really into Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden. I went to that Lollapalooza tour twice, I think. – Adam Richman

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );