#i’m reading seneca next so. you know. watch out

[rat-prophetess]

ASSIGNING PATHO CHARACTERS QUOTES FROM STOIC PHILOSOPHERS, PART 1/?? (EPICTETUS)

Daniil:

“Confidence (courage) then ought to be employed against death, and caution against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary, and employ against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it we employ carelessness, rashness, and indifference. These things Socrates properly used to call tragic masks; for as to children masks appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we are also affected in like manner by events (the things which happen in life) for no other reason than children are by masks… What is death? A tragic mask. Turn it and examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the spirit either now or later as it was separated from it before. Why then are you troubled if it is separated now?”

Artemy:

“You say: “Philosophers talk paradoxes.” But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? And what is more paradoxical than to puncture a man’s eye in order that he may see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the surgical art, would he not ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder, then, if in philosophy also many things which are true appear paradoxical to the inexperienced?”

Clara:

“Why do you not know whence you came? will you not remember when you are eating who you are who eat and whom you feed? When you are in social intercourse, when you are exercising yourself, when you are engaged in discussion, know you not that you are nourishing a god, that you are exercising a god? Wretch, you are carrying about a god with you, and you know it not.”

Plague:

“Therefore, the philosophers say well, that if the good man had foreknowledge of what would happen, he would co-operate towards his own sickness and death and mutilation, since he knows that these things are assigned to him according to the universal arrangement, and that the whole is superior to the part, and the state to the citizen.”

Mark Immortell:

“Remember that thou art an actor in a play; of such a kind as the teacher (author) may choose; if short, of a short one; if long, of a long one… this is your duty, to act well the part that is given to you; but to select the part, belongs to another.”

Rat Prophet:

“Why do you care about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal. But if you will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in six months: but a fever is often a year about it. All these things are only the sound and the noise of empty names.”

The Kin:

“Who are you? A man. If you consider yourself as detached from other men, it is affording to nature to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy. But if you consider yourself as a man and a part of a certain whole, it is for the sake of that whole that at one time you should be sick, at another time take a voyage and run into danger, and at another time be in want, and in some cases die prematurely. Why then are you troubled? Do you not know, that as a foot is no longer a foot if it is detached from the body, so you are no longer a man if you are separated from other men.”

Oyun:

“Through an unreasonable regard to divination many of us omit many duties. For what more can the diviner see than death or danger or disease or generally things of that kind? If then must I expose myself to danger for a friend, and if it is my duty even to die for him, what need have I then for divination? Have I not within me a diviner who has told me the nature or good and evil, and has explained to me the signs (or marks) of both? What need have I then to consult the viscera of victims or the flight of birds, and why do I submit when he says, It is for your interest? For does he know what is for my interest, does he know what is good; and as he has learned the signs of the viscera, has he also learned the signs of good and evil?”

Utopians:

“… since these two things are mingled in the generation of man, body in common with the animals, and reason and intelligence in common with the gods, many incline to this kinship, which is miserable and mortal; and some few to that which is divine and happy. Since then it is of necessity that every man uses everything according to the opinion which he has about it, those, the few… have no mean or ignoble thoughts about themselves; but with the many it is quite the contrary. For they say, What am I? A poor, miserable man, with my wretched bit of flesh. Wretched, indeed; but you possess something better than your bit of flesh. Why then do you neglect that which is better, and why do you attach yourself to this?”

[leoba]

Medieval Self-Insert Fan Art: Two amazing examples

Last night my favorite Discord server had an anniversary party, and we all presented to each other like the nerds we are. Usually when I present at conferences I post the talk to my blog, but this one felt like it would make a great inaugural post for this new Tumblr (which is going to be my personal-official space in the same way my Twitter account is now)

I gave a little presentation on MEDIEVAL SELF-INSERT FAN ART with two examples, and I share the slides and my comments here for you.

The first example: Owner portraits in books of hours, for when you want to hang out with Jesus and the BVM.

First, what are books of hours? Books of hours are...

Books of hours can be personalized in a variety of ways (for much more about personalization check out Kate Rudy’s book Piety in Pieces: How Medieval Readers Customized their Manuscripts, which you can read for free here). Owner portraits are part of the creation of the book of hours, so it might be more correct to call them commissioners portraits (I don’t think I’ve ever seen them called that, though). The person commissioning the book would work with the artist or artists to determine in which scene they would be included. In every case I’m aware of, owners are presented in supplication - kneeling, with hands together in prayer - and on the edge of the picture, present and part of the story, but not central to it.

Following are many examples of owner portraits from several different manuscripts in Philadelphia (all of which were digitized through the Bibliotheca Philadelphiensis project).

Some portraits, like this one from PMA 1945-65-14, show the book’s original owner. This is Étienne Thirion, in his own frame, kneeling at prayer, in a page facing the Annunciation - as though he’s watching, or perhaps considering the story, but not part of it.

More commonly, the owner is painted into the frame. Here, in this example from FLP Lewis E 112, he joins a couple of angels visiting with Mary and Baby Jesus. Unlike the previous example, we don’t know the name of the original owner.

Owners didn’t only include themselves in happy scenes. In this example, from UPenn Ms. Codex 1056, the owner (in traditional 15th century dress and a black coif) joins the women grieving for the recently deceased Jesus.

Here’s another happy one, from FLP Lewis E 123.

The original owner of PMA 1924-19-1 includes two owner portraits, one with Mary and a nursing Baby Jesus and one with the deceased Jesus laying in God’s the Father’s lap.

One more! Another woman (yes, women owned books of hours and other books, and had them made), and like the first one we looked at, she’s in her own frame, looking at or contemplating Mary and Jesus on the facing page.

That’s the first example of self-insert in medieval art. The next example is a single manuscript, rather than a genre, and although it is religious it isn’t only religious:

U. Glasgow MS Hunter 231 is a collection of devotional and philosophical works, copied in the 14th century (here’s a blog post about it, and this post includes photos from the blog). It includes a lot of texts by the 1st century Roman philosopher and rhetorician Seneca, which I find incredibly amusing for some reason. I guess I don’t think of Seneca as being terribly popular? But there’s a lot of him here.

Here’s a photo of the book from when it was featured on Coffee With A Codex (I forgot to hit record until 10 minutes in, oops). That’s Seneca there between Plato and Aristotle, with gray hair and a pink hat. We’ll take a closer look at this illustration later.

More details about the contents of MS Hunter 231.

Animation works better in PowerPoint but I’m doing my best to give you the experience. I love this manuscript for a lot of reasons but one thing that strikes me (aside from the self-insert fan art) is how oddly it contrasts with itself.

First, it has some really fantastic illuminations made by an identifiable artist (“Master of the Taymouth Hours” - so called because he is also responsible for illustrating a book of hours called the Taymouth Hours, now London, British Library, Yates Thompson MS 13). They are detailed and colorful and the gold has been incised with designs (seriously, look at the gold in the photos, it’s so well done). So whoever had this manuscript made wanted premium art.

Second, in contrast, the script isn’t great. It’s an informal gothic cursive script. That’s it on the right; on the left, another manuscript, also written in England at about the same time, written in a more formal gothic textualis quadrata script (it’s FLP Lewis E 84, a theological miscellany). The cursive would write more quickly, take less time to write, and would thus have been less expensive. So while the texts are important to the commissioner, the writing of that text appears to be less important than the artwork.

Third - the parchment. It’s not great! There are a lot of uncut edges (this photo is from a different manuscript, UPenn LJS 24, but this is the kind of thing you’ll see in MS Hunter 231), holes, and visible hair follicles.

Again, this means that great parchment wasn’t the commissioner’s priority. Not great parchment, not a great script, but really fucking great art.

And who is this commissioner? Here he is with Mary and Baby Jesus and a couple of angels - he’s pictured very much like the owners in the owner portraits, kneeling, hands held out in prayer.

His name is ROGER OF WALTHAM and we know a bit about him! We even have an idea of what he looked like: wavy gray hair, long on the sides and back but cut with a tonsure around his head, and a gray beard. He’s pretty distinctive-looking.

This is just to give you a sense of size. It’s not a really huge book (see my hands in the screenshot further up), so that illuminated initial isn’t big. But it’s so well done!

Here’s a close-up! Again, it’s the same style as an owner portrait (I mean... it is one, really, just in this purpose-made book and not in a book of hours). That’s Roger at the bottom, dressed in red.

And here he is again, watching the Blessed Virgin Mary be assumed into heaven after her death.

And again! Waiting patiently for Eucharist.

And with Mary and Jesus! (You can really see the design in the gold in this photo)

With Mary and Jesus again.

... and again. (I love that patch of gray on his forehead)

Here’s a larger illustration, Jesus crowning Mary... and there’s Roger kneeling at the bottom, yet again.

And here he is at the Crucifixion.

Here’s a fantastic full-page illustration. That’s the head of God at the top, with some angels, and in the middle is Saint Benedict and Saint Paul. And there? At the bottom? Who’s that?

Let’s take a closer look.

squints

It looks like Roger. And Roger! (I’m not 100% certain that is two Rogers, the fellow on the right could be someone else, but I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if it was two Rogers)

Finally, Seneca. Here’s Roger hanging out with his favorite philosopher! (No beard but maybe this is young!Roger?) That’s Seneca on the left, slightly higher in the frame, with Roger below, in the position of teacher and student. This is a pretty typical artistic trope that you see a lot (I’ve included another example from FLP Lewis E 37 just below).

And finally, the pièce de résistance: We return to this photo of Plato, Seneca, and Aristotle (we know who these are because they are labeled).

Seneca - in the middle, facing the reader head-on, an indication of his importance - looks familiar. Take a closer look. Closer. Closer!

The wavy gray hair? The beard? I’m not the first person to note that Seneca looks an awful lot like Roger of Waltham. His final self-insert: literally making himself into his favorite philosopher.

Thanks to Julie Gardham, Senior Librarian at the University of Glasgow who introduced me to MS Hunter 231 and Roger of Waltham’s place in it.

[hiyadarlingirl]

PART 5

Hello sweethearts:)

Next part (part 6) will be the last one. It will be a long one and very cozy and christmassy and romantic. Please let me know if you are reading these, it motivates me a lot to write more. Maybe I’ll start a new series!

Xxxx Murphy

Timmy POV

I was sitting on the corner of her bed when she woke up.

I was surprised she didn’t flinch when she noticed me, there was no trace of fear to be found. It pleased me. I gave her a smile. When you have had an entire night to overthink the possibility of having lost someone you love there is a glossiness on their presence and a gratitude in seeing them do simple things, like breathing or hear their voice. I had been mad at her too but these feelings had dissolved completely when I saw her face in that hotel in Manhattan.

‘Ready?’ I asked.

‘Hell yes.’ Her voice was raspy but her eyes were bright and awake.

‘Good.’ I said and stood up. ‘Do you want coffee here or get some outside?’

��Outside’

‘Excellent choice’

She chuckled and made a motion with her hand to tell me to get out of the room to let her change.

‘I’m going I’m going.’ I walked out and got into my jacket and a scarf. There were two gloves laying on the heater in the same color as the hat I’d given her. I wondered if she’d brought them from home or bought them in the city.

‘You can keep the hat if you want’ I told her when she joined me at the door. She just shook her head and tousled my hair.

‘You’re too good for this world Timmy I mean it.’

I just laughed and looked at the floor.

****

It was raining outside, too early for the snow to be lasting. It would come back in a couple of weeks.

We walked around Central Park with our coffees and I told her stories I had memorized, inside information about the history of the park. When Zendaya pointed to an information board in the northwest part of the park I told her the story of Seneca village.

I told her that in the 1820s when Central Park was yet to be put into existence most people lived in lower Manhattan, but after the abolition of slavery and a shortage in jobs it became unsafe for free black people to live in this area. They moved uptown to the hilly countryside and bought a piece of land and named it Seneca village. It soon became an integrated community. People of all ethnicities seemed to get along and through archeological findings it also seemed like the village was quite rich.

Unfortunately as the development of Central Park started the village got destroyed and its history forgotten until recent archeological excavations.

‘Imagine how many poc families would be in upper class by now if their properties weren’t demolished’ zendaya said after I finished talking.

‘Yeah crazy right.’

‘It’s weird to walk here now I know this. It feels like walking through something sacred.’

***

After Central Park I showed her my favorite pizza place, stone oven and hand made. We ate and talked and afterwards I brought her to a small cinema I used to come as a kid and we went in to watch a screening of lady bird. Halfway through the film Zendaya put her head on my shoulder. She didn’t say anything and I didn’t object. I wanted to wrap my arms around her so badly and interlace my fingers with hers but I didn’t move. I was glad we were close again and reminded myself I could never ask for more then friendship.

The next day Zendaya left to go home to LA. I was sulky and called some friends to spent the rest of the week with them instead of feeling sorry for myself and being on my own.

Zendaya and I didn’t talk a lot the following month, just a few how are you’s over text but then december came and my phone rang. I was in London at the time in a taxi and it was pouring outside making it hard for me to understand what she was trying to tell me.

‘Tom and I we.... I... it’s not fair to him. We had a great time but I had to tell him. I told him it’s over.’ She was rambling and talking so fast I had to fill in a lot of gaps. Did I hear this correctly or was I making this up. How could this have happened? They were so invested in eachother. Or at least I’d told myself this over and over.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘I’m good, yes. Where are you, what’s that noise.’

‘London, it’s raining.’

‘Ah. Too bad.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh nothing.’

I smiled. ‘Okay...’

‘Well actually I thought maybe I could come visit again? I miss New York and I need to get out of LA...’

‘Yes of course Zee.’

‘When can I come?’

‘I’ll be back next week but I have to return my uncles car that I borrowed, he lives in Vermont so it’ll be a bit of a drive. I’m not sure when I’ll be back from that, probably just before Christmas.’

She was quiet for a bit as though she was contemplating this. “Can I come?”

‘To Vermont?’

‘.....yes.’

‘Sure, yes of course.’

‘How long are we in the car for?’

‘Six hours or so, so we should probably crash there.’

‘Oh jezus.’

‘Yes it’s up north quite a bit.’

‘Won’t your uncle mind?.’

‘He lives in a huge cabin it won’t be a problem.’

‘Okay sounds like an adventure.’

‘It sure will be.’

@lonely-simp @daya1and1timo

TO BE CONTINUED

[ajbwasntwriting]

To Serve and Protect (Bucky Barnes x Police!Fem!Reader)

the twd obsession has been interrupted since I’ve started watch TFATWS and have binged bucky fics like I was 15.

Summery: - Reader is an accomplished New York officer but an old case comes back in the shape of a super soldier in need of aid.

Warnings: - Light Spoilers for TFATWS, Cursing, mentions of Human Trafficking, flirty Bucky(kind of I tried)

You had just received your second medal of honor before the blip had occurred. When you came back, you were nearly arrested for breaking into what you had known as your apartment. Luckily, the situation was under control quickly. You had family just outside the city who were willing to support you until you got back on your feet but it still felt like a kick in the gut that your home was gone and you now had to learn a bunch of new skills to do with being a cop. Most of your friends had either died during the five years or had to move out of New York, and those who remained had moved on and didn’t seem to have time for you in their lives.

At least a few of your favourite places had stayed open, including what you thought was the best pizza joint in the state. You got dinner here most nights because it hadn’t changed. The tables still wobbled, the neon sign still buzzed from overuse, and Louis the owner still kept a couple slices of your favorite pie in the back for you.

“Please tell me the back booth is free” you sighed, taking the food from Louis.

“Long day, Detective?” Louis replied.

“New partner thinks I’m an idiot.” You mumble, taking a bite from the pie and burning your tongue.

“It’s clear,” Louis said sympathetically, nodding to the far side of the restaurant.

You slid into the small booth tucked out of the way, tucking into your pizza and soda. After your first slice you noticed a carving on the table. It was your initials plus A.S. equals epic. You smiled as you remembered your previous partner Aarush Sharma. You two had been friends since you joined the force and had come to this booth almost every break hour to fill up on pizza and terrible coffee.

“Detective L/N.” A gruff voice spoke to you. Judging by the shadow he casted over you, he was a big man.

“Look if your here to buy me off or intimidate me,” you snapped, “then you can fu-” you stopped short when you looked up. You recognised the man as James Buchanen Barnes instantly. “Oh,” you sighed with relief.

“You know me?” he asked you.

“Followed the Zemo case.” you explained. He visibly tensed at the mention of Zemo. You held up your hand to calm him. “I know you’ve been pardoned.” You suddenly remembered how your conversation with the Winter Soldier had begun “wait, how do you know me?”

“I need your help,” He spoke low, just so the two of you could hear. He slid opposite you in the booth, leaning forward on the table. “Two-thousand-fifteen, August seventh you filed a report on a human trafficking ring operating out of staten island.” You began eating your second slice of pizza as he talked. “You arrested the main perpetrators, with the exception of Donnie Morris and Frank Abara. You opened an investigation on them but it went cold two months later.” You nodded along to the story. “That’s because-”

“They’re Hydra? Real names Robert Bern and Josh Smith? And the trafficking was for human experimentation?” you interrupted him. He stared at you, just about concealing his surprise. “I was a good cop.” you finished off your pizza, wiping your mouth and looking away in shame. “Was.”

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

“They threatened me.” You patted the flour off your hands and picked up your soda. “And when that didn’t work, they told my friends to stop me else their family would be hurt, so.” you slurped on your soda and stared back at him.

His piercing blue eyes were reading you like a book, pulling apart your disgust at never catching them, and trying to figure out how to use it to his advantage. He had to admit it was impressive that a normal police officer was able to get farther than he was, but you were still a normal person.

“I need to find them,” he spoke up.

“Why?” you cocked your eyebrow, soda straw still in your mouth. You had been studying his face to find any tell of malintent but the only conclusion you were drawing was that he was handsome as hell, and really good at hiding his tells.

“You don’t need to know.” he retorted. You hummed with discontent.

“See, Mr. Barnes. My job is to protect and serve. Sadly, that includes assholes.” You put down the now empty soda cup and leaned forward to match his position. “And you’ve said enough for me to arrest you under suspicion of planning to commit a crime against said assholes.” His glare hardened and his jaw tightened as he stared you down. “So please answer the question, ideally in a non-incriminating way.”

He looked and huffed, sliding back a little before fixing you with his stare again, but it wasn’t long until he was looking from his hands to the window, seemingly in defeat. “Their boss is dangerous. And I’m the one that made it so.” He forced a bitter smile finally looking back at you. “I’m trying to right as many wrongs as I can but I can’t find this guy but you.” he punctuated by pointing at you with his joined hands. You caught a glint of something metal up his sleeve that you suspect was his arm. “You came very, very close. Apparently, Closer than I thought you did.”

You mulled it over in your head for a moment before reaching into your breast pocket and pulling out your notepad. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Barnes” You looked over the restaurant between bouts of writing, talking all the while in case people were listening. “The case is closed and the records are public so everything you know is everything I know.” You quietly ripped off the piece of paper and pocketed the notebook, picking up your trash to disguise it. He took the hint and hid the paper by putting his hands down and sliding back in the booth, seemingly in defeat. “Good night, Mr. Barnes.” you said, and walked away, depositing your trash on your way out.

Bucky sat their a moment to give you a head start before stepping out himself, piece of paper in hand. As he walked home he opened the paper.

Tomorrow Seneca Village 23:35

Bucky stood in front of the plaque, mind too busy working through every horrible thing that could happen from this little stunt. He was about to run when he heard your voice. “Hey there.”

You walked over and stood next to him, stoically in your repose. You were wearing a pair of jeans and heeled boots with a fashionable jacket and a suitcase in hand. “I don't know which of us is stupider right now.”

“You could have picked a better meeting spot.” Bucky retorted, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s horrifying,” you commented, putting the case down, Reading over the plaque. “Over two hundred lives ruined by a couple of assholes who wanted a park. Reminds me of another couple of assholes.”

“Yeah?” Bucky replied. You stood there a moment longer, thinking if you could still go back. You bit your tongue and decided having faith was the better bet.

“Burn it when you’re done.” you shot back and walked past him.

Bucky noticed the case just outside his line of vision. He picked it up and walked away from the plaque, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible despite the case not really matching his attire.

You didn’t hear anything for a couple weeks after the impromptu meeting, having handed over every piece of evidence that had been sitting in your self storage since 2015. Each minute was spent biting your nails with stress, hoping your actions didn’t come back to bite you in the ass. Then the news came on, publicizing that Robert Bern and Josh Smith had been arrested ‘after it was discovered they were connected to a human trafficking ring in New Jersey and a former operation in Staten Island.’

“Looks like somebody did your job for you.”

“Shut up, Louis.” you quip back at him, nursing a terrible cup of coffee. The restaurant was near empty aside from yourself, Louis, a trio of loud drunk women in the corner and a homeless man who had scraped cents together to buy a slice of pizza. The TV above the kitchen archway providing most of the ambiance.

“What’s got you in a mood?” he asked as he cleaned.

“Ever been ditched on a blind date? I get all dolled up,” you opened your coat to show a figure hugging dress with a low neckline, coupled with an elegant necklace. “And the asshole texts me when I’m already at the lounge saying he needs a fucking rain check.”

“Okay, well he’s an ass-”

“Right!” you exclaim.

“But you need to stop scowling before you scare off my customers.” Louis playfully chided.

“Oh, cause there’s so many of them.” you waved a hand out at the restaurant to emphasize your point. Still you leaned over your coffee to stew in your own misery. You couldn’t hear the door open over the women’s third rendition of ‘I’m every woman’ but you noticed someone slide onto the bar stool next to you. You turned your head to see Bucky looking back.

“Have I seen you here before?” Bucky said playfully.

You chuckled involuntarily and sat up on your stool. “You must be mistaking me with someone else.”

He swiveled on the stool to face you fully, leaning on the counter comfortably. “You sure?” he seemed to be playing with you, a sly smirk on his face. “Could’ve sworn I met this detective lady here who looked a lot like you.”

“Was she pretty?” You pressed, a smile now sneaking it’s way onto your face without you knowing.

Bucky looked in your eyes with a soft sincerity. “Incredibly,”

You laughed nervously as you looked away and into the pool of your coffee. “Was that before or after she helped you with your job.” You deflected.

“About that,” Bucky leaned onto the counter. He was still quiet good at hiding his tells but you got the impression he was nervous by the pause. “You gave me more than I needed so I was able to do better than I planned. I know how hard it can be to trust someone. I'm not sure how to thank you for that.”

“Take her on a date!” Louis yelled from the kitchen, looking at you two through the serving window. “She’s already all ‘dolled up’” Louis mocked you.

“Keep cleaning!” you shot back. “Ignore him. He’s just dripping with sympathy since I got ditched.”

“I mean,” Bucky started, you looked over and saw him staring at his hands with nerves as his thumbs tapped against each other. “I just wouldn’t know where to take you.” he admitted under his breath.

A question instantly plagued your mind and it demanded to be asked. “Have you not...since nineteen-fifty?”

Bucky nodded with pursed lips. “You can laugh.”

You smiled at the super soldier. “Right,” you announced, pushing yourself off the stool. “Come on, I know a great dive three down.”

“A dive?” Bucky asked in disbelief, but he was still smiling.

“Yep. Where they don’t give a shit who you are as long as you're buying.” You fixed your jacket with new found enthusiasm. “You are buying, right?”

“For a doll like you,” He stood up from the stool. “I’ll buy the bar.” he held the door as you both left the little pizzeria

“Oh honey, there’s nothing like me.” you said playfully as you stepped out the door.

“Then I must be the luckiest man in the world,” he flirted, offering you his arm. You slide your hand in, curling your wrist around his bicep and off you both went.

[tchaikovskymybeloved]

I was tagged by @stevielynnicks, thank you so much! ♡ So sorry it took me a while to post this.

Nickname: Weirdly enough, don’t really have one that stuck around, because my name is super short. Though I do get called “Aid” by my friends, “Aidok” by my relatives and “Aidakona” by my dad (shout out to my dad for coming up with this mouthful of a nickname, like how even).

Gender: Female

Star sign: Aries

Height: 160 cm

Time: 21:35

Birthday: 4th of April

Favorite bands/groups: The Smiths and The Beatles (And I’m tempted to say The Strokes, but I feel like our relationship is not quite there yet.)

Favorite solo artists: Angèle, Kate Bush and Françoise Hardy

Song stuck in my head: “Brooklyn Bridge to Chorus” and “New York City Cops” by The Strokes. Oh, who am I kidding, just name any The Strokes song, chances are it’s been stuck in my head for two weeks.

Last movie: Soul (2020). It’s been a few months since I last watched a movie, wow.

Last TV show: Brooklyn Nine-Nine

When did I create this blog: It’s been three years already, but I used this blog on and off and would just use it as a dumpster for my word vomit and to spam whatever I was obsessed with at the moment. However, I kinda fell in love with tumblr a few months ago and started using it more consistently. I see tumblr differently now. Tumblr is cool.

What do I post: Mostly anything ‘60s-‘90s related, like music, movies and photography

Last thing I googled: “People who survived rabies”. I listened to a podcast about the first person who survived rabies yesterday and got curious about other cases. I always found rabies fascinating and terrifying at the same time — it surely is something that doesn’t sounds like a big deal, but in fact is one of the worst ways a person can die. (What a fun thing to mention in a light-hearted tumblr tag game!)

Other blogs: Don’t have any. Though I created a blog called “theboywiththethorninhisside” few months ago, because I couldn’t believe it wasn’t taken and I was like hell, then I’ll take it! But then I reblogged one post, realized it was pointless and deleted it, lol.

Do I get asks: Well, if you count those random tags and stuff. Other than that, not really.

Following/followers: Following – 60, followers – 64, lmao. (I’m so famous. Who wants to get tickets for my next Meet & Greet, girlies?)

Average hours of sleep: Ideally, I would say 6-7 hours — I feel like it’s the amount my body actually needs. However, I sleep 5 hours on average, sometimes even less, because I go to sleep later than I need to and have work early in the morning. I’m a terrible adult.

Lucky number: 4 and 47. I wouldn’t say lucky though, I don’t really believe in lucky numbers, more like favorite ones.

Instruments: None, unfortunately. I really want to start learning to play bass, flute and kalimba though! The list is much longer than that, but I want to learn bass and flute first because they’re my favorite instruments and kalimba because it’s a relatively affordable instrument.

What am I wearing: Red and black plaid house dress (really cozy) and black knee high socks

Dream job: Book translator. Though my plan is to try as many different things as I can for the sole purpose of getting experience — there are so many interesting things in life. Then retire at like 35 or something and just chill.

Dream trip: Iceland and New Zealand

Favorite food: If I had to pick one, it would be noodles

Favorite song: “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths. Means a lot to me.

Last book I read: Like the one I’ve finished? (I don’t know why I’m asking a question, like who am I talking to?) Then it would be “Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde. If it’s the ones I’m reading at the moment, then it’s “And Then There Were None” by Agatha Christie and “Letters from a Stoic” by Seneca.

Three fictional universes I’d like to live in: Hmmm. Harry Potter comes first to mind, because of course, I owe it my child self. I’m a coward though and would not survive in such an intense universe, I would totally die within my first few days there, but hey, at least it would be really fun few days. Then I would choose the village from My Neighbour Totoro. I would love to live in a children’s book/movie. They feel so sunny, cozy and pure. Lastly, Dead Poets Society? I think it counts? I’m such a sucker for boarding school themes and can you just imagine yourself sitting under a tree reading a book while bagpipes are playing somewhere in the background? Chills.

This was so much fun! RIP to your eyes, but this tiny font is too cute, I can’t resist.

I tag @sixtiesfangirl, @whyteenagewhore, @inbetweenights and @kazookazoo!

[gclddvst]

my  need  to  finish  my  assignments  before  picking  up  a  new  muse  wasn’t  strong  enough  ...  r.i.p  my  grades  .  this  is  winslow  jeong  ,  aka  the  owner  of  all  the  braincells  on  this  blog  because  asher  and  i  have  none  .  for  more  information  ,  read  on  ,  and  if  you’d  like  to  plot  with  them  feel  free  to  either  like  this  post  or  just  message  me  here  or  on  discord  .

[  AARON  KWAK  ,  AGENDER  ,  THEY  /  THEM  .  ]    well  ,  if  it  isn’t  winslow  jeong  ,  our  resident  ASSISTANT  GAMEMAKER  !  i’m  so  excited  to  see  what  they’ll  be  bringing  to  the  table  this  year  .  they’re  twenty  -  seven  years  old  ,  &  they’ve  been  in  this  position  for  4  years  .  i  hope  they’re  ready  for  the  publicity  —  the  tabloids  have  already  started  talking  about  them  !  anyways  ,  i  got  to  meet  them  once ,  &  they’re  a  lot  like  screens  overcrowded  with  seemingly  meaningless  code  ,  a  straightforward  approach  to  every  hurdle  ,  the  taste  of  ozone  and  petrichor  ,  quiet  and  unshakeable  belief  .

statistics.

full  name  :  winslow  jeong

nickname  /  s  :  win  /  winnie

age  :  twenty  -  seven

gender  :  none  ✌️

pronouns  :  they  /  them

orientation  :  ace  -  aro

occupation  :  assistant  gamemaker

face  claim  :  aaron  kwak

persona.

winslow  is  ...  enigmatic  .  they  are  a  person  of  very  few  words  ,  opting  to  keep  their  cards  close  to  their  chest  at  all  times  and  simply  listen  in  on  conversations  rather  than  being  an  active  participant  .  they  don’t  share  information  willingly  ,  and  will  often  redirect  the  course  of  a  conversation  if  it  veers  towards  trying  to  learn  more  about  them  .

they  seem  like  a  nicer  than  average  gamemaker  ,  always  looking  for  ways  to  reward  the  tributes  —  prizes  ,  respites  ,  safe  zones  —  and  then  hiding  them  in  clues  and  puzzles  .  but  really  ,  win’s  motives  are  selfish  .  the  longer  the  games  drag  on  ,  the  more  they  get  to  do  ,  the  longer  they  can  put  off  working  on  the  next  arena  (  because  god  ,  they  hate  having  to  think  of  something  new  and  original  every  time  ,  and  goodness  knows  seneca  can’t  be  arsed  to  do  the  work  himself  ,  not  when  there  are  lackeys  to  do  it  for  him  .  no  ,  he  only  handles  the  extra  sadistic  stuff  )  .  and  they  find  watching  the  tributes  use  their  brains  far  more  entertaining  than  gladiatorial  fights  .

outside  of  the  bubble  of  ‘  hunger  games  bullshit  ’  as  winslow  has  so  eloquently  dubbed  it  ,  win  is  a  fairly  normal  capitol  citizen  .  they  mind  their  own  business  ,  are  moderately  extroverted  around  close  friends  who’ve  known  them  since  before  they  became  a  mystery  ,  and  do  their  best  to  resist  the  urge  to  drink  themself  into  a  stupor  at  the  end  of  every  workday  .

with  such  an  average  life  ,  one  might  wonder  why  they  insist  on  being  so  elusive  ,  and  the  answer  is  fairly  simple  :  rebellion  .  in  a  place  where  your  every  word  can  be  used  against  you  the  minute  you  dare  to  disagree  ,  saying  nothing  can  be  the  most  effective  middle  finger  to  the  authorities  possible  .  what  are  you  gonna  do  ,  snow  ,  blackmail  them  ?  oh  wait  ,  you  can’t  .

biography.

winslow  jeong  was  born  as  the  only  child  of  a  deeply  in  love  couple  ,  and  for  the  first  few  years  of  their  life  they  grew  up  in  a  beautiful  household  —  stable  ,  loving  and  everything  a  young  child  could  want  .  alas  ,  that  stability  was  not  to  last  .

their  father  was  a  peacekeeper  ,  working  all  across  panem  to  maintain  order  —  and  he  was  lined  up  for  a  promotion  that  would  make  him  one  of  the  highest  authority  figures  in  the  force  .  the  argument  started  small  —  concern  from  his  wife  that  he  would  be  away  from  home  too  much  ,  away  from  their  young  child  (  win  being  only  five  at  the  time  )  .

but  as  days  went  on  and  the  man  showed  no  intentions  of  reconsidering  his  choice  ,  winslow’s  mother  began  to  raise  other  issues  she  took  with  her  husband’s  job  .  “  do  you  actually  enjoy  hurting  those  people  ?  ”  she  had  said  one  night  ,  in  a  fit  of  rage  .  “  is  that  why  you  want  this  so  badly  ?  because  you  want  people  to  be  scared  of  you  ?  ”  the  next  morning  ,  she  was  gone  —  winslow’s  father  refused  to  tell  them  what  had  happened  ,  although  the  child  was  fully  aware  ,  having  eavesdropped  on  the  pair  .

the  guilt  over  selling  out  his  own  wife  for  the  sake  of  a  promotion  consumed  the  man  ,  who  soon  retired  from  his  job  ,  taking  up  a  new  job  as  a  tattoo  artist  and  focusing  on  raising  his  child  ,  as  a  way  to  make  amends  .

it  was  here  that  winslow  spent  most  of  their  childhood  —  in  their  father’s  shop  ,  watching  the  people  that  came  and  went  ,  and  watching  the  sketches  the  man  drew  .

art  came  naturally  to  win  ,  and  by  the  time  they  were  twelve  they  were  already  capable  of  sketching  people  .  their  sketchbook  ,  a  birthday  gift   from  their  father  ,  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  studies  of  the  people  who  went  in  and  out  of  the  tattoo  parlour  ,  as  well  as  decorative  patterns  and  mazes  .

winslow  was  sixteen  when  their  father  finally  gathered  the  courage  to  tell  them  the  truth  about  what  happened  to  their  mother  .  in  true  winslow  fashion  ,  they  responded  with  a  raised  eyebrow  and  a  simple  ‘  i  know  ’  —  never  the  slightest  hint  of  judgement  .  the  pair  were  never  especially  affectionate  ,  but  that  day  one  could  have  caught  a  rare  glimpse  of  a  hug  through  the  window  of  the  shop  .  not  that  anyone  would  dare  mention  it  to  them  .

as  their  education  drew  to  a  close  and  their   father  grew  older  and  older  ,  win  began  looking  for  potential  career  paths  .  initially  ,  they  considered  taking  up  an  apprenticeship  under  their  father  .  but  soon  enough  ,  they  discovered  a  new  aptitude  —  one  for  coding  ,  of  various  kinds  .  encrypting  information  in  complex  puzzles  and  writing  programs  to  crack  those  puzzles  .  they  honed  this  new  talent  in  their  spare  time  ,  taking  up  a  part  -  time  job  in  a  clothes  shop  to  help  support  themself  and  their  father  .

eventually  ,  their  skills  caught  the  attention  of  a  hunger  games  employee  who  visited  the  tattoo  parlour  while  winslow  was  attempting  to  engineer  a  puzzle  box  .  a  few  days  later  ,  they  were  visited  by  the  head  gamemaker  himself  ,  and  quickly  hired  as  an  intern  ,  from  where  they  quickly  rose  to  assistant  gamemaker  position  .

wanted plots.

a  tribute  or  two  that  they  get  attached  to  and  try  to  subtly  help  gain  an  upper  hand  .

close  friends  /  people  who  they  actually  talk  to  in  more  than  single  sentences  .

enemies  /  people  who  don’t  trust  them  because  of  their  silence  &  mysteriousness

[sandeepmaheshwaritips-blog]

Best Motivational Quotes to Overcome Anxiety and Depression

Moving statements and motivational quotes to overcome anxiety and depression have a stunning capacity to change the manner in which we feel about existence. This is the reason I find them so intriguing and significant on our ways to progress.

So what's their mystery?

The manner in which you contemplate yourself, including your convictions and assumptions regarding what is workable for you, decides everything that transpires.

To be successful, you have to use each day as an opportunity to grow, to find purpose in life, to be better, to get a little bit closer to your goals. It might sound like an impossible thing or a lot of work—and with a busy schedule, next to impractical. But the best part is, the more you get the results, the more you’ll want to work hard, the higher you’ll want to reach. So as long as you have the hunger for success, you will always have the power within you to achieve it.

You have full oversight over just a single thing known to mankind — your reasoning – and that is the place inspirational statements come in!

Everybody needs a little motivation now and again.

Regardless of whether you're experiencing a separation, you've recently lost your employment, or you just woke up feeling a little shaky toward the beginning of today—we've all had nowadays.

I've assembled a rundown of probably the best-overcome anxiety and depression quotes so you can begin the year by assuming responsibility for your considerations, thinking emphatically and defining new objectives.

Dont Forget to read the best Dalai Lama Quotes and Sayings to bring a positive change in your life.

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” – Dr. Suess

Motivational and Inspirational Quotes

“I think being in love with life is a key to eternal youth.” —Doug Hutchison

"I’m a success today because I had a friend who believed in me and I didn’t have the heart to let him down.” – Abraham Lincoln

“The purpose of our lives is to be happy.” — Dalai Lama

“Feelings don’t try to kill you, even the painful ones. Anxiety is a feeling grown too large. A feeling grown aggressive and dangerous. You’re responsible for its consequences, you’re responsible for treating it. But…you’re not responsible for causing it. You’re not morally at fault for it. No more than you would be for a tumor.”  ― Patrick Ness, The Rest of Us Just Live Here

“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” — John Lennon

“Get busy living or get busy dying.” — Stephen King

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” — Mae West

“Not how long, but how well you have lived is the main thing.” — Seneca

“If life were predictable it would cease to be life, and be without flavor.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

“How can a person deal with anxiety? You might try what one fellow did. He worried so much that he decided to hire someone to do his worrying for him. He found a man who agreed to be his hired worrier for a salary of $200,000 per year. After the man accepted the job, his first question to his boss was, “Where are you going to get $200,000 per year?” To which the man responded, “That’s your worry.”  ― Max Lucado

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” —Dolly Parton

“Do all the good you can, for all the people you can, in all the ways you can, as long as you can.” — Hillary Clinton

“Don’t settle for what life gives you; make life better and build something.” — Ashton Kutcher

“Everybody wants to be famous, but nobody wants to do the work. I live by that. You grind hard so you can play hard. At the end of the day, you put all the work in, and eventually it’ll pay off. It could be in a year, it could be in 30 years. Eventually, your hard work will pay off.” — Kevin Hart

“Everything negative – pressure, challenges – is all an opportunity for me to rise.” — Kobe Bryant

“I like criticism. It makes you strong.” — LeBron James

“You never really learn much from hearing yourself speak.” ― George Clooney

“Life imposes things on you that you can’t control, but you still have the choice of how you’re going to live through this.” — Celine Dion

“Life is never easy. There is work to be done and obligations to be met – obligations to truth, to justice, and to liberty.” — John F. Kennedy

“Live for each second without hesitation.” — Elton John

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein

“Life is really simple, but men insist on making it complicated.” — Confucius

“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” — Helen Keller

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.” — Steve Jobs

“My mama always said, life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” — Forrest Gump

“Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.”— Lao-Tze

“When we do the best we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life or the life of another.” — Helen Keller

“The healthiest response to life is joy.” — Deepak Chopra

“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once.” — Lillian Dickson

“The best portion of a good man’s life is his little nameless, unencumbered acts of kindness and of love.” — Wordsworth

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.” ― Robert Frost

“Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” — Charles Swindoll

“Keep calm and carry on.” — Winston Churchill

“Maybe that’s what life is… a wink of the eye and winking stars.” — Jack Kerouac

“Life is a flower of which love is the honey.” — Victor Hugo

“Keep smiling, because life is a beautiful thing and there’s so much to smile about.” — Marilyn Monroe

“Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.” — Buddha

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” — Dr. Seuss

“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” — Mark Twain

“Life would be tragic if it weren’t funny.” — Stephen Hawking

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

“The greatest pleasure of life is love.” — Euripides

“Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be.” — Grandma Moses

“Life’s tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.” — Benjamin Franklin

“Life is about making an impact, not making an income.” — Kevin Kruse

“I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.” – Michael Jordan

“Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.” – Babe Ruth

“I’ve spent most of my life and most of my friendships holding my breath and hoping that when people get close enough they won’t leave, and fearing that it’s a matter of time before they figure me out and go.”  ― Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” – Mark Twain

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” – Anais Nin

“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.” – John Lennon

“Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears.” – Les Brown

“The whole secret of a successful life is to find out what is one’s destiny to do, and then do it.”– Henry Ford

“In order to write about life first you must live it.”– Ernest Hemingway

“The big lesson in life, baby, is never be scared of anyone or anything.”– Frank Sinatra

“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.”– Thomas A. Edison

“If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.”– Albert Einstein

“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”– Babe Ruth

“Money and success don’t change people; they merely amplify what is already there.” — Will Smith

“Sing like no one’s listening, love like you’ve never been hurt, dance like nobody’s watching, and live like it’s heaven on earth.” – (Attributed to various sources)

“Curiosity about life in all of its aspects, I think, is still the secret of great creative people.” – Leo Burnett

“Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”– Soren Kierkegaard

“To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one’s self…. And to venture in the highest is precisely to be conscious of one’s self.”   ― Søren Kierkegaard

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” — Socrates

“Turn your wounds into wisdom.” — Oprah Winfrey

“The more you pray, the less you’ll panic. The more you worship, the less you worry. You’ll feel more patient and less pressured.”   ― Rick Warren, The Purpose of Christmas

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking.” – Steve Jobs

Thank you for giving your time to read these beautiful inspirational and motivational quotes about anxiety and depression. Stay connected for more.

Source: Best Motivational Quotes to Overcome Anxiety and Depression

[ineffably-effable]

Come up and see me (make me smile)

Rome, 41 AD

AN: Continues on from the role-reversal au started in  Come up and see me (make me smile)

Thanks again to @mia-ugly​ for being a wonderful beta-reader (which this time involved convincing me not to throw this out and then jump into the trash after it).

(read on ao3)

Crowley had been in Rome a month without seeing hide nor hair of his affable adversary. Even though he knew (hoped) the demon could take care of himself (probably) he still found himself seeking out the sorts of establishments regularly patronized by said demon to inquire after him ("Curly hair, golden eyes - no not brown, I said golden, yes I get that's not very common- look mate, have you seen him or not?!"). In the end it was a message from Michael that tipped him off to the demon’s whereabouts (a marked increase in sin had been observed one of the city’s seedier neighbourhoods, and if it wasn't too much trouble would Crowley please do his job and restore a bit of moral order).

  This was how he found himself standing in the Atrium of a large public bathhouse, feeling utterly ridiculous in one of the lighter (and tragically optional) bathing robes. 

  After a short hunt, made shorter by a strong sense of demonic activity from the eastern chambers, Crowley spotted Aziraphale in the tepidarium. Oblivious to Crowley's scrutiny, the demon was lounging contentedly in the pool, his neck tilted back against the wall. Around him, throughout the pool and the surrounding alcoves, humans were grinding and rutting against each other in all manner of passionate couplings (and throuplings, Crowley noticed, a little impressed by the flexibility on display). 

  Aziraphale appeared to be watching over the proceedings with a sort of benevolent self-satisfaction. Every so often a human would approach him, and he'd smile graciously and nudge them towards another partner. He also seemed to be keeping an eye on the chamber's doorway and (although he'd missed Crowley) any humans entering the chamber were quickly ensnared, reaching for each other as their confused eyes quickly became insensible with lust. 

  As Crowley made his way over to him (a process made difficult by the need to dodge suggestive leers and groping hands) he tried to figure out how exactly this managed to attract notice upstairs. Obviously the S.O.Fs were innumerable, but those had always been considered a fairly low-grade offence. (Adultery would be the next logical conclusion but, knowing Aziraphale, Crowley suspected anyone in a truly committed relationship would be struck by an urge to visit another chamber). 

  "Crowley!"

  Aziraphale spotted him and waved him over excitedly, looking for all the world as though he was sitting in a crowded tavern and not in the midst of an orgy. He clicked his fingers and the couple closest to him moved away, leaving room for the angel to join him in the water. Crowley ignored the implicit invitation, instead sitting on the ledge, arranging his legs deliberately so that they rested outside the pool. Aziraphale watched this with - an almost fond - exasperation. "Fancy running into you here! How have you been?"

  "I'd be a lot better if I wasn’t getting chastised in missives about your behaviour," he replied. "You foul fiend ,'' he added as an afterthought (fully aware the smile on his face diminished the severity of the words).

  "Is that so? Don't tell me you've been sent to thwart my wiles ?" the demon asked with an exaggerated air of disappointment and a suggestive tone.

  "Honestly Aziraphale, I leave you unsupervised for a few years and suddenly-” Crowley paused, flustered, as he was interrupted by an enthusiastic, protracted moan, “-uh, hedonism is running rampant."

  "You flatter me dear. This barely counts as-"  the demon's words were drowned out by a loud proclamation - “Sweet merciful Gods!” - as a man near them seemed to find his bliss. Crowley raised his eyebrows and Aziraphale grinned, utterly unperturbed. “- corruption, blasphemy notwithstanding.”  

  "Ahuh."

  “I'm hardly harming anyone,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. "Quite the opposite in fact."

  "You're messing about with their free will. That's cheating."

  "Oh please, I’ve removed their inhibitions and heightened some sensations. If they didn't truly want to be here, they wouldn't be."

  "Weren't you meant to be influencing what's-his-name, the emperor?"

  "Caligula?" The demon pulled a face. "Don’t remind me. That loathsome man didn’t need any suggestions from my quarter. The second he got a taste of power it went straight to his head. I’ve already written it up as a resounding success.”

  "So now you’re stirring up trouble for the sake of it?'

  "Still have those demonic quotas to consider." He shrugged. "You have to admit lust is the most innocuous of the seven." Aziraphale’s eyes tracked to where two humans seemed to be enjoying themselves, almost innocent in their exploration of each other’s bodies. "I tried gluttony for a bit, but then they started retching so they could continue stuffing themselves." He wrinkled his nose in distaste and gave his head a little shake (as if to clear the thought).  "At least one can enjoy oneself here."

  Crowley nodded in understanding, then froze as his brain processed the slightly lecherous tone the demon had used to stress the word enjoy.

  The demon beamed at him, amusement plain on his face.

  “You haven’t- not with-" Crowley spluttered.

  "They're only human, of course, so not much of an intellectual connection, but some are extremely talented.” He winked at Crowley. “You should find a nice young man and avail yourself, I'm certain you'd have no shortage of offers."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Crowley responded hotly. 

  "Aren't you the slightest bit curious what it feels like? You might be an angel, my dear, but you're housed in a human corporation that's very susceptible to pleasures of the flesh." The low timbre of his voice was enticing in ways Crowley would rather not think about. He attempted what he hoped was a withering look, but the demon just laughed. "Baby steps perhaps?" He gestured to the spot next to him, "The water is lovely. Are you sure you won't join me?"

  Crowley stared at him incredulously, and then - almost involuntarily - his gaze lowered. Even obscured beneath the surface of the water, it was apparent the demon had made an effort. A respectable one. For a moment Crowley allowed himself to imagine disrobing and sliding into the pool. He’d corner Aziraphale, pressing him against the wall with the length of his body, and then he'd taste his lips, his throat, the hollow of his neck. He’d slip a hand down to grip him, firmly. Aziraphale would grin encouragingly, or perhaps - despite all his bold talk - he would gasp and flush prettily.

  "Crowley?”

  Crowley looked up, he could feel his face burning. Aziraphale was grinning at him like he knew exactly what Crowley had been thinking, like-

  Oh.

Of course he did.

The bastard.

  "Was that you?" Crowley growled.

  "Was what me?" The demon looked genuinely puzzled. Crowley didn’t buy it.

  Crowley snapped his fingers and the temperature of the water dropped. People sprang to their feet yelping in shock. Judging from the blushing and awkwardness, inhibitions had also come flooding back with a vengeance.

  "Satan below," the demon muttered, standing up and out of the now chilled water. Crowley averted his eyes until he materialized a robe. "That wasn't very nice, my dear.  I think you've ruined a few promising trysts."

  "All in a day’s work." 

  Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

  "Hmph. Well, seeing as we've both accomplished our goals for the day, could I tempt you to a spot of lunch?"

  "I'm an angel. I can't go around being tempted by demons," Crowley replied through gritted teeth, still nettled.

  Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused and not a little hurt.

  "Of course, I suppose it's in my nature to try." He gave a small, self-deprecating smile that made Crowley feel terrible. Then he took a step backwards and started fumbling with his robe which made Crowley feel even terrible-er.

  He racked his brain for something to say.

  “I did hear there’s a new restaurant..." he offered awkwardly.

  Aziraphale brightened up instantly.

  “Do you mean Petronius’? With the oysters?”

  “Yeah, uh, that’s the one. If you were to eat there then I suppose I’d have to tag along and keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t wreak havoc.”

  “Naturally.”

  Aziraphale looked right at him, indulgent smile and sparkling eyes out in full-force, and suddenly - suddenly the room felt too small - Crowley mumbled something about “beating the rush”, and led Azirphale in the direction of the restaurant.

   A couple of hours, and three (maybe four?) jugs of wine later, Crowley was in that pleasant state of inebriation (the one where his brain could still string sentences together, but jumped ship entirely when it really ought to be reminding him why he shouldn't enjoy the company of his hereditary enemy). Judging from the way said "enemy" was gesticulating wildly as he talked, the demon might have been a cup or two beyond that point.

  They had left the restaurant a little while back (Aziraphale having noticed Crowley's poorly concealed disgust at the uncooked molluscs, and cheerfully scoffing the angel's half-dozen in addition to his own) and were now winding their way through Rome's streets at a leisurely pace. Aziraphale was bragging that he knew the streets like the back of his hand and was recounting how he'd saved a playwright from execution. He was arguing it could be justified as evil because the playwright spread misery (i.e. turns out this Seneca fellow wrote tragedies) and because the man was a political dissident. Crowley made an offhand comment that rebellion-as-sin didn’t seem all that clearcut, earning him a blank stare from the demon, who abruptly changed subject to how Crowley "really must try Globuli" - insisting they hunt down a street vendor who made “the absolute best in the city”.

  Eventually (after the street vendor was located, roused from his rest, and handsomely compensated)  the consumption of fried syrupy cheese curd was achieved and the two of them continued on, chatting amiably until they reached a street Crowley recognized.

  "I think this is me," he said, nudging his companion.

  "Oh. I'm the other way," the demon replied, apparently without any intention of moving.

  "Try not to get up to too much trouble," Crowley told him. "I've got other assignments in the city. Can't go dropping them to chase you out of bath houses every five minutes."

  "I make no promises," Aziraphale replied, grinning.

  Crowley bit back a smile. "Well, until next time, you lecher."

  "Until then, my dear." 

  Crowley moved to shake hands when suddenly Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed his mouth against Crowley's lips. It only lasted a moment. In fact, the lingering warmth was the only hint Crowley hadn't hallucinated it.

  Crowley must have looked as bewildered as he felt because the color drained from Aziraphale's face. 

  "I'm sorry! I forgot you haven't been in town very long! That was an osculum, " the demon babbled anxiously, "a show of friendship between equals, not to presume we're-"  He looked up, but clearly Crowley's inscrutable expression didn't calm him. If anything it seemed to have the opposite effect. "Of course it's not like, well nothing like what you saw at the baths- those were basium and well, savium too, obviously - amongst, well, os impuri - amongst other types of kiss-like er." (The demon blushed, and Crowley felt a surge of affection for this stammering idiot - who seemed to think it possible to live four thousand years on Earth without learning the difference between a kiss and oral-sex) "- but yes, platonic kisses. All the rage of late. I think they might have been adapted from the Persian greetings. Absolutely fascinating, really, these humans and what they get up to-"

  Crowley cut him off by pulling Aziraphale in and pressing their lips together firmly. As he pulled away he took in the demon's stunned face with smug satisfaction.

  "Osculum eh? Did I do it right?"

  Aziraphale blinked slowly, before (visibly) collecting himself.

  "Definitely passable.” he said, voiced slightly strained, “Should you ever wish to practice I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

  Crowley rolled his eyes, which seemed to bolster the demon's confidence. "As an angel you really ought to try some of the others as well." He smirked.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Please , you love it.”

  Crowley waited a beat too long before laughing a little too loudly.  Aziraphale stared at him, a strange look on his face.

  "Well, I should probably be-”

  “Best be on my way-”

  “No rest for the wicked." 

  “Virtue is ever vigilant-”

  With a quick nod (which Crowley returned) the demon set off, walking half a block in the wrong direction. Crowley looked on, bemused, as Aziraphale stopped, realized what he'd done, and then looked back to see if Crowley had noticed. Ever the bastard, Crowley waved at him. 

  “Like the back of your hand?” Crowley asked as the demon passed him.

  “Oh, sod off,” Aziraphale sniped back without stopping.

  Crowley laughed.

  "Try not to get lost!" he called out after him and was extremely satisfied to see Aziraphale make a rude gesture.

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

POST #24- J’s Year in Review 2019

Jesus Christ it’s 36 degrees and dark at 5:30. The most depressing time of year for me. I owe my friends a few reviews and keep putting them off. I’ll do them tomorrow. Hell, maybe when I have time over the weekend I’ll get that one out I promised a few weeks ago. Here I am, sitting on the couch trying to figure out which record I want to highlight next. It’s a daunting task. A lesson I’ve learned over the past year. I need to get those reviews out but my mind (and ears) get the best of me. What do I do instead? I listen to a couple of records and skip right to the end. What I mean by end is that cliche year in review article that all music journalists put out with their favorite artists, songs, records, and shows of the year. This is all new to me. Shortly after the new year I decided it was time for me to get in the game. I don’t have much to offer but I wanted to put my perspective on paper. My first article was a piece about Tyler Childers raising awareness and getting a large donation of bottled water for the citizens of Martin County, Kentucky. I knew about Martin County. I didn’t know how deep it went. It wasn’t the meet and greet and small solo set that made me want to write about my experience. It was Tyler’s words. It was the raw emotion and the choked up words that inspired me to be a writer. I wanted as many people to know about this event as I could possibly get the word to. Be it 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that read the article and learned about the plight of the citizens of Martin County have been in for years. That maybe 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that may learn how to contact their representative and ask questions. I hope it inspires people to learn about their community and lend a helping hand to those in need. That event was last year, but it inspired my path this year.

Let me begin by saying that I have met some of the most amazing people over the past 12 months. I will touch on as many of those people as much as I can. I am going to highlight the music that has moved me over the same amount of time. I’m gonna forget people. I’m sorry in advance. I could put a list of my top 10 albums out but that just wouldn’t be fair. To be honest, there is one album that stands head and shoulders above all others. It’s not even a competition. How do you compete with amazing art? I look at it like its a steady stream of good shit coming out and keeping my playlist full.

Album of the Year (Any Genre)

Sound and Fury - Sturgill Simpson

Why?

It’s f*cking amazing. Earth shattering. Ground breaking. LOUD!

Sturgill Simpson took everything you thought you knew about him and his music, threw it out the window of his muscle car, and backed over it about a hundred times. This man does not give a shit. I screwed up on my first listen. There are two ways this album should be heard. 1) On a turntable with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. 2) Watching the accompanying anime movie with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. Unfortunately I did neither. Most of my first listen was a track at a time on my phone or in my truck. Dead. Wrong. If I had it to do over again I would most definitely start with the anime.

I get it. Anime is not for everyone. If I could give someone a starting point with anime, it would most definitely be Sound and Fury. This album is The Wall of our generation. After my first listen I posted, “Album of the Year Any Genre”. I fully stand by that assessment.

Favorite Albums of the Year

This is where I will most definitely make someone mad or make myself mad for leaving off someone who deserves to be included.

Home - Billy Strings

Favorite Tracks: Away From The Mire and Watch It Fall

Country Squire - Tyler Childers

Favorite Tracks - Creeker and Peace of Mind

Stranger In The Alps - Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle

Favorite Tracks: Buffalo’s Canon and Stewball

Between The Country - Ian Noe

Favorite Tracks: Barbara’s Song and Methhead

Seneca - Charles Wesley Godwin

Favorite Tracks: Hardwood Floors and Seneca Creek

Chris Knight - Almost Daylight

Favorite Tracks: I’m William Callahan and Go On

The Wind - Eric Bolander

Favorite Tracks: Closer to that Flame and Ghost

Josh Nolan - Kind Heart to Follow

Favorite Tracks: Makin’ Eyes and The Honeysuckle

Nicholas Jamerson - Floyd County All Star

Favorite Tracks: Patience and Floyd County All Star

High Expectations - Sean Whiting

Favorite Tracks: Melody and Misery

Songs Only A Mother Could Love - Wayne Graham

Favorite Tracks: By and By and Every Evil Thing

On The Hilltop - Nic Allen and the Troubled Minds

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Pills and Wine and For Heaven’s Sake

Cheap Silver and Solid Country Gold - Mike and the Moonpies

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Silver and Danger

The Gospel - The Local Honeys

Favorite Tracks: Amazing Grace and Let the Church Roll On

Full Moon/Heavy Light - Ona

Favorite Tracks: Young Forever and True Emotion

Trial and Error - Vintage Pistol

Favorite Tracks: Lay It Down and Leave Me Behind

The Pilot Light - Derek Spencer

Favorite Tracks: The Witches of Appalachia and Lit By Moonlight

We Fall, We Break - Walter DeBarr

Favorite Tracks - Wicked Eyes and We Fall, We Break

Alive at Hillbilly Central - Arthur Hancock

Favorite Tracks - Take Me Back To The Country and Kenton’s Outdoor Seating Area

Cuz I Love You - Lizzo

Favorite Tracks: Truth Hurts and Juice

I have to give a shoutout to some amazing visual artists for their work on some of these records. Jimbo Valentine and Colonel Tony Moore did an absolutely amazing job on the Country Squire album art. With Valentine’s futuristic hillbilly aura and Moore’s gritty comic book background, their collaboration is my favorite album artwork in some time. Honorable mention goes to Nashville Tattoo Artist, Squishy Eyes. His work for Billy Strings’ home is colorful and visually stimulating. I definitely want some skin art done by this guy!

Next. Let’s talk festivals. Jon Grace burst onto the scene this year putting on not one but two music festivals. Jon and I go way back. We’ve been to country shows, rock shows, heavy metal shows, nu metal shows, Ozzfest. You name it and we were probably in the vicinity. Laurel Cove Music Festival was Bell County’s first foray into the music festival scene and it started with a flash of lightning, then another, then a shit load of rain. An outdoor music festival being held at a beautiful natural amphitheater turned in to an indoor show in the conference room at Pine Mountain State Park. It was a tough decision to make, but in the end, it was worth every minute. The lineup came together in short order and provided us with two days of blistering sets. Jon then put together the FREE Cumberland Mountain Fall Festival in downtown Middlesboro, KY. Featuring local and regional talent for another two days of fun and music. 2019 set the bar high for live music in Bell County.

Festival of the Red is located in the heart of the Red River Gorge area and put on three days of camping and music. The only downside was that I was only there on Saturday. My buddies Blake and Dave packed in the truck with Dave’s little boy Waylon to make the two hour trip to Slade to catch up with old friends and new.

Master Musician Festival is a yearly mainstay in Somerset, KY. Tiffany Finley and company put together a stellar lineup year after year. My wife and I went for the day on Saturday and returned home with memories that we still laugh about months later. I first want to give a shoutout to the staff of MMF for enduring a brutal storm and having the integrity to cancel the headlining act in the face of severe storms. We were devastated that we missed out on a Jason Isbell set, but we are also blessed that we were not injured in a stupid storm. The party rolled on to Jarfly and into the wee hours of the morning.

This brings me to the granddaddy of them all.

Kickin’ It On The Creek.

The Roberts do it up right on Ross’ Creek. The 5th Annual Kickin’ It On The Creek held on Byron Roberts’ farm is something every music fan should experience once in their life. I went to Irvine in June to attempt to buy tickets in person. I left the house Saturday morning around 4:30. My anxiety hit when I got into town and parked and saw the line stretched nearly a half mile down the road. What do you do though? You hop in line! My friends Jon and Daniel arrived about an hour and a half ahead of me and were about 15 people in front of me. Throughout the morning we made conversation with both veterans and newbies alike. The vibe was jubilant. It was almost like a family reunion atmosphere, and this was just the presale. Long story short, about 3 hours later we get to the front of the line when Byron exits the store to announce the tickets were sold out. My friends who were 15 people in front of me were the last group in. It made me ill to realize I was that close. Never fret, the next step was an online sale that supposedly sells out in seconds. Over the next few weeks, karma would smile on us as we were able to purchase enough tickets so everyone in our group of friends were able to procure tickets. Now the wait.

I’m not a festival virgin by no means. I was fortunate enough to go to three Bonnaroo festivals in the early 00’s. Needless to say, I had an idea of the festival life. However, I can’t begin to explain the giddiness that my wife and I felt driving to the festival that Thursday evening in late September. We made it just in time to set up camp and catch Bedford Band and one of the acts I most looked forward to, Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle. The family atmosphere was in full effect. We were home. On Friday we were treated to sets by a variety of artists handpicked by the Roberts family. Favorites included Luna and the Mountain Jets, Crownover, Laid Back Country Picker, Green Genes, Jericho Woods, Vintage Pistol, Magnolia Boulevard, John R Miller and the Engine Lights, Town Mountain, and the ‘Lectric Wooks. Saturday favorites included Abe Partridge, Padre Paul Handleman, Wayne Graham, William Matheny, Senora May, Ona, The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, and festival headliner Tyler Childers. I’m already thinking about KIOTC 2020.

This year was magical. I heard amazing music, saw amazing music, introduced my children to amazing music, and most importantly shared with with my wife. I met lifelong friends and have several shows to look forward to in 2020.

Upcoming shows I’ll be attending are The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, Eric Bolander, Charlie Woods and Deep Hollow, and Dave Shoemaker at the Bell Theater on December 21st. 2020 brings Morgan Wade/Kelsey Waldon, Town Mountain/Buffalo Wabs/Geno Seale, Billy Strings, and Sturgill Simpson/Tyler Childers. The festival circuit is also ramping up with dates set for Laurel Cove 2020.

-Josh Trosper

*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

[eringeosphere]

Had to have high, high hopes for a living. Chapter 2

Part 1

AO3

ix.

When Percy made his decision to stay with Lupa’s pack, his mind had managed to focus on two things. First, that Jason had been way too sad when he’d first met him. Even in the company of the wolves - who were awesome and scary and way bigger than normal wolves. Also really harsh teachers but -

Jason. Sad. Jason alone. Jason who was family. Cousin, technically - and after meeting wolves that weren’t really wolves that could talk, being told that he was the son of a God didn’t really surprise Percy.

Not that Lupa was telling him which godly parent had apparently fallen in love with his mum and then left. ‘Work it out yourself’ had been her general attitude when Percy and Jason had asked.

Okay, Percy may be getting sidetracked slightly. Staying with Lupa. Reason number two: his mum had said that the monsters were after him. Not his mum. Him.

The monsters will keep coming after him. Until Percy can beat the monsters, he’s not safe to be around, and the thought of his mum getting hurt because of him makes something inside of him hurt.

So. Join a wolf pack, protect his mum by not being there. ‘Protect Jason’ gets added to his list of important things within about three hours of his mum leaving, after the younger boy had tripped and nearly face planted into a tree root. Learn to fight off the monsters.

In all honesty, Percy had imagined a lot less running.

x.

It doesn’t take long for Percy to lose track of how long it’s been since he left his mum. He keeps the slip of stiff paper that his mum had written the address of their apartment on buried deep in the pocket of his jeans. Percy can't actually read the words yet, but it's nice to know that he has a way to track his mum down when he eventually gets big and strong.

The days whirl into a blended mess of training and lessons that leave little time for thinking about anything else. He only registers that time has passed in the way that the nights begin to grow longer and colder.

His shoes go missing sometime in between wading across a stream and scrambling up the rocky bank on the other side, and after a little while the soles of his feet toughen enough that he doesn’t miss them.

Percy adapts to sleeping curled up on a pile of blankets in the cave that the pack often returns to, or the ground, or in trees, or in bushes, if they've travelled further afield. Jason had a little bit of a leg up on him in that sense, but soon Percy doesn’t even remember what it felt like to fall asleep alone, without the reassuring pressure of Jason or one of the wolves (or both) against his side.

xi.

Lupa does not simply teach the boys the means to hold their own in a physical manner; her teaching also include the history of their heritage - both Roman and Greek. This is met with varying levels of success, admittedly.

… and thus begat Dionysus by his Greek calling, or Bacchus in his Roman guise, youngest of the Olympians. And so concludes the tale of the origins of the Olympians.

Percy forcibly drags his attention back from where he’d been half distracted by a bird half way up a tree at the sound of Lupa’s pointed cough.

Perseus. Were you listening to the last bit?

Percy nods vigorously, despite his dislike of his full name. “Yes. I was. For sure!”

Lupa hums thoughtfully. Would you care to tell me who the Olympians are, then? They are likely to be very important as you grow older.

Percy frowns. He knows that much, alright. Lupa’s already covered the ‘strong demigods attract strong monsters’, so odds are good that him and Jason have a godly parent with some wallop.

“Wait, what was the question?” Percy asks.

Lupa doesn’t sigh, but Percy gets the impression it’s a near thing. Who are the Olympians, Perceus?”

Percy nods. “Okay, I know this for sure.” He brings his hands up in front of him and starts counting them off. “So there’s lightning guy, ocean dude, lightning guy's jealous wife -“

Behind him, there’s a faint wheezing noise. Percy plows on regardless.

“-plant lady, smart lady, sun dude, that guy’s twin sister …miss hunter! Er. War man, lover lady, volcano dude, messenger person, and … hearth lady or wine guy? And dead dude and his wife are also kinda important?”

Percy looks up from his fingers. Lupa is staring at him, mouth dropped slightly open.

“What?” Percy glances sideways at Jason, sitting cross legged next to him. “I’m pretty sure I got them all!”

Then Percy and Jason are treated to the sight of Lupa, several thousand year old goddess, trainer of Romulus, Remus and countless demigods thereafter, defender of the Roman Empire and Camp Jupiter, flop onto her belly and cover her eyes with her paws.

Jason breaks out into giggles and Percy can’t possibly be mad, if he managed to get his quiet cousin to laugh.

xii.

Percy creeps through the long grass, placing each foot with a care and attention he didn’t possess a couple of months ago. His quarry sits ten paces ahead of him. It hasn’t spotted him yet.

Percy can’t see very far, as the grass is at least as tall as he is, but the faint tugging in his chest that Percy has started to associate with Jason make him pretty certain that his cousin is circling around off to his left.

All to plan so far. Percy inches forward a few more paces.

Then the wind shifts. The rabbit lifts its head and Percy freezes. Please don’t look this way. Percy begs. I do not want to have to track down anotherone.

No such luck. Percy sees the rabbit nostrils flair, and he throws caution to the wind. Percy springs forward into a run, swipes for the rabbit, misses, but somehow manages to scare it into jumping right at Jason. It’s more luck than anything that leads Jason to successfully lock his arms around it before it escapes them both.

There’s a moment of slightly stunned silence.

“Nice, Jason,” Percy gasps, hands on his knees.

Jason flashes him a hesitant smile at the praise. “What now?”

Now, kill it.

At the unexpected voice, Jason and Percy both startle badly, and Percy’s head whips around in the direction of the speaker.

“What!” he exclaims, in sync with Jason.

Lupa’s expression is implacable. Percy is momentarily very jealous over the wolf’s apparent ability to sneak up on both of them through the dried up grass.

There comes a time when every living creature must die, Lupa states.

“Even the gods?” The words are out of his mouth before Percy can stop them, and he immediately wishes that he could take them back.

Jason sucks in a breath next to him. “Percy didn’t mean that!” he exclaims, and Percy feels a surge of fondness for Jason, so willing to try to dig his silly cousin out of trouble of his own making.

Fortunately, Lupa merely looks thoughtful. Yes, Perseus, even the gods may fade one day, she says, ignoring the face Percy pulls at the sound of his full name.

Lupa continues. You delay, little demigods. If you want dinner this evening, kill your catch.

As one, Jason and Percy look down at the rabbit clutched in Jason’s arms.

“Fine,” Percy mutters, and takes half a step towards his cousin, not that he has any idea whatsoever of exactly how he’s supposed to kill the unfortunate rabbit. As it turns out, Percy doesn’t need to, as his movement startles the animal badly enough that it kicks out with its back legs.

Jason yelps, loosens his grip, and the silly animal pushes out of his hands. Percy blinks, and it disappears into the undergrowth.

“I’m sorry,” Jason blurts out, wide-eyed.

Lupa pads forward. Apologies cannot change events. They are simply air and sound.

Jason swallows and Percy blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. “It’s not dark yet!”

Lupa turns her head to him.

Oh, Percy really wishes he’d manage to think things all the way through once in a while, as he fumbles for the words to continue. “Well - you said we had until sundown to catch a rabbit, right? Right. And it’s still light, so. We’re not out of time yet! Let us try again.”

Percy folds his arms over his chest and glares at Lupa, nodding once - show no weakness - echoing in his head.

Lupa glances up at the sun. You only have a few hours until the sun sets. You’d best move fast if you want dinner this evening. She turns and pads out of the grass field in the direction of the forest. Percy stares after her, surprised that that had actually worked.

Percy looks at Jason. “What a pain -” he begins, then immediately cuts himself off at the sight of Jason’s face.

“Hey no!” Percy exclaims, shifting closer to Jason and wrapping him in a half hug. “What’s wrong - don’t look so upset!”

Jason’s voice wobbles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Oi!” Percy shakes Jason gently. “Hey, I’m not mad, don’t worry about it! I’d have probably done the same thing - you know what I’m like.”

Jason hiccups. “Sorry.”

“Nope - you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. We just have to catch another one!”

Jason hesitates, then nods. Percy grins crookedly. “Great, so - here’s what I think we should do…”

xiii.

Percy can barely see straight. His entire body feels like one big bruise and he can’t breathe properly. He digs his arms underneath him into the dirt and manages to push himself up onto his elbows, but a yelping noise is all the warning he has before a body crashes into him.

“Sorry,” Jason gasps, his legs sprawled across Percy’s back.

Percy reaches an arm around and squeezes Jason’s leg. He doesn’t have enough air to answer him.

Percy lifts his head, and meets Lupa’s calm gaze. The wolf crouches low in the clearing. A handful of other members of the pack: Latia, Cassia, Seneca and Avitus, ring around the edge, watching. They do not interfere.

Are you done? Lupa asks.

Percy knows how this goes. Percy and Jason both know how this goes - Lupa will not stop until she has taught her lesson, or until the two demigods give up. Percy and Jason have yet to give up when she’s been teaching them.

But Lupa has never pushed them this hard before.

Percy stares at Lupa, silent.

Are you done? She repeats.

And Percy, for the first time in a long time, really wishes his mum was here. Wishes that he wasn’t. Then Jason shifts slightly, and Percy remembers why he’d decided to stay. Percy bows his head. Takes a deep breath in, he forces leaden arms to move again. Pushes himself onto his hands and knees, then with a yell of effort, staggers to his feet.

The world spins and Percy very nearly topples straight over again. His head hurts, a dull, throbbing ache.

“Perce?” Jason croaks.

Percy doesn’t - can’t turn his head to look at him. He daren’t take his eyes off Lupa. “Once more, Jace. Come on. One more.”

Jason lets out a wheezy laugh and Percy hears him clamber awkwardly to his feet behind him. “On three?”

Percy’s answer is more of a snarl. “Why wait?”

Very good, little demigods. Lupa purrs as they approach.

Percy and Jason circle Lupa carefully, waiting for a chance. Lupa doesn't give them one. Her hind legs coil beneath her and then Percy has a seven foot tall, several hundred pound wolf lunging towards him.

Several months of newly found reflexes kick in past the fog in his head. Percy ducks beneath her front leg, pushes off the balls of his feet and jumps, somehow landing on Lupa’s back. Percy wraps his arms around Lupa’s throat and squeezes. His world narrows down to flashes of fur and lurching movement, faint yelps and then - a very human cry of pain.

Jason?

Percy’s grip loosens. There’s a violent jerking motion and Percy’s flying - or maybe falling - he’s not, he’s not sure.

Percy hits the ground hard, and then there’s nothing at all.

Percy drifts, for a while. He thinks he might be being carried, but the people surrounding him are warm and familiar but it’s easier to just let himself spiral back down into the dark.

Percy wakes slowly. He can smell woodsmoke and cracking his eyelids open gradually brings into focus the rough stone stone ceiling of their cave, lit in flickering shades of orange and black.

There’s a warm weight on his chest. Percy looks down. Jason is sprawled on top of him, head resting on his chest, asleep. Faint puffs of air tickle Percy’s collarbone as his cousin inhales and exhales. They're both covered in an old wool blanket, but Percy spies the neat bandage wrapped around one of Jason's arms.

Welcome back, Perseus.

“It’s Percy,” comes his ingrained response, even as he twists his head to take in a little more of his surroundings. He glances toward the entrance of the cave.

"It's nighttime?" He guesses, based on the lack of sunlight filtering in.

Indeed. You've been unconscious for several hours. Jason was worried.

Percy blinks. Focuses back on his cousin. He’s not really sure what he can say to that, because Percy doesn’t think he’d change his actions at all. He clumsily wraps one of his arms around Jason’s waist.

“What else was I supposed to do?” He mumbles into Jason’s hair. “You hadn’t told us to stop, and we couldn’t run. We won’t always be able to run, so better to go out fighting than give up when there’s still a chance.”

Lupa doesn’t reply for a long while, enough that Percy begins to drift off to sleep again. A hard lesson to learn little one, but one to remember.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT PONZI

That would be a lot of protocols for doing things. Suits, for example, didn't have numbers. So for now this is something startups are deciding individually. Raising an angel round, the less it would take to get new ones to move there. That wasn't the intention of the legislators who wrote it. It's exactly the same terms.1 Look down at your hands. No one actually proposed implementing numbers as lists in practice. With Web-based software will be written on this model. The key to that mystery is to ask, how different from what?

I remember going through this realization myself. They want there to be a cost, and send them looking for it.2 You'd expect them to be cold and calculating, or at least businesslike, but often they're not.3 There's an initial phase of negotiation about the big questions.4 And yet you can see it the way you do releases.5 Do not start a startup.6 And yet by the next time you need to go running, but once I do, I enjoy it. Which means it's a disaster to let the world think the founders thought of everything. With sufficiently lightweight standardized equity terms and some changes in investors' and lawyers' expectations about equity rounds you might be able to reproduce this at most colleges if you make a conscious effort not to do a really good deal.

At least, that's how we'd describe it in present-day programming languages had been available in 1960, would anyone have wanted to use them? Type that has good startup ideas is not to try to explain why the exit polls so wrong?7 I tell my own kids? He just wanted to add a few more? The lesson: don't pick cofounders who will flake. And you know when you're working on language design, I think you'd be surprised at how far you could get. If you're controlling them, they're not even fun. You can start by asking a comparatively lowly VC for a small amount of money, the underlying cause is usually lack of focus. I hardly ever go back and read stuff I write down in notebooks. You may not need to use convertible notes to do it. When you have the resources, it's more elegant to think of startup ideas, particularly their own.8 You do it sitting at a desk.

I've been on both sides, and I know it's the wrong thing that they can express or perhaps even realize what they're looking for. Maybe if I think more about the message your investors might send if they don't, you're hosed. NPR values said one ought to vote for Kerry. But a lot were surprised to find this also applies within startups. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated. In fact, programming didn't get done by well-dressed and authoritative-sounding people to make presentations to customers. Twitter was a referral from Evan Williams himself. This essay is derived from a talk at BBN Labs. What made it not a Ponzi scheme, what seemed to be the last to realize it.

Immigration seem to work very well on printer terminals. It's also the best way to prepare yourself for a startup. If we improve your outcome by 10%, you're net ahead.9 How lucky that someone so powerful is so benevolent. They can't tell how smart they were, and most people reading this will be the only kind that work everywhere. And when you can do about this conundrum, so the best plan would be to try it.10 This is not only inevitable, but desirable. And you can start today.11 And while it's truly wonderful having kids, there are sometimes multiple answers.12 That's the characteristic failure mode of VCs. When you switch to this new world as they did the world of investors is not about the founders or the product, has been the lesson for me: be careful what you measure.

There are two ways to deal with investors is probably the second most important thing is to get the right answers. Roughly, it's something done with contempt for the audience. This extra cost buys you flexibility. It doesn't make a very good speech anymore.13 What made it not a Ponzi scheme, what seemed to be several reasons: you'd learn more, get better jobs, make more money. This is more pronounced among the very top funds; the lamer ones still want to fund MBAs. Research imposes constraining caste restrictions.

I wish we'd listened. Unconsciously, everyone expects a startup to write mainframe software would be a pretty cheap experiment, as civil expenditures go.14 Many have just graduated; a few are still in school. They're just postponing it.15 Most adults looking at art worry that if they don't invest more. There's no switch inside you that magically flips when you turn a certain age or graduate from some institution.16 So even a small increase in the rate at which you have to fix it in an ugly way, or even introduce more bugs.

Notes

Some of the reasons angels like to fight back themselves. Eric Raymond says the best hackers work on a hard technical problem.

A round, you need. Trevor Blackwell, who probably knows more about this trick, and making money on convertible notes often have valuation caps, a player who persists in trying such things will do worse in the 1980s was enabled by a sense of things economists usually think about where that money comes from. As I was a small company that has little relation to other knowledge.

I startups. That's the difference between us and the hundreds of thousands of small and then being unable to raise the next year or two, because neither of the best in the mid twentieth century. Actually he's no better or worse than the rich have better opportunities for education.

The dialog on Beavis and Butthead was composed largely of these groups, which amounts to the margin for error.

Parker, op. Currently, when we created pets. What Is an Asset Price Bubble? Apparently there's only one.

The angels had convertible debt at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how you spent your summers. And it's just as on Reddit, for the same work, like a winner. And the reason.

A significant component of piracy is simply what they give with one hand and the low countries, where it does, the only alternative would be great for VCs if the selection process looked for different reasons. There is one of the first meeting. A company will be lots of opportunities to sell things to the decline in families watching TV together afterward. To get a low valuation to see the Valley has over New York is where all the difference directly.

No one in a not-too-demanding environment, and Windows, respectively. Indeed, that's not art because it aggregates data from so many still make you register to try to make a lot of people are like sheep, but those don't scale is to talk about humans being meant or designed to live in a place where few succeed is hardly free.

We didn't try because they can't legitimately ask you a couple years. One-click ordering, however unnatural it seems unlikely at the network level, because they suit investors' interests. Seneca Ep. As far as I explain later.

The other reason it's easy to imagine how an investor would sell it to profitability before your initial funding runs out. They did turn out to be low. Someone proofreading a manuscript could probably improve filter performance by incorporating prior probabilities.

Thanks to Daniel Sobral for pointing this out. Stone, op. This is not one of those most vocal on the cover story of creation in the Neolithic period.

I have no idea what most people realize, because they need to. Incidentally, tax rates were highest: 14. One advantage startups have some kind of business you should be protected against such tricks, you'd see a clear upward trend. Particularly since economic inequality.

Governments may mean well when they were buying a phenomenon, or much energy would be worth about 30 billion. This prospect will make grad students' mouths water, but I'm not making any predictions about the Thanksgiving turkey.

On the next round, though it be in the time it takes to get market price if they don't yet get what they're building takes so long to send a million spams. In a series A termsheet with a product of number of big corporations. There is a major cause of accidents.

I'm compressing the story a bit much to hope for, believe it or not.

16%. This is the most recent version of this article are translated into Common Lisp for, but not the distinction between matter and form if Aristotle hadn't written it? But wide-area bandwidth increased more than that total abstinence is the extent we see incumbents suppressing competitors via regulations or patent suits, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

[grimecrow]

Look At The Image That Threatens My Life In Ford Nation!

     (Please note I am not going to post the image here, cause that would be reposting the image, so here is the link to the original: https://reddiesetandgo.tumblr.com/post/168322329740/dancing-at-the-quarry-my-beautiful-commission )    This was my cellphone wallpaper it’s a piece of art on Tumblr I found that makes me smile; I think the boombox in the back sells the feels. Anyhow this morning I was looking at this and realized that I can’t have this as my wallpaper anymore; it’s too dangerous now.     A notion that may not make sense to you but I ask that you read this whole thing out before making your final decision. Give me the chance to show you my reasons.    

   First a little history, the last time I was gonna have the absolute shit kicked out of me for the crime of being gay, alive and living in Ontario was in 2007 at Seneca college. A bunch of nursing students found out by overhearing me talk with friends in the cafeteria area that I was gay and let me know that they were gonna be heroes by beating the hell out of me to the point where it would be impossible for me to be a gay cop.      Being a person who knows when to bow their head and when to stand up and fight I accepted that this was going to happen. I wasn’t gonna beg for them to not hurt me; that usually leads to some form of sexual assault or abuse. I told my friends that after classes ended that day that’d be the last they see of me as either I would be in the hospital and not coming back to the program or I’d win the fight and be expelled because I fought back.      Because I had fallen in with a good group of people, when the time came I walked out to meet the waiting nursing students. The unexpected thing was a group of guys walked out of the school to stand beside me. Remotely fair odds seemed unfair to the nursing students so they bailed and the situation was dealt with, in part by the administration.    

   That was when gay marriage had just won, and we had a provincial Liberal government in power. At the height of the media shaming and encouraging others to shame bigots because Canada was looking good; a bastion of tolerance and other bullshit we lied to ourselves about cause it was really important to look good to the world community.   

   At that time I was still taking the precautions I now have to enact once more, the one time I slipped up in a couple of sentences in public and I was fucked. I was in a scenario where it was going to be five on one with weapons. How dare I speak in public!   

   Over the holidays I had someone here who confirmed that there was still a lot of violence and threat of violence against the LGBTQ+ community in the ‘enlightened’ age of 2017. I won’t name the person because you don’t randomly confirm people as gay or gay allied online anymore; if they choose to confirm things in the comments section that is their decision but others were there, they heard it too.       Do you think the gay community suddenly stopped trusting cops because of the Bruce McArthur thing alone? Oh wait there is miles of documentation showing the police reaction to the violence or threats against the LGBTQ+ community; the same reaction it has always been, silence with subtle pushes of encouragement.  

    This was all when we had a Liberal provincial government and an LGBTQ+ premiere so for us, the climate was as good as it was gonna get. Now we have Doug Ford. Thankfully we have a case study recently about what happens when a far right politician with backing from a White Nationalist organization willing to sell out as much as possible to the violent religious right comes into power.       Now this is where you say I’m crossing the line, it’s not like there are people giving Nazi salutes or wearing ‘Make Ontario Great Again’ hats...

  Opps! Well that’s OK it’s not like white nationalists are being more open and throwing huge parties and events to celebrate their beliefs! Which of course they are allowed to do but in Toronto the tolerent such a thing could not happen without people paying attention right?

https://pressprogress.ca/the-toronto-suns-joe-warmington-is-headlining-a-far-right-rebel-media-event-on-doug-ford/

  Oh well...   Oh I know, I know! I know what those who disbelieve will say; “It’s not like we have a growing hate crime problem in Ontario!”

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/london/london-ontario-hate-crimes-1.4673324

  Opps once more! But don’t worry that was from the age of the dinosaurs, a whole two and a half weeks ago. Thankfully it hasn’t been proven the world over that when these extreme right personalities win those who commit hate crimes become embolden and escalate things. Oh, what’s that you say? That’s been an understood fact for like twenty years...shit.  Ontario is strong! Ontario is accepting! Ontario cares about people! I mean Doug Ford plans to roll back the laws creating protection zones around abortion clinics. The people won’t stand for it! Society has changed so much since those laws were passed! When was that again? When did we realize and finally act to create special laws to remind people not to attack others? October 2017? Fuck.  

https://ipolitics.ca/2017/10/26/ontarios-bubble-zone-abortion-protest-law-was-long-overdue/

  Well remember under Wynne Ontario was as free and tolerant as our society got, the government was the ally of minorities of race, culture, religion, gender and sexual orientation. Look how far we came in those years...next to nowhere.   I’ve been assaulted, I’ve gone to visit others who havebeen assaulted , watched the casts come on and off, the scars be freshly made, the blood on the sidewalks and streets from bashings. I knew the rules to avoid Cherry Beach, to lower my risk. I also made sure to study the fuck out of the climates that caused danger to increase or decrease.  That’s why I managed to survive as well as I did while so many around me were beaten, broken, and died. Do you still think I am over reacting to the situation? Maybe I am I mean it’s not like there were any candidates who openly celebrated being a white nationalist in any way shape or form! Right? Oh no...here comes another link...

http://pressprogress.ca/ontario-pc-candidate-promoted-alt-right-website-linked-to-hate-figures-at-young-conservative-event/

  Well I mean, I have to be wrong right? It’s not like she won or anythin--fuck it here’s the link.

https://www.thespec.com/news-story/8658689-donna-skelly-wins-in-new-riding-lone-pc-in-an-ndp-city/

  So there are a lot of red flags; plus the fact that there are those I have spoken to privately about this issue that have already said they have been harassed and/or faced the threat of attack. I’m not naming them because of my rules to try to ensure their protection, if they wish to comment and discuss it in the comments below that will be their decision.     I have decided to enact the ancient customs of 2007 and prior to ensure my safety ONLY because I can’t get out of this province. No seriously if I had the chance I would abandon 90% of all my possessions and move to a place I hate, that has a culture I hate, and is ridiculously more expensive for no good reasons. That’s right I would be moving to British Columbia and starting over again from near scratch JUST to escape what is happening here.    Cause it’s going to get worse when Sheer wins federally; which he will the Rebel and the PCs both keep going on about how they learned so much form this provincial election so you can bet the Rebel will throw women under the bus by feeding them to the violent Religious Right in order to win control of the federal government.   British Columbia is one of the only provinces that I think can withstand a Rebel take over for the next ten years or so, and they will shield those that white nationalism tries to grind up.    Does it seem like running away? I like the idea of calling it tactical retreat. Ontario is lost, go somewhere that hasn’t fallen yet and do your part to try to keep it from falling.      Also yeah after decades of violence, fear, and all of that part of me also wants to be able to have a picture of two guys dancing before one goes off to college on my personal phone without prominent and reasonably verified fear that it will lead to injury or potentially death if I happen to lose the hate crime lottery despite me not waving it in anyone’s fucking face.      Welcome to Ford Nation, hope you aren’t anything aside from white, straight, male and either Christian, Atheist or Agnostic cause if you are...you know what’s coming. (I wrote this originally elsewhere when Doug Ford was elected, since then there has been an increase in hate crime in Ontario. To the surprise of no one. Welcome to Ontario.)

[ellanainthetardis]

Prompt: "Given that Haymitch looked like a boy who was pulling on Effie's ponytail to catch her attention, Finnick wasn't sure he could really throw the proverbial first stone." could we get a fic where Haymitch is literally doing that with them as kids or teenagers? doesn't matter if Hunger Games AU or Modern AU. just want them as kids grating on each others nerves 'cause it's actually their first crush or something. (and maybe they meet again when they're older) I'm willing to bribe with chocalate and cake. ;)

I turned it into one of the Hogwarts au because of reasons ;) You can find the other ones in the series here but you don’t need to read them to understand this one  [x]

An Invitation To Madam Puddifoot

History of Magic was the most boring class ever and Haymitch didn’t think any of the third year stuck in that classroom with him would have disagreed. His only consolation was that the Slytherins shared that class with the Hufflepuffs so, at least, he wasn’t suffering alone. His best friend sat right beside him and suffered with him, not something that was always possible given that they belonged to different Houses.

Unfortunately, Chaff was currently perfecting the art of napping with his eyes right open and wasn’t offering much in order of distraction. On his other side, Johanna had given up on even pretending to be interested and had placed her head on her folded arms, clearly asleep.

Haymitch’s eyes wandered around the room but there wasn’t much to see aside from students just as bored as he was so it wasn’t any wonder that his gaze ended back on the most interesting thing in the classroom. Which was saying something because it wasn’t that interesting. There just wasn’t many girls who dyed their hair bright colors every other week.

Euphemia Trinket, third year Hufflepuff, Pureblood if there ever was one, Effie for her friends, had always sported bright colored hair ever since he had known her. He could still remember watching her getting Sorted from the Slytherin table and praying she wouldn’t get sent to the same House as him because she looked annoying. Who in their right mind dyed their hair purple for their first day at a magic school? Even for wizards that was extreme for an eleven year old.

It was dyed a soft shade of pale blue, that year, and it was currently tied in a high ponytail that kept swinging left and right every time she moved her head to whisper into her best friend’s ear. The fact that she was sitting right in front of him was distracting. He watched the blue hair sway in front of him for a while, mesmerized for no other reason than the fact Binns’ droning was sending him into a trance state that would probably have made the old Divination teacher very happy, until the movement and the incessant whispering started annoying him.

What was so fascinating that she couldn’t shut up for five minutes? Her fellow Hufflepuff friend seemed riveted by the tale. Gossip, probably. She was that type of girls who lived for gossip. Shallow and superficial and rich… A typical aristocrat.

He kind of hated her for all that alone. His muggleborn roots and, above all, the misery he had grown up in couldn’t forgive that.

He didn’t really know why he did it. Maybe because he had been spending the last fifteen minutes thinking about her and that was fifteen minutes too long. Maybe because he wanted to see if her hair was as soft as it looked. Maybe because he was bored and that was the best distraction. Or maybe it was because her eyes always slid over him as if he wasn’t standing there at all, dismissed before he had even opened his mouth – although he was very used to that, Muggleborns weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in Slytherin.

He grabbed the ponytail just as it swayed back into place when she lifted her head. He let go just as quickly.

Damn, but it was soft…

He was very aware that Chaff had snapped out of his nap and was staring at him with a small frown. He was also very aware that Trinket had turned around with a perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted in inquisition.

He ignored both of them and pretended to be transfixed by Binns’ third rendition of whatever Goblin rebellion he was on about. He even took a few notes for good measure.

When it became apparent he wouldn’t say anything, Trinket narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and turned back around. Chaff leaned back in his chair and watched him, waiting for his next move, having apparently concluded that this was all a plan to have some fun. It wasn’t like they weren’t in a habit of pulling pranks after all.

He felt compelled to tug on her hair again five minutes later. Because Chaff was clearly waiting for him to keep up with the game and he couldn’t explain to his best friend what had possessed him to touch her hair in the first place. His desire to know if it was soft didn’t seem like a good enough reason.

This time, when she turned around, she didn’t look inquisitive, she looked annoyed and not at all convinced by his innocent act. Still, she didn’t say anything. She huffed, turned back around and combed her fingers through her blue hair. Her friend Livia was tossing him curious looks and, after he had scowled at her, huffed too and focused back on her notes.

A few minutes later, Livia whispered something in Trinket’s ear and they both giggled as if it was the funniest thing ever. Somehow, Haymitch knew it was about him.

He was far less gentle when he tugged on her ponytail for the third time and she was far less amused when she whirled around. Her wand, he noticed, was now in her hand and he smirked because… What was she going to do? Hex him in the middle of a class?

The bell ensured he would never get the answer to that question. With a collective sigh of relief, everyone started packing up. Jo jumped in fright and then slammed her book in her bag, grumbling all the while about useless classes. Distracted both by her and Chaff’s guesses as to what they would be served at lunch, he put his own things away.

But that was without counting with Euphemia Trinket who wouldn’t be ignored. She planted herself in their path in the corridor.

“What is your problem, Abernathy?” she hissed.

The wand was gone, he noticed, and Livia was standing a few feet away, clearly there for moral support but not close enough that it really counted.

She had balls, he thought, to confront the three of them when they had something of a reputation for being troublemakers. Never mind the fact that two of them were Slytherins and most people still thought Slytherins were the devil incarnated.

“You know my name. I’m shocked.” he snorted.

Jo was confused and frowning but Chaff rolled his eyes and made a dismissive gesture that probably meant Haymitch would handle the situation.

“Is this what it is about, then?” Trinket retorted with a touch of disdain that immediately had him on the defensive. “Ensuring I know your name? There are better ways to do that, you know. If you wish to ask me out to Hogsmeade, the proper way is to actually ask me and not tug on my pigtail like a child.”

“Excuse me?” he half-scoffed, half-laughed. And maybe half-panicked too.

She pursed her lips and looked him up and down as if she was evaluating him. “You are quite good looking despite the pimples… Of course, Seneca already asked me to go to Madam Puddifoot’s with him and he is a four year and he is also on the Quidditch team so you will understand why I cannot go with you this time but perhaps on the next Hogsmeade week-end I would consider it.”

Seneca Crane was not only older, he was in Slytherin – so maybe she wasn’t so prejudiced against his House – and such a pompous asshole, Haymitch avoided him at all costs.

As for the pimples… He struggled with the impulse to cover the red one on his forehead. His mother swore they would go away eventually. But maybe he should check the library just in case they had a spell that would…

He stopped himself right there. What was he even thinking? Who cared what he looked like? He certainly didn’t. He wasn’t like one of those stupid teenagers who only thought about looks. He was better than that.

“Oh…” Jo crooned in a voice that was full of laughter. “How adorable… Madam Puddifoot…”  

“It is the best place for a date.” Trinket agreed with a disapproving look for the other girl. “Not that you would know.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’re getting ideas…” he mocked, still smirking. “Ain’t interested in taking you anywhere.”

“Your grammar is atrocious.” she snapped. “You would have to make an effort if you wish to court me.”

“Court…” He started repeating the word only to choke on it, torn between amusement and fright. He resolutely ignored Chaff who was doing his best not to burst out laughing but was clearly struggling to keep it in. “I ain’t courting you!”

“You called me sweetheart.” she scowled.

“I call everyone sweetheart.” he spat. “Even Jo. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s fucking annoying.” Johanna complained. Not for the first time.

Trinket didn’t like that one bit. She glared a bit. “You pulled on my hair.”

“’Cause it’s blue and ridiculous and it was right in my face.” he scoffed. “Not ‘cause I want to take you on a date.”

Who even made that kind of leap? That was jumping to conclusions alright.

If glares could kill…

She placed her hands on her hips, pursed her lips tight and tilted her head to the side, staring him down as if he had murdered her whole family and her pet too. “You are insufferable.”

“That’s a five syllables word. Careful, you’re gonna give yourself a brain sprain.” he taunted.

“I am surprised you know a five syllables word.” she retorted without missing a beat. “In fact, you are such a stupid boy I am quite shocked you can read at all.”

She turned on her heels and stormed away, grabbing her friend’s arm on the way, leaving him to stand there, fishing for a comeback that was too late in coming. Oh, but he hated when he didn’t get the last word…

The moment the two Hufflepuff girls had disappeared around the corner, Chaff finally roared with laughter. Johanna snickered with a little bit more dignity.

Haymitch chose to walk forward and leave them there to have it out.

Except his friends were more difficult than that to shake off and it wasn’t long before they were right back on either side of him, quickening their pace to keep up with his long strides.

“So? Madam Puddifoot… Big fan of tea parlors, yeah?” Jo mocked mercilessly.

“Should have said you had your eyes on Trinket, buddy…” Chaff added, still laughing. “I’d have scooted ahead for you…”

“I don’t have my eyes on Trinket and I fucking hate tea.” he snapped, glaring at both of his friends in turn.

“Sure didn’t look like that when you were petting her hair…” his best friend chuckled.

Haymitch rolled his eyes but he knew he would never hear the end of it.

That would keep them going until June probably.

[everlark-your-own-adventure]

Mockingjay Manor - Ch 1

Revived from the dead after a wee bit of technical difficulty... Welcome to round two of everlark-your-own-adventure!

We kick this round off in style, courtesy of the hilarious and talented @burkygirl (with an assist from @xerxia31). You have 48 hours to vote on the direction of the next chapter of the story (until noon EDT on Thursday, August 31st). Remember: vote in the comments, not in the tags! And don’t forget to spread the word by reblogging. The more fans playing this game, the more fun it will be!

My skirt is crawling up again. I twitch it back into place and shift uncomfortably in my chair in the lawyer’s office. I’m not sure why I’m here, really. Haymitch Abernathy was my uncle, but mostly he was just an annoying pain in my ass who spent family diners criticizing my decisions from the other side of his highball glass.

So when his lawyer called after his funeral and said my presence was needed at the reading of his will, I was floored. At best, Haymitch only tolerated me. Why in God’s name he’d leave anything to me while that crazy wife of his had her claws firmly clenched on the wallet where he kept his dotcom millions was a complete mystery. I’d immediately decided not to go. The lawyer could call me later.

The reason for my change of mind is sitting right beside me, holding my hand and projecting an aura of confidence while Effie, Haymitch’s wife, covertly sneaks glances in our direction and thinly veils her irritation at our presence.

Peeta convinced me that it was disrespectful to not attend the reading if I’d been asked to be there, but honestly, I think he just wanted a front seat to the drama. The corner of his mouth twitches every time he catches Aunt Effie staring at us. If she was only looking at him, I’d understand. My boyfriend, with his brawny physique and golden hair, looks hot in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but he’s devastating in his navy sports jacket, white shirt and orange tie. He shifts in his chair and winks at me. The shit. He’s loving every second of Eff-zilla’s reaction to our attendance.

I don't have time to give him the flinty-eyed stare of death he deserves though, because Haymitch’s lawyer, Plutarch Heavensbee, enters the room. Aunt Effie immediately dissolves into paroxysms of grief, bawling into the shoulder of her “best friend” Seneca Crane. Her blonde updo bobbles as her surgically altered chest heaves. It's ridiculous. The man is in the ground. It makes no sense to pretend she loved him more than she loved his money at this point. Then again, Aunt Effie has always been all about keeping up appearances.

Peeta leans over to me. “How much do you wanna bet Seneca knows Effie’s natural hair colour?” For putting that revolting picture in my mind, I ignore the lawyer's presence and shoot Peeta the death glare on full power. He just snickers.

Plutarch pats Aunt Effie on the shoulder as he passes by and then settles down at his desk before perching a pair of reading glasses on the end of his bulbous nose.

“Ah, yes, let's see. The Last Will and Testament of Haymitch Harold Abernathy. I, Haymitch Harold Abernathy, being of sound mind and body, declare that this is my last will and Testament.” Heavensbee reads through all of the preamble that appoints him as executor and gives him the ability to pay any outstanding debts, defend the estate from lawsuits, blah, blah blah. I tune most of it out, but Aunt Effie is definitely listening, batting her fake eyelashes at the lawyer who continues to drone on. Peeta’s eyes glaze over as well, his thumb idly stroking the back of my hand.

Heavensbee clears his throat bringing all eyes back on him. The red tips of Aunt Effie’s fingernails clutch at her purse.

“To my wife, Euphemia Trinket Abernathy, I bequeath the home we shared on Merchant Street in Capitol City, and all of its contents.” Aunt Effie beams and Seneca wraps his arm around her and gives her a squeeze. Plutarch continues. “All of my remaining assets including stocks, bonds and properties are to be liquidated with the exception of Mockingjay Manor, located at 1212 Seam Street in Panem. I leave fifty percent of the liquidated funds to my wife as this is the amount I would have been required to pay her upon our divorce.”

A squawk of outrage fills the room. Aunt Effie jumps to her feet. “He cannot have been of sound mind when he made this will. I will contest it!”

Plutarch levels a stare at Aunt Effie that has Seneca shushing her and urging her back into her chair. When she’s quiet again, he resumes. “I also leave my wife a copy of the results of an investigation by Boggs and Jackson Private Investigation Services and I remind her that the dining room table is mahogany and deserved better treatment than it received in those photos.”

Aunt Effie’s hands are shaking when she accepts the envelope from Plutarch. When Seneca tries to console her, she slaps him with it. Peeta bites down on his lip while his shoulders shake in mirth and I slap my hand over my mouth, unsuccessfully feigning shock and laughing behind it instead. Aunt Effie doesn’t notice. The woman is so angry, I swear she’s grinding her teeth into sharp points.

Plutarch turns to me. “I bequeath Mockingjay Manor to my favourite niece, Katniss Everdeen, along with five hundred thousand dollars for its repair and restoration. Should she be successful in so doing, the remaining fifty per cent of my estate, less the renovation money, shall pass to her. If she refuses my offer or is unable to complete the restoration in six months, the remainder of my estate shall pass to my wife.”

Peeta is whispering to me excitedly, but I can’t hear him. My heart is in my throat. Half a million dollars. A house. More if I can renovate it in six months. My mouth is full of cotton and my mind is whirling. Aunt Effie swirls towards the door in a cloud of perfume and fury. The woman needs a cape. Or a broomstick.

“You will be hearing from my lawyer, Plutarch,” she threatens.

Plutarch, who is holding the door for her, sighs. “Effie, Haymitch’s estate is worth well over a hundred million dollars. You have been very well provided for, and if Katniss is unsuccessful in her project you will receive it all.” She harrumphs one last time and then she’s gone.

By the time Plutarch reaches my side I’m having a fully flown panic attack. Peeta is rubbing my back and reminding me to breathe. Fifty million dollars? What the hell am I going to do with that much money? Right now, I’d be lucky to have fifty bucks in the bank.

Plutarch hands me an envelope. “Here is the deed to the house and a letter from your uncle. I suggest you read it over, and let me know your decision.”

I don’t open the envelope until I get to Peeta’s car.

“That was crazy. Are you feeling better?” he asks.

My head is still shaking ‘no’ when I rip into Haymitch’s letter:

Sweetheart,

We’re enough alike that I’m sure you’re still processing my decision to leave you the house. It’s true that you’re my favourite. I wouldn’t have given you so much grief if I didn’t like you. Mockingjay Manor was my first home, purchased with my first wife Maysilee, who died before you were born. After her death, I closed up the house and walked away. I need you to go back there and make things right for me. You’re the only person I know who’s strong enough to see it through. Take the boy. He’ll help you survive it.

Stay alive,

Haymitch

It’s just like Haymitch to write a letter like that. I’m not even surprised that he cooked up this kooky plan, just that he dragged me into it. I hand the letter to Peeta, who reads it in silence.

“What are you going to do?”

I tell him the only thing I know for sure. “We’re going to fix it.”

----EYOA----

“I used to be a werewolf, but I’m alright now-ow-ow-ow!” Our friend Finnick leans out the window of the car to howl at the full moon hanging high in the sky.

“Finnick, put your head in the car, are you crazy?”

“Not today,” he laughs, but gets back inside. “How much farther to this palace you inherited?”

Peeta checks the GPS. “Almost there.”

“Thank fuck,” complains Johanna, our other friend, who’s sharing the backseat with Finn. “Remind me again why I’m here?”

“Cause you’re hoping that when I’m a millionaire, I’ll share,” I remind her.

Johanna nods knowingly. “Ah yes, that is exactly why I’m doing this.”

Peeta turns onto Seam Street. “Watch for 1212, will you?”

The houses are older, but well kept, set far back from the road and surrounded by trees and gardens. The numbers jump rapidly. Eight hundred. Nine hundred. High on a hill, I spot a large white mansion with Grecian-style pillars and a manicured lawn that slopes gently toward the road. Rose bushes dot its landscape, their cloying stench wafting through the car’s open windows. Then the road bends sharply to the left, and the streetlamps disappear, leaving only the crappy headlights of Peeta’s ancient Jeep to cut through the gloom. “What the hell?” Finnick stops his song to curse. Peeta slows down to a crawl as the lights glint off a huge iron gate ahead of us in the darkness.

“I think this is it,” Peeta murmurs. Four moss-coated numbers hang precariously from the ornate but unlatched gate. One-two-one-two. He takes a deep breath before pulling through the entrance and down the driveway.

A huge manor house emerges from the shadows ahead of us, easily large enough to hold ten of the houses I was raised in. Unlike the other houses on Seam Street though, it exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. A deep shudder runs down my spine.

“Feels like something out of a Hitchcock movie,” Johanna grouses, but her normally acerbic tone has been tempered by obvious discomfort. I can’t help but agree. This place is definitely creepy.

The Jeep rolls to a stop at the base of a wide stone staircase, overgrown and crumbling in places. “Well,” Peeta says, and even he sounds apprehensive. “Here we are.” But no one moves. For several long moments, we all stare out the front window at the mansion on the hill. Once upon a time it must have been a beautiful home, with its wide porch and gorgeous stonework. But now it’s a wreck, dark and foreboding.

I’m starting to doubt that Haymitch left me this place because I was his favourite, and wondering if instead it was his idea of getting one last laugh at my expense. “I don’t know about this,” I mumble, finally giving voice to my unease. Beside me, Peeta huffs out a half laugh.

“Come on, Kat. We drove all this way. Let’s at least look around.” He sounds even less convinced than I do. Neither Finnick nor Jo are jumping in with encouragement either.

I could turn back now, pocket the restoration money and forget this crazy idea entirely. Five hundred thousand would go a long way with the simple way Peeta and I live. But if I do, then Effie gets the rest of Haymitch’s millions, which she definitely doesn't deserve.

It's a tough choice. Do we check out the house, despite my trepidation? Or do I forfeit a chance at fifty million dollars and get the hell out of this place?

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 2264 (Part 2)

A/N: Part 2 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. I’m uncertain how many “parts” will make up this mini-series – the original outline is for 5, but my muse has a sordid history of adding more plot twists, turns, and verbs than I initially anticipate and/or know what to do with. Thank you ALL for the overwhelmingly KIND and POSITIVE feedback thus far! I hope/strive not to disappoint. Enjoy the ride. (P.S. Still on vacation mode and taking advantage of a quaint coffee shop with wifi on this rainy afternoon – will respond personally when I have normal internet access.)

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. Cue the hurt/comfort and mandatory associate angst (be warned, it gets heavy). Angels are a damned stubborn lot, and in this regard Castiel is no different from his kin.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Man seemingly drops out of the sky. With an absolute disregard for common sense given your lakeside isolation, you invite the peculiar stranger into your home. You convince him to disrobe and shower. Obviously his common sense could also do with some fine tuning – what sensible person follows a random stranger home and immediately consents to getting naked? Alright, it wasn’t immediate, he put up a gallant protest and you routed his muddied multi-layer modesty at every turn until he acquiesced and passed his trench coat, suit, and shoes through the barely cracked door of the bathroom. Perhaps you’ve underestimated your powers of persuasive speech all these years. Perhaps you should consider a new career revolving around this superpower. Lawyer? Lobbyist? Nah.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

You serve him tea in a proper porcelain cup and saucer because it seems like the civilized thing to do, and also because it gives you something to do and him something to do because right now you’re wordlessly stealing furtive glances of one another and questioning every life choice you’ve ever made that led you to this awkwardly silent fête. He did look awfully good in those borrowed pants. And what was it about those vivid blue eyes of his that fascinated you so? Was it the way they reflected and refracted the star light? One look into them and you were certain you could chart the infinite depths of those luminescent blue cosmos forever and not stumble twice upon the same breathtaking hue. Man proceeds to vanish, stealing your car and taking it on a joy ride into town, ditching it there in such a manner as to ensure you won’t receive a parking ticket. How…polite? Must have been the tea.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

It’s the kind of unbelievable zany tale you share with friends over drinks so they can laugh at your expense and reproach you for being a total nincompoop with zero regard for personal safety – classic fodder for them to dredge up out of the blue at a party years later to embarrass you in front of your date. There it is again, the inescapable blue. Shake it off, move on. He’s long gone. Where were you? Right, being hypothetically painted a fool in front of your date. You laugh. If you’re being completely realistic, it’s to embarrass you in front of their date. “Let me tell you about this time Y/N invited some strange guy…” Not that you’re sharing.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At this point, despite the clerk at the bus depot informing you a man fitting your exact description purchased a one-way ticket to Lebanon, Kansas this morning, you’ve persuaded yourself the whole experience was the result of a bit of indigestion and an over-active imagination. Kansas! It practically reeked of Oz. Blue gingham dress, blue post office logo, clear blue skies – everywhere your thoughts tread twisted into a titanic blue distraction. Throwing your head back, dallying outside the car door, you lost yourself in the uniform cozy blanket of blue atmosphere stretching overhead. Somewhere someone sat behind a curtain having a grand old belly-jiggling guffaw about your life while you sang your off-tune songs on cue and skipped down a yellow-brick road. Brakes squealed. A horn blared. A delicate ivory patina teacup embossed with a pattern of blue periwinkle shattered upon the floor.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The sage green curtain hung around the bed meant to instill an ambiance of warmth in the otherwise icy cold hospital room swooshed aside. Castiel’s steely gaze roamed over the myriad of tubes and wires trailing into and out of your stone-still form, frowning regard settling on the white tape crudely clamping your eyelids shut. Like everything else he touched, he defaulted to the presumption this, too, was his fault. As it so happened in this particular set of circumstances, he wasn’t necessarily absolved of all blame.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The ventilator bellowed another gush of life sustaining oxygen into your lungs. He shouldn’t have fled. The angel was no coward, but when your skin touched his you shocked him, literally and figuratively, to the very core of his existence. He felt the spark in the deepest part of his being, in the pure angelic heart created especially by his father to fiercely love humanity above all else and without limits that set him so starkly apart from his kin, the unique element of his creation that doubt and regret had not yet sullied no matter how unforgivable his past actions or how epically he failed in the skewed summation he maintained regarding himself. Nothing and no one had affected an influence there, until you – and he yearned for more.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

As a steadfast rule, Castiel wanted nothing for himself. Averting the apocalypse, the multiple falls, the grabs for power, the sacrifices, each and every enterprise set in motion in the name of helping others – humanity, his kin, and above all the Winchester brothers who redefined his notion of family. He viewed himself as useful, but ultimately expendable – the tinder wood to ignite larger fires. Auspiciously, someone sympathetic above his pay grade viewed him in a far more indispensable light, resurrecting him from the ashes time and again. Unsurprisingly, when threatened with the prospect of selfish desire kindling in his own heart – a great and terrible unknown burning want of something solely for himself, the need presenting as utterly foreign, abhorrent even, to his abstaining nature – he ran for the hills.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At the bus station in Cleveland, he disembarked – the action not so much born of a cognizant plan to buy a return ticket to Seneca Lake to see you again, but more out of a precipitous and overwhelming need for breathing space to lessen the tightness seizing his chest. He found the acute need for oxygen bizarre since he didn’t need to breath in the first place – the involuntary rise and fall of his chest thus far a mere remnant of muscle memory tickling at the neurons of his vessel. Entertaining and committing to the act of boarding a bus back to New York seemed to ease the unrelenting vice grip on his ribcage.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Now that he stood at your bedside and saw the machines keeping you alive, now that he had time to objectively examine and interpret his impressions – now, it all made sense. As an angel, with his abject history of imperfect and pitiable glory, he never ventured to hope in all of his father’s creation there existed a heart cast expressly for him, least of all a human heart. Even amongst humans a match such as this was so exceedingly rare as to be the stuff of legend. He daren’t think the word for fear his suspicions were wrong…or right.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Friend or family?”

Castiel angled his neck to acknowledge the young woman in the sterile white coat with a black stethoscope slung around her neck positioned at his elbow. “Neither,” he answered, focus gliding again to your frame. His frown deepened at observing your limp fingers jammed uncomfortably through the side rail of the bed, the result of a nurse’s haste in changing a dressing. He badly wanted to reach out, move them, wake you, apologize. A combination of apprehension and wonder incapacitated him.

“Oh…well, such a shame,” the doctor followed the target of his furrowed brow to your crumpled hand, taking it upon herself to gently reposition it to lay flat, “hit and run in front of the post office this morning. Witnesses said Y/N just stopped in the middle of the street to stare up at something in the sky. Massive head trauma. Terrible tragedy.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Y/N,” your name spilled from his lips as a reverent whisper. It dawned on him he hadn’t learned your name until now. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask you – he knew you by the dazzling glow of your soul in a universe beyond names and that was enough.

“I was hoping you might know the next of kin. We’re having difficulty locating anyone. You’re the first visitor.”

“She has an uncle,” Cas murmured, disbelieving the insinuation you could possibly be alone in the world, “he has a place on the lake.”

“He passed years ago.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Do you mind if I spend a few minutes?” Cas spoke hoarsely, collapsing into the chair beside the bed, knees feeling weak.

“Of course, take all the time you need,” the doctor strode over to the door, pausing to look back pensively. If Castiel had the inclination to read her mind just then, he would have heard her musing as to whether or not he was one of those angel of death characters she’d been hearing about in the news lately. Privately, she thought in your hopeless case it would be a mercy – if no next of kin emerged, it was only a matter of days before they pulled the plug anyway.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas enviously watched the last rays of the setting sun reach through the window to warmly caress your cheek. You might be on life support, but your soul still outshone anything in his recollection including the sun itself.

Other souls in your quandary would have accepted the open summons to escape their physical pain and soar to the blissful embrace of Heaven. You obstinately clung to your shattered body, reliving the night and day on endless loop, floundering in a sea of blue. Your eternal happiness wasn’t in Heaven – he was no longer welcome there.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas meditated on the large calloused fists resting uselessly upon his lap, determining his grace still too drained from the banishment by sigil to fully heal you at present. He reached out, palm hesitantly hovering over your pale hand. The strain of resisting the longing to twine his fingers through yours to comfort you trembled every muscle in his suspended arm. He desperately wanted to lose himself in your electric touch. He flinched, afraid that once he submitted to the desire, he’d never be able to let you go. He blockaded his objecting heart inescapably behind all the reasons why he must not be in your life. He wasn’t safe for you, beholding your languishing body that much was clear. He couldn’t protect you, not from himself. He was a storm from which you would find no shelter. He would destroy you. He resolved to touch your skin only once more when the time came to heal you.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

He stoically waited for his grace to rally, wincing through a thousand plus a thousand whirring actuations of the ventilator accosting his ears, avoiding the anxious stares and well-meaning inquiries of the nurses and doctors on rounds – wasn’t he thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Despite their best efforts, your condition was rapidly worsening. Was he certain he didn’t know a next of kin? Your kidneys were failing, fluid regurgitating into your lungs, he should think about saying goodbye. Would he like to speak to a grief counselor? There is a chapel on the second floor if he is a praying man. A priest offers last rites as the angel numbly waits.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

On the third morning, his silent vigil concluded. He rose purposefully to his feet. Without looking at you – for he’d ceased being able to look at you the night before without weakening his resolve, unable to bear the agony of observing the flickering ebb of your soul as you clawed to hang on against forces grown insistent upon tearing you asunder – he closed his wetly glinting blue eyes and pressed two fingers to your forehead. “I’m sorry Y/N,” the golden glow of his grace flashed bright, bouncing off the glossy white finish of the walls, surging throughout your body, repairing, soothing, rectifying the mortal injury indirectly resulting from his fateful plunge into your peaceful world, “forgive me.” His fingers lingered, heart thrashing wildly against the self-imposed barriers he’d erected, a shaky sigh rattling from his throat, “And please…forget me.”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

The hospital staff tittered amongst themselves, giddy with the miracle of your complete recovery. Congratulatory backslaps and fist bumps resounded here and there in the halls. Miracles have a way of generating a shockwave of infectious hope in their wake.

A lone nursing assistant remembered to ask you in passing during your discharge about the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat who stayed by your side for three days without leaving. Handsome. Hardly said a word. In possession of the saddest blue eyes she ever saw. With a show of such selfless devotion, surely you know him?

No name for this remarkable man stirred in your memory, your tongue poised immobile between your teeth.

“Must have been your guardian angel,” she smiled, ferrying your wheelchair down the hall toward freedom.

“Must have been,” you mimed, chasing a fleeting indigo shadow of memory just out of grasp of your awareness.

Safely home, leaning over the sink, your fingers attached to a favorite ivory colored teacup left to dry in the dish rack. You twirled the cup around and around, mesmerized by the repeating pattern of blue flowers adorning the rim. You thought tonight you would devote a few hours to stargazing – the idea sent a quiver of exhilaration coursing to your limbs.

Castiel failed to eradicate himself from your mind as he intended. After all, how could he erase the cosmic void in your heart which came into existence on the day of your birth – an emptiness prevailing long before you met him, and that he alone was equipped to fill? Even an angel can’t purge something that was never there.

Part 3:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/163231161990/catch-a-falling-star

[tasphilclass-blog]

Western Philosophy for life!  by Uyen Ngo

I bet you all will think that I choose Eastern philosophy just because I’m Asian, right? Jesus Christ, PLEASE DON’T BE A STEREOTYPE, OK!!!!! Even though I’m 100% Asian (no doubts), I still believe that Western philosophy is better than Eastern philosophy. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not trying to be a racist or become an anti-fan of Eastern philosophy. It’s just because I will have a wiser, less sorrowful life based on Western philosophy. Here are the reasons why I trust it so much!

First, let’s talk about how this philosophy teaches you to overcome your sadness. One of the philosophers, named Seneca, answered this question: “What need is there to weep over parts of life?” By saying “The whole of it calls for tears.” He might act like he depressed y'all but actually, he didn’t! This statement basically means that you have to get over your own depression by yourself instead of being cheered up by someone. Honey, that’s freaking true! You don’t believe!? Ok, I gonna take myself as an example. In grade 8, I used to failed my literature’s test (4.3/10, kinda shock to you right!). I mean, of course, I was freaking out, sad because I never expected to have that grade. Although my friends kept cheering me up by saying “ Everything will be alright” or“ Try your best next time” (bla bla, BORING), I can’t overcome my sadness. Then, I realize how I messed up that test, as well as, crying, eating and watching several Korean dramas to make myself felt better! Also, after that, I learn how to not become a failure in literature’s test again! You see, people can’t make you change your mind or make you feel better. Only you can satisfy yourself, only you know how to solve your problems and only you know what you need!

Moving on, the 16th-century French philosopher, Michael de Montaigne stated that "Kings and philosophers shit, and so do ladies”. Montaigne wasn’t trying to be mean! His point was to help you to understand that your famous/ role model people that you admire are also a human being, they aren’t perfect at all. For instance, my parents are usually trying to become a role model in my family by acting that they know everything happened on the Earth. So, I and my sister really admire for real and learn lessons from them. But actually, when I or my sister asked something they don’t know, they always try to shut our mouth up ( kinda mean tho). What I try to say is that the role model/ famous people don’t know everything. They might good at something but not everything! Moreover, Montaigne wanted you don’t be shy, think that you’re a failure just because someone else is better than you. Thus, you need to be confident, express feeling and of course, #loveyourself more!

Lastly, according to a philosopher named Epicurus, stated that love is not only about sexual relationship! Why he said that? Oh well, he saw many unhappy couples due to jealousy, misunderstanding, and cheating, etc. Instead of that, he thought that sweetness thing in love is friendship, where people can share their thoughts with each other! That’s kinda true tho! Once again, I will take myself as an example. I used to have a boyfriend which might sound a piece of new information about me to you (I’m not that single, ok!). Then, we broke up because he cheated on me. To be honest, I have no ideas why he did such a thing so don’t even try to ask me in public! My love life can be suck but my friendships are never like that. If you don’t trust me at all, look at my relationship with my bestie, Thao. We played with each other for almost 2 years! We always share our stories, hang out with each other which is the sweetest thing in my whole life. So why don’t you get a BFF instead of a boyfriend, huh?

All in all, I respect both Eastern and Western philosophy.  Although I was born as an Asian, my lifestyle still follow Western philosophy. I mean I still love the ideas of Eastern philosophy like how spiritually it is but I think the Western philosophy is better.  I believe Western philosophy is better because it gives me the acknowledge of how to solve my issues, how to be more confident even though there is a bunch of people who are better than me and how I should be grateful for having such a nice friendship with my BFF. The most important things are that it teaches me how to love myself, express my feeling such as happiness more than before.

* thx for reading, I tried my besttttttttt to describe my thought about it so please, grade me easy.