#it was harder painting the weathered off white look than if i used a solid color but i love the effect

[kvroii-arts]

I painted a wooden sign to go on my bedroom door. The nail was already there, and it had been so entirely long since I had truly painted anything. The wood plaque is from a second-hand sale I visited while staying in Glovertown.

[justcallmefox89]

Artist in the Devildom

Jax has just arrived in the Devildom as the newest human exchange student at R.A.D.  With Arianthi and the seven lords of the Devildom to guide them this exchange year should be a breeze.  Right? 

Written from the perspective of my non-binary OC, Jax Montgomery.  Jax uses they/them pronouns.

This story takes place in the Truth or Dare AU where Mammon and Arianthi get engaged.

I would like to give a massive shout-out and heartfelt thank you to @fivenightsat-enbys​ for all their help and being so wonderfully patient with me and my questions.   

The flash of bright white light is blinding, and my body feels like it’s falling through an endless tunnel.  I know that this is allegedly safe, but that doesn’t stop me from scrunching my eyes closed and letting out a high pitched scream.  I’m still screaming when I feel my feet touch solid ground.  After a few seconds I simmer down and open my eyes, blinking away stars.  

Once I can see again I find myself standing in front of two men and a girl around my age, in an office that can only be described as rich old white man aesthetic.  Lots of large dark oak furniture, some obviously antique oil paintings of naked people and things I’ll probably have nightmares about later.  Gold lighting fixtures.

Into it.  Very into it.

I clutch onto my duffel bag and octopus plushie, shuffling my feet and giving them all an awkward wave.

“Yo,” I say, attempting a smile.  

Given the current state of my stomach and the fact that I was currently standing in the Devildom, face to face with some real life demons, it feels a little forced.  

Why did I agree to this?  Definitely, most probably, in the top three of my worst ideas of all time.  

The taller of the two men steps forward, flashing me an enthusiastic grin.  

“Jax Monteiro?  Welcome to the Royal Academy of Diavolo.  We’re so excited to have another human student here!” 

“Whoa!  Down boy,” the girl says, stepping towards me with giggle, patting the auburn haired man on the arm.  “Give them a second to adjust.  Portal jumping is harder on us poor humans than it is on you all.”

She holds out her hand.  “Hi Jax, I’m Arianthi Wolf.  I’m the ambassador to all the exchange students here at R.A.D.  And I’m a human student too, so you’re not all alone down here.”  

She gives me a soft smile of reassurance.

I quickly give her hand a shake, returning the smile, mine more genuine this time.  Arianthi is about six or seven inches shorter than me, with long curly black hair and bright green eyes.  A smattering of freckles runs across her nose and cheeks, standing out against her pale skin.  

I’d love to draw her.  

I’m itching to get my hands on my sketchbook.  

The guys too.  And this room is insane. 

She motions at the auburn haired man next to her.  He towers over her, looking like a giant standing next to a pixie.  I’ve always considered myself tall at 6′3, but this guy has a good six or seven inches on me.

This must be how mom felt when she asked me to get stuff off the high shelves at the grocery store.

“This is Lord Diavolo, founder of R.A.D., and the human, angel, demon exchange program here.  The goal is to bring the celestial realm, human realm, and the Devildom closer together and foster a better understanding between the three.”  She pauses for breath.  “He’s also the prince of the Devildom.”

Holy shit.  

“Do I need to like, bow or something?”  I ask nervously.  

Diavolo chuckles.  “Please don’t.  I just wanted to welcome you to the Devildom before returning to my duties.  Arianthi will help you get settled in and go over your course schedule with you.  You’ll be staying with her at the House of Lamentation along with the seven lords of the Devildom.”  He gives me a boyish grin.  “I hope your year with us is less eventful than Arianthi’s first year.”

“Diavolo!”  Arianthi gives him an exasperated grin while he waggles his eyebrows at her. 

He holds his hand up, laughing.  “Sorry princess, I couldn’t resist.”

Princess?  Oh, I’m totally asking her for a story time once we’re alone.

Diavolo motions the other man in the room forward.  He’s closer to my size, with delicate features, turquoise hair, and moss green eyes.  

“This is my servant Barbatos.  If you find yourself needing anything and are unable to reach Arianthi or any of the lords, he can help you.” 

Barbatos offers me a small nod.

“Barbatos is the one who really runs things here.”  Arianthi gives me a mischievous smirk.  “He’s also an amazing chef.  The best baker in all three realms.  His devilberry tarts are to die for.”  

She mimes swooning.

Barbatos beams at her praise.  “You flatter me Arianthi.”

Diavolo rubs his hands together, smiling.  “Well, we really do need to be going.  I have to welcome the new angels to Purgatory Hall.  I’ll leave you to it Arianthi.  Don’t worry Jax, you’re in very good hands.”  

He gives Arianthi a wink.

Hate to break it to you Diavolo but as cute as she is, I’m more interested in how good your hands are.

“Dia!”  Arianthi gives him a dirty look.  “Stop that!  I’m sure Jax doesn’t appreciate it, and you know Mammon hates it when you do that.”

Mammon?  A third player has entered the game.  This could be some spicy telenovela shit.  Must.  Know.  Now.

Diavolo just chuckles at her and exits the room, Barbatos in tow. 

“Okay, tell me everything princess.  I have to know.”  I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes good naturally. 

“Dia and I were a.....thing for a while.”  She waves her hand dismissively, looking slightly annoyed.  “He’s still a little in his feelings about things, but I’m engaged now.  Sometimes he likes to push my fiance’s buttons.  Diavolo is a lot of fun but he is a world class shit stirrer.” 

“Mammon is the fiance?”  I guess.

She gives me a soft smile.  “Yeah.  He lives at the House of Lamentation too, so you’ll be meeting him soon.  Anyways, we should get going.  Do you need help carrying anything?”

I hold up my duffel bag and my plushie.  “This is all I brought with me.  But you can carry Samson if you want.”  

I hand over the large purple octopus.

“He.  Is.  Adorable.  Levi would love him.”  She cuddles Samson close to her chest as she leads me out of Diavolo’s office.  

“So, right now we’re in the Demon Lord’s Castle.  Diavolo and Barbatos live here, and there are always some high ranking demons staying here too, trying to get in good with Diavolo.  You’ll be here off and on throughout the year for parties and things like that.  Hopefully you’ll escape the “bonding sleepover” ordeal I went through my first year.”  She shudders.

“Bonding sleepover?  Like a summer camp bonding sleepover?” I quirk an eyebrow at her.

She gives me a long suffering look.  “Dia is like a kid in a candy store when it comes to human world activities.  It was his idea.”

I chuckle.  “It was that bad?”

Arianthi holds up a hands and starts ticking events off on her fingers.  

“I got sucked into an evil possessed painting with some others and we ended up in the dungeon.  In the dungeon we were almost eaten by Henry 1.0, who may be the biggest snake to ever exist, like anywhere.  Then when we tried to get a picture of Lucifer sleeping we ended up getting chased by Cerberus and we wound up in the dungeon again.  Where Henry 1.0 tried to eat us.  Again.  And there was a pillow fight where everyone ended up unconscious except for Diavolo and Lucifer.  And me, but only because I was hiding under my bed.”

I stare at her, mouth open, debating if she’s being serious or not.  She looks back at me, face unchanged.

“Oh, wow, you’re actually being serious,” I say.  

I don’t know if I’m terrified or....nope.  Definitely a little terrified after that story.  And why did they want a picture of Lucifer sleeping?

As if she can sense my fear Arianthi gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze.  “I know it sounds insane but every day isn’t going to be like that here.  And you’ll always have someone looking out for you.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief and give her a quick grin.  “Thanks, Arianthi.”

We make our way outside, and I’m startled by the fog and dim sunlight.  

It’s the middle of the day, right?  Or does time work differently here?

I must look confused because Arianthi quickly explains.  “Time works the same here, but the weather is different from the human realm. We don’t get bright sunlight down here.”  

She shrugs apologetically.

“It’s all good,” I tell her with a smile.  “I figured things would be different when I agreed to all this.”

She giggles.  “At least they gave you some warning.  I was one of the first humans picked for the program and they just zapped me out of my apartment without warning.  One minute I’m on my couch watching The Great British Bake Off, and the next I’m down here.  Mammon and Asmo had to take me shopping for a whole new wardrobe.”

“Damn.”  I join in on her laughter.  “So how did you adjust to being here?”

Her mouth scrunches to one side as she ponders my question.  “It was hard, that first month.  None of the demons were really used to humans, and a lot of them didn’t want me here.  But I gradually got closer to the brothers and that helped.  Now it’s hard to imagine my life without them.  They’re family now, you know?”

I nod.  “Do you think I’ll have any issues here?”

“Nah.”  She shakes her head.  “I’ll be looking out for you and whatever classes we don’t have together you’ll have with one of the boys.  Lucifer made sure of it.  But if you do want to go out somewhere be sure to take me or one of them with you.  Some of the lower level demons are still assholes about humans being here.  I get a little more respect now that I’m Mammon’s fiancee and a full time resident of the House of Lamentation.”

We meander through the R.A.D. campus, Arianthi pointing out various buildings and explaining the curriculum to me.    

“Ok, so......the seven demon lords that we’ll be living with.  Lay it on me.  I wanna know what I’m getting into.”

Arianthi takes a deep breath.  “I’ll just give you the rundown from oldest to youngest.  Hold on, because this family is a roller coaster of ‘what the fuck’.”

I snort out a little laugh.  “I’m from Florida.  There is literally nothing here that can shock me.”

“If you say so,” Arianthi replies with a smirk.  “Buckle up buttercup, because we’re going to run through this fast.  Oh, and the brothers are ranked in accordance to how powerful they are, not their actual ages.  But they are all thousands of years old, in case you were wondering.   Anyways the oldest is Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride.  He’s Diavolo’s second in command down here.  Very serious, doesn’t laugh much.  He’s like the dad at the House of Lamentation.  But not the fun kind.  Don’t let any of the others talk you into trying to prank him.  Unless I’m in on it, because I’m always down for that shit.”

I have found my people.

“The second oldest is Mammon and he’s the Avatar of Greed.  Don’t leave anything valuable laying around or he’ll take it and try to sell it for some quick Grimm.”

“Wait?  Isn’t Mammon your fiance?”  I’m confused.

She gives me a self-deprecating shrug.  “The heart wants what the heart wants.  We’ve been working on the stealing thing, but at the end of the day he is the Avatar of Greed and it’s hard to control that.  He models too, to earn some extra Grimm.  I’ve been pushing for him to do more of that to curb the stealing.  Oh!  I forgot, Grimm is our currency down here.  I’ll hook you up with some so don’t worry about that.”

“Oh no you don’t have to-” I try to protest but she cuts me off with a smile.

“Really, I want to.  I want you to be able to enjoy your time here, not worrying about trying to find a part time job to earn some cash.”

“Lucifer is the house dad, but you’re totally the house mom aren’t you?”  

Seriously, this girl might be an angel.

She blushes a little.  “Um....guilty.  I sort of fell into it my first year here.  The boys needed someone to take care of them then.”  She pauses.  “They still sort of do honestly.”

I laugh.  “Alright, who’s next?  Hit me with it.”

Arianthi pauses, like she’s trying to come up with the right words.  “Levi.  Well Leviathan, but you can call him Levi.  He’s more introverted than the rest.  Very into gaming, anime, movies.......and a book series called The Seven Lords.”

“I’ve read that!”  I exclaim.  “Great series.  I brought some anime with me too.”

“Cool.”  She grins at me.  “Sounds like you guys have some things in common.  I bet he’d love to see some anime from the human realm.  He’s obsessed with Ruri-Chan too, but I’ll let him explain all of that to you.  He’s also the leader of Hell’s Navy because of the whole lord of the sea thing he’s got going on.  And he’s the Avatar of Envy, so try not to take any of the things he says too seriously when he’s acting jealous.”

“Wait, what?  Lord of the sea thing?”  

Mind.  Blown. 

“Yep.”  She nods enthusiastically.  “He can summon and control sea monsters and all sorts of underwater nightmare fuel.”

“Bad fucking ass.”

“Right?”  She laughs.  “On to the next.  This is where things get kinda weird.”

“Weirder than summoning sea monsters?”  I ask.

“Like daddy who is also my brother weird.”  She answers with a straight face.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I say with a laugh.

“Satan is the fourth brother.  He’s the Avatar of Wrath so try not to piss him off.  He’s very intelligent, loves to read.  But don’t touch his books without permission.  Actually, just stay out of his room all together.”

I look at her and smirk.  “This is all fascinating but I’m still waiting on the daddy/brother angle.”

She laughs.  “Ok, ok, ok.  When the boys fell from heaven Lucifer’s rage was so intense that it became a sentient entity.”

“Satan?”

She shoots me some finger guns.  “Exactly.  Lucifer and the other brothers raised him.  He gets a few characteristics from each of them, but he’s most like Lucifer.  Which pisses him off because he hates the thought of being like Lucifer.  And Lucifer doesn’t want to think of Satan as his son, so everyone just refers to Satan as their brother.”

I shake my head in wonder.  “It’s just like being back in Florida.”

Suddenly a white haired demon comes and grabs Arianthi from behind, picking her up and spinning her around.

“Yo, what the hell?”  I yelp in surprise.

The demon sets her down, hugging her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and nuzzling his face into her neck.  Arianthi lets out a high pitched squeal as his hair and nose tickle her.  He eventually stops, staring at me suspiciously over her shoulder.  

“Hey babe, who’s he?”  

Awkward.........

Arianthi elbows his ribs.  “Mammon, this is Jax.  They’re the new human exchange student who’s going to be staying with us this year.  So be nice to them.”  

She stresses my pronouns and a look of realization crosses Mammon’s face.  

“Oh shit!”  He looks contrite.  “I am so sorry.  I shoulda thought before I said anything.”  

He releases Arianthi and holds out his hand.

I shake it.  “No worries.  It happens.  Thanks for apologizing though.” 

He gives me a crooked grin.  “Still, I am really sorry.  Won’t happen again.  And if anybody tries to mess with ya since you’re the new human around here, THE Great Mammon will handle it.”

Arianthi rolls her eyes fondly at me and shakes her head behind his back.  “I’m sure Jax appreciates the sentiment, but everything will be ok.”

I grin back at Mammon.  “Arianthi’s probably right, I should be fine.  It’s cool of you to offer though.”

Arianthi wraps her arms around his waist and looks up at him adoringly.  “But if any demon does try to give Jax a hard time I’ll tell my big, strong, handsome fiance and let him sort them out.”

Mammon puffs up with pride and he looks down at her lovingly.  “Damn right ya will.”  He presses a kiss to her forehead.  As he pulls away he notices Samson in her arms.  “Oi!  What is that?”

“Isn’t he cute?”  Arianthi holds him up and wiggles one of his tentacles.

I shrug and kick away a rock.  “He’s mine,” I admit.

“Cute as hell,” Mammon says, one slender finger reaching out to touch the plush fabric.  “Levi would love ‘em.”

“That what’s she said.”  I gesture at Arianthi.  

He chuckles, throwing an arm around her shoulders.  “I just wanted to tell ya hi baby.  I gotta run to the store real quick then get back to the house.  I’m on dinner duty tonight with Levi.”  

Arianthi stretches up on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss on the lips.  “Ok, I’ll see you at home.”

“See ya later.  Bye Jax.”  Mammon gives us a small wave and starts to walk away.

“Oh!  Don’t forget that Beel had practice today so make extra!  He’ll be hungrier than usual!”  She calls out after him.

He turns around and blows her a kiss to acknowledge that he heard her.  She smiles as she watches him walk away, then turns back to me, serious.

“I really am sorry about that.  I’ve told everyone your preferred pronouns so it shouldn’t happen again and if it does -”

I hold up my hands and give her a small smile.  “Hey, hey, hey.  Shit happens.  And it’s not like he did it on purpose.  Plus he apologized, then offered to look out for me which was pretty cool of him.”

She still looks concerned.  “I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself.  Especially at home.  I want you to be comfortable here.”  

“It really is fine.  He figured out his mistake and apologized, and I bet it won’t ever happen again.”  I smile and gently nudge her with my elbow.  “And if anybody starts some shit I’ll just let the house mom take care of it.”

Arianthi gives me a soft shove and laughs.  “Damn right you will.  I’ve got your back down here.”

We start walking again.  

“Ok, who’s next in the line up?”  I ask.

She gives a big sigh.  “The Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus.  You can call him Asmo, everybody does.”

“Lust hmmm?”  I raise my eyebrows.

“He’s sweet, he really is.  Very into self-care and indulgence.  Just don’t spend any time alone with him until we know how his powers affect you.”

I look at her in shock.  “Are you saying he’d try to.......?”

“No! Nothing like that,”  Arianthi reassures me.  “Asmo would never force anyone to do anything they didn’t want to do.  But since he is the Avatar of Lust he’s able to bring out other people deepest wishes, kinda like a walking aphrodisiac.  Some people are immune to it, others can learn to block it out.  Those that aren’t have a tendency to.......overindulge in their most decadent desires.”  She gives me a pointed look.  “So until we know how you’ll react, no alone time with Asmo.”

I make my most serious face and give her a quick salute.  “Yes ma’am.”

She uses one of Samson’s tentacles to slap my arm and laughs.  “Smart ass.”

I smirk.  “Alright, Asmo is number five so who are the last two?”

Arianthi chews on her lower lip for a moment, as if internally debating what she wants to tell me.  Finally she gives me a small smile and starts to talk.

“Beelzebub is sixth and Belphegor is seventh.  We call them the twins though, because their father created them at the same time, and they’re extremely close.  They’re together almost all the time.”

I interrupt.  “Wait, their father?  Like God?”

Arianthi’s eyes grow dark and she scowls.  “He’s a piece of shit,” she mutters.

“Did you just call God a piece of shit?”  I ask her, shocked.

“When there’s a dad out there who can make my dad look like Father of the Year, then you know the guy’s a total ass bag,” she growls.

“You just called God an ass bag.  I feel like I’m missing a lot of backstory here,” I respond.

She shakes her head as if she’s shaking away her negative thoughts.  “I’m sorry Jax.  There’s a lot of history you’ll learn this year, and how the boys fell from grace is part of it.  It was hard on all of them, but Beel and Belphie took the hardest hit.  It will be up to them to tell you their side of things though, in their own time.”

“No worries.  I’ve got patience for days.”  I grin at her. “You’ve got serious beef with God huh?

“I’d throat punch him if someone gave me half a chance,” she answers seriously.

“You don’t look like it but you’re frightening.”  I laugh.  “But it’s the kind of frightening I want on my side at all times.”

She laughs with me.  “I told you I have your back Jax.  Always.”

“That means a lot Arianthi.”  

Not many people do now days.  

“So Beelzebub and Belphegor?”   I ask.

“Beel and Belphie.”  She smiles to herself.  “Beel is the Avatar of Gluttony, and his food intake is phenomenal.  Do not ever come between him and his food, and if you see a container in the fridge with his name on it, don’t even breathe near it.  He once wrecked the kitchen and one of the walls to my old room because Mammon and I ate some of his custard.”

I stare at her.  

“It’s like I haven’t even left Florida,” I whisper reverently, and she huffs out an amused laugh.

“A lot of people treat Beel like food is his only interest, but it really isn’t.  He plays sports and he works out everyday, so if you ever want to join him for a workout he’d be thrilled to have a buddy.  He’s really sweet, thoughtful, and kind.  And sensitive, but he tries to hide it so he can stay looking strong for the people he cares about.  He never wants to let anybody down if they need him.  He’ll open up if he gets close to you though.”

“It sounds like you guys are really close,” I say quietly.  

I wonder how Mammon feels about that?

She stops walking and turns to look at me, a shadow passing over her face.  “I’m an only child and my mom and dad weren’t very good at the whole parenting thing.  I wound up in foster care when I was 5.  Stayed there until I aged out.  I would have given anything for a big brother like Beel back then.  He’s really taken care of me since I’ve been here, and been nothing but supportive of me.”  She gives me a shaky smile.  “I’ve got my big brother now so I try to look out for him however I can.”

“He sounds like a really good guy,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty for my earlier thought. 

“He is,” Arianthi answers and we resume walking.  “Belphie is the Avatar of Sloth, so he’s constantly sleepy.  He can nap anywhere, and he gets super cuddly with people when he does, so if that’s not your jam be sure to let him know.  Don’t touch his cow pillow.  He’s pretty sarcastic and he can be hard to get to know, but he’s sweet when you do.”

We turn a corner and she stops in front of a large three story house.  Even though it’s well maintained and beautifully built something feels a little......off about it. 

This place would give the house from Texas Chainsaw Massacre a run for it’s money in the creepy as shit category. 

“Here we are!” she says brightly.  “The House of Lamentation, and your new home for the next year.”

My eyes dart around, taking in every detail of the house as we walk up the steps to the front door.  

Arianthi suddenly pauses with her hand on the doorknob.  “Jax there’s something else you should know about the house before we go in.”

“Ok?” I say, confused.

“Satan is a little bit of a crazy cat lady.  He’s rescues strays and keeps them until he finds new homes for them.  Lucifer says he can only have one in the house at a time, so you may occasionally be called upon to help hide one.  Or five.”

“Totally ok,” I answer with a grin, relieved that the big secret is just contraband kitties.  “I love cats so no problem on that front.”

She smiles at me as she opens the door.  “Great!”

We walk into the foyer and she shuts the door behind us.  

“Also, allegedly some guy murdered his whole family here a long time ago.  So this place is probably haunted.”  She smirks at me.

“Of fucking course it is,” I mutter, playfully giving her a dirty look.

“If it makes you feel better I’ve never seen any paranormal stuff as long as I’ve been here.”

“It does.  A little bit.”  I look over and smile at her.  “Oof!”

I ram into something large, solid and......warm?  I look in front of me and see a very large, very muscled chest.  I tip my head back until I see a pair of friendly violet eyes looking into mine.  

“Beel!”  Arianthi gives him a quick squeeze.  “This is Jax, the new exchange student.”

“Sorry for running into you,” I say.  “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”  

I take a step back so I can get a better look at him.  Like Diavolo, he is huge.  And built.  Really built.  His shaggy, bright orange hair highlights the color of his eyes.  

“It’s ok,” he tells me, smiling before he takes a large bite of the sandwich he’s holding.  He squeezes Arianthi back.  “Hey Arianthi.  When’s Mammon coming home?  He’s supposed to make dinner tonight and I’m starving.”

That smile is goddamn adorable.  

I shake my head.  

Get it together.  You’ve seen cute guys before.  But he is beyond cute.  And built.  And taller than me.  And if he’s everything Arianthi says he is............  

I quickly slam that thought back into its box and tune into their conversation.  

Arianthi is frowning.  “He should be back soon.  If he isn’t I’ll help Levi get things going so dinner isn’t late.”

He beams at her.  “Thanks Arianthi.”  He turns that megawatt smile to me.  “Do you need any help getting your stuff to your room Jax?”

I’m flustered.  Why am I flustered?  I don’t get flustered.  

“N-n-no.  Thanks though.”  I give him a small smile.  

Did I just stutter?  Oh god.  

I internally cringe.  

I see Arianthi’s eyes flicker between the two of us, and she gives me a mischievous smile.   

“We might need help later though.  In case they want another dresser or any of the furniture from my old room brought into their room,” she tells him.  

Beel gives us another easy grin.  “No problem.  I’ll be in my room if you need me before dinner starts.  See you later Jax.”  

He ambles away, munching on his sandwich.

“See you,” I call after him.  

I look to my right and see Arianthi looking at me with a shit eating grin on her face.  

“Shut up,” I mutter.

“He’s cute right?”  She nudges me with her elbow.

Oh my sweet baby Jesus yes!  

“He’s ok,” I say, trying to stay nonchalant.  “Seems nice.”

“Is nice Jax code for a “total snack”?  Or “I want to climb him like a tree and never come down”?”  She snickers, teasing me.

“Ok, you are officially the worst,”  I tease back, reaching out and ruffling her hair. 

“But am I officially the worst and right that you think Beel is a cutie?”  She raises her eyebrows.

I’m saved from answering by Mammon bursting in through the front door, two shopping bags in hand.

“Oi!  H-h-hey Jax.  Hi baby.”  A faint pink blush dusts his cheeks and he tries to quickly edge past us.  “Runnin’ a little late, gotta get dinner goi-”

Arianthi snags the hem of his jacket, stopping him his tracks.  “What’s the rush my love?”

“N-n-no rush.  Just wanna get dinner on time.  Ya know how Beel gets.”

What is he so nervous about?  

I’m suddenly very suspicious.

Please don’t be a fuck boy Mammon.

She pulls him closer and loops her arms around his neck, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.  “Mammon?”  

“Y-yeah baby?”

“Why do you smell likes witches?”  Arianthi keeps her voice light, arching an eyebrow at Mammon.

Ooh, I know that look.  Mom used to give me that look all the time.  Wait, witches?  They have witches down here too?!

“I maybe, mighta stopped at a little card game on the way to the store.”  Mammon’s tone is smug, despite the guilty look on his face.

Arianthi rolls her eyes, smiling.  “How much did you win?”  

“650 Grimm.”   He smiles back at her.

She holds her hand out in a “gimme” gesture.  

Mammon groans, reaches into his jacket pocket, and hands her a thick stack of bills.  “Come on baby.  Aren’t ya gonna let me keep any of it?”

She quickly divides the money, handing half to me and pocketing the rest.

“Wait, what’s this for?”  I ask, confused.

“We agreed that whenever Mammon goes gambling half of whatever he wins goes to you, so you’ll have Grimm for whatever you need here.  And the other half goes to a joint project we’re working on.”  Arianthi laces her fingers with Mammon’s and cuddles into his side.

Mammon’s irritation is instantly gone, replaced by a dreamy smile as he squeezes her hand and presses a kiss to the top of her head.  

“That joint project is going to be amazing.  I just know it,” he softly whispers.  

“What’s the project?”  I ask, curious.  “If it needs any artwork, I could totally help you guys out with it.”  

Arianthi disentangles herself from Mammon.  “It’s a surprise for his brothers.  It’s really sweet of you to offer Jax, but I wouldn’t want to bother you -”

“You won’t!  You wouldn’t be,” I interrupt.  “I feel bad just taking your money like this, even if you guys did plan it.  So let me help you out with whatever art you may need done for this project.”

“That’s really cool of ya Jax,” Mammon says, grinning at me.  “We appreciate it.”

“Seriously,” Arianthi echoes.  “I saw some of your art when I went through your student profile.  They are insanely freaking talented,” she tells Mammon.

I can feel my face turning red.  “I’m not that great,” I manage to mumble.

“Hey, if you’re good at somethin’ don’t go bein’ modest about it,” Mammon tells me.  “I gotta go get started on the food before Beel smashes down another wall.  See ya at dinner.”

“See you,” we respond in unison as he moves towards the kitchen.

“We should get you settled into you room,” Arianthi tells me.  “I’ll show you the kitchen after dinner; you’re on dish duty with me tonight.  I hope that’s ok.”

“Totally fine.”  We start climbing a set of stairs.  “So are you going to let me in on what this surprise project is?”

“Are you going to tell me what you really think of Beel?”  She counters with a smirk.

“Touche.”  I smirk back.  

“Ok, here you are.”  She stops in front of a closed door.  

“That’s Beel and Belphie’s room,” she says, gesturing to the door to the right of mine.  “And Mammon and I are to the left of you.  My private library and office is on the other side of our bedroom.  If you ever need to use it you’re more than welcome to; I never lock the door.  I’ll show you where everyone else’s rooms are tomorrow.”  

“Sounds good.”  I smile at her as she hands Samson to me.

“I’ll let you check out your room and unpack your stuff.  If you think of anything you want for your room we can go check out my old room tomorrow and see if you like anything in there.  I’ll come get you in about an hour for dinner.  If you need anything before then just knock, ok?”

“Ok.”  I open the door to my room, then think of something.  “Hey Arianthi?  Will my iPhone work down here?”

She shakes her head.  “No, but we’ll get you set up with a D.D.D., which is the Devildom version of an iPhone.  Barbatos is supposed to bring one by in the morning for you.”

“Oh cool, thanks.”  I smile at her and she turns to go into her room.  

“Hey,” I say quickly.

She pauses in her doorway and turns towards me.  “What’s up hun?”

“You would’ve made a really good big sister.”

She gives me a gentle smile.  “Thanks Jax.  That means a lot.”  

She slips into her room, softly closing the door behind her.  

I step into my new room and start looking around.  There’s a desk, a couch, a small dresser, and what has to be a king size bed.  

Fucking awesome.  And an en suite bathroom?  I officially love this place.

I drop my bag onto the floor and wander over to look out the window.  My room looks out over a wide expanse of forest.  

Pretty view.  

When I turn back around I notice that someone has left a pile of things stacked in the far corner of the room, next to my desk.  Someone has left me a bunch of............ art supplies?! 

 An easel, canvas, charcoal, sketchpads, pencils, oil paints; I eagerly rummage through what looks to be anything my little artist’s heart could ever possibly need or want.  

Arianthi.  Had to be.  Her thoughtful ass would do something like this.  

Grinning to myself I shuffle over to the bed and flop down, cuddling Samson to my chest.  

I think I’m gonna like it here. 

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 40: Lᴇᴀᴘ Oғ Fᴀɪᴛʜ

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Forty

I slowly became aware of the bed beneath me and sat bolt upright in fear, expecting to be back in the clean white room in Mount Weather. Instead, when my eyes opened it was to the strikingly familiar interior of the Ark. There were rows of firm, uncomfortable beds and I recognised the artificially lit, entirely metal space as the ship that we’d once lived in. A large volume of metal units filled the room that were littered with medical supplies and I quickly calculated that this was the medical unit. I glanced over to my side to find Bellamy’s exhausted face and his features contorted into a relieved expression as he fretted over me. 

“You’re awake!” He breathed in disbelief and I gazed back at him thankfully. “Let me get some help.” He added worriedly as if snapping from a trance and moved to get to his feet. I reached out to grasp his hand and he jolted as he turned back to face me.

“Wait, don't go.” I asked and I felt sheepish as his eyes met mine. I still couldn’t quite believe that he was here in front of me. When I first woke up, I fully expected our last encounter to have been a pleasant yet heartbreaking dream. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him for a moment and was afraid that if I did, he would disappear. “Please, don’t leave me.” I whispered and I felt incredibly vulnerable as I bared my feelings to him. He sank reluctantly back into his seat with a sympathetic look and I gripped his hand for comfort. “I can’t believe you’re still here, I never thought I’d see you again.” I breathed as I tugged his hand to guide him closer to me and I felt comforted when he leaned into my space. 

“I just...I can’t stop looking at you. I don’t have to rely on memory.” I thought aloud as I examined him. He was clean now but his hair was still scruffy, just in his usual, carefully styled way. The bruising around his warm, hypnotising brown eyes had started to fade since I saw him last, but I could still see the slight hint of purple in the corners. He regarded me with an interest that mirrored mine and I smiled at the sight of it. “I didn’t know that I could miss another person like this.” I admitted under my breath as I  relished everything about him, every sense that was focused on him. I felt a stray tear escape only to slide down my cheek and he leaned in to wipe it away with a gentle touch as he viewed me with tenderness. 

“I’m not going anywhere Indigo, not this time.” He asserted as he cupped my face in his hand and I leaned into his touch as I allowed my eyes to flicker closed. I was soothed by his warmth and tried to settle my doubts. My eyes were forced open by a slight pang of pain from the side where I’d been shot. The realisation dawned on me with disappointment that the injury had been real too and I sat forward to look down at myself. I pushed back the blanket to find that I was only wearing a small black vest and my boxer style underwear, with a dressing on the left side of my waist. I peeked back at Bellamy who was watching me with raised brows and I quickly covered myself again with the blanket. I definitely hadn’t intended to expose myself to him but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“We had to undress you so that Abby could operate.” He explained with an amused smile. “Unfortunately we couldn’t save your pretty dress, but Abby managed to patch you up nicely.” He added with a mischievous wink and I was annoyed to find my cheeks flush slightly.

“Of course you’d find that dress pretty.” I groaned in an attempt to clear my embarrassment, but internally I enjoyed having the chance to find out what he thought of it. I’d considered it when I first chose the feminine item and it was strange to now be sitting here, having this conversation with him.

“On you, yes.” His eyes sparkled with attraction as he spoke and I blushed harder at the unexpected compliment. “It’s unusual to see you in actual girl’s clothes.” He teased and I slapped him gently on the arm in response, earning a chuckle from him. I examined him and realised that he was no longer wearing the uniform that I’d seen him in last. He was dressed in a familiar black t-shirt and combat trousers, and I smiled at the sentimentality of it.

“You changed outfits too?” I asked as I observed him. “You didn’t fancy the stiff Mount Weather clothes either, huh?” I teased as he glimpsed down at himself and then back at me with a warm smile.

“Yeah, not a fan.” He chuckled as he shuffled comfortably in his seat. “Although I didn’t have much of a choice after you bled all over me.” He added with a playful look and I grimaced in response.

“Wow, I really need to stop doing that.” I commented awkwardly and he laughed openly in response. I caught sight of the unnervingly familiar surroundings and realised that it felt entirely strange to be back inside the space station we’d grown up in, especially with a man who hadn’t known who I was when we left it. “It’s just like being on the Ark in here.” I said thoughtfully as I scanned my way back to him. “How are you managing it?” I enquired as I viewed him with concern. I remembered how nervous he was at the idea of people from the station coming to Earth and I couldn’t imagine that it was easy for him to be faced with the actual structure itself.

“It’s not so bad.” He shrugged and I raised my brows at him in surprise. “I’ve got proper quarters, solid roof over my head.” He explained and I smiled at his description. I was glad to see that he was finding the positives in the situation and I became aware of how much he had grown since we’d been apart. Although I had completely fallen apart without him, I was interested to find out what happened to cause him to have the strangely controlled attitude that I didn’t recognise. 

“Oh wow, that really sounds great.” I breathed as I fixed him with a teasing expression. He inspected me with an excited interest as he waited for the taunt that he knew was coming and I enjoyed seeing how well he’d come to know me. “But can it really compare to the luxury of your tent in camp? An old parachute over a log structure, pile of fabrics on the ground for a bed, cold breeze blowing through all the time, constant interruptions?” I reeled off expecting a chuckle, but instead he studied me with an expression that I didn’t recognise on him. 

“Well, when you put it that way, it’s hard to choose.” He started as he moved from his seat to perch on the edge of the bed beside me. “But there’s one thing this camp has over the tent…” He trailed off as he brought his hand to rest by my face, his thumb caressing my jaw as his gaze fell on my lips with a fascinated expression. “I never kissed you in the tent.” He spoke regretfully before he leaned in to press his lips against mine with tenderness, despite the deep feeling of longing that I could sense in his touch. 

I was lost to the same feeling of bliss as the first time he kissed me, even though this was much gentler than before. His scruffy hair tickled my cheek and his nose bumped mine as he turned his face to take my lips fully. I breathed a soft moan against him and I felt his smile on my lips. My chest leaned forward to meet his and his hand slid from my jaw into my hair smoothly. My heart pounded in my chest as I felt my head spinning and I could only concentrate on how soft his lips felt against mine as he invaded all of my senses. I was amazed by his ability to take my breath away and I could feel the familiar flutter in my chest that only he could give me. Someone sharply cleared their throat and we broke apart reluctantly. I glanced over to discover Octavia watching us from the door with an amused look and her brow raised in interest.

“Well, you two didn’t waste any time.” She crooned as she surveyed us and although I was sure that I would have been embarrassed to be caught in the act at any other time, I was too glad for the sight of her to feel anything but relief.

“Octavia!” I gasped as tears filled my eyes and she smiled fondly as she stepped toward me. Bellamy quickly stood and wandered quietly from the room. I felt an immediate pang at his absence but I kept my focus on Octavia as she neared and sat on the bed. “You’re a hell of a sight for sore eyes.” I breathed as I poured over her and she smiled at me with watery eyes. Her hair was braided in several small plaits away from her face and I could still see some residue of what seemed to be war paint around her eyes. Even though Bellamy had warned me that she was involved with the grounders now, it was still jarring to see her looking so different. I forced the sadness from my mind and met her tear filled green eyes with a feeling of sentimentality. “God I missed you so much.” I whispered as I regarded her.

“Not as much as you missed my brother by the looks of it.” She teased as she smiled at me coyly even through her emotion and I chuckled under my breath. It was refreshing to find that her suggestive humour was still intact and I was reassured to hear it again. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want kisses too?” I insinuated as I leaned forward to grab her face in my hands and used her shock to plaster her skin in playful butterfly kisses. She snorted in laughter and tried to bat me off until I was giggling too hard to continue. The strain of the laughter caused me to wince in pain and the sound pulled us back into the reality of our situation. I sat back to wipe my eyes of tears that were a combination of relief and joy and took in the welcome sight of her smile. I felt a wave of sadness as I remembered the pain of the earth shattering moment that the dropship launched and my lip trembled as I tried to stop the feelings from overflowing. “I thought I’d lost you.” I muttered and she took my hand in hers with a gentle squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” I added as I absorbed the sight of her and she smiled fondly.

“You too. It’s good to have you back.” She stated before she pulled me into a tight embrace. She held me to her for several minutes and I enjoyed basking in her presence. It felt like it had been years since it was just the two of us against the world and things were finally back to how they were supposed to be. I heard rushed footsteps and saw Bellamy re-enter the space with an older brunette woman immediately behind him. She hurried in to look at me and Octavia sat back to glance over her shoulder at her. “I’ll let Doc check you over. Get some rest.” She answered with a final affectionate squeeze on my shoulders before wandering from the room. Bellamy remained in place at the door with his arms crossed as he watched the woman approach me with a worried look.

“Well, it’s nice to formally meet you at last. My name is Abby Griffin, I’m Clarke’s mother.” She smiled as she reached me and I gulped awkwardly. I tried not to concentrate on my ill treatment of Clarke as she busied herself with checking me over. She worked thoroughly, checking my blood pressure, temperature and all of the other necessary tests before checking my wound. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you from the other kids of your camp. It sounds like you’ve played a large part in keeping them alive all of this time. I’d say they’ve been lucky to have you.” She spoke thoughtfully as she worked and I scoffed. I glanced over to Bellamy who smiled with amusement dancing in his eyes at her words. I returned my attention to her and shuffled awkwardly as I saw her notice the way that we spied at each other. I found myself wondering exactly how much she knew and tried not to focus too hard on the thought. “Your vitals are looking good and the wound seems to be healing nicely. A couple more days and you should be ready to join the rest of camp.” She summarised as she smiled at me and I felt my heart drop in disappointment.

“Come on Doc. I’ve spent way too long locked up, attached to wires and being treated like a specimen in that mountain.” I appealed to her and she sighed at me. “I can’t sit in this room for days, I’ll go mad.” I justified and she scanned me in frustration.

“Indigo, you were shot.” She began as she scolded me like a misbehaving child and I huffed in annoyance at her tone. “You’re not even ready to walk yet. You need to rest.” She instructed and I quickly realised that I had not missed the restrictions of the adults of the Ark. I no longer felt my own age after everything I’d been through on Earth and I certainly didn’t appreciate being parented.

“I’ve survived worse than a gunshot, I’ll manage.” I drawled as I accidentally allowed my bitterness to show. I recalled that she was part of the council that had made the decision to send us down here and I couldn’t contain the cold look that escaped to my face. She grimaced before recovering to an understanding smile.

“I appreciate your strength, but this isn’t something you can just tough out.” She spoke in a gentler tone now as she viewed me with sympathy and I got the impression that I wasn’t the first of the 100 to remind her how much we’d grown in our time here. “If you start walking too soon you’ll rip your stitches. You were lucky to survive this already, don’t push your luck.” She advised as she pondered me with concern. I turned subtly to Bellamy with a pleading expression and he cleared his throat as he entered the space.

“Surely she could rest somewhere else?” He suggested and she squinted over at him with a pointed expression that revealed she wasn’t impressed with him for getting involved.

“Bellamy, she can’t walk!” She repeated with an impatient tone as she raised a brow at him and he shifted under her scrutiny. He returned his gaze to me with a mischievous look and I was glad to find that he hadn’t given up on me yet.

“She doesn’t have to walk.” He argued and she perceived him with confusion. “I’ll carry her.” He suggested and I smiled at his devious idea. I couldn’t help a feeling of girlish delight at the idea of him carrying me out of here to my freedom and I annoyed myself with my simple desires. Abby glimpsed between the two of us with tired eyes.

“I don’t think either of you are fully understanding how serious this is.” She sighed as she caught us staring at each other with blatant attraction and I could tell that she was tired of our young group causing issues with their hormones. “She almost died, I was barely able to save her and you’re acting as if you’re simply trying to get out of being grounded.” She lectured and I saw a slight subtle smile in the corner of Bellamy’s lips as he crept his way toward me.

“I hear you Abby, I know it’s serious. And I promise I’ll be careful with her.” He spoke coyly and he started to wrap me in the blanket before sliding his hands beneath me. He paused once in position to meet my eyes with concern. “Tell me straight away if anything hurts.” He stated firmly and I nodded in acceptance. He gently lifted me into his arms, moving in slow, careful motions until he completely straightened up to standing and held me in a bridal style.

“Bellamy stop!” Abby shouted as she moved to block our exit and observed me in worry.

“I’m fine Doc, no pain at all. It’s a perfectly safe transfer.” I smiled and she neared to check my dressing for any sign of damage. I waited nervously for her to order me back to bed and I decided that I needed to take a more emotional approach if I was going to win her over. “Please Abby, I can’t stay cooped up in wards any longer.” I pleaded with a pained look and her stern expression finally crumbled.

“Where are you going to take her?” She asked as she glared up at Bellamy in a sceptical manner. “The dorms aren’t exactly restful.” She sighed as she rubbed her forehead in frustration. I noticed a mischievous look crossed Bellamy’s face and I knew that whatever he was about to do or say would be a gamble.

“She can stay in my room, I’ll make sure she’s not disturbed.” He suggested in his best attempt at an innocent voice and I could hardly believe that he’d been brave enough to suggest this to her face. He beheld her with a hopeful expression and I had to hold my breath through the tension of the silence. Abby sighed and threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Fine! Please be careful how you move her.” She ordered and we both nodded obediently. I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of getting some time alone with him and she clocked us both with an expression that showed that she anticipated the worst from us. “And both of you, make sure she rests! I mean it, I don’t want to see her back here in a couple of hours needing new stitches because you two couldn’t behave yourselves.” She added as she raised a brow at us and I felt my cheeks redden slightly at her implication.

“Absolutely, doctors orders.” Bellamy agreed before he looked down at me with evident excitement in his smile. “Come on Trouble. Let’s get you out of here.” He quipped as he swung me to face the doors and I could hear Abby calling out in annoyance at his rapid movement as I cackled wildly.

He carried me carefully through the camp, ensuring that I was properly covered by the blanket and I was surprised by how cold it was outside. He stuck to the outer edges of the camp to avoid being seen by too many residents and I felt a strange sense of nostalgia as we entered the familiar halls of the Ark. It was bizarre to be inside the structure when I knew that we were on Earth and it felt as if two contradictory parts of my life collided as I noticed daylight streaming in through the windows that had previously only ever showed space. We entered a large, well furnished room and he carried me over to the bed to place me down with cautious movements. I knew that he had been instructed to be careful with me, but I resented being treated as if I was so delicate and fidgeted to make myself comfortable. I pondered the wide space and was pleasantly surprised by the room that he had been assigned.

“You know, you were right. This isn’t bad at all, especially the whole having an actual bed part. I have to admit though, I still kind of prefer the charm of the tent.” I teased as I met his eyes and he explored me fondly.

“Well, it has at least one more advantage on the tent.” He said coyly as he stood by the bed and I raised a brow at him with interest.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as I felt a nervous sense of anticipation after his earlier choice of comparison between the two locations; I wondered if he would use this as a segway into kissing me again and I had to admit that I wouldn’t mind. He crossed the room and closed the door, turning to face me with a suggestive look as he slowly slid the lock across. I felt my heart start to race as he scanned me and I tried to deny the excitement that grew in my chest. “No more rude interruptions? However will you cope?” I spoke with a playful tone as he sauntered back over to the bed and perched on the edge to face me with concern.

“So, it’s just us, you don’t need to put on a brave face now.” He spoke in a serious tone and I was confused by the sudden change in his demeanour. “How are you really?” He investigated as he studied me closely and I could tell that he was trying to analyse my reaction. I had no doubt that he knew me well enough to see through any false answers but I was so distracted by the thrill of being alone with him that I was able to be honest.

“I’m fine Bellamy.” I answered with a confident smile and he looked sceptical. “You don’t need to fuss over me. I feel better right now than I have in a long time.” I added as I brought my focus back to him with a feeling of contentment. His eyes flitted down to my stomach, then back at me with a doubtful expression. 

“Can I check?” He requested and I peeked at him in surprise. “I want to make sure I didn’t do any damage getting you here, you don’t seem to be the best at noticing your injuries.” He spoke with a poignant look at me and I had nothing I could say to argue with his logic. I nodded at him and he took a deep breath as he moved closer to me.

He gently lifted the blanket off me to reveal my loosely dressed form. I felt my cheeks growing warm as his eyes briefly scanned over me and I tried to contain the tension that built inside of me. Bellamy carefully gripped the lower edge of my vest and slid it up to reveal the fresh, white dressing on the left side of my waist. I felt goosebumps spread over my skin as his hand brushed my waist. He traced his fingers along the edge of the dressing and my eyes fluttered closed as I battled my urge to touch him. My mind strained to concentrate on anything else but my heart wouldn’t cooperate. I opened my eyes to catch him gulping as he met my gaze and I was overwhelmed with impulsiveness. 

I sat up to put a hand on his jaw and pulled him into an urgent kiss. He took a sharp intake of breath before surrendering himself to my touch. The kiss that he returned was gentle, as if he was trying to hold back the swell of desire that threatened to sweep us away but it wasn’t gentleness that I wanted now. I felt the crushing power of the tension that had been building between us since I first laid eyes on him, clean and tidy with his neatly combed back hair in the dropship and I shivered with a fresh feeling of attraction. My hand knotted in his shirt to bring him closer to me, desperate to feel him against me as I enjoyed the rugged, dishevelled look that he wore in recent days. I was drawn to the man that he’d become since we arrived here and I could ignore the magnetising lust for him no longer. I felt like I’d been disconnected from a potent power source as he removed himself from me and he moved back to view me anxiously.

“You’re supposed to be resting Indie.” He spoke reluctantly between heavy breaths and although his words were scolding, I could see the fire of temptation dancing in his eyes.

“I feel very rested.” I crooned and subtly drifted back to him as he visibly struggled to resist me. My lips brushed his gently and for a few seconds he slipped into the moment as he leaned into me as if he were pulled by some enchanting force. I moved slowly to thread my fingers into his hair and lured him back into our connection as I longed to feel his skin on mine. He pulled back regretfully, blinking several times as if combating dizziness and tried to fix me with a serious look, despite the obvious arousal in his body language. He gripped my wrists to contain me and I sighed in annoyance as he raised a disapproving brow at me. 

“I’m serious.” He stated with an attempt at a firm tone but his voice shook subtly and I could sense that he was struggling to maintain control. “You got shot.” He breathed as his eyes flickered to my waist and the worry returned. I scoffed at his words and rolled my eyes.

“Everyone keeps saying that like I don’t realise, I was there you know.” I huffed as I removed my wrists from him and sat back out of his space. He peeked at me with concern and I met his eyes with a feeling of sadness in my chest. “I’m fully aware that I almost died again; right after spending weeks locked away, thinking that you were dead.” I added as his look softened and I felt the familiar pang of pain as I remembered the grief that I’d experienced. I glanced at him pleadingly and my voice dropped to a low tone as I tried to reason with him. 

“Bellamy right now we’re alive, we’re safe and we’re alone. We may not get this chance again. If this whole mess has taught me anything, it’s to embrace the moment whilst it’s here and not to waste your chances. I don’t want to live with any more regret.” I explained and he nodded slightly as he viewed me with understanding. I noticed that he was slowly becoming less guarded as he absorbed my words and his eyes started to roam over me with a conflicted interest as he considered what to do. I could tell that his resolve was wavering and so I leaned into him again to kiss his cheek, lingering by his ear. “I want this, don’t you?” I whispered in a breathy voice, peppering featherlight kisses along his cheek and down onto his neck as I was enveloped in his musky scent. He made a low growl that tickled against my lips and as I leaned back to kiss him fully, he cradled my face with a shaking hand that held me back weakly.

“Don’t tempt me.” He growled as he met my eyes with a passion that heated the air in the barely existent space between us. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered in a softer voice as his brows furrowed in worry.

I smiled warmly at him and felt comforted by his care. I sensed a slight vulnerability that lurked under my desire. Although the regret that haunted me in Mount Weather urged me to seize the moment, I couldn’t deny that there was still an element of nervousness in my chest for what I was about to do. For a fleeting moment, I felt the worries return that he might toss me aside afterwards, that what was between us would burn out now that he’d succeeded in rescuing me, that he’d simply move on to the next damsel in distress. I had to mentally remind myself that even if that happened, I would never again be haunted by what ifs or feel that I had missed a chance at happiness. I stared into his passionate, whisky brown eyes and I felt that in this moment, I knew exactly what I wanted. It had never been clearer and the worries over what might happen afterwards faded away into nothing.

“Then I guess you’ll have to be gentle with me.” I whispered suggestively and I watched as the last of his resolve crumbled before me.

He pulled my face to his and slammed his lips against mine hungrily. The feeling was different than before as he threaded his fingers into my hair and grasped a handful of it with a frenzied tenacity. My heart pounded in my chest so fast that I worried it might explode. His tongue slipped into my mouth as he deepened the kiss and he pulled me into him so that I was pressed against his chest. I suddenly understood why people describe kissing as melting as I could feel myself becoming pliable under his touch. I could barely breathe through the heat that radiated from him and the moment was all consuming as I surrendered myself to him.

He gently pushed me backwards in a manoeuvre that was measured and careful even through the intensity of our contact and I laid back on the bed with him following eagerly, his lips never leaving mine. The feeling of his body on mine made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I felt a rush of exhilaration pass through my entire body. He sat up to slide up his t-shirt smoothly, tousling his loose curls as he pulled it over his head and threw it across the room. My eyes fell to his muscular chest in an involuntary action and I bit my lip at the sight of him. I expected him to laugh or make a comment as I continued to stare at him with what could only be an aroused delight, but by the time I dragged my gaze back to his face, he was encouraging me to sit up so that he could delicately remove my vest. I flinched at the movement, glad that he assisted me without my asking as I was unsure if I could do it myself. 

It took all of my concentration to contain a hiss of pain as the vest slid over my head; I was desperate not to give him any reason to stop now. When the fabric cleared my view, I was met with his ravishing eyes as I sat bare chested before him. It felt strange to expose myself to him like this and I squirmed uncomfortably as his gaze fell onto the assortment of scars that littered my body. He looked up to notice my light rose blush and I avoided meeting his eyes. I’d had so many injuries since we arrived here that it felt like I had almost more scars than unmarked skin and I couldn’t help wondering if he was disappointed in what he found beneath my clothes. He brushed his fingers slowly along a mark that stretched the length of my collarbone and I observed him with an insecure expression, drawing his focused eyes to mine.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered and I felt my cheeks flush hot at his unexpected comment. He neared to kiss the scar with a gentleness that I never would’ve anticipated from him and my eyes fluttered closed. He slowly guided me to lay back as he worked his way across my torso, placing lingering kisses on every mark as I laid in a sultry sense of ecstasy. His lips drew a hot trail along my skin until he reached my neck, dragging out the slightly nipping kisses there in a teasing, gradual journey to meet my lips. He laid beside me, examining my face with a tempered hunger as he brushed my ruffled hair behind my ear. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked with one last assessing look. I sighed shakily as I stared into his bewitching eyes and although I was nervous, I felt safe in his arms.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.” I breathed, earning an amorous smile from him. 

I’d never imagined being ready for something like this, but intimacy with Bellamy felt as natural as breathing. He kept me too absorbed in him to be distracted by insecurity as I always feared that I would be. In fact, I was hardly able to think at all as he kept me utterly mesmerised. The experience was nothing like the movies, nor the vivid description of screaming and thrashing around that Octavia had rather traumatised me with. It was patient and gentle, it was easy and most of all, it felt like it was much more than just sex to both of us. I felt that I knew him more profoundly than I believed possible and I’d allowed him to share a vulnerable part of me that I usually tried to shield from the world. There were no fireworks, no cracked headboards, no theatricals, just the simple passion that we shared for each other forming into a bond that connected us on a deeper level than before. He rolled onto his back panting and I curled into him, setting my head on his chest to look up at him with a contented focus as he wrapped his arms around me.

“I can’t even tell you how long I’ve imagined doing that.” He admitted between wheezes and I sniggered shyly as I struggled to catch my breath too.

“You’re not the only one.” I muttered bashfully and he raised a brow at me in surprise. I avoided his prying eyes and wished that I’d kept that thought to myself. It still felt strange to openly admit my attraction to him and I was yet to develop confidence in it. It seemed foolish to be embarrassed after what had just happened between us but I was reluctant to open up to him first.

“You could’ve fooled me! You kept me guessing for a while there.” He chuckled and I couldn’t contain a giggle that escaped my lips. I met his eyes with a sentimental delight as I basked in the joy of his smile.

“I was nervous to put myself out there, I didn’t know if you were just messing with me.” I confessed as I watched him scoff in response. 

“I thought I’d made my interest pretty clear.” He sighed as he leaned forward to gently kiss my forehead and I felt butterflies in my chest as his lips brushed the tip of my scar without any notice.

“I guess it took some reflection time to change my perspective.” I commented as I stared up at him. Although I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be in this moment, tangled in the covers with him, there was still a feeling of disbelief as I stared into his relaxed face. There seemed to be a delay in my heart understanding that he was back seemingly from the dead and every time that this fact struck me again I experienced a fresh wave of appreciation for his presence. “Everything got clearer once I thought you were gone.” I whispered with a hint of sadness in my voice. He sighed deeply as he pondered me and I noticed that his expression became reflective.

“Yeah, I get that.” He admitted as he carefully pushed my hair behind my ear and settled his hand on my cheek. He stared into my eyes with an intensity that stunned me. “I searched everywhere for you.” He revealed and I felt myself take a sharp breath at the emotion in his voice. “I thought the grounders had taken you, I was ready to take on the entire army.” He described and I smiled, not doubting his statement at all. “It was torture, not knowing what had happened to you. By the time we found Clarke and she told us that you were in Mount Weather, it was a struggle to wait for them to get a plan together. I just wanted to get you back.” He blurted as he stroked my face with a mesmerised smile. I felt like I was in a dream, like the words falling from his swollen, over-kissed lips couldn’t possibly be for me. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay in control in that Mountain, every part of the plan went wrong and I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He aired his thoughts without any hesitation and my heart warmed at his honesty.

“I have a pretty good idea.” I drawled as I explored the finer details of his face. I studied him like he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. His radiant skin was warm even in the low light of the room and I reached up to brush his charming natural curls out of his face. I continued to adore the freckles that decorated his complexion and it struck me that they were a treasured reminder of my mother. He considered me with a sparkle in his perfect eyes as I lost myself in him. He smiled tenderly as my attention fell to his lips and I brushed my fingers across the slight scar that framed them, wondering what the story was behind it. I couldn’t get past my need to observe him, to confirm that he was here and I felt as if I should make the most of every moment after the pain of the last few weeks. I met his eyes and prepared myself to meet his honesty with my own. 

“I really believed that you were dead. You, Octavia, Raven and so many others. I woke up in that mountain with the knowledge that my entire family was gone. I grieved for you and I had to try to continue with the regret.” I admitted. I watched his brows furrow and concern crept into the corners of his eyes. “I focused on protecting the people that were left and I was lucky to have Monty and Jasper to keep that focus alive. I would love to say that I held it together without you, that I stepped up to lead them in your place like everyone keeps saying that I did but the truth is, I don’t think I would even be alive right now if there hadn’t been a threat to distract me.” I divulged as I allowed my emotions to speak for themselves.

He wrapped his fingers delicately around my wrist as he turned it slightly toward his face and I couldn’t meet his eyes. It was difficult for me to even consider reliving the moments that led me to these scars, even with him and I squirmed in discomfort as I felt him inspecting me. I startled at the sudden sensation of his lips placing a featherlight kiss on the tender skin of my wrist and I peeked at him through guilty eyes.

“Never again.” He declared as he held my gaze and I squinted at him in confusion. “I know that you thought we were all gone, but this can’t ever happen again. Do you understand me?” He confirmed with a firm tone to his voice and his gaze was filled with intensity as he assessed me. I nodded back through a gathering of unspent tears. “You can’t give up Indie, no matter what happens in the future you have to keep fighting. Promise me that you will.” He insisted and it became much harder to contain my emotions.

“I promise.” I responded in a small voice as a single tear rolled down my cheek and he brushed it away. He gathered me into him, wrapping his arms tightly around me and I breathed him in. He placed a comforting kiss on my forehead, smoothing my hair and I felt a flutter in my chest.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed of them. They’re like the others, something that you survived. You don’t have to hide them.” He advised as he ran his thumb along one of the scars on my wrist and I smiled at his perspective.

I drifted into the most restful sleep that I’d ever experienced, wrapped in the incomparable safety of his arms. For the first time in weeks, it was dreamless and I wasn’t haunted by anything. My brain couldn’t even create any pleasant dreams that would trump my reality and so instead I was able to switch off completely.

[fantastic-fantasy-fanfics]

DONE WAITING

Request: N/A

A/N: I just released a buttload of fluff, I think I need to balance it out with some ANGST!  Also, I need to stop watching First Avenger, it has taken over my life.

preserum!Steve x reader

Word count:

Summary: life isn’t fair.  Why did Steve think it would be as soon as you came into his life?

Warnings: death, grief, depression, guilt, funerals, references to Catholicism, car crash, description of injury, blood gore

(GIF not mine)

A dramatic crack of thunder and lightning illuminated the panes of the stained glass windows of the church, mildly interrupting the priest's sermon.  Steve flinched at the sudden noise, his senses more irritable with the bubbling sadness within him.  A single tear rolled down his face as he sniffled, trying not to cough- the cold and wet weather wasn’t good for his asthma.

The sound of the priest’s voice was drowned out by Steve’s racing thoughts and aching chest.  All he could focus on was not crying again. Over and over Steve repeated in his head, “it should have been me, it should have been me…”.  He rocked back as forth as the dam broke, tears flooding his cheeks, despite his best efforts.  He covered his face with his ice cold hands, ashamed of his constant weeping.  All he could see behind his eyelids was that damned car accident played on over and over.  Again and again the sights and sounds haunted his cursed imagination.  Why did a good person like you have to die such a cruel, vile death?! It had been less than a week ago, meaning the gaping wound where Steve’s heart used to be was still fresh.  You were on your way to a dinner reservation you had planned to celebrate yours and Steve’s engagement.  It was supposed to be a happy occasion… 

All three of you were strolling down the city sidewalk to the Pizzeria you had been dying to try.  Work had been so stressful for the three of you, so you had decided to treat yourself to a dinner outing.  Why not?  You had been saving up for over a year to do something nice for yourselves, and you all had plenty of reason to celebrate. 

“And that’s when the camel said, ‘get off my back!’” Steve chuckled, getting to the awful, yet hilarious end of his bad joke.  Buck gave him sarcastic laughter and playful eye rolls.  You, on the other hand, were laughing so hard your face was red and you couldn’t stop chortling.

Steve loved it when you laughed.  Especially when it wasn’t “lady-like”.  The most beautiful sound he could hear was you laughing so hard you were snorting and wheezing.  It broke his heart that he’d never hear that angelic sound again.

Bucky let out a deep sigh before looking both ways to cross the street with you.  Unfortunately, Steve was too busy reveling in the pride of making you choke on your own laughter, that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings.  Steve had walked halfway across the road when a drunk driver swerved around the corner, barreling down the street.

It was as if time slowed down.  You had seen the car speeding down the road, heading to hit Steve, so you jumped into action.  You pushed Bucky away from you to keep him from chasing you into the street too as you leapt onto the asphalt.  Your high-heels clicked against the black top, giving the scene an eerie echo of your last footsteps as Steve slowly turned around to see what the hell was happening.

“STEVEN!” you shrieked, slightly picking him up before throwing him to safety at the other end of the crosswalk.

Steve didn’t have even a second to process what was going on, he just knew he was flying through the air and you were a mere foot from the hood of that guy’s car.

Just as he was landing, still in slow motion, Steve saw you attempt to jump out of the way, but it was too late, the drunk driver had hit you spot on, plummeting you to the ground as his squealing tires ran you over, dragging your body against the pavement.

The sound of yours and Bucky’s screams pierced Steve’s ears as he watched the vehicle screech to a stop and run over the curb into a fire hydrant.  Once his brain had gathered the information, he landed hard on his back as he started to process the events that had just transpired.

He could barely believe his eyes.  Your body was limp and quickly turning pale and ashy, bruised and bleeding on the dirty ground.  “No… no… (Y/N)!!!” Steve cried, scrambling to his feet and rushing over, scraping his knees as he stumbled to your side, “CALL 9-1-1!”.  Bucky ran into the nearest business establishment to call an ambulance, his face white with terror.

Steve took you into his arms, afraid to touch and hurt you further.  “No… no… no no… (Y/N), why?” he whimpered, holding your cold corpse to his chest.  Your head was profusely bleeding, staining your new pink dress and his white shirt.  Your left arm and neck were severely bruised and your right arm was broken.  Ironically, as if the universe was trying to mock him, your face had a peaceful look on it, as if you were simply taking a nap.  The universe was sick.

The scene was so vivid in Steve’s head, it took another solid crack of booming thunder to shake him out of the flashback.  His tears and sobs grew louder and harder as Bucky stood up to carry the casket out of the church.

“She’s where she doesn’t have to suffer,” Bucky whispered, squeezing Steve’s frail shoulder in a quick attempt to comfort him, “she’s okay now,”.

Steve just watched as Bucky’s expression faded back into a somber pout.  Steve felt it was all his fault you died and he couldn’t even give you the respect of carrying you to your final resting place.  He was so useless…

The funeral procession walked outside, everyone popping open their umbrellas or donning their raincoats as another crack of thunder roared.  Steve was almost too shaky to carry his own umbrella as he tried to have a stiff upper lip, but the tears kept falling down his pale cheeks.

The final words spoken by the Priest and the goodbye given by her parents were nice, or, so Steve was told.  He was too distracted to listen as he stared blankly at the deep, lonely hole (Y/N) was about to be shoved in.  How he wished there was a more elegant way for you to be buried, you didn’t deserve a literal hole in the ground.

After the funeral was over, everyone filtered away, getting into their mud-splashed cars and driving home to eat and go to bed, most likely to feel better in the morning.  But not Steve.  He didn’t want to leave you yet.  He couldn’t.

“C’mon pal, you’ll catch something if you stay out here much longer,” Bucky called, sticking his numb hands into his coat pockets.

“It’s my fault…” he sobbed, dropping his umbrella, rain immediately soaking his hair and shirt.

Bucky jogged over to him, holding his own umbrella over the both of them.  “Steve, don’t say things like that, it was a freak accident!” he said, turning the smaller man to face him.

“If I had just paid attention… If I had just looked where I was going… she’d still be here,” he choked, his lungs suffering as his sobs steifled his already questionable breathing.

Buck’s face softened, giving his best friend a hug.  “I’ll miss her too, but this isn’t your fault…” he repeated, “she just loved you enough she’d sacrifice herself for you… the same thing you’d do for her,”.

Steve nodded, looking back at the open grave, still not ready to face the reality that you were gone.  He never thought he’d have to face this… For one, he never thought someone would love him like you did.  But, with you added to his life, he had even more to lose… 

“Thanks Buck… I appreciate you staying with me,” he sniffed, attempting to wipe his face dry.

Bucky smiled softly, glad Steve wasn’t completely lost.  He wrapped his arm around his shoulder, leading him to the truck, “We’ll visit her again soon, let’s just get you dried off and fed- you know she would have killed you if she saw you like this,”.

Steve visited everyday, not that he had much else to do.  His paintings weren’t selling anymore.  Not that he was surprised, his art was all sad and dark, no one wanted to buy that.  So, instead of creating shitty art, he decided to sit with you for a few hours everyday.  Bucky said he shouldn’t do that, “you won’t heal unless you distance yourself,” he’d say.  But what was he going to do?  Stop Steve from going?  He was always at work.

Steve leaned against the small headstone, curling up to stay warm.  November had just started and the wind was picking up, blowing around dark clouds and dead leaves.  He wrapped his thin coat around his small body as the gusts of air violently blew his hair and tie around, the sting of the cold doing nothing to stop his face from heating up as he started to cry again.

“I miss you..” he whimpered, sniffling, “I visited mom and dad earlier, I wish you could have met them… Maybe you’re with them now… I hope you are, they’d really love you,”.  The cold stone grave said nothing back, the silence deafening.  “I could really use some encouragement right now.  Everyone says to express myself and get it out of my system, but whatever I create sucks!” he ranted, pulling a little photo of you out of his pocket, hoping that if he saw your face, he’d feel more like you were here.

“I’m trying my best to feel better, but it’s so hard when I’ve already lost almost everything… Bucky’s there, but he doesn’t understand how I feel, he doesn’t get it,” he cried, his eyes getting puffy as tears continued to well up.  He leaned his forehead against the stone to shield his face from the gray wind, still looking at the photo.

You were smiling at the camera, your cheek pressed against his own as Bucky presented your homemade birthday cake to you.  Steve remembered that day so vividly.  He planned a big surprise party for you at the community center.  Somehow, both he and Buck were able to keep their lips sealed and didn’t spoil the surprise the entire two weeks he was planning it.  It was such a happy memory.

“I don’t know how I can move on…” he sobbed, clutching the picture to his chest as he let out a few vulnerable sobs, “I fucking miss you, (Y/N),”.  He started sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe, his lungs begging for air in the form of desperate gasps.  He fumbled through his pockets to look for his special cigarettes.  He stuck it between his lips, igniting a match to light the cigarette in a hurry.

He let out a hard coughing sob before taking a deep inhale of the medicinal smoke.  “How can I move on from someone like you?” he hiccuped, shoving the picture back into his pocket, “I had waited for some like you for so long… just for you to be ripped away from me…”.  He scoffed, tapping the ash off the butt of the cigarette before starting to walk home.  “The universe is sick…” he grumbled, leaving his wedding band at your headstone.

______________

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[gunpan48]

3m Safety And Security Reading Glasses

Signs And Symptoms Of Vision Issues

#toc background: #f9f9f9;border: 1px solid #aaa;display: table;margin-bottom: 1em;padding: 1em;width: 350px; .toctitle font-weight: 700;text-align: center;

Content

What Triggers Ocular Pain?

Searching For A Reduced Vision Aid To Eliminate Vision Loss? Take The Irisvision Test.

Common Eye Disorders.

What Is Glue For Glasses Frames.

Nose Pads Keep Glasses Comfortable.

What Causes Ocular Pain?

Forty I made use of a fluid called acetone, secure the break and melt the brake with an eye dropper I dealt with numerous pair, and now I wear wire frames.The declines of acetone thaws the break comparable to weilding. Try several of the quick setting JB Weld, The rapid type held some plastic that the old standby JB counldn't. I glued it from the within to permit the adhesive to permeate into the crack as well as fill the space up, worked flawlessly.

Glass adhesives are commonly solvent-free, UV and weather-resistant as well as have an extremely high resistance to mechanical stress. If you intend to use the silicone adhesive on a terrarium or fish tank, you need to make certain it appropriates. Sanitary silicone, in particular, commonly has an antifungal impact of preventing mold growth in the washroom. This is obviously a wonderful benefit when used in moist spaces, yet fungicides are damaging to animals and also water organisms.

After I was particular the glue was gone from the delicate white of my eyes, I extremely gingerly blinked. I was overjoyed when my eye resumed without sticking itself closed, and also discharge a deep sigh of alleviation. I would certainly managed to adhesive the light bulb owner back with each other, and additionally glue the tube to my fingers.

Looking For A Reduced Vision Help To Fight Vision Loss? Take The Irisvision Trial.

As the name implies, the Devcon 2-Ton epoxy is made for very sturdy use. It has great impact toughness, is non-shrinking, as well as keeps good clarity once it dries out. Other than being water resistant, it was also formulated to stand up to solvents, fuel, oil, mineral spirits, and anti-freeze.

Nevertheless, this is not your perfect epoxy if you remain in a hurry. The Devcon 2-Ton Epoxy has an exceptionally lengthy setting time of 20 mins, with complete treating just expected after about 12 hours. The E6000 was specifically formulated with craft-making in mind. In spite of its stamina, it preserves a good action of versatility when dry. It is clear and also is easily paintable, so it should not detract from the aesthetics of your crafts.

Art Bell once glued his lips virtually together obtaining the cap off with his teeth throughout a break. When he came back on after the break a humorous event occurred live to us radio audiences in the millions. Being a significant fan of Ghost Peppers, I've gotten powder or oil in my eyes more than a couple of times. Yet not so chilli pepper, which as soon as resulted in a blind rescue trip to medical facility as well as an eye spot for a number of weeks. I take place to keep my superglue in the shower room purposefully-- appropriate next to the plasters so that I can spot a cut from an airplane or a razor operating in the store.

What does OD mean after a doctors name?

An optometrist receives a doctor of optometry (OD) degree after completing four years of optometry school, preceded by three years or more years of college.

Robert's walking cane maintained falling over when he had to use his hands. Adding magnets made it easy for him to complete his everyday tasks without needing to fret about fetching his cane regularly. The numbers and also dials on cleaning makers, microwaves, ovens as well as various other appliances can be little as well as difficult to read. Throughout the years our neighborhood has actually made use of Sugru to make points extra visible and also also included tactile pens to assist individuals with damaged vision. It worked initially for initial two goes, after that the thin needle appicator came undone and also it had to be utilized as regular adhesive i.e. an opening as well as pressed glue out appeared in bigger blobs.

It's a pity that the secretary did not have some nail gloss cleaner handy. The non-irritant kind (n-Butyl cyanoacrylate) which is also authorized for usage on human beings, is rather pricey.

If adhesive continues to be after using warm soapy water, it will certainly usually de-bond within a number of days due to basic damage and also the all-natural oils in the skin. " Want to make fish pot, we have ten mm glass. Got good info with actions, thank you." " I am planning on crafting with glass marbles & half rounds & required information on just how to go about it. Thanks to all writers for producing a page that has been read 571,551 times. wikiHow is a "wiki," comparable to Wikipedia, which means that most of our short articles are co-written by several writers.

Repairing fragile valuables or cherished accessories can lead to additional damages as well as frustration if you do not have the right tools. Because of its numerous resistance to wetness, reduced temperature, and also different chemicals, the Loctite Professional adhesive makes sure resilient bonding with keep the optimum effectiveness. Exactly how old are the glasses you might be able to obtain them replaced if they aren't also old. I suggest utilizing a toothpick to use the combined epoxy to the glasses.

Once the components are adhered, leave them uninterrupted for a minimum of 10 mins. Repairing glass can be complicated, however it does not need to be. A couple of easy preventive actions can make the distinction. The most effective way to attain enduring results is to plan in advance.

I've utilized a small old drill little bit, and also tight galvanized cord. A drill little bit can repair the earpiece, as well as the cord can be formed around contours in the glass holding areas.

The epoxy retains its strength in severe hot and cold as well as can be utilized for acrylic, steel, glass, concrete, and ceramic. Eliminate any extra fragments or glass fragments obstructing a perfect seal. If you do discover spaces in between glass items, select a gap-filling adhesive such as Loctite Go2 Gel.

Common Eye Disorders.

Top-Specs embeds in the presence of wetness, so this can additionally make it most likely the eyelids become adhered to the eyeball too. I then proceeded to delicately wipe away solidified adhesive from my reduced eyelid as well as eyelashes.

What Is Glue For Glasses Frames.

I'm a jewelry maker and it doesn't stay with my pearls or crystals - as anticipated - as I use it for glueing knots on stretch string. I've stated, yes, permanently value, as it had not been also pricey for needle application adhesive - yet if only it worked effectively - maybe I had a dud one. I make my own sterling silver wire wrapped Sea Glass as well as Gemstones. This glue is amazingly solid and dries out clear which is excellent.

The worst little bit was what got under my eylid the unpleasant effect was quiet undesirable, took a trip to the doctor to have it cleaned out, fortunately no permenant damages. This certain little girl has offered me numerous terrific tales like securing the "Care construction zone" sign by running over it with her auto. She came home with the best front panel of her cars and truck in the trunk. Since then I've used hardware-store grade CA many lot of times to knit up little cuts, and also it's remarkable. Maintains them with each other for 3-4 days and afterwards just peels/ dismiss.

Once all was tranquil, I determined to begin my research study into just how negative that can have been. This implied a briny eye rinse was offered, and also I purged my eye repetitively without blinking.

What kind of glue do I use when covering bottles with thread? I've tried wood adhesive, however it's not offering me what I want.

The lines of type get smaller as you relocate down the chart.

Your near vision additionally might be checked, using a card with letters similar to the far-off eye graph.

During a refraction analysis, your doctor asks you to check out a masklike gadget that contains wheels with various lenses having different toughness to aid determine which combination provides you the sharpest vision.

Your doctor asks you to determine different letters of the alphabet printed on a chart or a screen placed some distance away.

Most individuals will not experience unfavorable results from a short program of unnecessary anti-biotics, Stein states, however there are threats.

Start with a clean, dry surface area that is free of oil, wax, paint, or any kind of sort of soapy deposit. Any excess material, even fingerprints, may stop a solid bond. Taking care of smooth surfaces and sharp edges can be irritating. Gluing that damaged rear-view mirror or cracked wineglass back with each other can be harder than it first seems.

What is eye doctor called?

An ophthalmologist — Eye M.D. — is a medical or osteopathic doctor who specializes in eye and vision care. Ophthalmologists differ from optometrists and opticians in their levels of training and in what they can diagnose and treat.

After that some years after, I saw just how a mom used the very same adhesive in the temple of his very own youngster that obtained a bleeding scrape. Instantly the kid quit blood loss and afterwards some ice was applied to avoid swelling, however later the child was allright runing everywhere again. some days later I reached see the kid once again and he hadn't got even a tiny mark of the swelling. This mom told me the exact same, the adhesive will certainly left the body in a number of days.

To produce this article, 20 individuals, some confidential, functioned to edit as well as boost it gradually. Operate in a well-ventilated area if you are making use of an adhesive that creates hazardous fumes. Some silicone adhesives come in a cyndrical tube with a plunger at one end as well as a nozzle at the various other.

We kept it wet to quit it from setting but however that did not function. It at some point came off with a combination of cutting his eyelashes, using a hot flannel compress and also selecting away at the glue. That was a really undesirable minute, however I was lucky and also just ended up with a cornea abscess and no vision loss.

These can be put into a "silicone weapon" for higher control over application. If you want to include mod-podge rather, that will certainly make it clear as well as shiny. Make use of some of the truly little bottles of industrial-strength glue. Be extremely cautious not to jump on your fingers in the process.

What are the different types of eye doctors?

Eye Doctors - Eye Doctors: Optometrists and Ophthalmologists There are two main types of eye doctors: ophthalmologists and optometrists. Confused about which is which and who does what? Here's a look at how they're different.

Nose Pads Keep Glasses Comfortable.

Complying with that, I'll share some basic tips for when you locate on your own in a sticky scenario. # 7 Take the glass out of the frame and make use of the glass cleaner and the towel to brighten up your mosaic. # 6 As soon as all your tiles have actually been carefully glued in position make certain to leave the mosaic over night to make sure that your adhesive can entirely cure. # 5 Once you more than happy with exactly how your mosaic looks not stuck down, you are ready to begin sticking points into place. You might require to take off a few pieces at once to make sure that as you push the floor tile into location the displaced glue does not half stick an additional floor tile down.

I don't really maintain eye drops accessible, to make sure that confusion is unlikely, but I might certainly see another person encountering that complication. I could begin buying the bright orange containers of superglue simply to be on the risk-free side ... I was residing in an unpleasant shared level where somebody leaving superglue in the bathroom wasn't that out of the ordinary.

The lengthy slim applicator tube is additionally great for getting the adhesive right into little limited areas. I would thoroughly suggest this for any type of fragile glueing. You'll see an approximated delivery date - opens in a new home window or tab based on the vendor's send off time and also delivery service. Delivery times may differ, especially throughout peak periods as well as will certainly depend upon when your settlement removes - opens in a brand-new window or tab. Rinse your fingers immediately with a lot of cozy soapy water and do not draw on the skin that has been glued.

Spray with a sealer to guarantee resilience and also water resistance. As soon as the very first layer has actually dried out, adding a small amount of adhesive to a location will certainly make it wet as well as tacky, preventing your designs from slipping.Wait an additional 5-10 minutes for this to take effect. For large level pieces of glass, repair them in position with a glass clamp or an additional clamp specialized for holding delicate things. Ensure the busted surfaces are straightened and hold in place for a minimum of one min. You will certainly utilize the wire to reinforce the location on both sides of the break.

Take care using any adhesive for seals revealed to extreme temperatures (over 180 ° F/82 ° C). E6000 Craft Adhesive can survive at any kind of temperature because of its commercial toughness top quality, which can provide you a maximum bonding efficiency. Cyanoacrylate "Super Glue" is the functional adhesive offered by Glue Masters.

If you desire, you can put a tablet computer or print out of a picture below to assist you draw out your lines. The dry eliminate pen can be easily abraded if you make any type of errors. When dealing with sharp-edged glass, there is, certainly, a danger of injury. Protect your fingers from sharp sides by masking them with a layer of clinical tape. In this way, you can maintain your haptic capacities without revealing your skin to unsafe fragments.

no matter what item you utilize, put covering up tape on your lens to shield it from any adhesive mishaps. These are a bit harder to make use of but they do give the best bond. Obtain the mixing taste buds and the little spatula as well as continue to blend equivalent parts of the tubes. It placed my mind secure when my child's eye crash obtained glued with each other. He was having a head wound glued up by an Emergency situation Doctor and some glue glided down into his eye.

How can I restore my eyesight to 20 20?

Keep reading to learn other ways you can improve your vision. 1. Get enough key vitamins and minerals. 2. Top-Specs forget the carotenoids. 3. Stay fit. 4. Manage chronic conditions. 5. Wear protective eyewear. 6. That includes sunglasses. 7. Follow the 20-20-20 rule. 8. Quit smoking. More items•

This can be performed with tidy water or a proper clinical solution, such as saline made use of by call lens users. Using anything to liquify the adhesive is an outright no-no. This will just offer to boost the possibility of gluing your eyes closed as the eyelids collaborated.

Hackaday presently appears like a pack of cigarettes in an international nation. You recognize, the ones that plaster images of malignant body organs and rotting faces on tobacco items to encourage individuals to quit.

This was quite standard procedure, so I wasn't specifically worried. However, as my figures drew devoid of television, the nozzle flipped a fat bead of glue straight in the direction of my face, touchdown in the corner of my eye.

From the outside with or without the light on you can not see the fracture anymore as well as it has held for about 4 months to date. Great for sticking little glass products; not so reliable on larger breaks. Moisten the glue tarnish with cozy water, after that carefully rub toothpaste over the discolor with a fabric.

I obtained the top of my ear cut while obtaining a haircut (blood all over!) and also went to the ER and they glued it back along with medical-grade CA. They could not have sewed anything so fine, and also it worked perfectly. One of the initial functions for CA adhesive was to close gunshot wounds during the Vietnam Battle. My doctor superglued my fingertip together after I inadvertently touched a running bandsaw.

[jadeywrites]

I have a new WIP, technically just an idea three days old, and I wrote a piece where two of the characters meet for the first time. The story is supposed to start at least two years later, but I need to do some backstory development and what's a better way than to start at the very beginning of their relationship?

Posting a snippet of the most relevant part of the piece below for those with less time, and the full 2,191 words below the cut.

Welcome to Sea Sorceress!

***

And there was her victory. Tin pushed up off the wall and extended her hand to Johnson. “Call me Captain Tin. Unless you still like the name Johnson, you'll have to give me a new one.”

Johnson hesitated at the hand.

“Is your curse contagious? Shake the hand.” She waggled it. Johnson took it. “There we go. Now, name.”

“Cin.”

Tin’s lips curved upwards. “Sin? That's a little dramatic--did you come up with that yourself?”

“No, Cin.” Cin enunciated the word, and the beginning sounded like a cross between a hiss and a scoff of the tongue.

“Ah. Well, nice to meet you, Cin.”

They had been holding hands a bit long, hadn't they? Tin shook her hand, and let go.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I'm not a woman.”

Tin blinked at Cin. “You mean…”

Cin’s gaze dropped to the floor, but then looked Tin in the eyes again. “I prefer the term ‘human’. Just me. I use… I use ‘they’.”

Ah, shit. Tin suddenly felt like an utter fool and jerk.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

That sounded like--no, that was a challenge. Cin had their chin tilted up, shoulders squared. Tin shook her head. “My apologies. No, no problem whatsoever.”

Cin kept staring at her, then seemed to relax. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Tin smiled, the moment over. “It sounds nice, doesn't it? Tin and Cin. I feel like we're going to get along well.”

***

Word got around quickly.

The Admiral’s ship had sailed--or wobbled--into harbor yesterday afternoon, and this morning the residents and visitors of King’s Bay could not keep their mouths shut about the state his ship had come back in. Blue paint faded, peeling, so the ship’s name Queen's Lady could barely be read. An entire mast gone, snapped, only the jagged remains sticking up from the deck. A section of the railing smashed and splintered, presumably from when the mast had fallen.

And the poor, poor, no longer brightly buttoned crew.

Over half the men who had embarked on the “top secret” expedition were seriously ill. Some had died. The Admiral himself had to be carried off the ship on a stretcher to be seen by the castle's physician. He hadn't died… unfortunately.

The Admiral’s falling was an amusing enough topic for Tin to dwell on, but there was more to the story that interested her more. Tuning out the tavern’s babbel behind her, she scrutinized the crookedly pasted poster on the wall, the words WANTED ALIVE written in bold across the top. 2000 ht. REWARD.

Ex-Navigator of Queen’s Lady. For treason, sorcery, murder, impersonation of man.

It was an impressive list of accomplishments. Rumor now said, if it could be relied upon, that the Johnson Halding pictured on the poster had been a woman in disguise, and cursed the ship with her bad luck. Or had done it purposefully, as some wicked… something… perhaps having been spurned by one of the sailors aboard. No one could agree whether she had been seen dragged off the ship in chains, or whether she had disappeared into thin air at the ship's docking.

It didn't matter to Tin. She was a pirate. She couldn't care less if “Johnson” was up for treason, or even sorcery. All she wanted was to find this hideaway in a harbor of… oh, fifteen-thousand bodies.

“Are you getting anything?”

Corry’s voice was an interruption to her thoughts. Annoying. No, she wasn't getting anything. “Shut up,” she snapped.

Tin tightened her grip on the smooth metal ball she held in her fist and narrowed her eyes at the Wanted poster. She traced her gaze over the printed copy of short curly hair, the thin arched brows, the pointed end of Johnson Halding’s nose and chin. It was harder to track a person she had never met, especially with only one black and white hastily done reference.

The Wanted posters had been put up rather quickly, hadn't they? The guard and printers must have worked overtime to get it done so fast.

Some immeasurable time later, the ball warmed unnaturally in her hand. It tugged, as if attached to an invisible string, towards the wall on her right.

Tin felt a flicker of triumph. She reached up and roughly peeled the poster from the wall, thrusting it into Corry’s hands. “Keep this.”

She turned, and stalked out of the tavern.

The ball guided her on and Tin took the most direct way she could towards their target. Corry followed close on her heels, silent. When they finally emerged onto a bustling main road filled with shops and carts selling wares, taking advantage of the rare good weather this time of the year, she knew they were close. Tin slowed her pace to a casual stroll, skirting around men and women as they went. Closer--closer--she knew they had passed their target when the tugging pulled her no longer forwards, but back. Tin tossed a look over her shoulder and spotted Johnson Harding, a brown shawl over her head, dressed in woman's clothes and hunched over with a basket on her arm. She kept Corry and herself walking on until they reached the end of the street, then leaned casually against the building side.

They watched her approach, and for once Corry actually kept his mouth shut. She kept expecting him to make some remark, some comment about what he saw, but nothing. A glance up and to her side showed the burly man slouched against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Johnson had almost reached the end of the street. Tin pushed herself off the wall, pocketing the ball as she did so. She strolled towards the woman, falling into step beside her and looping an arm through hers. On Johnson’s other side, Corry did the same. Nothing suspicious, only a dutiful daughter and son helping their mother along, perhaps.

Johnson’s body went rigid, and Tin had to tighten her grip as the woman tried to stop walking and tug out of her grip. She shot looks between the two of them, and Tin knew she must realize she was trapped as she was towed along, out of the main busy street. Johnson couldn't yell for help. Not with her face on dozens of posters around the harbor.

“What are you doing?” Johnson hissed.

“Helping you,” Tin replied smoothly. “We're not the only ones who were following you. Just play along.”

“Like I believe you.”

At a pointed look from Tin, Corry detached himself with an acted bow and wave, like the good son he pretended to be, and went to make sure their tail wasn't going to be a problem. Tin knew he had spotted the slinking man while they had been at the wall, which was why it was unusual he hadn't mentioned him to her. Corry stated everything including the obvious, so why not the tail? Was he hoping the man would become a problem for them?

Tin snapped her gaze to Johnson as she felt her tense. “Don't think about it,” she warned. “I can stop you just as easy without him here.”

She turned them down a narrow abandoned alley until they reached the dead end. Johnson now stood trapped between her and the wall--no place to run to.

But the instant Tin let go, Johnson dropped her basket and swung. Tin caught her wrist easily, and when she brought her knee up, hooked her own foot around her leg and tugged hard, sending Johnson stumbling into the wall off balance as she let go.

“I told you not to try,” Tin said drily.

Ah, but there was defiance in Johnson’s gaze as she righted herself and glared at Tin. “I'm not going down without a fight.”

“That’s all very well and nice, only my aim isn't to bring you in.”

Johnson stared, unbelieving, at Tin.

“I have a job offer for you.”

“I don't like job offers. The last offer--” she spat out the word-- “got me here.”

Tin tilted her head. “I have a ship. I need a navigator. I would like to have you. Good lodging, good treatment, fair share of gains.”

Johnson said nothing.

“You must realize illegal means are the only way you'll live. Do you want to spend the rest of your life running, or join my crew and the protection I hold?”

“Funny.” The woman shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirts. “I got an offer just like that recently. Are pirates so low on brains that they need to go right for the trouble ones like me to find anyone good?”

Tin snorted. “What can I say, we like trouble. Excitement. But I can tell you that the protection Crimson offers you is solid as mist.”

Surprise flickered across Johnson’s face.

“Your tail was one of Crimson’s men. I can put two and two together. He may have given you an offer and made you think you can consider, but I don't think that tail boded well for your future.” She lowered her voice to a croon. “Let me tell you, Crimson is a desperate man. He may have been good once, but ever since half his men were captured and executed last spring he's been falling. He'll turn you in the moment the reward and a few favors will benefit him more than your navigation skills.”

“And you won't?”

“I need a navigator with your exceptional talent more than I want the money. However--”

“Of course there's a catch.”

Tin can't help but grin. The woman was recovering some spunk, and she liked it. “Of course. My ship--”

“What happened to your last navigator?” Johnson interrupts.

Tin’s grin faded as she watched Johnson’s face closely. “I was getting to that. It's part of the catch. Sea Sorceress is, ah, on the... cursed side of things. Weird happenings. Crew with different needs. A little supernatural, a little magical. My last navigator decided it was too much and walked out.”

Johnson looked wary. The rigidness had returned to her posture, and her lips thinned. “No one in their right mind walks in with the cursed.”

“Except you've dipped your hands in the curse bowl too, haven't you?”

Johnson flinched. Tin closed the small gap between them, yanking one of her hands out of her pockets. Her hand was covered in small, thin red lines, like veins. The lines disappeared up her sleeve, and Tin didn't know how far they extended. “You cursed those men, didn't you? Only you paid a price. There's very often a price.”

Johnson snatched her hand away. “It’s none of your business.”

“It's not. Quite frankly, I don't care why you cursed those men.” Lie. She was intrigued. “They most likely deserved it. All I care about is your navigation and your ability to not get squeamish when the hoo-doo-voo-doo stuff starts a-happening. It seems to find me, and curses seem to be becoming a side hobby of mine anyway. Can you handle that?”

“I still know nothing about you, your ship, your crew--”

“I've told you all you need to know.”

“--and all I have is ‘your word’. It's no better than any other option I have now.”

Tin sighed and sagged against the alley wall. “Look. Frankly, I don't have time to explain it all to you. I'd give you a tour, interviews, whatever, if I could. But my ship is hidden in a cove near the harbor, and every moment she stays there the chance of discovery gets higher. I'm not high on the list yet, but the navy doesn't like hidden ships and shady work. I need to get back, and I also really need a navigator. But if you get there and you wanna walk out… I'll let you walk out. I swear.”

Johnson considered her, and Tin suddenly felt like the play had switched. Tin could, really, force Johnson to come with her if she wanted. But it wouldn't work well, not with the line of work she was in. She could only work with a crew who was truly loyal to her.

So where was Corry?

The silence stretched between them. Tin dropped her gaze eventually, fiddling with a seam on her coat instead. Time was ticking. She knew that.

“I have a question.”

Tin smiled with one side of her mouth. “Ask away.”

“Are you cursed?”

That was… okay, she should have expected that. Tin flexed her fingers and looked up. “No. Not... really.”

“It's not a hard question.”

“No. Not cursed.”

Johnson considered her again, holding Tin’s gaze. Waters be damned, her eyes were a beautiful blue. Blue eyes, red hair, and those brows--

“So why all the dealings with curses?”

Tin snapped out of it. Grinned, but the expression was sharper this time and more a baring of the teeth than anything. “I’ve still fallen afoul of the wrong beings. Messed up a deal once. Technically, not cursed, but pretty close to it.”

It wasn't the full truth, but good enough.

Johnson pursed her lips. “Fine.”

“Fine--fine what? Wait, what?”

“I'll join. Maybe. At least, I'll go see your ship.”

And there was her victory. Tin pushed up off the wall and extended her hand to Johnson. “Call me Captain Tin. Unless you still like the name Johnson, you'll have to give me a new one.”

Johnson hesitated at the hand.

“Is your curse contagious? Shake the hand.” She waggled it. Johnson took it. “There we go. Now, name.”

“Cin.”

Tin’s lips curved upwards. “Sin? That's a little dramatic--did you come up with that yourself?”

“No, Cin.” Cin enunciated the word, and the beginning sounded like a cross between a hiss and a scoff of the tongue.

“Ah. Well, nice to meet you, Cin.”

They had been holding hands a bit long, hadn't they? Tin shook her hand, and let go.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I'm not a woman.”

Tin blinked at Cin. “You mean…”

Cin’s gaze dropped to the floor, but then looked Tin in the eyes again. “I prefer the term ‘human’. Just me. I use… I use ‘they’.”

Ah, shit. Tin suddenly felt like an utter fool and jerk.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

That sounded like--no, that was a challenge. Cin had their chin tilted up, shoulders squared. Tin shook her head. “My apologies. No, no problem whatsoever.”

Cin kept staring at her, then seemed to relax. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Tin smiled, the moment over. “It sounds nice, doesn't it? Tin and Cin. I feel like we're going to get along well.”

[mysticsparklewings]

Winter Mountain

At last, we have the final painting for the Art Philosophy November Challenge. I'll be honest, I didn't think the prompt, "Winter Mountain," would give me so much trouble when I first noticed it on the prompt list. Oh boy was I wrong! In fact, I think this one ended up being the one that gave me the most trouble out of the bunch. All of the previous four had their challenges, "Summer Beach" in particular being the one that previously had the most practice pieces. But I just had a much harder time trying to conceptualize this one. I ended up with a total of seven different practice pieces before the final, and unlike all the previous prompts none of them were solid enough for me to pick one and try replicating it directly. The funny thing is, this final one was actually me more or less meeting my breaking point. After seven much smaller attempts that weren't objectively bad but just weren't doing what I wanted them to, I decided maybe it would just be best if I went ahead and tried a practice piece on the same size paper I'd use for the final. I had more than one piece left, so if it went south, then it wouldn't be that big of a deal. It was only after I'd started on this one that part of my problem might've been that I'd been practicing incorrectly. I've kept the previous paintings on the same 5.5" x 8.5" paper, but I've been alternating the long and short sides, similar to what I did during Inktober. By that logic, this one should've had the longest side on the top and bottom. By the time I noticed, I was tired and already fed up with my struggles and thus it was out of the question to worry about fixing it. It does make me wonder though if that could've been why I had such a hard time nailing down the concept from the very beginning. Would I have perhaps not struggled as much if I'd been practicing and had my paper turned correctly the whole time?  The world will never know. Anyway. I started off the painting by doing one of my favorite things to do with watercolor; a gradient wash. I stopped it with about 1/5 of the page left blank for what exactly I had in mind, going from a soft pinky-purple to a peachy yellow for a "cold" sunset feel. I was a little concerned about how it was going to try because it looked kind of patchy while it was still wet, but fortunately, it seems the paint largely smoothed itself out. Then came the truly challenging part. I'd learned from my practice pieces that I didn't want to just put in a dark color where the mountain part of "Winter Mountain" should be and then bring the snow/winter part back in with white watercolor, because each time I tried that it ended up looking more like just regular snow-topped mountains and not winter-specific mountains. But I also had a hard time replicating one practice piece where I miraculously put down just the shadow part of the mountains and was able to carve out the shape, even though I did really like the way it looked. (That practice piece came out looking a bit simple for my taste otherwise, but that was partly because of it's much smaller size and me being scared I was going to ruin it at any moment.) But I decided to try my luck regardless. As a result, the mountains here ended up being a sort of mixture of the "shadows only" and "add white to the top" methods. I started out trying to just leave the part that was supposed to be white alone and only add the shadows to create the shape of the mountains, and while that worked, for the most part, I did get a little carried away in a few places. And to be fair there was a little too much of the color from the background poking through to suit me too (though a little of it poking through in some places, a lot of which is still visible, I think adds to the sunset illusion, as naturally, the snow would reflect some of the colors). So much like in my practice pieces, I did end up playing a little bit of back-and-forth between the shadow color and white. And while I'm sure it's still not perfect and there are many watercolor puritans out there ready to scrap me other the coals, I think it turned out okay. While the mountains did their drying, I went in and added what's supposed to be a river, which on both practice pieces I incorporated it into in a similar fashion ended up looking more like just some strange part of the ground. Fortunately, here in the final, I was a little more careful and particular and so it looks more like actual water here. I think. Although realistically it should probably be frozen over and thus not as dark, I digress. Then I very carefully added some shadows/shading to the ground and did my best to blend it with the base of the mountains so that it didn't look like I just forgot to paint that area. Snow, as it turns out, is trickier to paint that one might imagine. Or at least than I would imagine. Especially with watercolor where the primary way to get white is to normally leave the white of the paper. It's odd trying to balance the right amount of white that gets left alone with just enough shadow that it doesn't look like a mistake. While that all dried, I pondered what else I could add. Mountains, a river, and the moon I knew I was going to add later...that's fine and good and all, but that alone leaves something to be desired. I decided to take a risk and used some more of the bluish-gray I'd mixed for the snow shadows and added some mountains that were meant to be further in the background to add a little more interest and fill out more of the paper, as I had put the original mountains in a little low on the page. Then I went in and added my moon and some stars white the white watercolor. (Not my white gel pen for a change!) That all came out pretty subtle since the main white I was using tends to sink back into the paper/colors underneath pretty noticeably. And to this day I still don't know if it's because it's a pan watercolor (as my white from the tube doesn't seem to do that, or at least not to the same extent) or if it's just because of whatever white pigment was used to make it.  Either way, I'm okay with that here as it seems more fitting for the moon and stars to be more subtle in this type of sky. I was very very tempted to add some trees--evergreen, specifically--to liven up the landscape a little, but I'd already experimented with that in practice and even when I went back and added some teeny-tiny trees to a few of my practice pieces just to see how it would look and work, they just didn't look that great and I didn't feel like I could create them in a reliable way. If that makes sense.  So that was out. Instead, I ended up settling on adding some springs of grass/plants poking through the snow. It's not something we usually think about, but I've seen it for myself that even in the dead of winter with a thick blanket of snow on the ground you can still often see the holdovers from warmer weather poking through. It's not quite the same, but I do think it helped add that little bit of life I was looking for. It was still missing something though, and after some thought, I decided that something was birds. This time, instead of just going in as usual and free handing the birds and their flying positions myself, I dared look up a reference of birds flying in a v-formation and based them off of that, which I quite like. And at first, after I finished it, I still wasn't quite sure if I was totally happy with it. In all honesty, I think I was just a little burnt out on snowy mountains for the night and I was tired and just really wanted to be done. Looking at it again today, I feel better about it. I'm still not sure it's good as it could be, but it still looks pretty nice anyway. And...it's done. I am th-rough this freaking challenge!   I'm not mad at what I managed to create from the five prompts, but I do know I'm going to be a little more discerning the next time I think about participating in one of Art Philosophy's monthly challenges. "Landscape" was a bit overzealous of a category for me.   The funny thing is I'm still not sure I understand how 5 prompts spread over every 2-3 days ended up being more taxing and time-consuming than 31 prompts with one for every single day.  The best I can figure is it's just that much different between full watercolor paintings and poems with ink backgrounds. Whatever the case, it's done. I made some satisfactory paintings and now I can go back to simply creating as the inspiration strikes me. That being the case, hopefully, one of the next things up will be another marker illustration, as while all this painting business has been going on I've had a bit of an interesting story going on behind the scenes... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[lettersfromjuliet-blog1]

My First Week in Nepal!

Why does it take me so long to start journaling when I arrive in a new country? It’s pretty frustrating-- makes it harder to recall the days. Might as well give it a go. New country, new journal.

First impression of Nepal: the weather. It’s so nice and finally feels like spring. I met Hannah, Fran, and Jeremy in the van at the airport. They were all very friendly, but not like they are now. Not that they seemed fake or anything of that sort, but first greetings are always different. I feel as if nobody is who they truly are the first time you meet them.

I’ve come to enjoy everyone thus far. We met Fergus on arrival at the hotel where Janella, Ellie, Lottie, and Simon already were. We were given our rooms and then went wandering around Kathmandu. It is similar to Sri Lanka as far as the streets go (crowded spaces and pressure to walk straight in order to avoid being hit by a car). Buddhist flags hung everywhere-- blue, red, white, green, and yellow. We walked around for about an hour, the shops were quite cool. There are many hippie-style clothing shops and some art shops as well. That night we had dinner, some went out, and of course, I went to sleep.

On Sunday, the whole group went on a walk to a square that is supposed to have neat architecture, but we didn’t end up going in because it cost money. So we walked around some more instead. I found a wonderful embroidery patch to add to my collection and a fun headband! After lunch, we went to a Buddhist monkey temple with a complete view of the city. There was a lady who gave me a candle to put at the alter type thing, and I thought “why not?” . So I did. But after, she insisted I pay for the candle-- a detail she failed to mention beforehand. I should have seen it coming though. I didn’t want to be scammed so I said no-- which led to her cursing me. I think. I’m not entirely sure what happened.

After that event, we went to a Hindu temple-- Pashupatinath Temple. It was the one Michelle had told me about from her time in Nepal. She had said that it was families held funerals, but not the ones that we are used to. And sure enough, there were funerals going on. It was a confusing thing to watch. Even though we were on the other side of the river that ran through the site, there was a clear view of the obviously personal events taking place. The bodies were wrapped in an orange cloth and their families were standing around them while they said goodbye and cremated the body. We were told that it was okay to watch, but it felt wrong to make a tourist attraction out of the loss of somebody’s loved one. The gloomy sky and stillness in the air made everything feel even more heavy. I began praying, but came close to tears. What could I pray for? This person died a Hindu, not with the God I know. They were not at peace, at least by my religious standards and all I wanted to do was cry. They went an entire life not knowing Jesus. But I’m sure they would say the same for me and my lack of Hinduism. To top it all off, there was a monkey running around with only one hand. Not my favorite spot.

Monday was an early morning with a three hour bus ride through the mountains to go river rafting. My raft, the group-titled goat boat, had Jeremy, Hannah, Ellie, Archie, Janella, and Shawna in it. It was a fun time. At some points we would jump into the river from the raft and go swimming in the chilling water. Coby started a trend of flipping out of the rafts-- which is more difficult than you would expect. Toward the end, we hit a big rapid where Janella fell out, Shawna barely stayed in, and the rest of us fell into the middle of the raft. It caused the type of laughter that inhibits your ability to speak. Boy did it feel good to laugh like that. We passed under some bridges high suspending bridges along the way and drifted through the refreshing nature and mountains.

There was another long bus ride after rafting to our hotel in Chitwan. People went out and did some yoga and Zoe and I stayed in and called it a night.

Tuesday was another early morning. We were scheduled for a safari, but to get there we had to take a little canoe across the river-- a great start to the day. My group for the safari was a fun time. We had Ellie, Lottie, Fergus, Kieren, Archie, Fran, Hannah, Freddie, and Simon. There were rhinos (my first wild rhino sighting), a deer, some monkeys, crocodiles, and plenty of birds. Sadly, no tigers. The first few hours were fun, but then I just got tired and a bit bored.

After lunch, we went on another canoe journey where we saw more crocodiles and birds, and Hannah picked up a water cabbage pet-- Bobby. We got out for a jungle walk where we saw many more deer (which for an animal that is common back home, is still beautiful). There was also the absolute largest bee nest I’ve ever seen. It was hanging off the bottom of a tree and looked liked a camel hump. We sat in the grass and watched a rhino for a while which was really peaceful with the clear sky and fresh air.

Later that night we went to a culture show which was pretty decent, everyone’s favorite was the elaborate peacock dance. At the end most of us went up on stage and learned a dance, and oh my goodness was Coby entertaining.

Wednesday. My least favorite day of the trip. It consisted of ten hours traveling in a bus, for which a total of three of those hours we were completely stopped. I was losing my mind! There was a small waterfall on the side of the road which cooled us off a bit, thankfully since the bus was so enclosed and hot.

Thursday was our first day of volunteering in Pokhara. I went to the farm that is run by the children’s home. In the morning I was turning soil and in the afternoon I was, or tried to, move stones. By stones, I mean great slabs of rock that were probably the same size as most arms. Not quite as strong as I used to be. The baby goats at the farm are purely amazing. Roger is my favorite. He jumps a lot. They’re much much smaller than I was expecting-- and softer too. After the work we had to walk down the cliff in the rain, which was nerve wracking and very cold. But we made it. And created a memorable experience.

Friday was the fun run that about half the group participated in. I went to the orphanage with Ben and Seb which wasn’t bad. But there really wasn’t much to do. I painted a smiley face on a wall, watch kids play cannonball, and watch a Hindi movie that I did not understand for nearly an hour. Since it was a school break, there weren’t that many kids at the orphanage and not a whole lot to do. I would have enjoyed it more if it felt like I was needed or was helping in some way, but I felt like the kids were entertaining themselves for the most part.

That night was the big Nepali new year celebration. We went out to a bar and I had a drink and danced a bit. After, we walked about two kilometers to a festival and along the way I made friends with a dog. We stayed until midnight in a big crowd of people dancing to some random Nepali artist. On the way back Zoe, Jeremy and I got a pizza and we got back to hostel around 1:30 in the morning. It was a pretty solid night. Some drama, but not enough to put a damper on anything. Happy New Year Nepal!

~a letter from juliet

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc V: Back into Hell (1)

Chapter 1: It’s Always Chilly at Camp Sham

           Back when I was in the cub scouts, my dear old Dad gave me a manual on Boy Scouting. Can’t remember a single thing from that book, except for the ever so honorable motto: ‘Be Prepared’. It was right pretty in its simplicity, something I remembered long after I’d spilled grape juice all over the pages. Not to always be prepared of course. That was something only total NERDS believed, but that if I had a short. simple slogan, people would think I was the smartest guy in the room no matter what I did. Which was why, when yours truly had done gone and sent his army straight into enemy territory without so much as an ink of what he was gonna do, he thought improvising the whole thing over two hours was the smartest idea since chocolate chip waffles. Granted, I had been to an improv camp the last summer, but considering my greatest accomplishment was getting coffee splashed in my face, my prospects weren’t looking so hot.

Not helping were the little sponge dinos asking what the plan was every five minutes, like one of those backseat drivers constantly asking if they’re there yet.

But what I lacked in improve skills I more than made up with in last minute panic. I’d been evoking that dark power to plow through school as long as I could remember. Heck, even in kindergarten I’d build an entire six foot scale mansion with a swimming pool and martini bar just one minute before the thing was due! AND got that passing C- (I got the grade raised by threatening legal action). So I buckled in (not literally. Cardboard boxes don’t exactly have safety regulations) and got thinking.

           And you know that moment where you’re trying to get an idea, but for some reason the more you try to look for it the harder it gets to find it? Guess when that old feeling decided to set in. I tried everything. Wrapped my head in my hands, rocking back and forth. Rubbed my temples. Banged my head against the side of the box. But no matter how hard I pushed the old noggin, nothing came out. Like squeezing a potato through the eye of a needle.

            As the icing on the crap cake, turned out packing peanuts weren’t even edible! All those years figuring Mom was keeping me from them because they were bad for my teeth, pining for that soft, rainbow marshmallow flavor that would melt on my tongue: WASTED!

“Is the plan ready yet?” Growled the little sponge dinosaurs at the worst possible time. In the EXACT same tone I used when I found I wasn’t getting that pet Lystrosaurus from Santa, too!

Still, the old grey matter was totally clogged. Only thing to do was keep pushing the metaphorical tater through the needle until the Almighty got embarrassed for me and struck me with divine inspiration.

For their part, the sponge dinos looked up at their leader as he babbled about potatoes and coming to the terrible realization that maybe, just maybe, the horse they were risking their lives to back wasn’t exactly the sharpest steed in the stable.

The rumbling truck came to a halt. Couldn’t have been more than ten minutes of driving. Frankly, I had no idea what was worse: the fact I had run out of time, or that I HAD DIED LITERALLY TEN MINUTES FROM A FREAKIN’ WEGMART! OF ALL THE STUPID, LOUSY THINGS THAT-

My whining would have to wait. Outside, I could hear the wails of kids having to sing about Tarzan getting a tan for the five zillionth time, a shiver running down my spine. And beneath that moaning of the ding-danged, I heard none other than the thing disguising itself as Ms. Hoebag chatting it up with the delivery guy. The spongey dinos, still unsure about what they were supposed to be doing, started to make inanimate object noises to disguise themselves, proving that maybe they should have been the ones leading this operation.

“A week late!” She roared, her deep, satanic baritone a far cry from the pleasant camp counselor voice I’d heard when I first arrived all those weeks ago.

At least the truck guy wasn’t gonna take it lightly. “Listen. Ma’am, I’ve had a crazy day and frankly, after certain events, I kinda want to check into an asylum.”

“In that case, want to SELL YOUR SOUL?” She went prattling in a tone no camp counselor should have been able to make. Not even the sort who’d expose young, impressionable minds to Carney the Dinosaur.

“No can do, Ma’am. I already sold it for a lifetime supply of spicy bean chalupas at Tako Shak.”

           At that, Hoebag wasted no time eviscerateing the poor feller about the good virtues of selling your soul wisely. Funny how the first useful thing I’d learned at camp I’d found weeks after the fact. If nothing else, at least I got twenty new swear words to add to the ol’ collection.

           This took up a good half hour I should have been using to plan, but really, when could I expect to hear those words so dirty I would still be cleaning pieces out of my ears three years later again? I wasn’t about to waste my chance to gather forbidden knowledge! Like the little kid I was, I insisted on waiting just a little longer… until I felt the ground beneath me get all light. Somebody was lifting the box, taking me in… wherever it is the Camp kept its’ Styrofoam containers. But going to that place meant passing through Camp Sham itself. And the more I waited, the more curious I got about what was happening in the camp since I’d been away. I’d only heard Freddie’s rumors, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Mostly what came to mind were images from those old Disney movies my Grandma showed me under the delusion I’d find them fun, only to realize Fantasia involved a literal trip to Hell that gave me nightmares for weeks (and also a scene with dinosaurs that would pretty much define my life for the next half a billion years).

           My dumb kid curiosity, the kind that makes you think flooding the house to make your own pool is a good idea, finally got the better of me, and I poked two little eye holes in the cardboard. Or tried to. Now that I was a ghost in the physical world, my fingers kinda just sunk through, like quicksand. After taking a moment to feel dumb for not thinking of that, I put my face to the box so I could look through. Didn’t have to worry about being seen, of course, being a ghost and all.

           Freddie had lied to me back at Tako Shak. What I saw outside was worse than anything that had come out of the old turd’s mouth. It was less like a camp, and more like one of those old Renaissance paintings of the underworld used to scare kids out of snack time, except greyer, with giant snow-belting storm clouds circling the sky in a massive vortex. Christmas in July, courtesy of some genie who went out of his way to be a jerk. There was not a single festive light or wreath to be found, but rather large television screens advertising how ‘Carney is Watching You’ duct taped to cold, three legged lookout towers. Kids, dressed only in swimtrunks and coats most likely made in arts and crafts, shoveled snow quickly as their little arms could go, while guards carried around sabertooth tigers- actual sabertooth tigers!- on chains, threatening to sic then on anyone who might slack even a little bit. I recognized those guards, too. Where their skin was exposed I could see elaborate tattoos (though branding marks is more like it) with some all-too-familiar patterns on them. Patterns like ‘Orange you glad to be here?’ or ‘I’m berry proud of you!’. I felt sorry for those poor kids. My Dad says they don’t hire people with tattoos anymore. Yet as bad as things got, I kept STAREING. That’s the thing about Summer Camp, the thing I learned the hard way: no matter how much you try to erase it, to drown it out the memory with video games and t.v, you can never really run away from the horror, always sitting at the back of your mind, waiting to pounce you when you least expect it, like a hungry sabertooth.

           All this, in the name of building character or some other buzzword the grownups read off their memos.

           The last thing I saw before I drew my head in, curling up in a ball on the opposite end of the box, was a kid, his butt frozen off- LITERALLY FROZEN OFF!- standing in the snow as three other campers tried to reassemble his gluteus maximus like one of those 3-d wood puzzles you find at bookstores, their fingers stuck fast to the pieces.

           Somehow, the inside of the mess hall was even worse, a chromium dungeon of pure monotony, icicles long as I was a danglin’ menacingly from the ceiling, ready to (try and) impale my ghost body at a moment’s notice. Here, delivery guy finally put the dinos and I down on a shelf, leaving us for dead in that wintery world. Even after his footsteps were long gone, I got the jitters something fierce, fierce enough to stick me in place. Felt especially bad for the dinosaurs. If I was stuck in place, those guys must have been frozen solid, warm blood or no warm blood.

           Heck, at that point I think I forgot about planning entirely in favor of thinking about how to find warmth, because Lord knows thinking doesn’t do you much good when you’re frozen half-solid! Rubbing my Rhode Island-sized goose bumps for just a little bit more heat, I faded through the box before I became the human Watt-sicle, landing smack-flat on the metal floor, sending a fresh wave of shivers through my ethereal form. 

           I could barely get my feet off the ground before I heard someone coming. Coming, and looking right at me. A chunky kid in a dirty white chef’s apron, his sleeves rolled up despite the obvious weather conditions; feet not slipping despite the icy floor. A kid I recognized him almost immediately.

“SHATNER?!”

He jabbed a butcher’s cleaver into the empty air, clearly startled.

“WHO GOES THERE?!” 

[dunmerofskyrim]

33

I lived through the night to fear death in the day. Did I sleep? If I had I wouldn’t be awake. But time has mixed itself and the colours have run. Have you ever tried to unstir paint, back from brown to its brighter elements? Green, blue, red, white. Useless, bootless; better you piss up a wall and try to stay dry. But I try now to remember.

I crawled to my bags and wrenched open the neck of my gathersack. I remember my fumbling fingers as I fought to keep them steady. Uncover the crock of ointment from my mother’s stores and off the string and parchment lid. Hem of my shirts held up in my teeth to show the wound in my side. Not deep, I told myself; not deep.

I dredged it with water, trying best I could to clean the wound and see it better. Not deep, but still a hole in me, and I felt something pull me outside of myself at the sight of it. A faintness of feeling. Brief diamond of blinking red, one knuckle wide where the blade went in, set in wax-pale flesh just beneath my ribs.

Gagged on cloth, I hissed in silence, sounding the wound. An astringent ointment, dark as pitch and smelling of vinegar and nettles. I coated my fingers with it and pressed it inside. Something to keep infection out; hope that it will knit me closed again. (I must have used it all for the crock sits on the floor now, scoured empty. But if not on this then on what?)

All the night I spent in thick-voiced muttering, the mantra round and round, through and out of me, through and out and back inside like breath. A constant prickle of magicka as my flesh spoke to itself in a tongue I don’t understand.

Now morning finds me through the wide window’s glass and lead. A heap. Back bent over belly; belly hunched over knees. Crossed legs and elbows crowded in; I tried to keep myself from comfort for the sake of staying awake. So the grey light sees me as I saw the few true-dead bodies we found celled up in the tomb-turned homes of Old Ebonheart. A curled thing. A shape trying to swallow itself. Hanging sorry hair gone stiff with fear-sweats. My shirts are worse but I don’t dare look down and see what’s clotted blood and what’s my own dried lather.

“You reek…” I find the breath to mutter. Though for all I know a bath might kill me. Hot water, loosing the plug of ointment and blood in my side to let all I am leak out. Can that happen?

The jacket cuts a trim figure on the ordinary. Now I’m so reduced it hangs from me. Hangs on my shoulders, comforting, like an embrace I don’t deserve. It belonged to Soraya – my sister – before it was mine. I feel it still does. Years that feeling will linger; even now I’m yet to shake it. Seeing me now she would’ve praised me and mocked me for this, both in the same breath.

“You’re not murdered, Sim. Not for lack of trying but you fucked that right up. Oughtta be laughing. Oughtta be proud.” And she’d pause there and cuff my ears, which she always said were the one sign I had any ashlander in me: wide-angled, batlike; wasted on both of us, she said, considering what we are and aren’t. Or with her eyes she’d make like she was cuffing my ears at least. Find my shadow; make to slap it so I’d flinch, like a pin stuck through a mommet. “So why the tears?” Like an accusation.

But for all but all my years a child, I’d cry and she’d come running. Save me, scold me, hold me after. Do it enough and maybe she thought something would form on the surface of my suffering, sorrow, fear — whatever made me cry. Like a callus, hardening me. And maybe she was right.

I’m not crying now but the memory’s still salt-heavy on my cheeks, salt-stinging on my eyelids and eye-angles. Either way Soraya would know. Just as she’d know what to do. Alone I have no other choice but to do what I think is best. Fear made a child of you, Simra, but you’re only half that. Act the older half.

I start the mantra again. The pain is bad but less so while I’m chanting. I rock on my sit-bones, back and forth, to the spell’s rhythms and wide-throated vowels.

I should stitch it, I think. I have needles; three needles of bone, but only coarse darning thread, thick as veins. It’d do more harm than good.

I should rest, I think, but I can’t stay here. The other one, Tepa, is still out there. They’ll find Drosi as I threw her down, and then it’ll take more than a pulled up ladder to keep them from me.

Forced to choose between two fears I choose what scares me most. Leave, wounded;  lose Tepa. A bird on the wing is harder to hunt than a bird caught in its nest.

My mantra hitches into a groan as I rise to my feet. Knees and hands, then boots on the boards. The pain crowds in as the spell lets up: its power’s in repetition, like a plaster-painter layers and layers to cover a wall in colour. It all but bends me double, yet I straighten up again.

I look to the room, to my bags, to the ladder flat on the floor by the curtained window. And there I see I’ve not been alone. Guls is there — or what was Guls. The mer I killed, laid out by the hearth.

His body has on a kind of coat, knee-length, bell-sleeved, patterned in an overlap of squares and triangles in red, black, white, and woven more like a thin carpet than clothing. But I woke without my aketon. Tepa must have taken it, I think, before Drosi tried her best with me. My sword, too, is gone, but the morning is cold and the days will grow colder, and the nights will freeze me if I go without. My aketon’s loss worries me more now. My Firecalling scorched Guls’ coat only a little on one side.

“It’ll do,” I say.

One guar carried two riders. The other, just Noor, and the bulk of their gear. An ambling progress, pilgrim-slow, across the north-eastern Deshaan.

Simra rode behind Tammunei, spine against spine. Tammunei watched the road unscrolling ahead, and Simra looked backward as the track narrowed to nothing in their wake. Only stirrups for the rider, so Simra gripped with knees and ankles as best he could to the back of their guar. Swayed as best he could with the sway of it.

A frozen rain fell. Not quite snow but trying its worst. Simra turned up his scarf over his head to shawl his ears, his hair, and hood his face. That morning he’d watched as the road went from soft dirt and puddles to a ribbon of black slurry. On either side the plains were dun, grass heavy with wet, air leaden with cold.

The wound beneath his ribs had hurt ever since Old Ebonheart. That and all the others besides, each in their own way, but it was the ones that quarrelled with muscle that hurt worst in the chill. The arrow he took near the neck in the Rift. The straight deep scar up the backstairs of his ribcage; seldom seen with his own eyes, but it knit so tight sometimes Simra’s whole right shoulder would angle forwards, stoop low, stuck inflexible like it was cowering from the memory of the wound.

Simra remembered Nords in raiding season, back in Skyrim. No shieldmeets in Windhelm’s walls; when cities fight they call it war. But the Nords found other ways to strut, show themselves skaldworthy, without drawing steel. Scar-showings in the Summer sun. Warriors stripped to the loins on commons and in the streets outside meadhalls. Gave themselves off to the eyes of others: pale but pinkening as the season drew on, and chased with the red and silver of old wounds. They’d read their scars like maps through their days, through their deeds.

You’d do well for yourself now at a scar-showing, Simra thought. That’s if they’d have you, greyling and all. That’s if you’d have them, eyes on your flesh, and you know sure as snow that you wouldn’t. Your skin’s been set crawling by less.

He gripped his wrist in his left hand. Flexed the fingers of his right. In this weather they stiffened solid if he didn’t keep them moving. An hour might pass in the mornings before they could hold a pen, grip a sword. The scars would seize. Half-dead digits under his bandages, complaining all the way back from the brink as he cursed them, rubbed them half to life till they would move at first a little, then almost as normal. Almost.

You’d do well for yourself now at a scar-showing, Simra thought again. That’s if not for the scar on your back and how they’d call you a craven. Leave it to the Redoran to look at your hand and call you worse besides…

The plains broke up as the day drew on. No longer flats, high grass and sky, but rising shapes either side of the road. First in the distance. A tumulus sometimes, or some long-flanked crest whose blind side Simra found hard to trust. Then the stammering starts of hillocks; the beginnings of low rocky crags.

“Trees,” Tammunei said, as the sun set to their backs.

Tangles of heather and trama shrubs hedged the slopes. A splash of colour as a combush straggled bitter between rocks, roots coveting and parting the stones, the stony soil. A few bare-armed birches struck skyward, thin and straight as spears and with skin like paper.

“By my maps we ought to see mountains tomorrow,” said Simra. “Ghosts and bones, I hope that’s all we see. There’s a lot you can hide in hilly land.”

They stopped and camped in the falling half-snow. A notch in the land just a ways off the road. Low jawbones of risen ground either side of them, and the day beginning to darken.

Like a stag goes chased through the woods and maps its path in blood. No crown but velvet for him, slick as something newborn, already gore-glistening like a wound. No tangle of barbs, spears, blades to crown him, he goes unarmed and hunted. Blooded already by the hunters’ first arrow, he’s lost them, but never for long. They are in the wood, and he’s in the wood, and they share it together with the sound of hounds.

So too with me. Compassed round by Old Ebonheart’s citadel district, and by walls that’ve already failed to keep out the Winter. Wounded, and healing, but it limits me more than I’d like. To my name I have only one fingerlength knife, a spearhead without a shaft, a wand that can only save me so many times…

I go down from the towerhouse while the dawn is still grey. Trust to mist and to shadow to hide me. Still I see Tepa, and nix-hounds, and a throat-closing fear in every change of light and far-off sound. And Old Ebonheart is full of sounds. Only, I didn’t notice before I was alone. Before I was awake and aware and with my hearing honed brittle-sharp by worry.

Masonry murmurs, crumbles; wind gnawing at stone. Sometimes you can hear the sea, whispering one day, in foam and roaring storm the next. Birds sing among the empty buildings and racers shriek from the roofs. And in the damp of night and the mist of morning, I think I hear ironwork rusting, bronze turning gold to green. A bell or a chime, disturbed by the breeze. Things going slow to dust.

But there are also the movements of beasts, the voices of people. They hid from us when we were many – a procession going through the city’s causeways – but because I’m hiding from them, they don’t know to hide from me. And I wonder: Who are you? Tepas and Drosis and Gulses, all of you? Or are there families here? Are some of you like me?

In stumbling process I try my way through the city. Noon I look back where I came from and think I see a tall fire, or a tall something topped with fire, and then I look back no more. I chase towards where Tammunei and the rest would have waited: to the start of the landbridge that spans the way across Scathing Bay and to Vvardenfell. Or I try to, but my bearings are gone. I hurt myself with the pace I strike, and all the same I fail.

I collapse where I stop. The overhung doorway of some warehouse on Ebonheart’s northern seaward side. My wound’s closed. I feel at it, snaking a shy hand under my shirts, and letting in a whisper of cold to play against my skin. Hard to say what of the scab that covers it is me and what the ointment I fed it. Closed, but I remember I had a comrade in the Rift who took a similar wound. It closed, was half-healed, but now I recall its sudden grin, and his fear that this was it: a candle burning down inside him. I gave him the same ointment but never had time to see how well it helped. The wound was not what killed him.

The sea is black before me now. The splinted finger of a lighthouse stands up against a pink ruin of sky. Evening falls, then darkness, and I can’t make myself stand.

No point, I think. Not for all your wishing. They’ll have gone a day back, just like you arranged. They’ll have left you, given you up for lost, and the biggest pity to them will be not that you didn’t return, but that you didn’t return with food. A moment’s mourning and then moved on.

What can I do but do the same? So, like a chased stag, I try to narrow my mind. Block and blot out what won’t bring me survival. Shelter and sustenance, as the night cools, and frost descends, and Winter bares its teeth.

But it’s hard not to think of Tammunei, and wonder, was it hard to turn their back and carry on across the landbridge? Who’s to say what’s the heavier truth: that I left them, or that they left me.

[apdo703]

Assignment #3

Jamie Wiedmann

I really enjoy the rule of tenths because I love the drama of having a subject against a vast background, as I sort of did for Week 2’s assignment unknowingly! I think it works really well for scenery or larger subjects, but the drawback to that is you don’t always get the detail you would with a closer photograph. I also liked the framing technique a lot; it is so creative and lead to some fun photographs. I liked coming up with different ways to frame a subject, it also changes the way you might take a picture, such as the angle you take it from, the framing makes it look very realistic, like an image you would see in your daily life, looking through a crowd of people or a window.

Overall I found this assignment much more challenging than Assignment 2, but particularly the dynamic diagonal was the hardest for me because I didn’t quite know what would fall into that category and it was hard finding preexisting conditions or objects I could use to manufacture the diagonal shape. Also finding objects to photograph for the rule of tenths with a primarily plain background was challenging as well.

I disagreed with John Berger from the very first paragraph, as I had always considered photography to be a form of art. However as I read further to understand the main points of his argument, I found myself agreeing partially with him, but mostly disagreeing. Berger is not wrong that many more museums are dedicated to paintings, sculptures, drawings, etc. however modern art exhibits are becoming more commonplace. Additionally, even if the resulting work of art is not a photograph, people have been using photographs in art for decades. I also disagree with the argument that a photo is not unique. As we saw with our last assignment, lighting and exposure can alter an image entirely. The shadows, colors, and organization of the objects will never be the same again. Iconic photographs capturing scenes from history (riots, celebrations, performances) will never happen again. The angle from which the photograph is taken, how small or large the subject is, where the subject is positioned also make the image unique, as we saw from assignment 3. Yes, locations do stay the same and they do not belong to an individual (usually), a field or hiking spot will still exist tomorrow and hopefully a century from now, but the minute details that make a photograph unique do change. This paragraph also reminded me of a documentary my art philosophy class watched on Andy Goldsworthy. Goldsworthy goes out into nature and creates beautiful arrangements and manipulations with the objects around him but they are not meant to last, part of the beauty in some of the pieces is watching them be absorbed back into nature. The only way anyone besides him gets a chance to see his work is via photographs he takes. I agree the more something is done the less meaningful it becomes, however meaning is entirely subjective. 100 photographs of a child’s first birthday or a wedding or graduation are different from 100 photographs of a car or household appliances. Also, the beauty in photographing daily life objects that are somewhat meaningless is the fact that the photographer can make them beautiful using lines, focus, lighting and various other elements.

I understand where Berger is coming from when he says composition should not enter into photography, there are many aspects of a photograph that are out of the photographers control, especially when photographing outside a studio. In a painting, everything from the size and color of an object are under the painter’s control, in photography one must work with objects that already exist. However a photographer can have manipulation over many elements in a photograph. Just because composition is challenging or limited does not mean that it should not enter into photography, so I disagree with his statement. Being able to manipulate models, alter the arrangement of objects, is part of what makes photography an art form. By saying one should not be allowed to influence the image is not pointing out why photography should not be considered art, but simply ignoring or discrediting one of the reasons it already is considered art.

Prior to this assignment I mostly only took pictures when I was moved to, pictures with friends and family, pretty scenery or really good food. I like to keep my picture-taking spontaneous and try my best to capture the emotion of the moment then move on and experience it, before coming home and immediately looking at my pictures. I’d say I had a good mixture of unplanned photographs and planned ones. When I take pictures with my friends sometimes we choose where/how to stand, like if we are at a specific place or scenery, or where the lighting is best, other times there is not as much planning. When I am taking pictures of objects like food I do plan more, I usually consider the lighting and arrangement of the objects as well, although I often find the less planning and fussing the more I tend to like my pictures, which helped me notice that just because I can take unlimited photographs of an image does not mean that I usually do, as I often go with one of my first attempts, I do not take many photos of the same thing. I had always been aware of things like balance, perspective, symmetry, and so on, but I feel like they are easy things I often forget that could enhance my photographs even more. This assignment challenged me to think about all 10 basic elements before taking a photograph, and I was able to include more of them in my photographs. The assignment also made me consider things like the dynamic diagonal and the way space is broken up in the image and how that space is filled or not filled.

Rule of thirds: My subject in this photo was the book I was reading. I found an empty table and used the grid lines on my camera to line it up with one of the intersecting points. I wanted a fairly plain background to help the book stand out more, but I wanted a slightly visible pattern in the wood to create more interesting texture so the background was not completely solid. There was light coming in from a window that created a gradient effect where it was lighter on the side opposite the book, which formed a nice balance. I angled the book intentionally but wanted to keep the table straight. I took this photo from directly over the table looking down as opposed to straight on from the side because I wanted to show different shapes you get from a different perspective. Originally I put the image in grayscale because it enhances the effect of the light and the white pages of the book in contrast to the dark wood of the table, I also like that being in black and white unifies the elements of the image, making everything seem less distracting as I wanted to highlight the book itself. However after reviewing the document I realized my goal was to capture the moment of curling up with a good book and I think using the natural brown colors in the image conveys that more.

Rule of tenths: It was a rainy evening when the sun was setting and the lights were starting to come on in the buildings and I was actually driving home, but it looked really pretty outside. I was not going to use this originally because it turned out pretty messy, but the more I looked at it I liked the way the water on my windshield distorts the shapes of the buildings and the lights as well, it’s an effect that is harder to get by only using your phone. I put this one in black and white to enhance the lighting and in an attempt to create stronger, more defined lines due to the image being out of focus. My goal was to capture the setting of a dark, rainy city.

Diagonal: My subject was the houses and wires. I took the photo from my viewpoint where I was standing, slightly diagonally off to the side, to capture the natural angle formed by the houses, and use the wires, which were hanging at an angle to accent it. I placed the houses at the bottom of the frame to draw attention to the top half of the houses as well as the space and lines formed by the roof and wires. I put this image in black and white mainly because I did not like the color combination of the sky and the fronts of the houses, and by getting rid of the distraction of the colors the diagonal lines are more apparent as well. The sky was grey and cloudy so it caused the light to disperse and shine from the sky as a whole instead of one specific point like on a clear day, which provided a bright background against the buildings and dark wires. I also like the marbled effect grayscale has on the clouds in the sky.

Frame: I wanted to use a real frame to frame my subject but in a more creative way. So I stood in front of a plain background to make the subject pop more and held an empty frame out in front of me. I wanted it to look like a 3D photograph, like the subject is coming off the page, or out of the frame. I also put this one in black and white because the colors clashed, but also to highlight the shadows adding to the 3 dimensional feel of the image. I tilted the frame because it was more natural to hold it that way; I wanted to convey a more relaxed version of those famous portraits I’ve seen where the subjects look very upright. I was inside so I turned the lights up so it would mirror a photography portrait session with artificial lighting. Looking back, I wish I could have fixed the shadow on my forehead from the frame but I tried several angled and, because the light was coming from the ceiling instead of straight on, or various angles as in a photo shoot, it was hard to avoid.

Middle Placement: I liked the idea of using the sun in the middle because it was so condensed and defined, which has not been happening lately due to cloudy, rainy weather. I used the weather and time of day to my advantage because my goal was to depict the sunset and the nice weather in between several days of bad weather. I remembered that objects should be towards the bottom of the frame, so I put the sun fairly low in the image to help show the expanse of the sky above. While the sun is technically the main subject, the additional subjects, the road, trees, and sky play off each other to emphasize each other without distracting from the sun. The distance allows the viewer to get a sense of place and time. I took this photo straight on to get a realistic representation of what my view was from where I was standing.

[ellymackay]

The Power of Naps: The Benefits of Napping We Can Learn From Da Vinci

The following article The Power of Naps: The Benefits of Napping We Can Learn From Da Vinci is available on https://www.ellymackay.com

If you’re like me, you enjoy taking a good nap. And who doesn’t? Some of history’s brightest figures were known to be big time nappers, including Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, and Leonardo da Vinci.

But while da Vinci was undoubtedly a genius — he was a prolific sculptor, engineer, architect, inventor and painted the Mona Lisa — mirroring his sleep schedule wouldn’t be the smartest move you could make. In fact, I strongly advise against it.

Da Vinci’s quirky sleep schedule is legendary.

As an adult, it’s believed he passionately avoided getting a full night’s sleep. Instead, he was a dedicated napper, taking 20 minute naps every 4 hours throughout the day. This, of course, only adds up to 2 hours of sleep every 24 hours.

His thought process was simple: He thought he couldn’t afford to spend 8 hours sleeping — he had too much to get done and not enough time to do it. At one point, da Vinci famously said “sleep resembles death,” removing all doubt as to how he felt about the topic.

Reading his quote again recently struck a chord with me. It’s certainly relatable; I often feel like I don’t have enough time in the day to get my goals accomplished, and squeezing in a nap can be tricky. At the same time, more and more clients have been asking me about the benefits of napping in recent years — even as they also struggle to find the time for it.

This week I want to touch on the positive aspects of napping, how to take them, and the best times to do it.

Quickly, though, I should point out the issues with da Vinci’s strictly-naps approach. Getting 2 hours of sleep on average each day can soon lead to a number of issues. The effects of sleep deprivation include:

High blood pressure

Increased risk of heart disease

Diminished sex drive

Decreased memory

Weight gain

An inability to focus

Increased risk of stroke

Fatigue

More prone to accidents

Weakened immune system

This clearly isn’t the way to go.

Still, da Vinci wasn’t completely wrong, either. There are a number of reasons naps, when coupled with a good night’s sleep, are great for your body and mind. (And if you need help planning your nightly sleep schedule, be sure to use my sleep calculator.) Let’s go over the pros and cons of napping.

The Benefits of Napping

Longer naps between 60 to 90 minutes offer several health benefits, but I also understand it’s difficult to find enough time for a long midday siesta. On the other hand, “power naps,” which take about 20-30 minutes, are more practical and provide a number of worthwhile benefits. Here are a few:

Increased Alertness: Short naps increase our awareness level. In one study, NASA found pilots who took naps for about 25 minutes showed a 54% improvement in their alertness compared to pilots who didn’t nap. Those who napped also showed a 34% increase in their job performance.

Better Stamina: Naps have been linked to better stamina and athletic performance. Runners, for instance, who took short afternoon naps showed improvements in their endurance levels that were not found in runners who didn’t nap.

Reduced Stress: You’re better able to weather stress with a brief nap. Research indicates naps reduce stress and also help moderate blood pressure.

Increased Creativity: Power naps have been linked to increased right brain activity — the part of the brain associated with creativity. Naps can facilitate big-picture ideas and help with visualization — two things that can especially come in handy at work.

Stronger Immune System: Half-hour naps have been shown to boost production of leukocytes, or white blood cells that help the immune system tackle infectious diseases. This is especially useful in winter, when we’re more vulnerable to catching the common cold and other illnesses.

For more information on how naps are helpful — including how longer naps boost your memory and can help your mood — I wrote about this a few years ago on my blog. You can check it out here.

The Best Time to Nap

There’s a biological reason you’re usually tempted to take naps in the early afternoon. That’s because our bodies are designed to take long stretches of sleep at night, followed by a brief midday rest. The best time to take a nap is between 1:00-3:00 p.m., when your body temperature drops and your melatonin levels rise. These are the same biological cues your body sends at night when it’s time to go to bed. Not only does taking a nap during this time period sync with our circadian rhythm, it helps counteract the fatigue your body experiences after eating lunch.

And to get the best nap possible, Luminere glasses can be a big help. I personally developed these glasses to block out blue light, something that we deal with all day from our computer and phone screens. Blue light inhibits melatonin production and makes it harder to go to sleep. A pair of Luminere glasses will curb the effects of blue light and give you a headstart on your daily nap. Blue light blocking glasses can also help with eye fatigue from viewing screens all day. People frequently ask me if it is ok to wear them all day and the short answer is yes but only after you’ve gotten a solid twenty minutes of sunlight on your face to stop melatonin production.

How to Nap Effectively

Here are a few things to keep in mind before taking your nap:

Find A Quiet Space: Silence is essential. Even dozing off in your car for a few minutes can be a good option.

Turn Off Your Phone: You don’t want a text notification nagging at you while you’re trying to rest. Avoid all phone notifications, if possible, while napping.

Lower Temperature: A cool space helps your body fall asleep faster.

Drink Coffee: A bonus pointer that is counter-intuitive. Caffeine is a stimulant and you certainly want to avoid it before going to bed at night. But drinking a cup of coffee before a power nap helps the body avoid sleep inertia — or falling into deeper stages of sleep — and maximizes alertness for when you wake up.

What to Avoid When Napping

Naps bring a lot to the table, but you don’t want to overdo it. The key is to avoid napping for more than 90 minutes. Excessively long naps throw off your internal sleep/wake rhythm and can interfere with your ability to get a full night of rest. They can also lead to those “where am I?” hazes you sometimes experience when you wake up, and that’s obviously not what you want. A good nap should leave you more alert and ready to tackle the second half of your day. Also be sure to avoid taking your nap too late in the day since it will impact your sleep cycle.

Next Steps

Our understanding of sleep has come a long way in the 501 years since da Vinci passed away.

Yet his strong belief in the power of naps has been proven correct time and time again in recent years. And to his credit, da Vinci actually had half of the equation down: 20-30 minute power naps, as we’ve seen, come with a variety of benefits. He was just missing the other, essential part of the formula, which is getting a full amount of sleep each night.

Luckily, you don’t have to make that same mistake. Finding time for a midday power nap is a great way to jumpstart the second half of your day. You’ll feel refreshed, less stressed, and more alert.

There’s one more thing I wanted to mention before wrapping up. I know it can be tough to bring it to work, but a good pillow makes a big difference whether you’re trying to take a nap after lunch or fall asleep at night. If you are looking for something new, the Everpillow is a great choice. I recommend it because it’s naturally cool, customizable, easily washable, hypoallergenic, and, most importantly, amazingly comfortable. They even have a travel size that fits nicely in a desk drawer or backpack.

That’s it for this week, but before we touch base again next Sunday, be sure to try working a nap into your daily routine. I think you’ll be happy with the natural boost it provides.

The post The Power of Naps: The Benefits of Napping We Can Learn From Da Vinci appeared first on Your Guide to Better Sleep.

from Your Guide to Better Sleep https://thesleepdoctor.com/2020/01/25/the-power-of-naps-the-benefits-of-napping-we-can-learn-from-da-vinci/

from Elly Mackay - Feed https://www.ellymackay.com/2020/01/26/the-power-of-naps-the-benefits-of-napping-we-can-learn-from-da-vinci/

[writinggeisha]

How to write descriptions and create a sense of place

Your first job as a storyteller is a simple one, and a crucial one. You have to get your passengers into your train – your readers into your story. Only then can you hope to transport them.

And that crucial first step doesn’t have much to do with characters or story or anything else. All that matters, but its importance shows itself more slowly.

What matters first is this: your fictional world has to seem real. It has to grip the reader as intensely as real life – more intensely, even.

And that means that the buildings, cities, places, rooms, trees, weather of your fictional world have to be convincing there. They have to have an emphatic, solid, believable presence.

A  big ask, right? But it gets harder than that.

Because at the same time, people don’t want huge wodges of descriptive writing. They want to engage with characters and story, because that’s the reason they picked up your book in the first place.

So your challenge becomes convincing readers that your world is real . . . but using only the lightest of touches to achieve that goal.

No so easy, huh?

Step 1: Start early

Set the scene early on – then nudge.

It may sound obvious but plenty of writers launch out into a scene without giving us any descriptive material to place and anchor the action. Sure, a page or so into the scene, they may start to add details to it – but by that point it’s too late. They’ve already lost the reader. If the scene feels placeless at the start – like actors speaking in someeblank, white room – you won’t be able to wrestle that sense of place back later.

So start early.

That means telling the reader where they are in a paragraph (or so), close to the start of any new scene. That early paragraph needs to have enough detail that if you are creating a coffee shop, for example, it doesn’t just feel like A Generic Coffee Shop. It should feel like its own thing. One you could actually walk into. Something with its own mood and colour.

And once, early in your scene, you’ve created your location, don’t forget about it. Just nudge a little as you proceed. So you could have your characters talking – then they’re interrupted by a waitress. Then they talk (or argue, or fight, or kiss) some more, and then you drop in some other detail which reminds the reader, “Yep, here we still are, in this coffee shop.”

That’s a simple technique, bit it works every time.

One paragraph early on, then nudge, nudge, nudge.

As the roughest of rough guides, those nudges need to happen at least once a page – so about every 300 words. If it’s natural to do so more often, that’s totally fine.

Step 2: Be specific

Details matter! They build a sense of place like nothing else.

Gabriel García Márquez, opening One Hundred Years of Solitude, introduces his village like this:

Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs.

Boom! We’re there.

In his world. In his village. Already excited to see what lies ahead.

And yes, he’s started early (Chapter 1, Page 1, Line 1). But it’s more than that, isn’t it? He could have written something like this:

Macondo was a village of about twenty houses, built on a riverbank.

I hope it’s obvious that that sentence hardly transports us anywhere. It’s too bland. Too unfocused. Too generic. There are literally thousands of villages in the world which would fit that description.

In short, it’s the detail that gives this description its vibrancy. They’re not just houses, they’re adobe houses. The river doesn’t just flow over stones, its flows over polished stones that are white and enormous, like (wow!) prehistoric eggs.

The sentence works so well because Marquez has:

Created something totally non-generic

Via the use of highly specific detail, and

Uses surprising / exotic language to make those details blaze in our imagination.

That basic template is one you can use again and again. It never stales. It lies at the heart of all good descriptive writing.

So here, for example, is a more ‘boring’ space . . . but still one redolent with vividness and atmosphere thanks to the powerful use of atmospheric specificity. In Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, Offred introduces her room with details that not only grab us but hint at something dark:

A chair, a table, a lamp. Above, on the white ceiling, a relief ornament in the shape of a wreath and in the centre of it a blank space, plastered over, like the place in a face where the eye has been taken out. There must have been a chandelier once. They’ve removed anything you could tie a rope to.

Those clipped words transport us straight to Offred’s enclosed, and terrifying, space. We’re also told just enough to give us an image of that place, enough to heighten tension, enough to tease curiosity. This is just a description of a room – but we already feel powerfully impelled to read on.

Step 3: Be selective with your descriptive details

Be selective – don’t overwhelm.

It might be tempting to share every detail with us on surroundings.

Don’t.

Even with a setting like Hogwarts – a place readers really do want to know all the hidden details of – J.K. Rowling doesn’t share how many revolving staircases it has, how many treasures in the Room of Requirement, how many trees in the Forbidden Forest. That’s not the point. (And it would write off a little of Hogwarts’ magic and mystery.)

If you’re describing a bar, don’t write:

The bar was approximately twenty-eight feet long, by perhaps half of that wide. A long mahogany bar took up about one quarter of the floor space, while eight tables each with 4 wooden chairs occupied the remaining area. There were a number of tall bar stools arranged to accommodate any drinker who didn’t want to be seated at one of the tables. The ceiling height was pleasantly commodious.

That’s accurate, yes. It’s informative, yes. But it’s bland as heck.

The reader doesn’t want information. They want atmosphere. They want mood.

Here’s an alternative way to describe a bar – the Korova Milk Bar in A Clockwork Orange. This description delivers a sense of intimacy and darkness in a few words:

The mesto [place] was near empty … it looked strange, too, having been painted with all red mooing cows … I took the large moloko plus to one of the little cubies that were all round … there being like curtains to shut them off from the main mesto, and there I sat down in the plushy chair and sipped and sipped

We’re told what we need to know, thrown into that murky Korova atmosphere and Burgess moves the action on. All we really have in terms of detail are those mooing red cows, some cubies (curtain booths?), and a plushy chair. There’s lots more author Anthony Burgess could tell us about that place. But he doesn’t. He gives us the right details, not all the details.

Step 4: Write for all the senses

You have a nose? So use it.

Visuals are important, but don’t neglect the other senses. Offering a full range of sensory information will enhance your descriptive writing.

Herman Melville, say, describes to us the chowder for the ship’s crew in Moby Dick: ‘small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuits and salted pork cut up into little flakes.’ Such descriptions are deft, specific, and brilliantly atmospheric. Where else but on board a nineteenth century American whaler would you get such a meal? By picking out those details, Melville makes his setting feel vibrantly alive.

Here’s another example.

Joanne Harris’ opening of Chocolat plays to readers’ senses, as we’re immersed straightaway in the world of her book through scent, sound and sight:

We came on the wind of the carnival. A warm wind for February, laden with the hot greasy scents of frying pancakes and sausage and powdery-sweet waffles cooked on the hotplate right there by the roadside, with the confetti sleeting down collars and cuffs and rolling in the gutters.

These non-visual references matter so much because sight alone can feel a little distant, a little empty.

By forcing the reader’s taste buds to image Melville’s clams or Harris’s pancakes – or making the reader feel that warm February wind, the confetti ‘sleeting’ down collars – it’s almost as though the writers are hauling the readers’ entire body into their scenes.

That’s good stuff: do likewise.

(And one easy test: take one of your scenes and highlight anything that references a non-visual sense. If you find some good references, then great: you’re doing fine. If not, your highlighter pen remains unused, you probably want to edit that scene!)

Step 5: Get place and action working together

That’s where the magic happens!

Use the atmospheric properties of a place to add to other properties of the scene. That doesn’t mean you should always play things the obvious way: no need for cliché;.

You can have declarations of love happen in idyllic meadows, as in Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, but why not at a bus stop in the rain? Shouted over the barriers at a train station?

Your character also brings one kind of mood to the scene, and the action that unfolds will bring other sensations.

Lynda La Plante’s crime novel Above Suspicion makes a home setting frightening after it becomes obvious a stranger has been in protagonist DS Anna Travis’ flat, and she’s just been assigned to help solve her first murder case.

So the place is influenced by action, once Anna notices:

Reaching for the bedside lamp, she stopped and withdrew her hand. The photograph of her father had been turned out to face the room. She touched it every night before she went to sleep. It was always facing towards her, towards the bed, not away from it. … In the darkness, what had felt safe before now felt frightening: the way the dressing-table mirror reflected the street-light through the curtains and the sight of the wardrobe door left slightly ajar.

Here a comfy, nondescript flat becomes a frightening place, just because of what else is going on. Go for unfamiliar angles that add drama and excitement to your work.

Do you need more help? Did you know we have an entire video course on How To Write? That course has had awesome client reviews, but it’s kinda expensive to buy . . . so don’t buy it!

We’ve made that course available, in full, to members of Jericho Writers. Our members don’t just get that course, they also get:

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We’ve made the offer as rich as we know how to – and made it incredibly affordable too. You can find out more about our club here. Remember: we were founded by writers for writers – and we created this club for you. Do find out more . . . and we’d absolutely love it if you chose to join us.

Step 6: Use unfamiliar locations

And smart research ALWAYS helps.

Using unfamiliar settings adds real mood and atmosphere.

Stephenie Meyer, when writing Twilight, decided she needed a rainy place near a forest to fit key plot elements.

Like protagonist Bella, she was raised in Arizona, but explained the process of setting Twilight in an unfamiliar setting on her blog:

For my setting, I knew I needed someplace ridiculously rainy. I turned to Google, as I do for all my research needs, and looked for the place with the most rainfall in the U.S. This turned out to be the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. I pulled up maps of the area and studied them, looking for something small, out of the way, surrounded by forest. … In researching Forks, I discovered the La Push Reservation, home to the Quileute Tribe. The Quileute story is fascinating, and a few fictional members of the tribe quickly became intrinsic to my story.

As her success has shown, it’s possible to write successfully about a place you don’t know, but you must make it your business to know as much as you can about it. (Or if you’re writing a fantasy or sci-fi novel, plan your world down to its most intricate details.)

And to be clear: you’re doing the research, not because you want that research to limit you. (Oh, I can’t write that, because Wikipedia tells me that the river isn’t as long / the forest isn’t as thick / or whatever else.)

On the contrary:

You are doing the research, because that research may inspire and stimulate a set of ideas you might not have ecountered otherwise.

The key thing is to do your research to nail specifics, especially if they are unfamiliar, foreign, exotic.

Just read how Tokyo is described in Ryu Murakami’s thriller In the Miso Soup:

It was still early in the evening when we emerged onto a street in Tsukiji, near the fish market. … Wooden bait-and-tackle shops with disintegrating roofs and broken signs stood next to shiny new convenience stores, and futuristic highrise apartment complexes rose skyward on either side of narrow, retro streets lined with wholesalers of dried fish.

There’s authenticity, grit to this description of Tokyo, as opposed to using ‘stock’ descriptions that could apply to many modern cities.

Note this same thing with foods: in Japan, your protagonist could well be eating miso soup, as per Ryu Murakami.

Or say if your story was set in Hong Kong, you might write in a dai pai dong (a sort of Chinese street kitchen), something very specific to that city if you’re describing a street there.

Alternatively, if you are setting something in the past, get your sense of place right by doing your research right, too.

In historical novel Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier, set in Holland in 1664, maid Griet narrates how artist Johannes Vermeer prepares her for her secret portrait, musing, to her horror, that ‘virtuous women did not open their mouths in paintings’.

That last is just a tiny detail, but Griet’s tears show us how mortified she is. Modern readers won’t (necessarily) think about seventeenth-century connotations like this, so if you’re writing a scene set in a very different era or culture to what you know, research so you’re creating a true sense of place.

Step 7: Use place to create foreshadowing

A brilliant technique – we love it!

Descriptions of place are never neutral.

Good writers will, in overt or gently subtle ways, introduce a place-as-character. If that character is dangerous, for example, then simply describing a place adds a layer of foreboding, foreshadowing, to the entire book.

Just read how J.R.R. Tolkien describes the Morannon in The Two Towers: ‘high mounds of crushed and powdered rock, great cones of earth fire-blasted and poison-stained … like an obscene graveyard.’ It’s obvious from this description trouble lies ahead for Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee.

But even if you’re not writing this sort of fantasy, character psychology and plot (as we saw above) can also render seemingly harmless places suspect, too. A boring apartment in Above Suspicion becomes scary when it seems someone’s been inside.

In the same sense, we thrill to the sense of a place with excitement and promise, too, like when Harry makes his first trip to Diagon Alley (in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone) to shop for Hogwarts equipment with Hagrid.

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon. … They bought Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk.

Just weave place and action together like this to create atmosphere, excitement, tension, foreboding.

Step 8: think about your words – nouns and adjectives

Specific is good. Unexpected is great!

One final thought. When you’ve written a piece, go back and check nouns.

A bad description will typically use boring nouns (or things) in settings, i.e. a table, chair, window, floor, bar, stool, etc.

If you try to fluff up that by throwing in adjectives (i.e. a grimy table, gleaming window, wooden floor), the chances are you’ll either have (i) made the description even more boring, or (ii) made it odd.

Of course, this works for that first passage we looked over from Margaret Atwood.

We sense Offred counting the few things she has in the little room she calls hers, the window and chair, etc., in terse phrasing. We sense her tension, her dissociation, and we feel trapped with her.

All the same, play with nouns, with taking your readers to new surroundings. Give them a Moloko. Play with surroundings, how you can make them different, how you can render the ordinary extraordinary. With the right nouns in place, you’ll need fewer adjectives to jazz things up – and when you do use them, they’ll feel right, not over the top.

Happy writing!

[agosnesrerose]

Top 10 Oil Painting Tips from Johannes Vloothuis

A master painter and favorite art workshop instructor, Johannes Vloothuis teaches thousands of students how to paint with oil (among other mediums). We asked him for his top 10 tips for oil painters, which he provided for us below. We think you’ll agree that these essential painting techniques should be in every artist’s tool kit.

1. Using Underpainting or Fast-Drying White to Enable Over-Laying

One thing that has dissuaded some oil painters from using this medium is that when you add a layer of paint on top of another, they tend to intermix. For example, it is hard to add snow on top of a blocked in mountain while the first layer is still wet.

When an artist is all pumped up and his adrenaline is in high mode, it is frustrating to have to abandon the painting and resume it days after. There are new options of white paint over the classical Titanium White that solve this problem, making oil painting so much more cooperative. It’s called fast-drying white, or underpainting white. I use the Winsor & Newton brand. This can be substituted in place of titanium white. This paint tends to be thicker than ordinary whites, so use mediums such as Liquin, walnut or linseed oil to dilute.

2. The Thin Line Enigma in Oil Painting

Most, if not all, oil artists have been frustrated trying to achieve thin lines with oil paint, especially when the paint is still wet, because of the fatty vegetable oils which tend to not dilute well (water-soluble mediums are more cooperative in this regard). Even signing a painting is not that easy if the signature is small. One way to achieve thin lines is to wait until the paint dries before depicting them. Here are some methods:

You can use a business card and tap them into the painting.

Believe it or not, if the lines are very thin you can use acrylics on top of the dry oils.

I discovered another innovative technique — stick oil pastels. Normally these don’t dry, but if you add a thin layer of Liquin first, the hardening process will take place. This will really help you add all the thin tree twigs, barbed wire, and telephone wire.

3. Toning Your Canvas

If you ever visit a top gallery and see a painting close up, you will see little specs of broken paint that expose a warm burnt sienna underpainting. This has the following advantages:

The white background will make it harder to judge values.

During plein air if your canvas is tilted toward the sun, the glare will be too bright to judge values properly. You don’t want to wear sunglasses, as this will distort your colors.

It is practically impossible to totally cover every area of a painting during a spontaneous, quick procedure. As a result, if you work on a white canvas, these little specs can show through.

Paint is not 100 percent opaque, so the warm glow of a toned canvas can influence the general feeling. To control the painting from being too warm, such as in fall scenes, you can resort to the background being toned in a cool color.

The orange specs that would show through when depicting foliage would come across as a bundle of dry leaves that will help break the monotony of monochromatic greens.

In this underpainting stage, below, you can see that an orange underpainting was used, and then the local color of light, shadow, sky and foliage were added.

Underpainting of Johannes’ Canyon Vista Demo.

Completed Landscape Painting Canyon Vista by Johannes Vloothuis

4. Conveying Volume with Thick Paste

One big advantage of acrylics and oils is that you can build up thick impasto that will help convey a three-dimensional look. Other media such as watercolor and pastels lack this quality. My advice is to apply thick paint in the foreground and gradually go thinner with the paint as the planes recede, leaving just a thin layer in the most distant background. Add blobs of paint on tree trunks, rocks, flowers and protruding leaf clusters.

In this painting, below, you can see that the flowers and foliage in the foreground have been applied thickly, and so they appear to move forward in the painting.

Carmel Mission by Johannes Vloothuis

5. Dry Brush to Create Texture

Indicate clumps of leaves, clusters of grass, and water foam in crashing waves and waterfalls using the “dry brush” technique. Dry brushing is a term used to relate to skipping the brush and allowing the paint to peel off. Graze the brush, holding it horizontally, and tickle the bottom surface while dragging it in different directions. This method will make wood look weathered, produce an array of small leaves, make water foam look bubbly and add weeds to grass.

For more texture techniques that work for both oil and acrylic, watch this short art video on how to paint tree bark in acrylic using a choppy short stroke and a melodic line.

6. Working on an Already Dry Canvas

Alla Prima or wet-on-wet is a popular oil painting technique. However, time and the size of the painting may not allow you to complete the artwork in one sitting. Working on a dry painting does not give that blending effect. This can be a problem when doing water reflections which call for blurred forms.

To work on a dry painting, I recommend you first add a thin layer of Liquin, after buff it off like waxing a car. The new paint will melt in, yet won’t merge with the previous layer. This way you can soften edges to your heart’s content!

7. Spend on Professional Quality Paints and Save on Canvases

Linen is an expensive and mostly an unnecessary expense, however, many professional artists prefer to use this top-quality painting surface.

I admit there is some benefit when it comes to dry brushing on linen, as it breaks up the painting nicely, but I still don’t feel the cost merits the benefits.

You can prepare your own painting canvases just by spreading super heavy gesso from Liquitex with a paint roller onto your painting board. This will leave random protruded little bumps similar to linen. Use masonite or birch Wood for your board; and, instead of spending money on linen, divert that cost to professional paints where you will reap the benefits.

8. Vary Colors to Generate More Interest

During my online classes, I make constant references to color variegation. Solid monochromatic colors are boring, so top artists exaggerate and add several variations of similar hues in one area.

Try this: Partially mix the colors in question on your palette until you neutralize the saturation (about 50 percent mixed). Wipe your brush dry and double load it. Apply a lot of pressure when squeezing the paint out. You should be able to see the subtle color variations in each stroke. It takes some practice but, once you master it, your paintings will look more alive.

You can also use color-mixing variegation for painting foliage, grass, and rocks, as you will learn in this short art video below, which shows how to paint a variety of greens for realistic foliage.

Also, check out the video below to learn how to vary your oils and brushstrokes to quickly and easily create a group of lush evergreen trees.

9. Create Mist for Atmospheric Depth

I feel fog is quite undermined in landscape painting. These scenes, when well depicted, can add mood and tons of depth to your artwork.

In a top gallery, I once saw this beautiful painting of Upper Yellowstone Falls with a lot of mist where the falls hit the bottom. Yet I was able to see through some of that mist, and it looked so believable. That was achieved by using zinc white, which has the characteristic of being semi opaque. You can also use this to add haze to far away mountains and other areas that can benefit from atmospheric perspective.

Completed Oil Seascape with a Crashing Wave by Johannes Vloothuis

10. Use Your “Green Thumb” to Blend*

There is unwarranted fear of using oil paint, especially when there is contact with the skin. Take into account that leading manufacturers post the toxicity levels on the tubes of paint, in case you wish to consult the health labels.

I am big at blending with oils, and I want to get my edges just right. Because your fingers have nerves, you can adjust just the right amount of pressure to smudge lines to end up exactly as you want them. This is not achieved as easily with just a brush.

*Try this technique using a thin latex glove to protect your skin.

About the Artist

An award-winning, master painter in all the leading mediums, Johannes Vloothuis has exhibitions across the U.S., Canada and internationally. He has thousands of online students around the globe and is a regular online workshop instructor through WetCanvasLive! Watch the interview below for an inside look into Johannes’ love for painting en plein air, his favorite painting mediums and the start of his career in art instruction with WetCanvas.com.

You can find Johannes Vloothuis’ three oil painting instruction videos (as well as more on acrylic painting, watercolor, and pastel) at NorthLightShop.com and streaming on ArtistsNetwork.tv. You can also find many Paint Alongs and other courses from Johannes here, and be sure to visit WetCanvasLive for upcoming live workshops with Johannes.

      The post Top 10 Oil Painting Tips from Johannes Vloothuis appeared first on Artist's Network.

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[mredwinsmith]

Top 10 Oil Painting Tips from Johannes Vloothuis

A master painter and favorite art workshop instructor, Johannes Vloothuis teaches thousands of students how to paint with oil (among other mediums). We asked him for his top 10 tips for oil painters, which he provided for us below. We think you’ll agree that these essential painting techniques should be in every artist’s tool kit.

1. Using Underpainting or Fast-Drying White to Enable Over-Laying

One thing that has dissuaded some oil painters from using this medium is that when you add a layer of paint on top of another, they tend to intermix. For example, it is hard to add snow on top of a blocked in mountain while the first layer is still wet.

When an artist is all pumped up and his adrenaline is in high mode, it is frustrating to have to abandon the painting and resume it days after. There are new options of white paint over the classical Titanium White that solve this problem, making oil painting so much more cooperative. It’s called fast-drying white, or underpainting white. I use the Winsor & Newton brand. This can be substituted in place of titanium white. This paint tends to be thicker than ordinary whites, so use mediums such as Liquin, walnut or linseed oil to dilute.

2. The Thin Line Enigma in Oil Painting

Most, if not all, oil artists have been frustrated trying to achieve thin lines with oil paint, especially when the paint is still wet, because of the fatty vegetable oils which tend to not dilute well (water-soluble mediums are more cooperative in this regard). Even signing a painting is not that easy if the signature is small. One way to achieve thin lines is to wait until the paint dries before depicting them. Here are some methods:

You can use a business card and tap them into the painting.

Believe it or not, if the lines are very thin you can use acrylics on top of the dry oils.

I discovered another innovative technique — stick oil pastels. Normally these don’t dry, but if you add a thin layer of Liquin first, the hardening process will take place. This will really help you add all the thin tree twigs, barbed wire, and telephone wire.

3. Toning Your Canvas

If you ever visit a top gallery and see a painting close up, you will see little specs of broken paint that expose a warm burnt sienna underpainting. This has the following advantages:

The white background will make it harder to judge values.

During plein air if your canvas is tilted toward the sun, the glare will be too bright to judge values properly. You don’t want to wear sunglasses, as this will distort your colors.

It is practically impossible to totally cover every area of a painting during a spontaneous, quick procedure. As a result, if you work on a white canvas, these little specs can show through.

Paint is not 100 percent opaque, so the warm glow of a toned canvas can influence the general feeling. To control the painting from being too warm, such as in fall scenes, you can resort to the background being toned in a cool color.

The orange specs that would show through when depicting foliage would come across as a bundle of dry leaves that will help break the monotony of monochromatic greens.

In this underpainting stage, below, you can see that an orange underpainting was used, and then the local color of light, shadow, sky and foliage were added.

Underpainting of Johannes’ Canyon Vista Demo.

Completed Landscape Painting Canyon Vista by Johannes Vloothuis

4. Conveying Volume with Thick Paste

One big advantage of acrylics and oils is that you can build up thick impasto that will help convey a three-dimensional look. Other media such as watercolor and pastels lack this quality. My advice is to apply thick paint in the foreground and gradually go thinner with the paint as the planes recede, leaving just a thin layer in the most distant background. Add blobs of paint on tree trunks, rocks, flowers and protruding leaf clusters.

In this painting, below, you can see that the flowers and foliage in the foreground have been applied thickly, and so they appear to move forward in the painting.

Carmel Mission by Johannes Vloothuis

5. Dry Brush to Create Texture

Indicate clumps of leaves, clusters of grass, and water foam in crashing waves and waterfalls using the “dry brush” technique. Dry brushing is a term used to relate to skipping the brush and allowing the paint to peel off. Graze the brush, holding it horizontally, and tickle the bottom surface while dragging it in different directions. This method will make wood look weathered, produce an array of small leaves, make water foam look bubbly and add weeds to grass.

For more texture techniques that work for both oil and acrylic, watch this short art video on how to paint tree bark in acrylic using a choppy short stroke and a melodic line.

6. Working on an Already Dry Canvas

Alla Prima or wet-on-wet is a popular oil painting technique. However, time and the size of the painting may not allow you to complete the artwork in one sitting. Working on a dry painting does not give that blending effect. This can be a problem when doing water reflections which call for blurred forms.

To work on a dry painting, I recommend you first add a thin layer of Liquin, after buff it off like waxing a car. The new paint will melt in, yet won’t merge with the previous layer. This way you can soften edges to your heart’s content!

7. Spend on Professional Quality Paints and Save on Canvases

Linen is an expensive and mostly an unnecessary expense, however, many professional artists prefer to use this top-quality painting surface.

I admit there is some benefit when it comes to dry brushing on linen, as it breaks up the painting nicely, but I still don’t feel the cost merits the benefits.

You can prepare your own painting canvases just by spreading super heavy gesso from Liquitex with a paint roller onto your painting board. This will leave random protruded little bumps similar to linen. Use masonite or birch Wood for your board; and, instead of spending money on linen, divert that cost to professional paints where you will reap the benefits.

8. Vary Colors to Generate More Interest

During my online classes, I make constant references to color variegation. Solid monochromatic colors are boring, so top artists exaggerate and add several variations of similar hues in one area.

Try this: Partially mix the colors in question on your palette until you neutralize the saturation (about 50 percent mixed). Wipe your brush dry and double load it. Apply a lot of pressure when squeezing the paint out. You should be able to see the subtle color variations in each stroke. It takes some practice but, once you master it, your paintings will look more alive.

You can also use color-mixing variegation for painting foliage, grass, and rocks, as you will learn in this short art video below, which shows how to paint a variety of greens for realistic foliage.

Also, check out the video below to learn how to vary your oils and brushstrokes to quickly and easily create a group of lush evergreen trees.

9. Create Mist for Atmospheric Depth

I feel fog is quite undermined in landscape painting. These scenes, when well depicted, can add mood and tons of depth to your artwork.

In a top gallery, I once saw this beautiful painting of Upper Yellowstone Falls with a lot of mist where the falls hit the bottom. Yet I was able to see through some of that mist, and it looked so believable. That was achieved by using zinc white, which has the characteristic of being semi opaque. You can also use this to add haze to far away mountains and other areas that can benefit from atmospheric perspective.

Completed Oil Seascape with a Crashing Wave by Johannes Vloothuis

10. Use Your “Green Thumb” to Blend*

There is unwarranted fear of using oil paint, especially when there is contact with the skin. Take into account that leading manufacturers post the toxicity levels on the tubes of paint, in case you wish to consult the health labels.

I am big at blending with oils, and I want to get my edges just right. Because your fingers have nerves, you can adjust just the right amount of pressure to smudge lines to end up exactly as you want them. This is not achieved as easily with just a brush.

*Try this technique using a thin latex glove to protect your skin.

About the Artist

An award-winning, master painter in all the leading mediums, Johannes Vloothuis has exhibitions across the U.S., Canada and internationally. He has thousands of online students around the globe and is a regular online workshop instructor through WetCanvasLive! Watch the interview below for an inside look into Johannes’ love for painting en plein air, his favorite painting mediums and the start of his career in art instruction with WetCanvas.com.

You can find Johannes Vloothuis’ three oil painting instruction videos (as well as more on acrylic painting, watercolor, and pastel) at NorthLightShop.com and streaming on ArtistsNetwork.tv. You can also find many Paint Alongs and other courses from Johannes here, and be sure to visit WetCanvasLive for upcoming live workshops with Johannes.

      The post Top 10 Oil Painting Tips from Johannes Vloothuis appeared first on Artist's Network.

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[newstfionline]

‘Like Being in Prison with a Salary’: The Secret World of the Shipping Industry

Longreads, Jan. 21, 2017

The following is the opening chapter of Rose George’s new book, Ninety Percent of Everything

Friday. No sensible sailor goes to sea on the day of the Crucifixion or the journey will be followed by ill-will and malice. So here I am on a Friday in June, looking up at a giant ship that will carry me from this southern English port of Felixstowe to Singapore, for five weeks and 9,288 nautical miles through the pillars of Hercules, pirate waters, and weather. I stop at the bottom of the ship’s gangway, waiting for an escort and stilled and awed by the immensity of this thing, much of her the color of a summer-day sky, so blue; her bottom is painted dull red, her name--Maersk Kendal--written large on her side.

There is such busyness around me. Everything in a modern container port is enormous, overwhelming, crushing. Kendal, of course, but also the thundering trucks, the giant boxes in many colors, the massive gantry cranes that straddle the quay, reaching up ten stories and over to ships that stretch three football pitches in length. There are hardly any humans to be seen. When the journalist Henry Mayhew visited London’s docks in 1849, he found “decayed and bankrupt master butchers, master bakers, publicans, grocers, old soldiers, old sailors, Polish refugees, broken-down gentlemen, discharged lawyers’ clerks, suspended Government clerks, almsmen, pensioners, servants, thieves.” They have long since gone. This is a Terminator terminal, a place where humans are hidden in crane or truck cabs, where everything is clamorous machines.

It took me three train journeys to reach Felixstowe from my northern English home. On one train, where no seats were to be had, I swayed in the vestibule with two men wearing the uniform of a rail freight company. I’m about to leave on a freighter, I said, but a ship. They looked bewildered. A ship? they said. “Why on earth do you want to go to sea?”

Why on earth.

I am an islander who has never been maritime. I don’t sail or dive. I swim, although not in terrifying oceans. But standing here in the noise and industry, looking up almost two hundred feet--higher than Niagara Falls--to the top of Kendal, I feel the giddiness of a Christmas morning child. Some of this is the rush of escape. Some is the pull of the sea. And some comes from the knowledge that I am about to embark to a place and space that is usually off-limits and hidden. The public is not allowed on a ship like this, nor even on the dock. There are no ordinary citizens to witness the workings of an industry that is one of the most fundamental to their daily existence. These ships and boxes belong to a business that feeds, clothes, warms, and supplies us. They have fueled if not created globalization. They are the reason behind your cheap T-shirt and reasonably priced television.

But who looks behind a television now and sees the ship that brought it? Who cares about the men who steered your breakfast cereal through winter storms? How ironic that the more ships have grown in size and consequence, the less space they take up in our imagination. The Maritime Foundation, a charity that promotes seafarer matters, recently made a video called Unreported Ocean. It asked the residents of Southampton, a port city in England, how many goods are transported by sea. The answers were varied but uniformly wrong. They all had the interrogative upswing of the unsure.

“Thirty-five percent?”

“Not a lot?”

The answer is, nearly everything. Sometimes on trains I play a numbers game. A woman listening to headphones: 8. A man reading a book: 15. The child in the stroller: at least 4 including the stroller. The game is to reckon how many of our clothes and possessions and food products have been transported by ship. The beads around the woman’s neck; the man’s iPhone and Japanese-made headphones. Her Sri Lanka–made skirt and blouse; his printed-in-China book. I can always go wider, deeper, and in any direction. The fabric of the seats. The rolling stock. The fuel powering the train. The conductor’s uniform; the coffee in my cup; the fruit in my bag. Definitely the fruit, so frequently shipped in refrigerated containers that it has been given its own temperature. Two degrees Celsius is “chill” but 13 degrees is “banana.”

Trade carried by sea has grown fourfold since 1970 and is still growing. In 2011, the 360 commercial ports of the United States took in international goods worth $1.73 trillion, or eighty times the value of all U.S. trade in 1960. There are more than one hundred thousand ships at sea carrying all the solids, liquids, and gases that we need to live. Only six thousand are container vessels like Kendal, but they make up for this small proportion by their dizzying capacity. The biggest container ship can carry fifteen thousand boxes. It can hold 746 million bananas, one for every European on one ship. If the containers of Maersk alone were lined up, they would stretch eleven thousand miles or nearly halfway around the planet. If they were stacked instead, they would be fifteen hundred miles high, 7,530 Eiffel Towers. If Kendal discharged her containers onto trucks, the line of traffic would be sixty miles long.

Trade has always traveled and the world has always traded. Ours, though, is the era of extreme interdependence. Hardly any nation is now self-sufficient. In 2011, the United Kingdom shipped in half of its gas. The United States relies on ships to bring in two thirds of its oil supplies. Every day, thirty-eight million tons of crude oil sets off by sea somewhere, although you may not notice it. As in Los Angeles, New York, and other port cities, London has moved its working docks out of the city, away from residents. Ships are bigger now and need deeper harbors, so they call at Newark or Tilbury or Felixstowe, not Liverpool or South Street. Security concerns have hidden ports further, behind barbed wire and badge wearing and keep out signs. To reach this quayside in Felixstowe, I had to pass through several gatekeepers and passport controllers, and past radiation-detecting gates often triggered by naturally radioactive cargo such as cat litter and broccoli.

It is harder to wander into the world of shipping, now, so people don’t. The chief of the British navy--who is known as the First Sea Lord, although the army chief is not a Land Lord--says we suffer from “sea blindness” now. We travel by cheap flights, not ocean liners. The sea is a distance to be flown over, a downward backdrop between takeoff and landing, a blue expanse that soothes on the moving flight map as the plane jerks over it. It is for leisure and beaches and fish and chips, not for use or work. Perhaps we believe that everything travels by air, or magically and instantaneously like information (which is actually anchored by cables on the seabed), not by hefty ships that travel more slowly than senior citizens drive.

You could trace the flight of the ocean from our consciousness in the pages of great newspapers. Fifty years ago, the shipping news was news. Cargo departures were reported daily. Now the most necessary business on the planet has mostly been shunted into the pages of specialized trade papers such as Lloyd’s List and the Journal of Commerce, fine publications but out of the reach of most, when an annual subscription to Lloyd’s List costs more than $2,000 a year. In 1965, shipping was so central to daily life in London that when Winston Churchill’s funeral barge left Tower Pier to travel up the Thames, it embarked in front of dock cranes that dipped their jibs, movingly, with respect. The cranes are gone now or immobile, garden furniture for wharves that house costly apartments or indifferent restaurants.

Humans have sent goods by water for four thousand years. In the fifteenth century BC, Queen Hatshepsut of Egypt sent a fleet to the Land of Punt and brought back panther skins and ebony, frankincense and dancing pygmies. Perhaps Hatshepsut counts as the first shipping tycoon, before the Romans, Phoenicians, and Greeks took over (she was certainly the only Egyptian queen who preferred to be called king). Shipping history is full of such treats and treasures. Cardamom, silk, ginger, and gold, ivory and saffron. The Routes of Spice, Tea, and Salt, of Amber and Incense. There were trade winds, sailor towns and sails, chaos and color. Now there are freight routes, turnarounds, and boxes, and the cool mechanics of modern industry, but there is still intrigue and fortune. Maersk ships travel regular routes named Boomerang and Yo Yo (from Australia and Yokohama), or the Bossa Nova and Samba around South America. There are wealthy tycoons still, Norse, Greek, and Danish, belonging to family companies who maintain a level of privacy that makes a Swiss banker seem verbose. Publicly listed shipping companies are still a minority. Even shipping people admit that their industry is clubby, insular, difficult. In this business, it is considered normal that the official Greek shipowners’ association refuses to say how many members it has, because it can.

Maersk is different. It must be, because it is letting me onto a working ship, usually barred to ordinary citizens. Even Maersk officers are no longer permitted to take family members to sea because of concerns about safety from pirates. But Maersk is known for risks, at least in the places where its name is known at all, which is in shipping and Denmark. I find Maersk fascinating. It is the Coca-Cola of freight with none of the fame. Its parent company A. P. Møller– Maersk is Denmark’s largest company, its sales equal to 20 percent of Denmark’s GDP; its ships use more oil than the entire nation. I like the fact that Maersk is not a household name outside the pages of Lloyd’s List; that it has an online store selling Maersk-branded T-shirts and cookie tins called Stargate, after the company symbol of a seven-point star, white on a background of Maersk Blue, a distinct color that can be created from a Pantone recipe. The star has seven points, goes an employee joke, because they work seven days a week. For much of recent history the company was run by Arnold Maersk McKinney Møller, son of the founder, a pleasingly eccentric patriarch who worked until he died in 2012 at age ninety-eight. Mr. Møller was known for his firm control of his firm; for walking up five flights of stairs to his office, although when he reached ninety-four he allowed his driver to carry his briefcase; for being one of only three commoners to receive Denmark’s Order of the Elephant; and for driving around Copenhagen in a modest car although he was one of the two richest people in Denmark. The other inherited Lego.

Reuters, in a profile of Maersk, describes it as “active primarily in the marine transportation sector.” Behind that “primarily” are multitudes. Founded in 1904 with one ship named Svendborg, Maersk--through its subsidiary Maersk Line--now operates the largest container shipping company in the world, with a fleet of six hundred vessels. It also has the vast and dizzying interests of a global corporation. It is active in 130 countries and has 117,000 employees. It is looking for and drilling for oil and gas in Denmark, Angola, Brazil, Greenland, Qatar, Algeria, Norway, Iraq, the United States, and Kazakhstan. If you have visited Denmark, you have probably shopped in a Maersk-owned supermarket. You can save in a Maersk-owned bank. The list of its companies and subsidiaries is twelve pages long, double columns. Its revenues in 2011 were $60.2 billion, only slightly less than Microsoft’s. Microsoft provides the software that runs computers; Maersk brings us the computers. One is infamous. Somehow the other is mostly invisible.

This is remarkable, given the size of its ambition. Maersk is known for its experiments with economies of scale. Its E class ship (according to an internal classification system) Emma Maersk, built in 2005, excited the industry partly because she could carry at least fifteen thousand containers. Triple-E class ships, expected in 2014, will carry eighteen thousand and be able to fit a full-sized American football field, an ice-hockey arena, and a basketball court in their holds, if they care to. Emma was envied by naval architects and engineers, but her arrival in Felixstowe in December 2006 also caught the public imagination. With her 150 tons of New Zealand lamb and 138,000 tins of cat food, she carried 12,800 MP-3 players, 33,000 cocktail shakers, and 2 million Christmas decorations; she became SS Santa, come to call.

SS Santa demonstrated more than industrial hubris. She also proved how little an ordinary citizen understands about shipping. For two weeks afterward, Felixstowe received calls from people wanting to know if she was still in port. She had come and gone in twenty-four hours. I have met well-meaning men--and too few women--in boardrooms across London and New York who complain about this ignorance. They want a more visible image for an industry that in the UK alone employs 634,900 people, contributes £8.45 billion in taxes, and generates 2 percent of the national economy, more than restaurants, takeaway food, and civil engineering combined, and only just behind the construction industry. They despair that shipping draws attention only with drama and disaster: a cruise ship sinking, or an oil spill and blackened birds. They would like people to know the names of the Wec Vermeer, arrived from Leixões and heading for Rotterdam, or the Zim Genoa, due in from Ashdod, not just Exxon Valdez and Titanic. They provide statistics showing that the dark days of oil spills are over. Between 1972 and 1981, there were 223 spills. Over the last decade there were 63. Each year, a shipping publicist told me, “More oil is poured down the drain by mechanics changing their engine oil than is spilled by the world’s fleet of oil tankers.”

Yet the invisibility is useful, too. There are few industries as defiantly opaque as shipping. Even offshore bankers have not developed a system as intricately elusive as the flag of convenience, under which ships can fly the flag of a state that has nothing to do with its owner, cargo, crew, or route. Look at the backside of boats and you will see home ports of Panama City and Monrovia, not Le Havre or Hamburg, but neither crew nor ship will have ever been to Liberia or Mongolia, a landlocked country that nonetheless has a shipping fleet. For the International Chamber of Shipping, which thinks “flags of convenience” too pejorative a term (it prefers the sanitized “open registries”), there is “nothing inherently wrong” with this system. A former U.S. Coast Guard commander preferred to call it “managed anarchy.”

Danish-owned Kendal has also flagged out, but to the national registry of the United Kingdom. On her monkey deck she flies the Red Ensign, the British maritime Union flag. This makes her a rarity. After the Second World War, the great powers in shipping were Britain and the United States. They had ships and supplied men to sail them. In 1961 the United Kingdom had 142,462 working seafarers. The United States owned 1,268 ships. Now British seafarers number around 24,000. There are fewer than one hundred ocean going U.S.-flagged ships. Only 1 percent of trade at U.S. ports travels on an American-flagged ship, and the U.S. fleet has declined by 82 percent since 1951. Who in western Europe or America now knows a working seafarer? At a nautical seminar held on a tall ship--a proper old sailing vessel--in Glasgow, a tanker captain told a story that got laughs, but it was sad. When online forms offer him drop-down options to describe his career, he selects “shipping” and is then given a choice. DHL or FedEx?

Two men have descended from Kendal to fetch me. They look Asian and exhausted, so they are typical crew. The benefits of flagging out vary according to registry, but there will always be lower taxes, more lenient labor laws, no requirement to pay expensive American or British crews who are protected by unions and legislation. Now the citizens of rich countries own ships--Greece has the most, then Japan and Germany--but they are sailed by the cheap labor of Filipinos, Bangladeshis, Chinese, Indonesians. They are the ones who clean your cruise cabin and work in the engine room, who bring your gas, your soybeans, your perfumes and medicine.

Seafaring can be a good life. And it can go wrong with the speed of a wave. On paper, the seas are tightly controlled. The Dutch scholar Grotius’s 1609 concept of mare liberum still mostly holds: a free sea that belongs to no state but in which each state has some rights. The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) is known as the umbrella convention. Its 320 articles, excluding annexes, aim to create “a legal order for the seas and oceans which will facilitate international communication, and will promote the peaceful uses of the seas and oceans, the equitable and efficient utilization of their resources, the conservation of their living resources, and the study, protection and preservation of the marine environment.” Nations that have ratified the convention (the United States has not, not liking its deep-sea mining stipulations) have a right to a twelve-mile boundary from their coastline and also to a two-hundred-mile “exclusive economic zone.” Beyond that is the high sea. The International Maritime Organization, a UN agency, has passed dozens of regulations and amendments since the 1940s to regulate ships, crews, and safety, more than most other UN agencies. The International Labour Organization looks out for seafarers’ rights. For boundary disputes there is an International Tribunal on Maritime Law.

But the sea dissolves paper. In practice, the ocean is the world’s wildest place, because of both its fearsome natural danger and how easy it is out there to slip from the boundaries of law and civilization that seem so firm ashore. TV crime dramas now frequently use ports as a visual shorthand for places of criminal, suspicious activity. I don’t know why they don’t just go out to sea. If something goes wrong in international waters, there is no police force or union official to assist. Imagine you have a problem while on a ship. Who do you complain to, when you are employed by a Manila manning agency on a ship owned by an American, flagged by Panama, managed by a Cypriot, in international waters?

Imagine you are a nineteen-year-old South African woman named Akhona Geveza, fresh out of maritime college, the first in your family to reach higher education, the household earner and hope. In January 2010, you go to sea as a deck cadet--an apprentice navigator--on a good ship run by a good company, the Safmarine Kariba. Six months later, your shipmate reports to the captain that you have been raped by the Ukrainian first officer. He summons you and the officer to his cabin the next day. But you don’t turn up, because you are already dead in the sea off Croatia. The Croatian police subsequently concluded Akhona had committed suicide. She had been in a relationship that was “consensual but rough.” An internal inquiry by Safmarine also concluded suicide and found no evidence of harassment or abuse. And that, according to sea law, was all that could be demanded.

Reporters from South Africa’s Sunday Times then interviewed other cadets from the same maritime school. They found two had been made pregnant by senior officers, two male cadets raped, and a widespread atmosphere of intimidation. A female cadet said embarking on a ship was like being dropped in the middle of a game park. “When we arrived,” another said, “we were told that the captain is our god; he can marry you, baptize you, and even bury you without anybody’s permission. We were told that the sea is no-man’s-land and that what happens at sea stays at sea.”

Other workers and migrants have hard lives. But they have phone lines and Internet access, unlike seafarers. They have union representatives, a police force, all the safety nets of society. Even in space, astronauts are always connected to mission control. Only 12 percent of ship crew have freely available Internet access at sea. Two-thirds have no access at all. Cell phones don’t work either. Lawyers who fight for seafarers’ rights describe their clients as moving targets who work in no-man’s-lands. They describe an industry that is global but also uniquely mobile, and difficult to govern, police, or rule. They are careful to say that most owners are scrupulous, but for the unscrupulous ones there is no better place to be than at sea. For the International Transport Workers’ Federation (ITF), a global union representing four million seafarers, the maritime and fishing industries “continue to allow astonishing abuses of human rights of those working in the sector… Seafarers and fishers are routinely made to work in conditions that would not be acceptable in civilized society.” If that sounds like typically combative union rhetoric, ITF will point to, for a start, the $30 million they recovered in 2010 of wages unpaid to seafarers who had earned them, and the year before was the same.

In 1904, the great Norwegian-American seafarer unionist Andrew Furuseth--known as Lincoln of the Sea for his cheekbones and achievements--was threatened with prison for violating an injunction during a strike. “You can throw me in jail,” he responded, “but you can’t give me narrower quarters than, as a seaman, I’ve always lived in; or a coarser food than I’ve always eaten, or make me lonelier than I’ve always been.” More than a century on, seafarers still regularly joke that their job is like being in prison with a salary. That is not accurate. When the academic Erol Kahveci surveyed British prison literature while researching conditions at sea, he found that “the provision of leisure, recreation, religious service and communication facilities are better in U.K. prisons than… on many ships our respondents worked aboard.”

The International Maritime Organization once published a brochure about shipping entitled “A Safe and Friendly Business.” Shipping has certainly become safer, but in this safe and friendly business, at the moment I embark, 544 seafarers are being held hostage by Somali pirates. I try to translate that into other transport industries; 544 bus drivers, or 544 cabdrivers, or nearly two jumbo jets of passengers, mutilated and tortured for years. When thirty-three Chilean miners were trapped underground for sixty-nine days in 2010, there was a media frenzy. Fifteen hundred journalists went to Chile and, even now, the BBC news website maintains a special page on their drama, long after its conclusion. The twenty-four men on MV Iceberg held captive for a thousand days were given no special page and nothing much more than silence and disregard.

The men from Kendal are ready to go. They advise me to hold the gangway rail tightly. I have traveled plenty and strangely on land: to Saddam Hussein’s birthday party in Tikrit, to Bhutanese football matches blessed by Buddhist monks, down sewers and through vast slums in great cities. I look at the gangway, leading up four stories of height, my portal to thirty-nine days at sea, six ports, two oceans, five seas, and the most compellingly foreign environment I’m ever likely to encounter. Lead on, able seamen. I will follow.

From Ninety Percent of Everything, Metropolitan Books, copyright 2013 Rose George.