#the generator squashed the spaces ugh

[asher-writes]

Then we got "What would break them?" which is, ugh, so good

I can't decide who to go with here, so I'll let you pick whomst you wanna torture today XD

~ M <3

For Ari, it definitely ended up being himself.

His very slow decline was so unnoticeable to him that even when he did eventually realise that he didn't really know how to be happy, there was no energy left for him to change.

His loneliness absolutely consumed him, leading him to become more and more isolated. When it came to the fact that people did like him, and did want to be around him, it fully wouldn't register to him. He no longer felt like he needed to have friendship or companionship, and no longer had the energy to make those relationships anyway.

So over the course of Out of Sight and Mind, with him sharing the same space as Edward, it becomes really overwhelming and intimidating to him to not have his own space. That already, by itself (showing through his snappiness, irritation, and general avoidance), was cracking him.

To find out that he does actually get used to Edward's company, and quicker than he expected, is also really intimidating for him. He had no idea he was capable of missing people until this. And once he realises that he is capable, then he also realises that he's been quietly mourning leaving home for the past fifteen years.

He just squashed his feelings down so damn much, that he couldn't register or be aware of it. He still, isn't really, he's just becoming more unstable.

In the end, it's not until Edward is placed in harms way that Ari really breaks, though. This is the first man he's ever loved. The thought of losing him is almost as painful as wanting to be his friend, companion, lover, in the first place. He becomes so much more unpredictable, and before if we thought Ari was irritable, painfully irrational (except to himself) and emotionally neglectful, we get to see him become something closer to a hurricane than a person.

In essence, with a little help, he mostly did this shit to himself.

[aintnolionpridelands]

[lovelilijazunde]

And It All Fell Down

Fic: And It All Fell Down

Writers note: Hey, this is my first fic I’ve posted on here, so, while constructive criticism is nice, please try not to be too harsh. This is a fic I wrote for @deafgirl-and-hercoven ‘s Heir AU, which you should check out if you haven’t already.

Ships: Romantic Dukeceit/Demus

Warnings: Remus being Remus, zombie mention, Virgil, Patton, and Roman being kind of jerks (If I need to retag, tell me! Still new at this)

Word Count: 1822

Summary: Remus, Deceit, and Princess have had a relatively secret life together for the past six years. No one knew about Princess, and Remus and Deceit didn’t really advertise their relationship, but then an unexpected Summoning raises questions.

It had been a relatively normal day in the Dark Side of the Mind Palace. Princess had woken Deceit up at one in the morning for no real reason, and they had fallen back asleep reading, cuddled in a huddle of blankets stolen from Remus (he was a space heater, he didn’t need them). Princess had gotten up to work out with Remus roughly four hours later, giggling as she sat on the bar while Remus benched twice her weight, and sitting on his back as he did push ups. Then Deceit had woken up around noon, reluctantly leaving the blanket nest, and Remus had left Dee and Princess alone for the day. 

The two of them had amused themselves quite happily. They colored in the coloring book Remus had made for Princess (begrudgingly, he had made them PG13), read together from some of Princess’s favorite books, and Deceit had juggled apples using all of his arms - all of Princess 626’s favorite things. A normal, everyday routine.

Now, though, they had decided to try something different. And messy.

“Stop wiggling!” Freezing, Deceit tried not to smile as Princess grabbed his face again. “If you keep moving, I can’t make you look pretty!”

They were in the Dark Sides’ living room, where Princess 626 had decided to have an impromptu makeover session. And, really, who was Deceit to deny her? They had snuck into Remus’s bathroom and borrowed some of his makeup products. He was still off bothering Thomas, probably would be for hours more, and wouldn’t mind them using his stuff, anyways. He would probably be delighted that Deceit was allowing himself to be unprofessional enough to apply makeup at all, much less let Princess 626 do it. 

Deceit was standing relatively where Logan would stand in Thomas’s living room, and Princess 626 was standing on a stool in front of him. He had offered to sit, to make her job easier, but she adamantly refused. She wanted to feel tall, Deceit, presumed. He could relate.

Deceit looked down at his princess softly. Her rainbow-dyed hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was frowning in concentration, completely absorbed by her work. Her hetero-chromatic eyes were squinted, with only slivers of the red and purple irises visible. Her dress, a miniature version of Deceit’s tunic, had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her nimble hands were liberally spotted with excess makeup and freckles.

As they were each doing the other’s makeup, Deceit had offered to go first, to show her how it was done, but Princess adamantly refused, insisting that she knew what to do and how to do it. She had allowed him to apply his own mascara though, as she understood that it was not always pleasant when another would do that for you. 

Princess carefully applied a layer of lime green lip gloss onto Deceit before noticing that his eyes were open, and told him yet again to close them.

“Don’t ruin the surprise!”

Trying not to smile, Deceit closed his eyes again. It was impossible not to be happy when 626 was around.

***

“Ugh, Remus, why don’t you just leave Thomas alone?” Virgil snapped. 

Remus hid a flash of hurt behind his ever-present painful grin. He was having fun, right? Pestering Thomas, scaring Patton, annoying Roman . . . the usual interactions. Virgil wasn’t having it today, though. He wasn’t scared by Remus’s antics anymore. He used to help Remus - their jobs were easier when they worked together. But Thomas got older, and then Virgil didn’t want to help Remus anymore. Then he used to shiver and shake when Remus used to imply particularly lovely things, but  . . . now he would more often treat him as if Remus was an annoying child who needed to be silenced. Remus squashed the anger that always bubbled in his chest when he thought about Virgil down. Who cared what the anxious side thought? He obviously didn’t care about Dee or Remus, so why should Remus care about him?

“Why, you should ask yourself that, Emo Nightmare! Aren’t you just as bad?”

“No! Virgil would never hurt Thomas!” Patton interjected, offended, ever the defender of his famILY. “I don’t see why you have to hurt him, either.” 

Remus wanted to growl at him. Remus was just doing his job. It wasn’t his fault that Papa Pretentious had a stick up his ***. Ugh, even his thoughts were censored when he was too near the Moral side. How would Patton like it if Remus was able to shut him up about what he like to talk about? Deceit could do that, but not Remus. He was the opposite. Just think, no more puppies, kitties, cookies . . . Hmm, would Patton stop liking puppies if Remus put zombie dogs in his room? Ooh, should Remus shape shift into a zombie dog and take a chunk out of Patton’s leg? Maybe that would shut him up. He wouldn’t need Deceit for that. Remus decided to address this question to the general room. Patton flinched, and Roman groaned.

“Why must you always tell us what goes on in that creepy head of yours?” Remus’s brother complained. Remus wiggled his eyebrows.

“What, I thought Thomas wanted to be honest with himself? Isn’t sharing being honest?”

“You know what, Remus, I think we could benefit from a little less honesty out of you.” Thomas finally said, annoyed. Logan glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“Well, Thomas, if a little less honesty is what you wish, shouldn’t you summon Deceit?”

Thomas blinked. “I  . . . well, I mean, if you think I could deal with both of them at the same time, sure.” 

Remus felt his smile falter. While he was always glad to see his boyfriend, he and Deceit both knew what would happen if Princess was left alone - poor kid. He started to speak up, to stop them somehow, but he was cut off as Thomas raised his arm and commanded “Deceit!”.

***

Princess added the finishing touches, and Deceit was still trying not to smile. “Okay, just a few more seconds, then you can look!”

Deceit waited a few seconds, but there was silence, and nothing touched his face. He started talking as he opened his eyes “Princess, are you done?”

He wasn’t in front of Princess anymore. He was in front of the other Sides and Thomas, who were staring at him as if he had shown up in a clown suit. Oh, no. They must have summoned him. And he not only was looking completely unprofessional (he wasn’t wearing his hat, caplet, or gloves) he was wearing makeup (probably obviously) applied by a child! They would either think him incompetent or insane. And there goes that respect fear factor.

Deceit suddenly felt guilty of thinking badly of Princess’s work - Princess! He had left Princess alone with no warning. And when had he popped up? What if they heard him say her name? No, no, no, no, no!

“Deceit?” asked Logan quizzically. He was taking in Deceit faster than the others were, apparently. He started to continue, but Roman cut him off.

“Are you wearing makeup? I thought you hated makeup!”

Cut out of his frozen state by familiar contempt, Deceit curled his lip at Roman. “No, Roman, I detest makeup. I truly despise  it when someone does it for me.” Deceit made direct eye contact with Roman as he said this, in an attempt to avoid looking at Remus in hopes that they would forget about him, and he could slip away to Princess. Remus, thankfully, seemed to catch his drift, and sunk out. Unfortunately, his swift exit did not slip past Virgil. 

“Hey, what - Why did Remus leave so fast once you got here?” he demanded to Deceit. 

Lie. Deceit summoned his gloves and put them back on as he spoke. “Me and the Duke are not on the friendliest of terms. We prefer not to be in each other’s vicinity.”

“Why? I would have thought you and that disaster would get along swimmingly.” Roman said. Deceit wanted to rise to the defense of his boyfriend, but that would defeat the purpose of the lie he was constructing.

“Well, my purpose goes directly against his purpose, so, no, we do not get along.”

Virgil frowned. “What? Last time I saw you, I thought you two were all buddy-buddy, you liar.”

 Sneering at him, Deceit pulled on his bowler hat. “Well, it’s been a while, Virgil. You haven’t been to visit. You haven’t been around. Things have changed.”

Virgil hissed at him. Deceit hissed back.

“Hey, Deceit, who’s Princess?” Patton interrupted. Deceit’s already cool blood chilled.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He pulled on his caplet as he said it, as if the question were beneath him, and he could not be bothered with such trivial things at the moment. His attitude didn’t dissuade the other Sides in the slightest.

“Well, you obviously know, so why not tell us?” Roman asked. 

Deceit felt like he was being torn in half. He knew this day would come, when they would figure it out, put the pieces together, he had prepared for this, he knew. He had lain awake night after night imagining this day, what he would say, what he would do. Princess would want to bake cookies and play stuffed animals with Patton. Logan would be able to sate her insatiable curiosity about the world around her, and outside Thomas’s head as well. And, of course, she would probably want to meet her unknowing donors biological parents. She would want to sing and act with Roman, and sew and listen to music with Virgil. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to delay the inevitable. And, besides, they hadn’t seen her. What proof did they have that she existed? Maybe they would give up. All he had to do was misdirect them. That was what he was good at.

“Tell you what?”

“Really, Deceit, you’re not fooling anyone. When you rose up, you were talking to someone who you referred to as “Princess”, and you were uncharacteristically relaxed and calm, and . . . happy looking.” Logan paused. “Princess must be special to you.”

Deceit blinked slowly. Out of all of the “Light” Sides, he thought that Logan would not be the one to notice immediate emotional connections, since the logical side to ardently tried to deny even having emotions, much less noticing them in other Sides.

“You know, if you won’t tell us, we could always summon whoever this ‘Princess’ is,” Roman announced, motioning to Thomas, “If you would, Thomas.”

Deceit’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, no, don’t- STOP!”

But it was too late. Thomas had already raised his arm, commanding “Princess!”

For a split second, Deceit thought that perhaps it wouldn’t work. Perhaps Thomas couldn’t summon a side that he didn’t know existed - and was Princess even a Side? He probably couldn’t summon her. He could convince them that Princess was nonexistent, or imaginary, or - 

Princess rose up.

[valkyrieskwad]

If you are taking prompts, what if after the rift Lena starts posting pics of her and kara just keeps liking them, and Lena just slowly starts posting things kara may like. But they don't know how to get past that so that's their lifeline for now.

Haha, prompts are always welcome. Always glad to butcher ideas for people.

Anyway, here ya go!

–

It doesn’t really occur to Lena that she has a crush on Kara, until it hits her one day–out of the blue, out of nowhere, unexpectedly–and then she spends the next ten minutes with her heart in her throat because what the fuck?

The worst part is that she doesn’t figure it out during their friendship or even right after their fallout; she figures it out six months after they’ve parted ways, six months after the Big Fight and the tears and harsh words, six months after they’ve said shit-all to one another, stopped acknowledging each other’s existence, and–

Actually, no, okay, the worst part is that she figures it out when she sees “Liked by Kara.D and 19 others” under an instagram picture she posted of her posing with her hydroponic vegetable garden.

Which is probably the dumbest thing ever.

She’s not even sure why she hasn’t blocked Kara on instagram and all other forms of social media. She’s not even sure why she posted that dumb picture or cares that Kara likes it. She’s not even�� she doesn’t really know why there are butterflies in her belly for this of all things.

But there it is. On her phone screen. Kara.D in bold. Kara liked her picture.

+

It happens again a couple days later, and it’s… honestly, it’s not like Lena’s angling for it or whatever, didn’t post another picture just to see if Kara would like it (she didn’t okay, didn’t didn’t didn’t), but Kara’s liked two of her pictures now and some part of that feels addicting.

+

Ugh.

It’s stupid, she knows it’s stupid, knows it’s so dumb it makes her belly twists in knots when she stops too long to think about it–but the next picture she posts, she’s half-mostly-entirely hoping Kara will like it. She’s angling for it now, officially. She wants it, craves it, wants to see Kara.D in her notifications, and.

She does, of course; Kara likes it, and Lena hates how settled that makes her feel.

+

“I didn’t know either,” Sam comments, a few days later over lunch. “But it doesn’t feel like… I mean, it’s Kara, Lena. You know her mo–”

“I don’t,” Lena says, scraping her fork through her salad leaves, hoping it’s not too obvious how much the tips of her ears are heating up. Because she doesn’t know Kara. She knows the girl Kara wanted her know, the one that seemed quirky and awkward and adorable, when really, honestly, she was just always making up bad excuses to cover her lies.

She didn’t even bother to think of good excuses. She didn’t even respect Lena enough to make it less obvious, just relied on how much Lena so totally, unequivocally trusted her to completely sell her lie lie lies, all the fucking lies. Lena’s as much of a fool as Lex said she is.

“I don’t actually know her, and neither do you. You should remember that.”

Sam shrugs. “You should block her on instagram, then.”

+

Lena doesn’t.

Of course she doesn’t. She posts another picture of her posing with fresh carrots, waits for Kara to like it, and then an hour later gets a text from Sam saying, ’you should just talk to her. You probably know her more than you think you do.’

Which is dumb advice and she hates it and hates Sam for saying it.

So she blocks Sam on instagram, instead.

Then she unblocks her when Sam sends the rolling eyes emoji and says, ’fine, I won’t bring it up again.’

+

But it was completely a lie, of course it was, because Sam brings it up again a week later in spin class. Right after the instructor makes a Supergirl reference. Right after Lena rolls her eyes and leans in on her bike so maybe she can burn so many calories her brain stops working.

“You know, Supergirl saved my life,” Sam says offhandedly. “She’s saved your life too. Lot’s of times. Nearly gotten killed for trying to protect you, so I’m just saying–”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lena cuts in, which is… weird. It’s weird because she wholeheartedly believes none of that matters, and genuinely doesn’t like or trust Kara, and yet the only thing she’s thought about for the past however many hours is what picture she can post next that Kara might like.

“Really,” she says after a while. “I mean, I don’t doubt she’s a good person. But she played me, and she knew she was doing it the whole time.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Sam says, and then she actually drops the subject.

+

Lena decides on tomatoes for the next picture, and then she spends a weird amount of time getting a good picture, and an even longer time thinking of a good caption. Because her instagram is growing and she wants to be diligent, not for Kara or anything like that.

Anywho.

After a small eternity, she finally goes with, ’looks like a fruit made it into my vegetable garden’, and then smiles when Kara’s the first to like it.

+

She doesn’t have a problem. Problems mean there’s something to solve. Problems generate hypotheses and have ways to figure out solutions. Problems indicate that something is actually wrong, is actually fixable, is actually an issue. Lena doesn’t have issues, she has instagram.

And she just really likes posting pictures.

So what if Kara’s liked everything, okay? Even the one with the squash and the one with the eggplants and the one that Lena’s not even in, just her admiring a particularly nice bottle of wine.

So what if like, sometimes she posts pictures and obviously puts something she knows Kara likes, or sometimes she constantly refreshes her phone to see Kara’s name. So what? It’s not a problem, it’s just. It’s life. There are no issues here.

+

Maybe she has a problem, sure, maybe it could be quantified that way if someone’s willing to make a Space Jam-Michael Jordan-arm-type reach to say her instagram posting is an issue. But Lena doesn’t like to think of it that way.

She just thinks it’s a good hobby, a pleasurable pastime. It’s perfectly fine.

Everyone has an instagram. Everyone is posting pictures.

Jesus.

+

It’s a problem, fine, fuck. She can’t stop thinking about Kara, can’t stop imagining her face and her voice and sometimes when Kara takes a while to like a picture she feels a little depressed. And sometimes she just really hopes that Kara will go out on a limb and leave a comment instead.

She just–she wants Kara bad enough it hurts in all the worst-icky ways. She wants her so much she can’t breathe. And at the same time she like, she despises her.

Which is an issue, yes, conflicting things in her brain, creating cognitive dissonance.

But, truly, the instagram thing isn’t the issue. The instagram thing is helping, she thinks. This way she has Kara, but she doesn’t have to have Kara. This way she can post something she likes and Kara can say, ’i like that, too.’

This way it’s less messy, and they don’t have to acknowledge that they can’t fix their friendship. Or, like, ever be in a relationship.

This way they can still hold on to each other, and everything doesn’t have to feel so final, so definite.

It doesn’t have to actually, fully be over.

It’s harmless, really.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @moretomhardy!

Read on AO3

******

so show me (i'll show you)

Chapter 1

1

Stiles lets himself into the old, burned-out husk of the Hale house that Derek still refuses to tear down now that he has acquired legal ownership of the property. He doesn't care if he’s going to interrupt something or not. He and Derek are going to have words.

“Derek!”

There is no verbal answer but when Stiles' eyes roam over the staircase again, Derek is standing there, barefoot.

"Ugh, man, I know werewolves are impervious to most diseases, but for my peace of mind, put on some shoes when you climb that death contraption. I don't even want to think about how quickly I'd contract tetanus if I ever set a bare foot on those stairs," Stiles groans.

Derek huffs out what could almost be accepted as an amused grunt if one was listening closely enough. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at the older man instead of smiling stupidly at him like he kind of wants to every time he catches a glimpse of Derek's ridiculously gorgeous face.

The only response Derek has for that is to copy Stiles by also crossing his arms over his chest and scowling back at him. Stiles concedes defeat to their scowling contest after a few more seconds have passed, sighing as he runs a hand over the hair that is beginning to grow out from his signature buzzcut. Lydia practically begged him to stop scalping himself and let his hair breathe so it could grow into a hairstyle she, Erica, and Allison are all certain will suit him nicely. Stiles honestly doesn't care one way or the other about the state of his hair but after Jackson bribed him with money, it seems that Stiles is now two hundred dollars richer and has thicker hair than before.

"Did you come here for a reason?" Derek asks then sniffs the air, his face twisting in confusion as he opens his mouth to speak again.

"How do you deal with so many teenager werewolves vying for your attention?" Stiles blurts out before Derek can ask about his scent.

Derek's brows furrow together in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Stiles sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. "What I mean is, you're the alpha."

"Yes, Stiles. I am the alpha. I'm glad you can state the obvious," Derek snorts.

"Shut up, let me finish talking first." Stiles glowers at him.

Derek glares at him, breathing deeply through his nose as his stance stiffens. His face twitches with the irritation Stiles knows he evokes within the older man whenever they exchange more than three words between them. He grins, despite himself, glad to know that he can always count on Derek to act as he normally does when it concerns Stiles. Unlike some unruly puppies who devotedly follow after Derek for some strange season.

(Well, not that strange. Stiles knows that he is half the reason the pack is the way it is now, but his point still stands.)

"You're the alpha, so the puppies hang around you a lot. They treat you a certain way and stick to that because you're their alpha. Right?" Stiles manages to explain himself coherently, hoping that what makes sense to him also makes sense to Derek right now.

Puppies, Derek mouths to himself with wry amusement before he meets Stiles' gaze and nods his head.

"Right, so, if your puppies started acting differently, you could just make them act like they used to before," Stiles continues.

"Wrong," Derek cuts in just as Stiles is starting to pick up steam. "It would be wrong to force my betas to act a certain way. I'd be a bad alpha if I did that."

Stiles stares at him for a few seconds, mouth agape, before he groans and rubs both his hands over his face in frustration. "Why do you have to have such great morals? Why can't you be like Peter who gives answers for a price or Deaton who never gives a straight one?"

Derek smirks at him, letting his arms fall from his chest so they are by his sides instead. "Why are you asking me about this?"

"Can you teach me how to handle your werewolves invading so much of my privacy recently?" Stiles rushes to say, hoping that his puppy dog eyes work half as well as Scott's seem to do whenever he directs them at anybody, including Derek.

"What do you mean?" Derek asks hesitantly, something in his expression telling Stiles that he almost doesn't want to know the answer.

Stiles sighs. "Your puppies keep crawling into my bed at night, taking my clothes and wearing them even if they don't fit. They keep laying themselves all over me whenever they get the chance too. And, normally, I wouldn't object to so many attractive people constantly touching me, but Jackson shoved his face into my neck the other day and just breathed there for two minutes straight. He wouldn't let me move or step away and I've had the heebie-jeebies ever since, dude!"

"Don't call me dude," Derek says reflexively. "Have they really been doing that?"

"Oh, god. You don't even know!" Stiles complains. "Scott keeps making fun of me because I supposedly reek of pack. I don't smell like me anymore, according to him, which makes it hard to track me down since I smell like a bunch of different hormonal teenagers who follow me around at school, are always over at my house, and lay claim to my own bed often enough that I always find myself on my bedroom floor come morning. Derek, please tell me how you deal with them."

"This at least explains why I couldn't smell you when you drove up. I only knew it was you because your Jeep's engine is so recognizable." Derek stares at him, his facing smoothing out and devoid of any telling emotions. "I thought you liked having so many people over at your place though? You said the pack was welcome any time."

"I did! But then-" Stiles pauses, suddenly suspicious as his eyes flicker back towards Derek's closed-off expression. "Hey, I never said I liked having company over, so how do you know that?"

Derek only shrugs, avoiding his gaze. "Your scent. Whenever the pack is over, you smell happy."

"That is so weird, man. I don't think you even realize how creepy that sounds," Stiles laughs.

"Whatever," Derek says with a roll of his eyes. "You want the pack to back off? Then tell them."

Stiles stomps his foot, fed up with how nonchalantly Derek is taking all of this. "I have! They didn't listen!"

Derek sits down on the steps and leans back so he's lying across five of them. "You have to be firm with them. Wolves respond to you when you command their respect. Right now, they're walking all over you because you let them. I know you're not all flowers and rainbows, I've seen you in a fight, Stiles. Use some of that energy to get your point across with them."

"So your advice is for me to tell them no in a 'Big Boy' voice?" Stiles asks, not believing that his issues with the pack can be solved so easily.

"Be firm. Leave no room for any arguments," Derek says, completely ignoring Stiles' superpower: sarcasm.

Stiles groans. "Why can't you just tell them to leave me alone? You're the alpha!"

Derek rolls his eyes again. "That wouldn't solve anything. The pack would still walk all over you because you're letting your alpha handle your problems instead of doing it yourself. That makes you look weak."

Stiles glowers at him, sniffing his nose in disdain when Derek gets a thoughtful look on his face and tilts his head to the side. He has to fight the urge to laugh, suddenly overcome with how similar to a dog Derek looks like now.

"You do know why they've been acting differently with you, right?" Derek asks while peering at him.

"Of course, I do," Stiles huffs.

Derek laughs then. Honest to god laughs, the sound breathy and filled with enough amusement to build a park. Stiles has to force himself not to gawk because he will not be the asshole that makes Derek Hale feel subconscious for doing something as normal as laughing. The man has been through hell and Stiles knows that he is generally just an all-around bastard almost all of the time, but he's done making things harder on Derek. Derek deserves a break, no matter how hard he tries to self-sabotage himself.

"So, you don't know why the pack suddenly started crowding you and when they didn't listen to you the one time you asked them nicely to give you some space, you decided to come to your alpha and have me squash the problem for you without knowing why?" Derek chuckles, rubbing a hand over his chin as his laughter dies a slow death. "That doesn't sound like you, Stiles."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Are you going to tell me why or you going to waste my time with more dog training nonsense?"

Derek's expression hardens instantly. "We are your pack, Stiles. Not dogs. I don't care if you call my betas puppies, but don't treat us like we're animals."

"You know that I would never do that," Stiles shoots back. "I know you guys aren't dogs! I'm just saying that your advice sounds a lot like the police dog trainer's when they bring in new K-9s."

"I'm going to ignore that," Derek mutters. "Now, as for why the pack has been acting like that with you. Simply put: they see you as the weakest member of the pack. It's why they circle around you, why they scent you and spread your scent amongst themselves. They're camouflaging you."

Out of all the possible reasons Stiles thought up of in his head for why the pack thought it was open season on Make Stiles Uncomfortable, he didn't expect this to be what Derek would tell him.

"You're joking," Stiles sputters. "Please, tell me you're joking."

Derek shakes his head. "They're doing all of this because they care about you and want to keep you safe. Their instincts demand it of them and so they have to comply. The only way they'll stop is when you stop rolling over and show your belly to them."

Stiles sighs. "Ugh. How am I supposed to put my foot down now after hearing all that?"

"This is exactly why they're closing ranks around you, you know. You can't keep being a pushover."

"Fine. I get it, already," Stiles grumbles. "Be strict, hold my ground with them. That all?"

Derek nods, relaxed now. "If they don't stop, even after you confront them, then I'll step in and handle the issue as the alpha. Just let me know how it goes."

"Yeah, yeah." Stiles waves his hand before he sticks it awkwardly into his pocket as an idea strikes him. "Hey, have you ate yet?"

"Not yet," Derek says, suddenly cautious.

Stiles grins, looking up to meet his gaze. "Great 'cause I'm taking you to the diner downtown. My treat. Hurry up and get dressed."

Derek sighs and stands, apparently willing to go along with Stiles' attempt of returning the favor as long as he gets free food out of it. Stiles watches him walk back upstairs, feeling jittery now that he is no longer in the older werewolf's presence.

"I'll be in my Jeep, waiting," Stiles speaks softly into the stale air of the burned-out home his alpha won't let go of, knowing that Derek can hear him well enough, then turns on his heel and walks outside.

TBC

[pikkaria-blog]

Does Food Photos Makes You Crave?

Privileged insights of nourishment photography that make desires

Behind most expert nourishment photographs is a beautician who deceives the watcher. These duplicities go from a pinch of lipstick to blush a strawberry, to "milkshakes" produced using pureed potatoes. It isn't so much that nourishment beauticians are liars and cheats. They're just in the matter of spontaneous creation.

By and large, to finish a photograph shoot, beauticians are relied upon to unravel any given emergency on the spot. No tzatziki on set? Manage with the mayonnaise or whipped cream in the ice chest. A customer needs that turkey skin to look "somewhat more red"? Better have nourishment shading close by.

"When shooting, you can't stop and state: 'Hello, ugh, I overlooked this,'" clarifies Denise Stillman, an Orange County-based nourishment beautician who's been in the business for a long time. "You simply need to ensure you [bring enough materials on set to] consider every contingency and afterward [ask yourself], 'What else can turn out badly?'"

Be that as it may, not all things are faked. The item the sponsor is attempting to sell is constantly highlighted, clarifies Stillman. When, for instance, she shoots an advertisement for Breyers, she shoots the genuine frozen yogurt. However, on the off chance that she's styling Gay Lea Foods' whipped cream, the frozen yogurt it rests on can be made of anything – insofar as it looks flavorful.

In the case of shooting a TV plug or print commercial, a nourishment beautician's objective is regularly to underline a fixing's common magnificence.

"I'm similar to hair and cosmetics for nourishment," says Charlotte Omnès, a beautician situated in New York. "At the point when you see models stroll down the runway, they don't resemble that. In any case, after they come out of cosmetics, no doubt about it.'"

On the off chance that you need your Instagram nourishment photographs to look like Bon Appétit covers, we've gathered some genius tips that will help. Six nourishment beauticians served us their insider facts on the best way to make regular dishes look prepared for their nearby ups.

pureed potatoes give the presence of mass

For a delectable looking enchilada, include crushed potato. Photo: Photo by Rick Gayle. Nourishment styling by Kim Krejca.

Mexican nourishment can't generally photogenic. Nobody knows this better than Kim Krejca, a Phoenix-based beautician who works with a ton of south-western food. "Enchiladas with sauce seeping into the beans [are] not outwardly charming," she says. "You need to change that yet at the same time be consistent with the nourishment."

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To give the enchiladas the presence of massiveness (as observed above), she stuffed them with moment pureed potatoes, a beautician's go-to filling since they are anything but difficult to make and shape. At that point Krejca added meat and veggies to the closures where the tortillas open up. To complete the dish, she utilized a warmth weapon to make the cheddar dissolve impeccably on top.

Tacos

Tacos: attempt restorative wipes, paste, and WD-40. Photo: Photo by Rick Gayle. Nourishment styling by Kim Krejca.

In actuality, tacos are a flavorful wreckage. To make them satisfactory on camera, Krejca stuck two tortillas together and set corrective wipes behind the meat to keep the shells open. For dim and succulent looking hamburger, she painted the pieces with a dark colored sauce called Kitchen Bouquet, made of water and nourishment shading. Krejca then showered the loading up with WD-40, her distinct advantage to make Mexican nourishment sparkle. Stillman utilizes red peppers instead of diced tomatoes for an increasingly lively shading and pours corn syrup on beans so they look wet and new.

Oat

Do you incline toward your oat dry or with hair cream? Photo: Photo by Chris Elinchev at Small Pond Productions. Nourishment styling by Tamara Kaufman.

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This may demolish your craving, yet the milk utilized in grain photographs is generally phony. Since the genuine stuff rapidly makes cornflakes look spongy, nourishment beauticians have thought of options. Right now, based Tamara Kaufman utilized Wildroot, a white hair cream for men with a sunscreen salve like consistency that numerous beauticians pine for. Krejca favors the old fashioned technique for white paste, which photos simply like the genuine article. At the point when geniuses do utilize genuine milk, it's just an extremely limited quantity. As indicated by Michelle Rabin, a Toronto-based nourishment beautician, you can put the most excellent bits of grain in a bowl loaded up with vegetable shortening and spread it with a dainty layer of milk. "The shortening opposes the fluid and it would seem that the entire bowl is loaded up with hills of grain," she says. "The pieces will remain entirely fresh for quite a while."

Espresso: watered down soy sauce and gelatin give a smooth look

For a smooth-looking espresso, attempt water and gelatin. Photo: Photo by Beth Galton. Modifying by Daniel Hurlburt. Nourishment styling by Charlotte Omnès.

Dark espresso is difficult to work with in light of its sleek sheen. In a latte or cappuccino, the froth will rapidly vanish. Right now, utilized a blend of Kitchen Bouquet, water and gelatin to give the espresso a smooth look. When absolutely necessary, Rabin has utilized watered-down soy sauce and once needed to ad lib with cream and sauce browner on the arrangement of a well known Canadian brand. "I see that board I chipped away at and I'm similar to: 'That is clever, in light of the fact that that is not an espresso,'" she says. Kaufman utilizes the genuine article whenever the situation allows, yet includes drops of foamy water around the border with an eyedropper to reproduce new blend. The foam, beauticians state, is regularly produced using channeled cleanser froth.

Turkey: it might be crude and ridiculous inside, yet the skin looks great

Half-cooked turkey is frequently highlighted in promotions. Photo: Photo by Marshall Troy. Prop styling by Grace Knott. Nourishment styling by Charlotte Omnès.

Each home culinary expert knows it's difficult to make a winged creature fresh outwardly and damp within. Fortunately, nourishment beauticians just need to concentrate on feel, which implies they never completely cook one. "It is significant not to overcook them so the skin remains looking damp, stout and succulent," says Omnès. "These are viewable prompts that make your mouth water when you take a gander at it." New-York based beautician Brian Preston-Campbell says he frequently cooks five or six turkeys for a couple of hours each to get that "impeccable saint winged animal". "It's as yet crude and sort of ridiculous inside," he says. "It's sort of terrible yet it's about the finished result in the photograph."

Right now, nailed down the turkey's skin so it wouldn't tear in the stove. She lined the container and stuffed the flying creature with a water-splashed paper towel so it would steam rather than turn fresh. To accomplish that dark colored, shimmering look, she brushed the turkey with a blend of water, Kitchen Bouquet and dish cleanser.

Frozen yogurt or whipped cream: shortening, corn syrup and icing

Icing in addition to icing sugar makes an amazing looking frozen yogurt. Photo: Photo by Beth Galton. Correcting by Ashlee Gray. Nourishment styling by Charlotte Omnès

On the off chance that frozen yogurt were a human model, she would be a diva. The pastry is difficult to form, and in case you're not styling in a refrigerated space, dissolves rapidly. To stay away from the cerebral pain, specialists regularly go to different fixings. To make the "dessert" on the left, Omnès blended icing in with icing sugar (the cone on the privilege is the genuine article), yet the most well-known phony frozen yogurt formula is a mix of vegetable shortening, powdered sugar and corn syrup.

For other smooth sweets, beauticians have numerous hacks. For a dab of whipped cream, Omnès utilized a non-dairy half and half that "doesn't wither or sob". Kaufman lean towards Barbasol shaving cream yet takes note of: "The lady who erroneously attempted a chomp was not satisfied." For milkshakes, Stillman utilizes acrid cream since it's thick and simple to whirl.

Beverages: that chilly glass? It's splash on antiperspirant

cola glass

FacebookTwitterPinterest If your beverage does not have the correct sheen, simply shower some antiperspirant on it. Photo: Alamy

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Beauticians don't squander genuine liquor except if the advertisement is for liquor. To make mixed drinks, Omnès blends nourishment shading in water, a stunt Kaufman additionally uses to make "chardonnay" from weakened Kitchen Bouquet. In truth, the fluid itself is the sideshow. "The most significant part about mixed drinks are the obvious signals," says Omnès – prompts, for example, ice, bubble, air pockets and foam. "They [make the drink] look invigorating."

For solidified beverages like margaritas and daiquiris, the masters depend on ice powder, bits of gelatin that resemble squashed ice when blended in with fluid. They additionally utilize counterfeit plastic or acrylic ice shapes, which don't liquefy under the hot camera lights and vaseline on the edge of margaritas. To make ice, Stillman covers a lager mug with splash on antiperspirant and utilizations a blend of Scotchguard and glycerin to make sodas look frigid cold with dabs of buildup. "What an issue it would be something else," says Stillman. "Along these lines, you can pick the degree of wetness on the glass."

Hot pasta: incense gives the presence of steam

That minute when steam ascends from pasta like fog over a mountain is difficult to catch normally on camera. Kaufman conceals a tin foil bundle of steam chips inside the pasta bowl and adds water to make fume. To get a similar impact, she has likewise lit incense and later evacuated the stick with Photoshop, while different stunts include a garments steamer or tobacco smoke. By a long shot the most fascinating technique is to microwave water-splashed tampons (cotton balls fill in also) and cover them behind a dish. "I have them in my unit in the event of some unforeseen issue," says Kaufman. Despite the system, she says steam ought to consistently be shot against a dim foundation.

[curioussubjects]

Non-jittery Thoughts on 15.01

Alright, had some time too calm the hell down, so I could have thoughts beyond a keysmash and a crying emoji. Chances are, too, that I’ll have more to say once I sit down with the episode again. Had to get these initial reactions/musings out of the way first.

This episode did a bang up job setting up the personal plot points for tfw. I’m super excited to see where this is going: Dean’s hell trauma revisited, Sam’s wound and its connection to his own darkness, Cas still struggling with belonging, Dean and Cas’s continuous wrongfootedness coming to a head. It’s going to be a killer of a season emotionally, and I am Here. For. It. 

Full disclosure: the biggest chunk is destiel related. In my defense, Dabb & co. didn’t have to enable me, but here we are.

More thoughts under the cut. 

General Thoughts:

My hype was not squashed! We got a really strong season opener and I’m so happy about it. Sure, we got running ghosts. But overall the episode was incredible; just a solid SPN episode all around. A+ job and kudos to all involved ♥♥♥

The new title card is gorgeous and full of meta potential goodness. See this post for more on that; op hit it on the head I think. For additional analysis, there’s this post from different op that is killer.

Opening sequence with tfw fighting zombie ghosts and running for shelter? Amazing. Showstopping. Breathtaking. 

Dean’s grief over Jack that’s embroiled in his grief for Mary. Just. “He was our kid.” That’s some complicated shit right there. 

Gotta love all the tidbits hinting at what is to come during 15.a, at the very least, if not the larger goal of the season. Reading y’all’s thoughts on the episode has been great so far, and I can’t wait to see what else crops up this week.

                                                              //

On Sam: Currently, Sam’s role in the more interesting aspects of the plot continue to not quite match Dean’s, which has been a problem for a while. I’m seriously hoping that changes some with Eileen’s return, Rowena coming in with some banter maybe next week, and whatever weird curse Sam got with that bullet wound. I’m loving the potential and I’m loving the prospect of having Sam brought back to the center of the plot. I missed some more emotional involvement from him this episode, too, but that should be addressed once things calm down and Sam and Dean can debrief. However, we got peak Sam in a crisis and it’s always a treat to see him do his job. Bless. Him telling the clown to shut up made my night. I love him so much. 

                                                               //

On Belphegor: First off, Alex did such a fantastic job. I giggled a ridiculous amount. Instantly invested in the character as bringer of shenanigans. Was not disappointed. Quick deliciously meta tidbits about Belphegor, some of which may not feature in the show, but are still *chef’s kiss* (x):

Moabite deity responsible for fertility and sexual power (in case the ep wasn’t clear on that lmao)

was worshiped in the form of a phallus (so glad that made it to canon jfc)

is a fallen angel??? hello???

he’s the demonic embodiment of sloth, BUT specifically negligence and apathy (i am screaming isnt negligence the whole ordeal with dean and cas atm...and apathy was the problem with jack’s soulessness) 

rules misogyny and licentious men (yeah ok no wonder he was a fan of younger dean oof)

the juiciest: emerged from hell to investigate marriage among humans (and is conveniently in the peanut gallery of dean and cas’s fight. funny how that happens. hilarious, even.) 

apparently after living as a man to experience sexual pleasure he was appalled and fled back to hell where sex between men and women wasn’t a thing i’m??? what?? (yet in the show he seemed ok with hot dudes ayy)

I’m glad my “horny on main” observation turned out to be so on point jesus. Can’t help but wonder how long he’s gonna stick around. His outside perspective is amusing, at the very least. However, the fact that he barely interacted with Sam, but was a lot interested in Dean as well as Cas (though to a lesser extent) makes me think that he’s doing more than just deus exing them out of zombies and ghosts or offering hell exposition. Seems like he going to expose SOME OTHER STUFF. ABOUT DEAN (AND CAS?). He is the “Lord of Opening” after all. And isn’t using their words and being honest the thing we’re all waiting for wrt to DeanCas?? There’s some opening up that is necessary posthaste. Listen, I know I’ve been saying they need a marriage counselor, but this is not what I had in mind. Pretty on brand, though, I guess lol

I’m also really interested about the coding work the character is doing in continuing to queer Dean’s characterization. Belphegor being himself associated with (male) sexuality, and the show clearly focusing on his attraction to humans of the man variety. I wouldn’t even call it subtextual at this point as Belphegor’s interaction with Dean in the car to was really overt. My hopes that the show might actually be explicit about Dean’s bisexuality is uhhhh getting high again *confetti.* Should also maybe at least note that using a demon to do this is probs not like the best strategy, but at least said demon was 1. not skeevy and 2. mostly sympathetic to the audience. 

This is all assuming, ofc, that Belphegor is not catfishing tfw (there’s precedence, after all -- and kudos to anon and op for the timely observations). 

                                                                  //

On Dean & Cas: I think it’s really damn telling that so much space was given to their relationship as like the most important thing going on with their characters? Obviously they have individual issues to deal with (their own struggles with Chuck, revisiting Dean’s stint in hell....which btw also eventually involves Cas too so *hands*), but my sweet baby jesus the validation feels good. Onwards. 

We actually have a weird amount to unpack here because, as others have said, the tension between them is coming from more than just Mary and Jack -- though Mary and Jack are absolutely the main stressors atm as well as emblematic of problems they’ve had for a long long time.  

I’m gonna start with Dean because boy do I love that dumbass; I want to shake him. So we have Dean: he’s grieving Mary, he’s angry, he’s scared, he’s lashing out. It’s a Thursday. We know he’s angry with Cas because he blames him for Mary’s death, even if indirectly. You know what that reminds me of? Dean hating Jack for causing Cas’s death, even though it wasn’t directly Jack’s fault. More importantly, though, both the loss of Mary and the loss of Cas were caused by the same catalyst: Cas going off on his own to solve a problem instead of asking Dean (and Sam, but really, mostly Dean) for help. Like, it’s the one thing Dean has very clearly expressed that Cas needs to stop doing (hi 12x19). It’s the same mistake Cas has been making for years. There was a false sense of security there during seasons 13 and most of 14, but alas. Again, here we have Dean losing someone because Cas couldn’t just come ask him for help. Like. It makes sense, and it’s understandable, despite Dean’s coping mechanisms being shit. In short, Dean’s actual problem with Cas is less that Mary is dead and more that Cas refuses to learn his lesson wrt them being stronger as a unit rather than doing their own thing and putting themselves and others in unnecessary danger. 

Meanwhile, we have a continuation of Cas just being really sad and heartbroken because not only is Jack dead, but he’s once again unsure about his standing with Dean. He wants to protect his family, he wants to protect Dean, he wants to come back with a win; once more, he goes off on his own to do it and it blows up in his face somehow. As much as I loved Cas getting mad at the end of last season, I get why he’s somewhat subdued again. He has his guilt and grief and doubt to deal with. He doesn’t want to be mad at Dean probably about as much as he doesn’t want Dean to be mad at him. So far I’m not yet seeing the return of the spark we got when Cas was defending Jack last season, but I’m sure Dean walking out rattled him beyond the hurt. I wanna see what else happens to make him leave “in a huff” (a bit of spec on this further down). That said, what I’m most excited about is seeing how Cas gets reintegrated into the family -- pretty sure that’s universal lol.

The juiciest part now, though: I was all about the interplay of distance and care that we saw between them; let’s pause here for a quick sec to appreciate how that same interplay has been such a central part of Dean and Cas’s relationship since always like ugh. So much of the larger plot points in the show have also been situations that kept them from being truly partners as well as being constant interruptions on their ability to USE THEIR FRIGGIN’ WORDS AAAACK. We give Sam a lot of flack, but everything has awful timing in this show. We’ve had moments of honesty and vulnerability, but they’re always always cut short before we actually get somewhere; before they arrive at a place where they can talk about their issues. If the “are you ok” scene isn’t a perfect microcosm of that idk what is  /sigh

So, yeah, the “Are you ok” scene oooh boy. I wasn’t as excited as some of you at this scene being an example that Dean still cared, as that was never a doubt I had in my mind (it was definitely a yes omg just talk jesus moments nevertheless). Dean couldn’t possibly just turn that shit off, no matter how much he thinks he’s done with Cas. Like, please.  What we do have is Dean indulging on his own need to know that Cas is, at least, immediately fine. Triage, if you will. Him walking off before Cas can either elaborate, or, most likely, tell him about Sam, is peak Dean passive-aggressiveness. The meltdown I had in the tags of a gifset of the scene is still relevant:

 #cas's little sigh of idk relief???#like he's so sad and physically fine but he's SO SAD and heartbroken#and here's dean finally not just being cold to him and ASKING ABOUT HIS WELLBEING#look at cas's face in tht second gif my heart#you can see him gd relax too i cant#and dean has his fucking check in during a break in the chaos face#im so mad#jdhakjsdfhklsd#and then dean just.........walks away and doesnt actually debrief or help or none of the things he would do#and cas is just...there all vulnerable and upset right before he clams up at the demon's quip#but it doesnt even last look at his damn face as he leaves IM SO#somebody hug him#skldjfhklsajdfa#he needs a dean hug#but noooo dean is being a jackass#this is awful#im not ok#i hate it when they fight#im over it that's enough drama dabb i take back everything i said about loving pain

I’ll definitely have more thoughts on this once we have whatever emotional payload next week.

All in all, I’m not actually concerned about the future of their relationship. They’ve been through much, they’ll be fine. I am, though, tickled that we’ll see these key problems in their relationship reach a point where they have to be dealt with. Also: I can’t wait for the catharsis that Cas leaving is bound to elicit. Both for us, the viewers, and the characters. Besides, Dean needs to go to a corner and have a think about his behavior and if pushing Cas away is really what he wants. And then maybe finally we can get that sweet sweet resolution of an affirmation about Cas’s place in Dean’s life. And in turn an affirmation that Cas does trust their family unit enough to depend on them. 

I think we got a good set up in this episode leading into whatever drama we get in the coming weeks. The tension was up to 11. Love it. Hate it. Personally, I think the empty deal might be what does sets off Cas walking out. Somehow, the deal is not a secret anymore. We have here another instance of Cas making a super important decision that affects The Family on his own and then keeping it a secret (to protect Sam and Dean, a pattern). Dean can be angry and think Cas is dead to him all he wants, he will blow tf up when he learns about this deal. Sam isn’t gonna be thrilled either, though he’s more likely to make puppy eyes of sadness and Disappointment than yell at Cas. Seriously, though, I can just see Dean saying some bullshit because he’s just so done and here goes Cas potentially dying again, which in turn will probably piss Cas off. Etc etc. Cue the violins. 

                                                               //

tl;dr: if episode 1 is any indication, we’re in for a wild fucking ride, kiddos. hold onto your butts!!! 

[tabooleek]

First Contact

The first new content I’m posting on this account. It’s about a giant waking up in a world that’s, well, no longer built for his kind. It fits into a larger sort of “world” I’ve invented, so feel free to ask for clarification about some aspects. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

           This was not the situation Kuver thought he would wake up in. In fact, he didn’t remember much of the circumstances that lead to him being asleep in that strange chamber. When he first woke up, everything was dark, his head pounding like he had had one too many pints of ale. It was only when he sat up that flames suddenly sparked to light on the walls around him. He blinked blearily from the sudden light, not expecting it in the slightest.

“Ugh, magic torches… always catch me off guard,” he muttered. He slowly pushed himself off of the straw cot he had been laying on, wiping his eyes and then the hair out of them. His muscles felt stiff and tired, his mind blurry like a fog. He kept trying to think back to where he was or what was with this entire situation… but couldn’t come up with a thing. And to make matters worse, his stomach was growling like crazy. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in hundreds of years, maybe a thousand. “Gods, I wish I had some norms to eat…” he muttered under his breath before catching himself. “Oh wait, no…” he groaned, slapping his forehead in annoyance with himself. “Can’t eat them anymore. Right.”

Remembering all that stuff was such a chore. What he wouldn’t give to have a live snack right about now. So tasty. So filling. He began to drool just thinking about it, at least before he caught himself once more and slapped himself out of it. “No, no more of them! Just figure out if there’s any food in here.”

Kuver began to wander the room, wondering just where he was once again. This was definitely not any sort of home he’d known. He’d lived in a regular, old magically enlarged wooden house. Not a creepy cave full of weird crates and barrels. There was a staircase leading upward on the far wall, but he wasn’t quite ready to check out what was up there. At least not until he managed to ensure there was no food in here.

As it turned out, upon prying open one of the crates, there was in fact plenty of food stashed around here! The first one he opened contained an immense stash of vegetables, the second full of fruits. No meat though. It made sense that he wouldn’t find an entire crate’s worth of livestock to eat—where would someone even get that much—but he was hoping to at least find something in that area. As he moodily munched on a beet, Kuver got to thinking. Who could have put these in there? There was undoubtedly enough food for weeks. And arguably as much water in the barrels. He didn’t believe he did any of this—he’d certainly remember—so what was all of this about?

When Kuver finally had his fill, he stood once more, turning to the staircase that lead out of this strange cave. If nothing else, he had to make sure it was possible to leave. He made his way toward them, wondering if there were any norms about to hear his pounding footsteps.

“Heh, they always get so spooked by that,” he chuckled to himself. “Even when we were on their side. Weird little buggers.” By the time he finished chuckling to himself, he had reached the top of the stairs. Or at least the highest point he could reach without pounding his head on the ceiling. He had reached a perfectly smooth ceiling, at which the staircase ended a few steps away.

Kuver groaned with frustration, rubbing a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to proceed through that?! Was there really no way out of there? Was he doomed to survive on a vegan diet for the next week while he waited to starve?! “Welp, this is it. Guess I’ll have to learn to ration turnips. I wonder what they’ll say when they find my body? ‘That was the fittest giant I’ve ever seen. Perfect diet! A true hero to us—” he was suddenly cut off by a deafening rumble, one that shook him to his very core.

The ground rumbled beneath and all around him, making Kuver believe that he was trapped in an earthquake underground. That was the worst place to be during one of those! Or was it better? Actually, he really had no idea when it came to earthquakes. But generally speaking, foot-quakes from the largest macros was a serious concern!

Fortunately, the world decided to work in his favor that day. Instead of being subjected to a horrible, life-ending shift in the planet itself, a soft beam of light worked its way onto the ground before him. A sliver of silver light, in a perfectly straight line. He looked up, eyes widening as he saw the night sky slowly appear before him. He realized that the stone above him was merely peeling away, sliding into slots in the ground on either side. “Huh… neat.”

The full moon slowly revealed itself, shining overhead like a beacon of hope. Kuver made his way up the last of those steps, wondering how someone was able to create such a technical marvel. It didn’t feel like magic, so then what was it?

On the other hand, he really didn’t feel like worrying about that for the moment. He was merely concerned with getting out of that musty old cave and into the outside world once again. He took a deep breath of clean air, filling his lungs with that sweet scent. He felt as if he had gone an eternity without it! His bare feet finally touched forest ground, grass, bushes, and particularly short trees tickling the space between his toes. He stretched out his arms, allowing his full, 300-foot height to be visible to the world for miles over.

“Ah, good to be free!” he exclaimed. Finally, Kuver began to look around, trying to gain stock of his surroundings. First things first, he looked down, examining the trees that surrounded him. These were… well, kind of shrimpy, even for trees. While he was used to trees being kind of short most of the time, they usually at least came up his waist in non-macro forests. These… well these were just plain tiny. They looked like oak trees, but so very tiny. They barely came up to his calves. And unlike most forests, almost all of them looked like that.

“Weird…” Kuver muttered, taking a step forward, doing his best to step between the small vegetation. He didn’t want to crush any of these trees—they certainly needed time to grow—but it was difficult. There was no real path for him to walk through, every inch of this place covered in tiny plant life. It was as if no macro had ever walked these paths before, never carved out appropriate walking grounds. He was starting to wonder if he had come into another world altogether.

Finally, Kuver found a clearing, a place to truly get his bearings. It was a bit of a challenge, trying to figure out the best way to sit while destroying minimal plant life, but he managed. Eventually. His great bulk crashed into the ground, stirring dozens of birds into the air. He watched them go, lost in his own thoughts.

“So, I know I’m in the mountains, just like where I used to live, and I’m in the same sort of climate… But nothing is right here.” It was just like his old mountainous forest, but everything was so alien. It was like there was no life here. Or at least no macro life. It was so strange. He hadn’t even seen a norm town yet. He could at least ask them for information. “Ugh, this kind of sucks…” he groaned.

As Kuver sat there, wallowing in self-pity, he suddenly felt… something beneath him. It started out as a bump really, nothing more than a large rock. Or at least he thought. The more it snuck into his consciousness, the more he realized it was an odd thing. He could have sworn it was… moving!?

“Oh crap!” Kuver exclaimed, jumping to his feet. The forest shook for miles under him, scaring off even more animals, but he was more concerned with looking down.

Squashed into his butt-print in the grassy meadow was… a wolf. Or at least, he thought it was a wolf. Not like the feral kind though. The anthro sort. A norm, standing a relative inch or so tall. Or rather, lying in this case. It had gotten sat on after all. Kuver knelt down, giving the wolf a poke, as well as investigating further. “Uh… you alright there?” he whispered, trying to rouse the tiny creature.

Upon closer investigation, it was definitely a wolf. But a weird one. For one, this guy had a lot more fur than the average anthro. It looked wild, scraggly, and worst of all, kind of mangy. But weirder still, his muzzle didn’t look quite right. Too… short. More like a dog really. This guy just looked all kinds of weird. But somehow, Kuver got the feeling there was a more… human element to this anthro.

Suddenly, the wolf(?) twitched, causing Kuver to jump back in surprise. He nearly fell back onto his ass in the process. He watched curiously as the creature got to its feet, shook itself off, and promptly got back down on all fours to growl angrily at the giant who had sat on it.

Kuver couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Ooh, feisty little guy, aren’t you?” he laughed, reaching down to stroke at the wolf’s sizeable amount of back fur. He was rewarded with a few somewhat stinging nips, but it was otherwise harmless. Something that seemed to piss it off to no end. It kept biting and snarling, only making Kuver laugh more. “Been a while since I met a norm who was so confident. Doesn’t even seem like you can use magic though.” Honestly, that just made it even funnier.

Finally, Kuver reached to pluck the tiny, half-feral wolf up between two fingers. He made sure not to squeeze too hard, or at least he tried not to. Handling these little guys was always such hard work. But evidently, he managed to do it just fine. And with minimal protest at that! The wolf only snarled and squirmed instead of… well, popping like a grape.

Kuver laid back in the meadow, laying his feet back in the path of devastation he’d already made. In the same moment, he placed the small wolf on his chest, pinning him down with the weight of his hand. “I like you little guy. Why don’t you stick around a while and sleep with me?” Sure, he’d just woken up, but he felt oddly drained. He was sure something magical had happened with him to lead to this, but he could figure it out in the morning, when beings like him were supposed to be awake.

Of course, the wolf in his hand continued to snarl and squirm, desperate to escape, but even its sizable strength wasn’t enough to break free from the weight of a macro’s idle hand. “You sleep well too,” Kuver yawned before finally drifting back off to sleep, lulled by the sound of feral howling and barking.

             Kuver awoke to… well, not much actually. The sun shone on his face, warming the world with his harsh light. And of course, it was hard to sleep through that. It couldn’t have been much earlier than early light, and Kuver knew he wasn’t getting much more sleep without a roof over his head. Birds chirped and squawked around him, flying away at the rumbles his body made while moving. But of course, he didn’t really think about that much. He was just starting to sit up when he remembered the hand on his chest. And more importantly, what was under it.

A chuckle escaped Kuver’s throat as he remembered the night before, eager to see what this strange wolf had in store this morning. He lifted his hand, expecting to see a snarling, biting canine in the early light of the morning. Instead, he saw… a human, not unlike himself, staring up at him with bleary eyes. He wore dark, tattered clothes, and was nearly a foot shorter than the wolf. Oddly enough though, his hair was a vibrant blue. Didn’t see that in humans. Was it a type of spell?

“What the…? What happened to the wolf?” Kuver muttered, lost in confusion. The human on his chest slowly got to his feet, looking awkwardly down at the macro’s face. It was an odd position for them both to be in, but it got the job done.

“Uh, well, I was that wolf,” the human replied, rubbing the back of his head as he gave a sheepish grin. “Werewolves, magic curses, all that jazz. Not really that weird considering I got sat on by a macro after going on a full-moon hunt though, right?”

Kuver blinked, not sure what he was hearing here. But rather than focus on the rather odd, if not presumed-imaginary-until-this-moment werewolf part, he instead decided to zero in on the apparent disbelief this man had in his own existence. “What are you talking about? You guys get sat on all of the time!”

The man chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “Man, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to a macro. I’ve got to be unconscious still… No one’s seen these guys in a thousand years…” He was speaking as if muttering to himself, but a macro’s ears were more than powerful enough to pick up such a soft sound. And at hearing it, Kuver’s eyes went wide.

“Wait, what!?” he jolted upward, flinging the tiny human off of his chest and (thankfully) onto his lap. Kuver heard the softest of groans come from his thighs, the man simply dazed instead of, well, dead. “Um, my apologies,” Kuver said, reaching down to pluck the human up and place him in his palm. He looked no worse for wear, but certainly cross.

“Well, at least I know I’m awake,” he muttered. However, concern soon overcame his expression. “Look, you don’t seem to know what’s going on here, and you clearly aren’t from around here so… What do you say we talk it out over a bite to eat? I’m starving.” At the mention of food, Kuver’s stomach began to rumble something fierce. His first instinct was to open wide and toss the human in… but hew thankfully opted against it. He needed information, and his best source was this tiny creature in his palm.

“Alright, then,” he replied, grunting as he began to stand. “But I really hope you have a good explanation for all of this…”

The man laughed, steadying himself on Kuver’s thumb as he stood. “Honestly… I doubt it. But I have some theories. I’m Samuel, by the way.”

Kuver chuckled, not at all used to norms talking to him so informally. This really must not have been the world he knew. “Kuver. By the way, how do you feel about vegetables a dozen times your size?”

[md3artjournal]

7:19 PM 9/3/2020 It's come to my attention that although my reblog text under the cut is hidden from a post's Notes/Replies on Tumblr-desktop, it is all very visible on Tumblr-mobile/phone version.  Ugh.  So I could no longer simply reblog the referenced post, and hide all my comments under a cut.  So here are all my angsting thoughts again, after doodling this drawing, but as a separate post, for my art journal blog.  

10:42 PM 9/2/2020

I don’t even know what I'm doing anymore.  Today, I sat down to draw and I must have wasted 15+minutes, indecisive about what to draw with.  I wanted to just use one of my fountain pens, but

1) Yesterday's line bleeds proved that the Pilot Petit is just not good for my tiny doodles;

2) My only other fountain pen is my Platinum Preppy, but I should be saving that ink for writing in my habit tracker; that's what I bought it for; and it's not so easy to just buy more ink cartridges during this pandemic;

3) My fountain pens' inks are not waterproof? What if halfway through my drawing I decide I want to use half watercolors?  Again?  

So then my safest option was my Copic Gasenfude.  Impervious to water, alcohol marker ink, everything.  But my pen is so dry...  I tested it beforehand, to convince myself it was still fine.  But the test felt very different from the drawing.  During drawing, I missed the smooth flow of my fountain pens sooooooooooo much.  I should've just opened one of my new Gasenfude pens for this drawing.  But I'm too chicken about using up supplies, in general.  x_____x;;;;;;;;;  

What's with my Copic Multiliners?  Do they just bleed more on my cheap sketchbook paper?  Because I remember my lines being fuzzy on the close-up scans too.  Or am I just so out of practice drawing with them now, that all my lines end up stiffer than usual?  Or maybe they're getting dry too?  They are pretty old pens by now.  ~.~;  

*sigh* I miss my fountan pens, but I need waterproof ink for my linework.  x_x;  

I heard that Indian ink is waterproof after it dries, but all my bottles of Indian Ink dried up decades ago.  Plus, all my dip pens are rusty and don't even work with my acrylic inks that I already have.  I don't want to buy more supplies, then they turn out to not really work for me.  I've done that too much already.  ...Though I do have my eye on that Deleter trial dip pens set...and Indian ink sounds too good to be true...  But I have so many supplies lying around, I really should just find a way to use them.  Even if they turned out to not really work for how I naturally think/work, I already spent the money on them.  I should *find* a way to make them work.  I'm so simultaneously wasteful AND cheap with my art supplies! X~x!  

That's also why I want to be able to switch over to cheap $1-store/Daiso watercolors, instead of using up Copic ink on full drawings.  But if I never know when I'm going to need that mid-way medium switch, then I need waterproof/Copic-proof ink.  

Well, no matter the case, it probably wouldn't help my terrible terrible drawing too much.  I mean, today's doodle gave me problems making lines because the ink just would not flow out of my drying Gasenfude pen.  But also, I had to realize that I've become out of practice with true brushpens.  I've been using Copic Sketch and nylon nib "brushpens" all this time, thinking I've stayed in practice.  But bristle brushpens are too different, and I forgot that.  I've become horrible with brushpens, and the Gasenfude used to be my go-to.  x_______x;;;;;

Anyway, nothing about drawing today has been good for my self-esteem.  I made a horrible drawing, that wasn't even pretty, I started too high on the page and too close to yesteray's doodle, so Akira and Ryuji's heads ended up squashed on top, to fit into the page space.  I was reminded how easily I lose skill even with mediums/tools that I used to be competent at.  I proved yet again that I just can't make beautiful drawings---and maybe that's more of an issue of me not actually wanting to be good at drawing.  I didn't want to admit it, but maybe that's something I have to do.  Maybe I don't actually want to become good at drawing.  I hate studying, I can't stand brushing up on human antomy, perspective, gesture motions, all those fundamentals, and every time I force myself to, I get so frustrated, I'm horrible to myself and everyone else around me in real life.  That can't be worth scribbling a bunch of skeletons that end up ugly an reinforcing my low self-esteem anyway.  

My sister commented once that even though being an artist was hard, at least I enjoyed drawing.  At the time, I told her that I don't actually like drawing.  I told her that I liked "having had drawn".  Since then I did find that those statements weren't true.  I have found drawing cathartic, even while I was drawing.  I even felt horrible on days where I didn't get to draw.  I liked drawing.  

...I'm just REALLY REALLY REALLY bad at it, and I have no inclination to put in the hard word to make my drawing better.  But I will spend all day, comparing myself to better fan-artists online, and lamenting how I can never make anything beautiful.  x___x;;;;;;  

So I go around telling people that "I'm actually more of a sculptor than an illustrator", as if distracting to a medium that most people are less familiar with, and that is easier for people like me to make beautiful things, would do anything to help my horrible lack of drawing skills.

I remember, all the times I've tried to learn a new videogame, and I'm inclined to believe tha tmaybe I jsut don't like learning new things.  Even for games that eventually became my favorites, my comforts, my completely intuitive flow states, I was still compeltely frustrated and horrible to be around, while learning.  I shouldn't be surprised then that I don't play videogames as much anymore, even though I'm desperately reluctant to let go of my gamer identity.  But I recall the last party I was invited to, and I was wrangled into learning a new tabletop game.  I was completely against it, all throughout, during, and at every moment.  I was just waiting for it all to end.  I don't think I like games, because learning to play, leaning sets of rules, and functioning within MORE systems, must be the last thing my brain wants to do during leisure time.  I can even remember a few moments when I was obstinately inattentive or simply refusing to abide by office expectations and protocols---and I don't know why!  Why was I just _so_ exasperate and unwilling to put effort into following simple rules?  I'm beginning to I think that maybe as I get older, the less energy I have to learn things.  Which is only a theory, because even when I was younger, I didn't like playing games because I didn't want to learn rules.  Plus, I've always been "someone who loves to learn"...Just academic knowledge and inforational stuff, not games.  Games and human interaction in general, have always been too much work for me to enjoy.  So if there's any reason why I can't get myself to study illustration fundamentals, no matter how much I lament not being able to draw something beautiful (at least to warrant my making a living in artist alley!) then I have to wonder if my inexplicable disdain for learning new rules is the reason.  

I don't even know what I'm writing about.  I think I was originally just hoping that drawing with a new Gasenfude that wasn't drying, would help me draw lines more easily.  x_x;  Please ignore my venting.  

[frith-in-tombs]

Hi there I dunno if you're still open from wolf 359 prompts, but if you are how about Lovelace, eiffle, and hera teasing minkowski about musicals or her husband (or both!) oor the crew in a prank war? Thanks for your consideration!

I am absolutely still open for prompts! Thank you for giving me one :) 

- - -

"I just cannot believe it," Eiffel said, for what felt like the twentieth time. He waved the wire-strippers around wildly to empahsise his point. "You really haven't watched Independence Day? But it's about space! Space is your jam!"

"Eiffel, ridiculous alien invasions are not my jam." Minkowski had already run out of different ways to roll her eyes. "You know what is my jam, though? Finding this electrical fault before it fries us all."

"Buzzkill."

"Yes, that's indeed what we are actually attempting here."

Eiffel was in a refusing-to-be-squashed move. "Captain! You've seen Independence Day, haven't you?"

"Obviously," Lovelace drawled. She kept her eyes on the monitor as Minkowski unclipped a wire. "It's a classic. That circuit's fine."

"Ugh." Minkowski twisted it back in place. "Hera, are you sure you can't help?"

"It's a hardware problem," Hera said. "You're on your own. Also, how do the aliens get their independence?"

"No, you've got it backwards!" Eiffel sounded genuinely scandalised. "It's our bold all-American heroes who overthrow the vicious invaders!"

"If the aliens were only just invading, doesn't that mean the Americans were already independent from them?" Hera asked.

"You're missing the point! It's about, like, general independence. No obligations to any nation, Earthly or interstellar! Also, it happens on literal Independence Day. You know, July 4th: fireworks, barbecues, awkward neighbourhood get-togethers?"

"Not… really?"

"I'm surrounded by philistines," Eiffel said. "Apart from our good Captain, of course."

"Well, I'm surrounded by people who aren't doing any work," Minkowski said. "Could we maybe get back to that?"

Eiffel ignored her. "Hera, you aren't a lost cause. We need to broaden your cultural knowledge before you get to Earth. Movie night on the Urania? They've got a huge bank of entertainment files."

"Hmm," Hera said. "If you don't mind, I'm taking up Minkowski's offer first."

"Hera!" Minkowski hissed.

"What?"

"What offer is this?" Lovelace asked, a blood-in-the-water smile beginning to appear on her face.

"Well, we were going to wa…" Hera trailed off as Minkowski made several increasingly irritated chopping motions across her throat.

"You can't stop there!" Eiffel complained. "Wait, have you and Minkowski been planning your own movie nights? That you didn't invite us to?"

"You wouldn't be interested!" Minkowski protested. Unfortunately, she could already feel the heat rising on her cheeks.

Eiffel didn't fail to spot it. "You're blushing. What are you trying to hide?"

"Nothing."

"Don't listen to Eiffel," Hera said. "This musical theatre production you've been telling me about sounds far more interesting than his movie."

A snort came from Lovelace's direction. When Minkowski looked around, however, Lovelace was staring stone-faced at the monitor.

"Oh yeah?" Eiffel said. "What's it about?"

"Can we please get back to checking the circuits?" Minkowski asked, loudly.

There was another suspicious noise from Lovelace's direction, this time covered badly by a cough.

"C'mon," Eiffel wheedled. "You're blowing me off to hang with the Commander instead, you can at least tell me which bit of singalong you think sounds superior to the classic, timeless struggle of Man vs. Alien."

"You're being very juvenile," Hera said, stiffly. "And based on my assessment of the metadata, a majority of the American population considers The Phantom of the Opera to be superior to —"

Lovelace began laughing, not even making a token effort to disguise it this time. "Wow," she said. "Lieutenant, you really do have hidden depths." She cracked up again.

Minkowski was pretty sure her whole face was about to catch fire. "It's not funny!"

"No, no, you're right." Eiffel tried to compose himself. "We shouldn't be laughing at all the romance in your soul —" Hysterically cackling, on the other hand, was apparently fair game.

Minkowski let herself float forward so that she could (gently) bang her head against the metal wall. "Hera, any approaching ion storms? Solar flares? Any emergency at all? Please?"

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant," Hera said. "However —" she raised her voice slightly, so as to be heard over the ridiculous giggling — "I do seem to recall that you're not technically on shift right now. You're helping with this task out of courtesy, correct?"

It was suddenly Minkowski's turn to grin. "Oh, right. I'd forgotten."

Eiffel had already switched to panicked. "Commander, please. We're sorry. You can't just leave us with — How many circuits left to check?"

"Thirty two," Hera provided.

"We're really sorry?"

"I'm afraid," Minkowski said, savouring the moment, "something urgent has come up. And since I'm off-duty and you two aren't — well, good luck."

"Are you accepting plea bargaining?" Lovelace asked, not hopefully.

"Nope. Hera, meet you in the Urania in ten?"

"Looking forward to it, Lieutenant!"

"Really, Hera?" Eiffel said. "This is the side you're coming down on?"

"Who knows?" Minkowski said, brightly. "Maybe it'll end up being her jam. She could even pipe some of the songs through the station's speakers to entertain us while we work."

The horrified silence that followed gave her ample opportunity to flee.

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt2

Successful demon summoning leads to an awkward conversation in the kitchen. A young lady is anxious, a demon frets. There is also coffee.

Beginning ~~~~~ Next

We faced each other over a janky pile of plastic and aluminum I had the audacity to call my kitchen table. It had a stained green top, ostensibly fuzzy. Presumably it was meant to be a card table but when you start pulling furniture out of the dumpster the pretense of purpose is the first to go. Regardless it was completely functional, though to call it green was being quite generous.

Together we sat, on mismatched chairs, my demon and I.

I was having a hard time looking at them, though their appearance was only part of the reason. My embarrassment at having broken down in front of them was still hot on my cheeks. I’d only just recovered, still red eyed and blotchy, and come to the kitchen when she’d called me in. She hadn’t commented on the ten or so minutes of sobbing on the couch, I doubted she would. When we both came to sit down there was a lot of awkward looks that had finally resolved into a vague mutual stare. Well, I suppose I’m staring at her shoulder and she’s occupied with her arcane coffee methodology.

The demon placed a small ceramic mug in front of me and another in front of themself. Then, from their little pot, they poured us each an equal measure of a thick, dark liquid. It smelled stronger than any coffee I had ever had before, without having the undertone of being severely burned. I wasn’t certain how eldritch the draught would be, but it smelled pleasantly of cardamon.

I watched the demon shift in their seat to get comfortable, pushing a well groomed looking tail between the slats of the chair’s back. It didn’t look especially comfortable with the way their legs and ankles bent not to mention having their tail cramped up behind them but they kept a cheerful smile up.

Wretchedly I wondered if they weren’t forcing that happy disposition for my sake. How pathetic does a person have to be for a demon to be worried about them? My next thought was how upset they would be if I asked them to stop smiling, or at least not do it with so many vicious looking teeth.

“I make it very sweet”, they said, “so I hope you don’t mind. When I make it for company I usually use a lot less sugar.” They sipped at their coffee, one three fingered hand fussing with their shawl.

“It uh-” I hesitated, chewing my lower lip.

“It won’t like, seal an ancient and deadly compact or something right? It’s not like, fairy rules, is it?”

“What? Fairies aren’t real. What a silly thing to say.”

I gave a spot over the demon’s shoulder and slightly to the left an incredulous look.

“That didn’t actually answer my question I think.”

She made a bubbling, musical sound that I interpreted as a laugh.

“Oh, no. No, nothing like that. You’ve already made your deal with me. It’s just coffee. It won’t make you beholden to fae contract or turn you inside out or anything like that.”

I collected the tiny mug and felt it warm my hands. It was cold out, being deep into fall now, but my apartment was warm enough at least to take the chill out of the air. My eyes lingered on the dark liquid.

Just coffee, nothing magical or anything. As she had explained: just strong coffee. Casually lifting the mug to my lips I began to inquire.

“So, uh, about that contract-”

I sipped the brew.

An involuntary spasm ran through the muscles of my face and I felt my jaw tighten. I squeaked out through gritted teeth.

“Sssweet! It’s really S-sweet..!”

Eyes blinking, some furrowing, confusion looking like pandemonium on the demon’s face. It resolved into concern and they made a sharp ‘tsk’ sound, drumming their digits on the fuzzy tabletop.

“I’m sorry, here- here... “ They made as though to take it from me, attempting to lay a hoof on the mug.

I reflexively pulled away from the creature and lifted the mug up in both hands.

“N-no no, it’s okay. I was just really surprised… It’s more like, coffee syrup, i-it’s so thick.”

Sipping again to show them that it was alright, I only shuddered, having prepared myself for the shock.

They watched me drink, squinting a swath of eyes as though testing my resolve, then eventually leaning back in their chair. I watched a very uncomfortable moment where the demon squirmed in their chair and finally they tucked their legs up and perched, hooves flat on the plastic seat.

“So... “ Here they seemed to struggle, chewing the inside of their lip as they thought of what to say before continuing.

“So… I am called Lilwanyu, She, from the Spoke of Darkness.” When they said ‘Spoke of Darkness’ the lights dimmed in the kitchen for a moment, then flickered back on again.

Another encouraging smile from the demon, shudder, another sip of coffee.

I frowned, mulling over ‘she’ as an appellation until I caught on. Mentally I amended my description of her.

“The Spoke of Darkness?” I asked, bringing coffee to my lips but balking at the saccharine miasma that wafted off of it. Noting, as I did, that the lights did not dim when I spoke it aloud.

“It’s where you summoned me from..? I would tell you the specific city but I expect it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

“Oh, right right.” I said, abruptly worried that there was some detail here that I was missing, that I might have missed some bit of data in my research. Demons had cities? I suppose that made sense really, I had sort of assumed they just hung around great pools of boiling sulfur or something. All of the net searches I had performed prior never mentioned such a place, but then they also didn’t adequately describe the sort of creature that might come from the other side. Nor, how sincerely pleasant they were to talk to, if perhaps, not to look at.

I wasn’t staring her in the face, I was trying to avoid that, so instead I watched her arms. The fur reminded me of satellite pictures of nebula, the particularly cool coloured ones.  At least, I assumed she had fur, the equine shape of her might be affecting how I interpreted the fuzzy exterior. I watched her fidgeting with the tiny mug, tapping it between two hoof like digits. Pointed at the tips, I had a hard time understanding how they could be so articulate. Then I saw her lift an arm and the flesh of her stuck, very minutely, to the fuzzy tabletop. It stringed out and then slowly oozed back up into her forearm.

She was speaking I realized and I had missed the entirety of it. My heart had started to race again, I kept trying to cling to mundane details as a means of centering myself in this moment but they kept failing me! What was she made of..? Some sort of animate goop?

Clearing her throat, the demon repeated herself.

“What do you need me to do to help you feel less alone?”

I balked at the question, “Ah, well… I had sort of hoped that you’d be able to deal with that. Like, I dunno. Just magic me up into someone less shitty or something.”

Feeling wretched, I sipped the coffee if only to stop myself from having to talk.

Ugh.

She finished her own measure of the dark draught and placed the mug down with a soft thup.

“Well…” She said, “I don’t really know that I can ‘magic’ you into someone else exactly. Would changing your appearance make you more desirable to other humans? I don’t know much about them, I admit. But I could do that, if you wanted.”

I sighed. “No, not exactly. I think I look… Fine? I guess?”

Perhaps I could mime drinking the coffee, or would that be exceptionally rude?

“It’s not really that..? Just maybe, make my brain less awful?” I swirled the liquid in my mug, kicking up the dregs, just to have something else to focus on.

“So I can talk to people and not freak out, or get all sweaty and gross?”

She put up a hoof to her cheek and leaned on it. Various eyes peered around the room, at the bare walls, the mismatched chairs, the chipped plates in the drain rack. I began to feel anxious about the state of my apartment, I honestly had been about as prepared for company as the demon. Then I started to feel rather anxious about my life in general, that there really wasn’t any changes I could have made to make the space any less terrible.

She said, “I could do that, I suppose. But anything like that would be temporary, and honestly only marginally more effective than just getting you drunk, I suspect. There are permanent methods but then you might no longer be you? But then you already dislike who you are it seems…” Trailing off, staring at the plates in the drain rack, her expression seemed pensive. For as much as I could read that escher painting of a face. Well, no, that description was probably a bit too cruel. She was probably very pretty by whatever metric people used to judge appearance where she comes from. Somehow, I liked the idea of considering her pretty. It seemed like a pleasantly defiant thought.

“How much experience with people do you have?” She said finally.

Now, I thought glumly, it was beginning to sound like I’d summoned a therapist instead of great and terrible demon. I glanced at her face briefly, a few of her eyes blinked independently of one another and then turned to look at me.

YUP, definitely still a demon.

“I used to have a few friends a long time ago.” I managed to say, dredging up the memory.

“But that was when I was a little, just some other kids in my class. We stopped talking somewhere in highschool and then-”

I shrugged and finished my coffee. It wasn’t any more palatable after cooling off.

“And you never met anyone else?” She said.

“Not really, I was busy. I talk to some people on the net but, that’s different.”

Lilwanyu gave me a blank look, then tilted that equine head.

“What is ‘the net���?”

“Oh it’s ah…” I tried to shape the answer in my head but I suddenly realized how utterly alien the concept would be to someone from another world. I felt myself start to say something about a series of tubes but squashed the notion down.

“You know, why don’t I just show you?”

[mybestfriendsareplants]

Armageddon-proof Raised Bed Boxes

While I love nature and most living things generally, I don’t love it when things mess with my garden. When we first moved here 8 years ago I bought a couple of off the shelf 4×4 cedar ‘raised beds’ from home depot. Over the years I’ve increased the space in my yard that I dedicate to growing edible things and not just flowers, and while I’ve added bed space, I’ve also been constantly trying to improve the utility of my garden space too, based on the challenges I’ve faced over time.

First it was hail. Back in 2013 we got a massive late season hail storm the last week of august, all the tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, everything was JUST about ready and BAM. shredded.

Ugh. After that terrible disappointment I devised some ‘hail shields’ — essentially metal mesh ‘hardware cloth’ stapled to a simple wooden frame, supported by some green fence posts, with which I could generally protect my garden. This worked pretty well, we weathered a few more big storms and the tomatoes and everybody else managed to come out relatively unscathed.

Now we’re hail proof! 

Next came the squirrels. Squirrels have always been around the yard, but they generally don’t bother the garden–that is, until its the only thing around to eat! A couple years back, a late spring frost killed off all the fruit tree blossoms in the neighborhood before they were pollinated, so all summer there were no tasty crabapples, pears, peaches or any of the other squirrel-favorite foods around, so where did they come? To the tomatoes. Tomatoes, squash, green beans…boy were they hungry! I decided then that it was time for drastic measures, and for an upgrade at the same time!

I had already started building new, bigger garden boxes to increase my space and improve their longevity. Apart from my original 2 cedar 4×4 boxes, I had since built some additional boxes out of untreated scrap 2×4 wood, but as that’s not really weather proof they were already starting to rot away after a couple years. I wanted something bigger, but also tall enough to protect against the hopping pests (rabbits ahh!) and also make it a little easier to deal with too. I also didn’t want to spend a fortune to build them!

So, I opted for a new box design based on 2×8 sheets of corrugated aluminum. Weather resistant, affordable, and nice looking, these panels became the sides of my new 2x4x8 boxes, laid onto frames built from cedar 2x4s. By putting the aluminum sheeting on the inside of the boxes, the weight of the dirt inside the box helps to keep them in place, and they have a nice ‘framed’ look with the cedar surrounding them. Since these panels only come in 2×8 sections, and I didn’t want to mess with trying to cut them in half, I constructed the 4′ sides of the 4×8 boxes with cedar fencing planks cut down. In retrospect it would have been pretty easy to cut the corrugated aluminum in half with tin snips, but I didn’t realize it at the time. Oh well!

Now that’s a garden box! 

The last piece of the puzzle was to devise a way to fully enclose my brand new boxes to keep all manner of pests out. Squirrels, hail, birds…Did you know that birds love a cherry tomatoes too? To achieve this, I constructed a roof and support posts with more cedar 2x4s, and built removable doors from cedar deck rails. For the roof I turned back to my trusty metal mesh hardware cloth (smaller mesh is better for keeping out the hail), and for the doors and sides, simple chicken wire. Another handy trick — hardware for mounting old style storm windows made the perfect scheme for mounting the removable doors.

And we’re there! I will post the actual plans for these in a future post, but so far they have been a full success in keeping out all the pests, both animal and weather, and they look pretty good too if I do say so myself! And with that, its time to get some tomatoes in the ground.

[biscuits-on-the-floor]

Second time around

It has been so long since I have written here, which is a sign of how busy life has been! My job, though only part-time, kept me very busy for much of last year. Running my own business meant that a lot of my ‘spare’ time was spent responding to emails, trying to attract new clients, developing my classes, materials, marketing and so on, on top of the actual time spent teaching classes and workshops. Not that I am complaining; I loved every moment and feel really proud of what I have achieved since setting up. However my job combined with having a toddler meant little time for writing, which is such a shame because so much has happened since my last post and there are so many things I have wanted to share.

For a start I have not yet written here that I am pregnant with my second baby! I am now 38 weeks and in the final stretch but have not had chance to write about it. Becoming pregnant one month after starting my baby massage business was tough going! Like my pregnancy with Squiggles my morning sickness was pretty grim. I struggled with all-day and all-night nausea and retching. With Squiggles it lasted for 4 and a half months; this time it lasted for almost 6 months and even now when I get really tired I feel sick. It’s pretty hard to live a normal life, take care of a toddler and run a new business when you feel that sick, but somehow I got through it.

After finally feeling less sick after 6 months I thought that the last 3 months would be a bit easier. Oh dear how wrong I was! For a start, being pregnant is generally harder second time round when you have a very active, very demanding, very dependant toddler - it is utterly exhausting. But from November onwards it has been one illness after another, me and Squiggles were locked in a cycle of her catching something, then I caught it, then with immune systems weakened, something else would be caught and the cycle went on and on. Between us we’ve had vomiting viruses, tonsillitis, colds, conjunctivitis... And just when I thought we were finally free of all the winter sickness the worst of all things happened, it really was the icing on a very bad tasting cake. I was prescribed antibiotics for a suspected bladder infection and had a reaction to it which resulted in an all-over body rash. It was like the worst sunburn you've ever had and it then turned into excruciating severe itchiness over my whole body which prevented me from being able to sleep. I had many trips to the hospital (each one lasting 5-6 hours), was prescribed a bucket load of creams but was ultimately told nothing could be done for me. It was a living hell where nothing relieved the itching - not even for one minute - and it seriously affected my mental health. It lasted for over 2 weeks and even now I am still experiencing itching on and off. It was so awful that I was on the verge of begging to be induced early so I could get some stronger medication that might work or at the very least sleeping pills to help me sleep. It was a pretty horrible way to end the pregnancy. A time where I had hoped to spend some time with Squiggles, enjoying the last few weeks of it just being the two of us. I had hoped to enjoy a few weeks after finishing work to rest and prepare for the arrival of the baby. But instead I was in and out of hospital, severely miserable and feeling gutted that this time was lost.

But it all could have been much worse and I am relieved and grateful that the baby was never in any harm.

Now at 38 weeks I’m trying to make the most of the time left and have a little time to get ready for the baby and to reflect on the pregnancy so far. I’m struck by the difference between first and second pregnancies. First time round I had many months to prepare and imagine meeting my baby. I used to talk and sing to the baby, Richie used to read to the baby at bedtime. I had time to massage oil into my bump every night and think about the lovely bundle of baby inside. We went to midwife appointments together and excitedly listened to the baby’s heartbeat. I spent time preparing for the labour by listening to hypnobirthing MP3s and practicing birth breathing with Richie. We excitedly bought baby bits and pieces and prepared the nursery. We discussed names and tried to imagine if we were going to have a boy or a girl. We took fortnightly photos of my growing bump.

This time, aside from the sickness, exhaustion and a growing bump, I’ve barely had time to think about the fact that I’m pregnant. I can think of a handful of times that I’ve talked to the baby. This baby has never been read to. I never have time to lovingly massage oil into my bump. I have gone to appointments alone, listened to the baby’s heartbeat on my own, spent many an hour in waiting rooms by myself. The preparation of baby stuff has been to get it down from the loft and just this weekend I hoovered and washed the crib and pram etc. Other than a handful of new baby sleep suits, the baby’s clothes consist of Squiggle’s old baby clothes got down from the loft and washed. There is no nursery for the baby as we only have two bedrooms. I have spent virtually no time preparing for the labour (because now I know there’s no point, haha!), other than listening to my hypnobirthing MP3s, which involves me falling asleep after 2 minutes and not hearing any of it! To say I feel guilty about this is an understatement. I know that none of this means that the baby is less wanted or less loved: it’s just that the reality of already having a toddler means there is just less time for all of that preparation. But I still feel guilty about it.

The other differences between first and second pregnancies include the rather comical fact that when pregnant for the first time people fuss over you: they don’t let you lift anything heavy, bus drivers wait for you to waddle to the stop, you are given a baby shower, people offer you their seat on the train, people tell you how great you look, you can rest when you need to and avoid food when you feel sick, people often ask excitedly about the progress of the pregnancy.

This time round you, on a regular basis, have to lift and carry a two and a half year who quite often is kicking and screaming and struggling to get out of your arms. Bus drivers stop really far away from the curb and you have to lift your toddler in their pram onto the bus (not an easy thing to do with a massive bump and no stomach muscles), no one offers you a seat, there is no baby shower, people don’t mention how you look because you look like absolute crap, you can’t rest and even though you feel hideously sick and ANY smell brings on the retching you still have to cook food for your fussy toddler who ends up not eating it anyway, people rarely ask about your pregnancy and sometimes seem to entirely forget you are pregnant.

First time round your bump is treated as a precious object and people are constantly telling you to be careful and give you lots of space. This time I have Squiggles, who doesn't seem to notice I have a giant belly (other than commenting “mummy big tummy”) and continuously launches herself at me at top speed and with her full weight, squashing the bump and spends most of the day clambering on it. Your toddler does not care one bit how huge you are, she insists that you chase her, carry her, get up and down off the floor many, many times, join in the entire dance class, plies and galloping included (seriously I was galloping around the room just today). She doesn't care how exhausted you are and that every step you take brings pain in your back and pelvis and feels like you have just run a marathon. In some ways I love that although my physical form has changed she still sees me as the same mummy and thinks I can still do all the things I normally do! Sometimes she does seem to notice my physical limitation as I'm struggling to get myself up off the floor and she gives me her hand to try to help me up! Bless her! Other times it works very much to her advantage as she runs away from me and she knows I’m going to struggle to catch up with her. Less cute!

It’s hard to know if Squiggles understands the massive change that is soon to occur. We’ve talked about the baby, of course, and she knows there is a baby in mummy’s tummy ( she used to get confused and think that she and Daddy had babies in their tummies too!) But I’m not sure if she really gets that the baby will soon come out and live in the house with us. We have tried to explain this to her and you can see her little brain trying to work it out, but to be fair it’s a pretty weird concept (even for me!). I think she knows something is changing, as the bits of baby equipment appear from the loft and mummy’s tummy gets bigger and bigger. She has felt and watched the baby move. On a few occasions she got a bit jealous and when I asked if she wanted to feel the baby kicking she said “no” and pulled my top down and asked for a cuddle. She’s also going through a phase of pretending to be a baby and saying “Squiggles mummy’s baby”, as though she knows she’s soon not going to be the baby in the house any more. Ugh, why is this parenting malarkey so filled with guilt? I feel sorry for the new baby who will have less of my time and attention than Squiggles had and I feel sorry for Squiggles who will soon be pushed out of her spot as centre of the universe and go through the pain of having to share me with her new brother or sister.

Second time round has certainly been a journey so far but as hard as it has been at times, I always know deep down that it is worth it and I can’t wait to meet my new baby and hold them and experience those precious moments together right after birth. I never forget how lucky I am that I am pregnant and that I get to be a mother to another baby. I am so, so lucky and so grateful. So for my last couple of weeks I will enjoy feeling the baby move around inside me and find some time to imagine those first moments together when they finally make an appearance. I’m also looking forward to be able to have proper cuddles with Squiggles again!