#there were so many better candidates for friendliest face

[fawncrw]

Ok so I was looking at the Stranger Things yearbook and I found it very amusing that they made Mike of all people the “friendliest face” considering mike is constantly bitchy. So I looked into the picture.

THEY SPECIFICALLY CHOSE A PHOTO WHERE HE WAS LOOKING AT WILL

[magicalmao]

[Haru and Mao: WHAT? James: Me too?] [ So, you mean to tell me that there exists, right beneath our noses, an evil so powerful only magical girls can fight it?

[Yes].

“This is a joke, right?” asked Mao, incredulous. Existence of magical girls and therefore magic notwithstanding, who in their right mind would choose HER to be a magical girl? “It’s no joke,” said the principal, “you’ve been chosen. All of you.” “Shit choice, no offense,” Mao retorted, grimacing, “I mean, I can understand Haru and James, Wonderful picks, really. Haru’s tough as nails and James is all about the helping people thing… But me? THAT has to be a mistake.” Maybe the real magical girl had panicked, too, and shoved the brooch into the nearest backpack to get the heat off of herself, thinking it was something stolen… But then again, wouldn’t that make them a selfish prick, willing to throw some random person under the bus, and therefore not a suitable candidate for a magical girl? Even then, they’d be more worthy than Mao.

A gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder, and Mao was shaken out of her thoughts. Beside her, Lynn was smiling gently at her. “I think you’ll find you’re more worthy than you know,” she said softly. Mao huffed, not at all reassured. That remained to be seen.

“Anyways!” Mrs Daguerre interrupted, “Not to rush you out the door, but if you don’t go now, you’ll all be late to class. And we wouldn’t want that. Everything else will be explained to you in due time.” This seemed all a bit more important than class… But Mao only had the thought to say so after she had been shoved out of the room and into the hall.

—

Mao had SO many questions. Chief of all… What happened if this evil attacked before “in due time”? What then? How did their ‘magic’ work, did they have any at all? Obviously they must, they were ‘magical’ girls. But still… All of the uncertainty clouded her brain, to the point where, even if she tried to, she couldn’t concentrate on the lesson at hand. What a bomb to drop on them, and then expect them to go to class and study as if nothing had happened.

Mao was not unfamiliar with magical girls… At least not fictional ones. The genre had inadvertently been her favorite as a child. She had fond memories of pretending to be one as a kid, and bonking her dad with her magical wand, only for it to break. He’d fixed it for her, and she, not having learned her lesson, bonked him again. Good times. But this was different. This was real. But what was real like? Her favorite as a child was a comic about a group of girls who fought monsters sent by an evil queen. There was also one about girls fighting witches in labyrinths, far from where eyes could see… And yet another, about a girl who battled against despair made real. Those girls… They were cute, and sweet, and full of desire to make the world a better place. Sometimes they were clumsy, or a little uncertain, but they always rose up to do the right thing in the end. As much as Mao admired them… that wasn’t her.

Mao was small and weak and hopeless. She couldn’t even save herself, forget the whole world.

“Sometimes, it’s enough to just help one person, Mao.” She immediately sat up straight at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, noticing with fear that the world around her stood still, frozen. She could move, but nothing else did. “Down here, in your desk,” the voice said again.

[Cap'n: Hi! I'm Cap'n, your magical familiar! Mao: You're a rodent?!? Cap'n: I'm a Capybara, Earth's friendliest creature! But Lynn is right, you're amazing, Mao! Go, Mao!]

Mao stared at the miniature capybara, unimpressed. “There’s…. Nothing special about me,” she insisted, “I’m only extraordinary in how… bleh I am.” “That’s not true!” squeaked the little voice. “But I know your type. You need to see ti to believe it!” She didn’t think anything would change her mind, but the capybara suddenly flew at her face anyway, and she flinched.

He booped her on the nose.

And suddenly Mao was no longer sitting, but standing, shivering, in the cold and the snow.

She was in a dark parking lot, empty save for a few cars. She recognized one- a big, beige car like the one her dad drove. It even had the same bumper sticker. As she walked towards it, the details around her became clearer. There was a large building with a sign, half covered in white. Hopeville Yard. They were at her dad’s work. And beyond the large building and its imposing gate, she saw her dad hopping out of his truck. He approached slowly, with heavy hanging limbs. He looked WEARY, with deep, dark bags under his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh when he unlocked the car door, slumping down inside. Mao watched as he settled, but did not turn the car on. Instead, he pulled a blanket from the passenger’s side and curled up.

Mao set a hand on the car door and frowned. Why was he sleeping in his car, in the cold like this? Why was all of his stuff shoved in boxes in the backseat? Mao knew the answer. It was clear as day. But she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Before you moved in with him, he didn’t have a home,” said Cap’n, none-too-helpfully. She could see that. Her hands trembled, but not from the cold, and she closed her eyes, trying to willing this away.

The cold faded, and her nose was flooded with the scent of coffee. She opened her eyes, and she was in their apartment. It was bare- this must have been last week at least, before they had gotten curtains in the living room. 

The door behind her clicked open, and in came her dad. Tired after a long day, yes, but somehow less so. His body didn’t hang heavy, and the bags under his eyes had cleared a bit. On the couch, another Mao was curled up, sleeping soundly to the background music of her favorite video game, and he came up to her, smiled fondly, and gave her a kiss before heading off down the hallway. “You know, sometimes it’s enough to just help one person.” said Cap’n. Mao looked to him with a frown. She… She was the change. She was the warmth that her dad had to come back home to, wasn’t she?

She didn’t know how she had changed things, but she had. When she closed her eyes again, tears pricked at her eyes. Cap’n had left again, leaving her alone in her classroom, where the chatter and the lecture resumed. Mao grimaced, trying not to cry in the middle of class for no reason, and turned to face the window, where early spring bloomed pretty flowers in the school yard. ‘All this time, I thought I was a burden to you. Huh,” she thought to her dad, probably still snoring away at this hour. In a warm, cozy bed, on a mattress, in an apartment.

In a home.

[ddixons-angel]

Prove It

Requested by @pastanest​​

I’m trying to roll out these requests as quick as possible but writer’s block is not allowing that... sorry for the wait!!! I’m also trying a new thing with super long intros apparently haha hope you like it!

Prompts:  8. “Why do you even care? You barely know me!”  22. “I never knew I mattered this much to you.”

Reader cares for Daryl but he pushes her away because he’s afraid to get too close to anyone.

Season 2; The Farm

A tragedy. That’s the only word that could describe the situation, a horrific, devastating tragedy. So many things had happened in the last five days alone. Things were quiet on the farm, peaceful with all things considered at the end of the world. That was until two men came running across the field of your best friend’s farm, one of them carrying an unconscious boy in his arms. The others from their group had arrived at the farm the day after Hershel had stabilized the boy; after losing Otis. That was when you found out that they were trying to find a little girl, Sophia. She had gotten lost in the woods. When you heard about this and saw how distressed Carol, the girl’s mother was, you had to step in and help, despite Maggie telling you not to. 

“There’s a little girl lost in the woods, we have to try and find her,” that’s what you told Maggie.

With that mindset, you had volunteered yourself to their search party. You knew that Hershel wasn’t going to like it, but as you were able to convince Maggie, she reassured you that she would talk her dad into it. You didn’t wait for his approval though, you knew that every second that little girl was in the woods alone it was dangerous for her. The world proved to be a much more dangerous place now and it could only take a matter of seconds for something horrible to happen. 

You knew that the group that arrived at the farm knew this too, and that’s why it rubbed you the wrong way when you found out only a single person seemed to take the search seriously. You understood why Rick, the father of the boy, couldn’t go out to search as he had given a lot of blood to his son the night previously, but you didn’t like how no one else looked like they wanted to go out to find Sophia. Although, the one person who actually cared about the search seemed to be the best candidate since he was a hunter; he knew the woods better than anyone on the farm. Daryl Dixon wasn’t the friendliest of the bunch though, he’d brushed you off when you asked him to take you on the search. 

Being as persistent as you are though, Daryl telling you that you’d just be a burden and to stay behind on the farm didn’t sway you. Instead, it made you more motivated to prove him wrong. 

“You’d have a better chance shooting me with that crossbow before you can stop me from looking for this little girl,” you told him. 

That either convinced him to let you follow along or he just didn’t care to stop you since he didn’t say anything else afterwards, even with you following him. Even though you two didn’t converse at all during the search in the woods, you began to admire him. He was motivated, determined to find Sophia as if she were his own daughter. That was certainly a trait that no one else in his group seemed to have. The determination you saw in him inspired you and that’s what made you go with him again into the woods. You had to find that little girl. 

The only difference this time was that you two had taken horses; you were aware that Hershel had one he liked to call Nervous Nelly, but you weren’t sure which one that was. There were a bunch of horses in the stable so you didn’t think that Daryl would have taken her. Unfortunately, that was the farthest from the truth when you heard the horse he was on let out a frightened neigh. The next thing you knew, you were hauling him back to the farm after he’d impaled himself with one of his arrows. Daryl told you to leave him alone after Hershel helped patch him up, but you wanted to help him. You felt guilty that he got hurt even if you did help him back to the farm. Even if you had just met Daryl a few days ago, seeing him hurt like this pulled at your heart and that’s when you knew you were starting to really care for this man.

Your care for him only strengthened when you went over to his tent where he insisted on staying to help him with whatever he needed. You wanted to help Daryl, nurse him back to health no matter how much he told you to leave him alone. When the sun went down, you told him that you would be back the next day to help him again. Unfortunately, you saw him near the horse stables the next morning, persistent on going out to find Sophia. You ran over to stop him, you knew he wasn’t in any condition to go out there with his injuries and you hoped the news that Rick and the others had put out a proper search party would be enough to convince him. 

Before you could get to him though, Shane, the man Otis had risked his life to save, came rushing towards the group with a bag of guns, handing them out to “fix the problem at hand”. You heard from Maggie that Glenn, the young man she had gotten quite close to, told them all about the walkers in the barn that morning; you took an educated guess that that’s what the problem Shane was referring to. Before you knew it, guns were going off as Shane had ripped off the chained locks on the front of the barn. Walkers filed out of the barn into the line of fire, each one dropping dead after the other. The storm of gunfire had ended and you thought that was the worst of it, but you were wrong. A single snarl sounded from within the barn and out stepped the corpse of a little girl. Carol,  let out a heartbreaking cry, letting you all know that this little girl was Sophia. 

The atmosphere on the farm was different now. No one was okay after what had happened, not you, not Maggie, not Beth, not Daryl. He’d moved his tent further down the field, isolating himself from the group, from the farm, from you. You wanted to talk to Daryl, maybe help him through the pain he was going through with losing Sophia. He didn’t seem to have anyone else who was close to him, not even in his own group, and that’s why you were now making your way to Daryl’s tent. You weren’t going to let him push you away, he needed someone to be there for him, you were sure of it.

“Crossbow?” you call out the nickname you’d gotten used to calling him. 

You sigh when you don’t hear him respond, you had predicted this already. Daryl had always been a man of very few words in the days you knew him, so it wasn’t a surprise to you when he ignored you. 

“Hey, Crossbow, I know you’re in there.” you say, stopping just outside his tent, “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Leave.” he says after a few minutes, he had to get how persistent you were by now.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” you repeat.

“I did talk to ya,” Daryl says, “I said leave!” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” you say, sighing softly. 

“The hell d’ya want?” he asks, his voice rough.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” you tell him.

“Okay? Ya wanna make sure I’m okay?!” Daryl snaps as he storms out of his tent, glaring at you, “ we jus’ found out Sophia’s been in that damn barn this whole time, how the hell can anythin’ be okay?!” 

“Daryl...” you call softly, you see the hurt in his eyes and it breaks your heart. 

“We went out lookin’ for that lil’ girl every damn day! I almost died tryin’ to find her, but she was right under our damn noses! So, tell me, how d’ya expect me to be okay!” Daryl yells, huffing in anger as he gets in your face. 

You stay silent as Daryl continues to yell at you. Even when he was shouting directly at you, you could feel that his words weren’t directed to you. He was just shouting in anger, frustration, sadness, you could hear it in his voice. He needed someone to vent to and even if it was just yelling, you knew it would help him to let his emotions out. In a weird way, you knew that you were still helping him and that comforted you, even enough for a tiny smile to pull at your lips. 

“The hell is wrong with ya?!” Daryl growls when he sees the small smile on your face, “‘m yellin’ at ya and you’re smilin’ ‘bout it?! What the hell ‘re ya smilin’ for?! Are ya happy we found Sophia dead?!”

“No!” you say immediately, a frown now on your face, “I’d never be happy about that.. I just...”

“What?” Daryl says in a dangerous growl.

You sigh and look down, “I’m just glad you’re letting out your emotions... that’s all.”

You dare to look back up at Daryl when you hear nothing but silence. He was staring at you in disbelief, as if he was processing what you had just said. 

“Never knew I mattered this much to ya,” Daryl scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I do care about you, Daryl, a lot. I know I just met you a few days ago so you might not believe it, but it’s true. I knew it the day you got hurt...” you speak again when Daryl doesn’t respond, “I wanted to be the one who got hurt instead of you...”

“Bullshit...” Daryl mutters after taking in what you just told him “tha’s all bullshit an’ ya know it!”

“No, it’s not!” you insist.

“Yeah? Then prove it! Prove ya ain’ jus’ some lying bitch, spewin’ shit outta yer ass to make me do whatever the hell ya want me to do!” Daryl shouts angrily. 

You frown at his words. You had a feeling that he felt like the group had taken him for granted and those words he said were more for them to hear rather than you. Still, that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt. 

“How?” you say.

“What?” Daryl frowns at you.

“You said to prove that I care about you, so tell me how I can prove it to you,” you stand your ground.

He scoffs at you, running his hand through his hair in frustration, “go out there an’ bring me a walker.”

“W-what?” 

“Ya heard me, go out there an’ bring me a walker! Ya said ya wanted me to let out my emotions, right?! I can do that by killin’ a damn walker!” Daryl yells. 

You stare at him, shocked and dumbfounded by his request. Whenever you came across any walkers in the woods, you killed it without any hesitation, but you never brought them back to the barn. Otis was the one who did that which is how the barn was full of walkers in the first place. You knew that Daryl knew this was hard for you and that’s exactly why he asked you to, he wanted you to give up proving that you cared for him. He just always seemed to underestimate your determination to prove yourself to him.

“Okay,” you say, then you start to make your way back towards the barn. 

You hear Daryl scoff, as if he already believes you had given up, “hey, woods are that way.”

“I need a snare pole, jackass.” you retort back without stopping your steps. 

You don’t look back to see Daryl’s reaction, you just keep heading towards the barn. You remembered that Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy had walkers on snares near the barn so you pick one up just before heading out towards the woods. You had your hunting knife equipped in case you ran into more than one. You pass Daryl’s tent just before you enter the woods and figured that he went back into his tent when you didn’t see him outside. You sigh to yourself as you think that this is definitely the stupidest thing you ever did for a guy you met just a few days ago but here you were, hunting down a single walker in the woods. 

After around an hour, you finally hear the familiar sound of walkers snarling about in the forest. You take a breath as you carefully step towards it, you whistle to get its attention then twist the bottom of the pole to widen the loop. You step with the walker, taking a step back whenever it takes a step towards you, you couldn’t take your chance and let it get too close. It reaches for you and you catch the walker’s head in the loop of the pole. Quickly, you twist the bottom of the pole the opposite way and that tightens the loop. 

“Okay...” you say breathlessly, trying to calm your nerves; hopefully Rick or Shane wouldn’t be on the lookout and shoot you once you emerge from the woods. 

Unfortunately, as you try to drag the walker back to the farm, you hear more snarls from behind you. Two more had come out and were now headed straight towards you.

“Shit...” you say under your breath.

With one hand still on the pole, your other hand reaches for your hunting knife. You pull it out and glance back and forth between the walker you’d caught and the two heading in your direction. When they get closer, you kick one away, leaving the other to lunge towards you. You let out a grunt as you stab it’s skull then pull out your knife, letting the walker fall to the ground. Your grip was still tight on the snare pole as you ready yourself for the other walker you’d kicked away. When you try to stab this walker though, you’re only able to get its cheek, and so it grabs you with both its hands. 

You whimper when both of the walkers growl at you, wanting to rip your flesh from your bones. You do your best to compose yourself, tightening the blade in your hand, you stab at the free walker’s eye and it stills. However, as you were being backed up by both walkers, you weren’t able to see the half of a log that protruded from the ground. You trip over it, falling back with the walker caught on the snare pole.

You groan in pain from the fall then you push yourself to sit up. You furrow your brows when something didn’t seem quite right. The walker you’d caught had fallen right on top of you so it should have started devouring you, but you were still in one piece. You look at the walker and that’s when you see the arrow piercing its skull; Daryl. 

“Ya mus’ be some kind o’ stupid...” you hear him say as he emerges from the woods, eyeing you.

You push the walker off of you and get up from the ground as Daryl reaches down to pull his arrow from the skull. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you now as he wipes the arrow on his pants. 

“Thanks for saving me...” you say, slightly embarrassed.

Daryl hums in acknowledgement, “ya really tried to bring me back a walker?”

“I wanted to prove to you that I really do care about you,” you say with a smile, “even if it was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.”

“Why d’ya even care? Ya barely know me!” Daryl says, raising his voice slightly, “ya really are some kind o’ stupid, ain’t ya? Ya almost died for someone ya hardly even know!”

“I don’t know, okay! I just do! You’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever met before, I mean, you’re right, I barely know you but there’s just something about you... maybe the fact that you’re so damn selfless that you’re willing to throw your life away for those people... or maybe because you don’t think you deserve to be cared for... I don’t know what it is... I just know that you’re in my life now, and I want to care for you.” you rant; you didn’t even know where all of that came from, but you knew everything you just said was true. 

Daryl stays silent and you didn’t expect him to say anything to your rant. You sigh then pick up the snare pole, you twist the bottom of it so that the walker’s head falls out of the now loose loop.

“Alright, time to find you another walker then,” you say nonchalantly, but before you can walk away, Daryl snatches the snare pole from you, “hey, I need that!”

“No, ya don’t,” Daryl mumbles, “you’re coming back to the farm with me... don’t make me use this on ya.”

Although his words were threatening, you sensed no hostility from him. Instead, you felt that his tone was lighter, cheerful even, as if he was trying to joke with you. This put a smile on your face as this was Daryl’s way of slowly letting you in. From what you could tell, Daryl wasn’t the kind to just tell you that you were his friend or anything of the sort, he just showed it in his own way. You had a feeling you would have a lot more time to figure him out, and possibly get closer to this man you truly and deeply cared for. 

“Hey, ya comin’ or not?!” Daryl snaps when he sees you just standing there.

“Coming!” you call out, then you rush over to follow him back to the farm.

---

Writing snarky Daryl is always so much fun hahaha hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it! ^^ Please let me know what you thought~

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[lichlover]

magnus and kaylen used to be friends, once

Wild things, the town called them, like they were less young men than specters of nature, tearing through the streets in a whirlwind and only stopping to help old Serafine when she dropped her groceries at the curb. Kalen used to say it was the only reason Raven’s Roost hadn’t kicked them clear of the Corridor: they could do as much good as they could wreak havoc, and besides, Magnus cared too deeply for the Waxmens’ reputation. Wild things, and more occasionally, according to old Serafine, good boys. Boys who could do a little bit of growing up when the situation called for it—or when Julia Waxmen was in the vicinity, and Magnus dropped everything to lift someone’s cargo clear off the ground.

The week before Tavers dies, Kalen has dirt under his fingernails. They’d agreed to sweep the sidewalk in front of Par Teller’s shop after a stint with Kalen’s newest innovation—ground-spice graffiti, an idea that had them both delirious with mischief until Magnus had accidentally tipped a barrel of paprika over the threshold. Now the sun has started to dip beneath the furthest pillar, and spills in liquid gold around the cliffs. Their shadows stretch and rib across the cobblestones next to the spindly bodies of Teller’s brooms.

“God, he was pissed.” Magnus cracks a grin as he brushes paprika into the gutter. “I couldn’t tell if his face was red because of that, or, y’know.”

Kalen grips his broom mid-handle and raises it up like a crotchety old man’s walking stick, and Magnus laughs; the hearty, chest-deep laugh Kalen is so good at bringing out in him. “You kids must think you’re real cute!”

“You heard what he said? Something about, like, we oughta be in politics because of how quick we are to wanna solve the problems we caused. Kind of a low blow, right? It wasn’t just me?”

“Mm.” The broom’s bristles hit the street, and Kalen blinks into the sunset. “Nah. I mean, he’s got a point.”

Magnus laughs again. “That we’d make good politicians? You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“No, really. You’re always going on about wanting to help people.” He’s serious, Magnus realizes. There’s no twist to the corner of his mouth; no telltale crinkle at his left eye. “Solving everybody’s problems. Isn’t that what a politician does?”

“You seriously wanna be like Old Man Tavers? Farting around in some giant ritzy house while everybody else lives and works and does stuff?”

“Who says a politician has to fart around?” Kalen twirls the broom and strikes it against the curb, and a tiny cloud of paprika drifts into the air. “We could be different. We could get out and do stuff. Solve everybody’s problems for them.”

Magnus blinks. “You’d really wanna do that?”

“I dunno. It’d be making a difference. Making our mark on this town without pissing everybody off for once.”

“Well, okay, yeah, sure, it’d be nice to have people singing our praises. But we don’t have to go into politics to make that happen. You’d die of boredom, Kalen.” Magnus reaches over to tap him on the head with his broom, and Kalen smiles, but it looks halfhearted. “C’mon.”

“Singing our praises,” is all Kalen says. “You think?”

“I think you got paprika in your ear and it’s infecting your brain. Are you gonna help me with this, or what?”

The word is that Tavers dies in his sleep. He’d entered his twilight years an apparent lifetime ago, and issued decrees with a papery voice that gave way under the ghost of a breeze, and so although no one dares voice it allowed, a certain peace settles over Raven’s Roost after the memorial. The People’s Council sets the vote for a week later, and Magnus cracks a joke about anarchy around the dinner table, but nothing changes, really. He still works sandpaper over his latest attempt at a coat rack for the first half of the morning, and then he meets Kalen in the square, for fruit tarts from the girl who blushes and shrinks under Kalen’s wicked grin.

They split a tart—mango-strawberry—and go to sit by the fountain. Today, the banners that twine around the street lamps are a somber black, but they’re all that remain of the services from the day before. Kalen is kinetic. He shifts on the fountain’s finely hewn edge and grinds his teeth and taps his foot, and the dark circles rimming his eyes are fresh and deep. His half of the tart sits unacknowledged and untouched.

“Uh,” says Magnus. “You gonna eat that, or…”

Kalen doesn’t seem to hear him. “I have this idea,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it since Teller’s.”

“Okay, shoot. Can I have your half if you’re not gonna have it?”

He tosses the half distractedly to Magnus and sits back on his hands. “What if I ran for Governor?”

Magnus chokes on his first bite. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me just fine. I want to run for Governor. Tavers was old,” says Kalen, “and he didn’t know the people, and everybody the Council nominates, they’re just gonna be the same. Somebody who sits up in that ritzy old house and farts around. No. The people need a man of action.”

“A man of action?” Magnus echoes, through a mouthful of tart. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Am I wrong, though?” He looks at Magnus with a familiar fire; the same spark of resolve that ignites at the thought of a brand-new scheme to pass the time. But Kalen seems different. Righteous. Hungry. “Do you really want another old crat in power? Or would you want somebody who knows what your favorite flavor of tart is? Somebody who knows it’s worth skipping the end of the workday to catch the sunset over Craftsman’s Corridor? Somebody who gets you?”

“But you think you could get voted in? How would that even work?”

“I’ll campaign,” says Kalen. “I’ll campaign this whole week, and you’ll help me.”

“Well—now hang on—”

“And if it doesn’t work, we can say we tried.” He swings his foot against the fountain and tips his head to the sun. “But I’ve got a feeling about this. C’mon. Have my instincts ever steered you wrong?”

“Uh, yeah,” Magnus says, incredulously. “So many times.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me on this.” Kalen sits up and turns to meet Magnus’s eyes, and suddenly Magnus understands, better than before, what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that stare. He’d give this man a strawberry-mango tart, he thinks. He’d give this man anything he thinks he deserves, because there’s something about that stare that makes him surer of himself than he’s ever been. “So are you with me?”

The campaign is really less of a campaign and more of a week spent going door-to-door, but Magnus is surprised to find that excluding the odd, scorned shopkeep that locked the doors and shuttered the windows at the sight of them, the people of Raven’s Roost seem intrigued by Kalen’s proposal. Dylan Stokes offers them his cargo wagon. Ruby Sheppard brings her wife and daughters out to the porch to hear Kalen talk about his plans for the town. Julia Waxmen stops by on her way from the Corridor, and she spends one afternoon helping them hang crudely sketched posters and embellishing them with her own elegant cursive. Magnus trips over his own feet more than once, and definitely has to interrupt Kalen mid-suggestive comment, but Julia just gives him a smile that warms him from the inside out and slaps the next poster across an open wall.

By the end of the week, there isn’t a soul in Raven’s Roost that doesn’t know about Kalen’s bid for governor. One sunset finds Magnus and Kalen traipsing up to the enforcers’ outpost, loaded down with strawberry-mango tarts and winning smiles, and the enforcer on duty greets them in the friendliest encounter Magnus has ever had with law enforcement. “Allan’s boy,” he says to Kalen, and then, to Magnus, “the junior craftsman. Strange pair, to want to run the town.”

“Ambition doesn’t pick and choose, sir,” says Kalen, and the enforcer grins.

He takes Magnus and Kalen up the stairs and into the outpost, where a team of tired-looking enforcers swarm eagerly around their the bags of pastries. Magnus stands back and lets Kalen talk, exchanging handshakes and more winning smiles; he’d had no idea how silver-tongued his friend really is. Plying them with food helps, he’s sure. But Kalen has a charisma about him that he’d only seen in fragments before.

They sit around and eat as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, and Kalen is drawn into conversation with the enforcer that had met them at the door. Magnus sits nearby, turning his ear lazily to their voices; he’s started to feel thick and heavy in the haze of late evening, and with the crumbs of two strawberry-mango tarts dotting his shirt.

“Y’know, Tavers,” the enforcer is saying, “he behaved the same as all these politicians do. Always hesitant to bring out the big guns. Like they refuse to even acknowledge that Raven’s Roost has a militia. Why would you have a militia if you never intended to use it? What’s the point?”

“You’d be a powerful ally to anyone,” says Kalen, in that smooth diplomat’s voice. “Tavers was a fool to not realize that.”

“Exactly,” the enforcer says, and leans in. Magnus strains his ear a little harder as he says, “Any candidate we back, they’re gonna be grateful for that kind of sway. It’s just a matter of trusting that that candidate isn’t gonna shelf us. You know what I mean?”

Kalen smiles. “I can’t speak for the Council’s decision. But I always thought Raven’s Roost would benefit from the militia’s involvement.”

“Hah. You and I,” says the enforcer, “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

He grins, sharp and polished, and Kalen matches it with one of his own. Something cold and heavy drops in the pit of Magnus’s stomach.

They leave the enforcers just before midnight, and Kalen practically waltzes down the path, light on his feet and the promise of victory. “I think that went great,” he says, airily. “Really great. Don’t you?”

Magnus doesn’t respond. The freezing knot of uncertainty in his gut has started to melt into tiny shards of ice.

“Magnus.” Kalen swings around and gives him a look. “You okay? In a food coma already?”

“What’d you say to that enforcer guy?”

“What do you mean?” His tone is light, but the lighthearted twist to his mouth drops away. “We were just talking.”

“You said you wanted to get the militia more involved here. In Raven’s Roost. What does that mean?”

“It’s just some bullshit to get the votes,” says Kalen. “What do you care?”

“I dunno,” Magnus says, “but that sounds bad? Like, bad bad. Like martial law bad. Why’d you lie to them?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You said it was bullshit.”

“It was.” Kalen’s eyes flash in the low light. “I’m not gonna let them go marching through the streets collecting taxes, or whatever the fuck. But I’ll find some way to keep my promise. Who knows? Maybe people could use a stricter rule around here.”

Magnus laughs incredulously, but breaks off when Kalen doesn’t join him. “You gotta be kidding me. Stricter rule? Who are you?”

“Hey, all I’m saying is that this is the town that let us run around and do whatever the hell we wanted.” Kalen shrugs. “Maybe that’s not a good thing.”

“Maybe not, but there’s a difference between being a stupid kid and martial fucking law.”

“I never said shit about martial law!” He rounds on his heel, and Magnus nearly takes a step back. “Will you shut up already! It’s politics! We make some bullshit promises we never intend on keeping, we do some smiling and waving, and then the people sing our praises. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t this—” He gestures around them, like the campaign hangs over them like a shroud— “exactly what we talked about?”

Anger ignites in Magnus like a flame. “I’m not a politician,” he snipes. “I agreed to help you and that’s it. And if you’re gonna act like a dick, I’m not sure I wanna help you at all!”

Kalen scoffs. “Like I need you. All you’ve done is sit on your ass and get all moonstruck around Julia Waxmen.”

“Don’t fucking talk about her.”

“You’re taking all this way too personally,” he says, and his voice is uncharacteristically cold. “Who cares if we tell a couple white lies? Who cares if we shake things up a little? God knows this fucking town could do with something new. Everything’s old, and dried up, just like Tavers was. They need us. They need me. The only reason you can’t see that is because your head’s so far up Steven’s ass—”

Magnus punches him. Kalen wheezes and collapses on his back in a cloud of dust, and for a second, he’s sure that he’s made a horrible mistake.

Then Kalen wipes at a trickle of blood at his chin and spits, “Knew it. I fucking knew it.”

“Shut up,” Magnus snaps. He can’t formulate another retort over the ringing in his ears, so he steps past Kalen and storms down the path, and his heart throbs against the web of ice in his chest the whole way.

Ed Barrister is the Council’s replacement, and he doesn’t stand a chance. At the first and only debate on the rickety stage in the town square, he scrapes and mumbles as Kalen waxes lyrical on his plans for Raven’s Roost and his love for the people, to uproarious applause. He’s sworn in by the end of the day. His family’s house stands empty by nightfall. Magnus watches as the cargo wagon rumbles up the trail to Tavers’ old house, a copper-studded behemoth larger than every workshop in Craftsman’s Corridor combined.

He finds Kalen thanking people at the polling center and joins the line, behind an elderly woman clutching one of Julia’s posters. When Kalen sees him, he sets his jaw in a polite, closed-lip smile, and grips Magnus’s hand a little too tightly.

“We did good,” he says. “Didn’t we?”

“Tavers’ house, huh?”

“My father insisted. It’s supposed to be gracious.”

“As long as you don’t just fart around.”

The tension between them caves, just a little. A near-earnest grin flashes across Kalen’s face.

“Couldn’t’ve done it without you,” he says. “Honestly.”

“This is fucking crazy, Kalen.”

“It will be, for a little while. But I think I could really make something of this town. The people still like me.” He nudges Magnus’s shoulder and says, “I think you do, too.”

“If you really want to make a difference,” says Magnus, “you’ve only got a couple years to do it. Better make ’em count, huh?”

“A couple years?”

“That’s the law.”

Kalen shrugs. “Laws change.”

“Not those ones.”

“For now,” he says, and shakes Magnus’s hand. “I won’t forget you, y’know.”

Magnus smiles over the shard of ice sticking in his stomach. “Nah. ’Course not. I won’t let you.”

[theincompetentgenius]

Hey, could you give me a match up or life generator for IkeSen? Anything is fine. I'm like 156cms (I know ;_;) I'm introverted but curious by nature. I'm also much of a talker when I become friends with someone. Kinda sassy, likes cats,dogs, raccoons (you get it) and philosophy. I get frightened easily, a box falling from my shelf suddenly can get me screaming 😂 I am a dork. Just found your blog btw and I love it 😭💖

Thanks for sending in the request and I’m sorry about the wait! Also, can I say thank you because your request saved my writer’s block because I got carried away?

Thank you for your interest in the world of Ikemen Sengoku. You will shortly be reborn in your new life. The simulation will begin in 3..... 2..... 1.......

B A C K G R O U N D

Your story began right before your first job interview in Japan. You had graduated from college a few months ago with an economics major and a philosophy minor. Many considered it a peculiar blend of studies, but the contrasting subjects allowed you to enjoy your time at college while maintaining the image of a unique candidate. All throughout school, your academics were fairly strong. It wasn’t the golden 4.0, but high enough to land you your first job. The only issue was that your Japanese wasn’t the strongest, so you were worried about not being able to convey your thoughts properly. To deal with this, you practiced in advance. 

On the way to your interview, you noticed that the clouds had become larger and darker. You didn’t want to be reckless, but there was lots of traffic on the road and your interview was in fifteen minutes. If it started raining, then traffic would probably stop moving and you would be late, so you looked for an alternative route on your GPS. Luckily enough, there was a route that would get you to your destination in time. So you took the closest exit and left that mess.

The streets of the detour were small and narrow. The clouds had become so dark that it looked more like midnight than an afternoon. A shiver ran down your spine. The faster you got out of there, the better. It was not long before the rain started, thunder echoing in the background.  You slowed down the speed of your car and proceeded with caution. 

Your car broke down halfway through the detour. After jamming your keys to start the car (with no results), you got out of your car to search for help. You saw a man in a white lab coat with glasses on the porch of a quaint cottage and rushed to him.

“Can you help me? My car broke down in the middle of the road. ” Your voice was filled with desperation.

He was startled by your sudden appearance. “Ma’am, you need to leave. There is a wormhole that is going to open in a few minutes.”

“I can’t leave if my car doesn’t start.” A clash of thunder echoed in the background. You jumped from the loud noise and looked back at the man.

“Alright, I’ll look for some numbers that you can call to help you. However, I think that this area is extremely unsafe for you,” He said, pulling out his phone.

You nodded. As you waited for the young man in the lab coat, the storm intensified. Hints of blue and green sprouted from the clouds. Was this from the wormhole thing that the man was talking about? You wanted to ask but you didn’t want to burden him more than you already had. But the colors were rapidly spreading across the sky, forming a circle. 

“Sir? It that the wormhole you were talking about?” You pointed to the colors.

He pushed up his glasses with his fingers. His eyes widened. “You need to leave now. Just run away from here.”

Although you had no idea where the wormhole would take you, you knew it was nothing good. So you ran as fast as you could, but the wind ran with you. It grew stronger until it lifted you from your feet and threw you into the glowing wormhole. 

F R I E N D S

Date Masamune

After saving Nobunaga’s life at Honno-ji, you tried your best to adjust to the Sengoku Era. However, the different expectations, mentalities, and social concepts made it almost impossible. Your introverted nature made it harder to talk to the other warlords and your fear only added to the distance. There was Ieyasu (who felt that Nobunaga made a mistake in keeping you around), Hideyoshi (who was still suspicious about your affiliations), and Mitsuhide (he’s the one who caused the fire at Honno-ji in our timeline, so you’re suspicious of him).

Your relationship with Masamune was interesting, to say the least. He nearly chopped off your head when confirming that you were from the future, smashed your arm because you had gotten to close to him during his training, and served you the spiciest dish that was reserved for Ieyasu. Yet he still dared to flirt with you, as if he hadn’t nearly killed you three times.

However, he was the friendliest out of everyone else. He would offer to take you around the town and helped you get settled in your new life. For that, you were extremely grateful. Sometimes the two of you would be out all day, as Masamune would bring Shogestu in the forests. You would point out the different animals around the area. Although he knew the forests very well, your observations made him feel that he was the foreigner. 

“Did you see that deer?” You said.

He spun his head around. Then he looks back at you. “Yes, I do. There’s a beautiful doe sitting right in front of me.”

You give him a playful shove. “That’s not what I’m talking about, you idiot.”

“Oh ho, our little lassie is getting feisty!” He laughs.

“I am not little!” You try to shove him, but he doesn’t budge against the weight of your arms. Instead, he howls with laughter.

You stand up straight and clear your throat. “The only thing that’s little is your manhood!”

He freezes in the middle of his laugh. His face momentarily warps with awe and you feel good about sassing him for once. But his face turns into a smirk. 

“Is that so? I don’t recall ever showing you anything.” He moves closer towards you. “Unless we had an encounter that I don’t remember.”

Your face turns red as you push him away. “I think I’m done here.”

He turns away with laughter, calling for his tiger cup. You dust off your kimono and look one last time into the woods, searching for any other animals. There aren’t any.

Except for the one-eyed beast who disguised his feelings of love in the form of friendship. A friendship he could never escape.

Other friends: Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Sanada Yukimura, Oda Nobunaga

**Quick Note: Basically he’s the other suitor in love with you during your time there, but he’s also your closest friend.

R O M A N C E

Akechi Mitsuhide

Although you spent lots of time with Masamune, your sights were set elsewhere. At first, you weren’t interested in this silver-tongued snake for romantic purposes. You assumed he was the one who tried to kill Nobunaga due to the events in our timeline, so you wanted to learn more about his schemes. At first, you kept your distance-- there was no need to interact with a shady traitor. Instead, you got your information about Mitsuhide from other people. The best source of information was the maids, but they had too much information (which were nothing but rumors). When you asked the warlords, they couldn’t tell you much either. He was a mystery waiting to be caught.

At one point, you decided to tell Nobunaga about the future and how it was Mitsuhide that set the fire at Honno-ji. However, you had no proof to back your claims. So against your better nature, you went and tailed Mitsuhide. This was the worst mistake possible because he figured you out within seconds of your investigation. When he asked you questions about your investigations, you didn’t give him any answers. However, that wasn’t necessary because he had you all figured out. 

Soon, the tables turn on you. Mitsuhide investigated you because you had investigated him. While you cluelessly walked around the palace, he followed you to ensure you weren’t a threat. Once he assessed that you weren’t an assassin, Mitsuhide began to talk to you in public. At first, his conversations caught you off-guard. But you grew more comfortable around him, despite the warnings from everyone else. Mitsuhide himself warned about his other side, but you were giving him the benefit of the doubt. After all, your curiosity had shown you that he was much more than his reputation.

You spent your time trying to sass him, causing him to outwit you almost every time. Some times he’d let you have the last word, but you knew when he let you win. Instead, he was drawn to your dorkiness. It was a rare sight in the Azuchi Palace for someone to be so dorky. However, he realized that there was a more mature side to you when serious conversations arose. The mix of purity and realism surprised him; you were less naive than he expected.

However, the worst part of your relationship was when he tried to scare you. Once he figured out that you were easily startled, Mitsuhide used against you with no limits. One day, you were delivering a message from Masamune to Hideyoshi when you felt a cool breeze rush by. 

You spun around. “Whose there?” 

There was no answer. You shivered but continued on your journey to Hideyoshi’s room. Then, you heard soft footsteps behind you.

You jumped. “I know you’re following me! Show yourself!” You voice waivers.

Nothing. You let out a sigh, telling yourself that you were overreacting. A few steps later, you felt a tap on your shoulder. A scream escaped your lips and your feet tripped over each other. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the collision between your nose and the floor.

Instead, a pair of light arms grabbed your waist and draws you upwards. You open your eyes to find yourself face-to-face to Mitsuhide. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you are at a loss of words

“Careful, princess. Is that how you want to fall for me?”

F I N A L   F A T E

As you spent more time with the warlords, you felt more at home. The world you once knew had become a distant memory; one that you weren’t sure that you wanted to return to. Time passed as you and Mitsuhide officialized your relationship, you and Masamune bid farewell as he returned to Oshu to take care of some business, and you became acquainted with the Uesugi-Takeda forces. Throughout all these changes, your love for your lover never waivered.

However, when Sauskue informed you that the wormhole to the present would appear in the next month, your whole life fell apart. While you wanted to stay at Azuchi with Mitsuhide, Nobunaga, and everyone else, you had left another set of relationships behind, Your friends, family, and that new job you wanted. Although you had found everything that you wanted in the Sengoku Era, you still wanted to accomplish your 21st-century dreams. So you packed your bags and prepared for the journey. Although Mitsuhide was devastated with your choice, he chose to accompany you until you stepped through the wormhole.

Once you arrived at your destination, you began having second thoughts. Your life was perfect in this era, you had everything. Why should you leave now? As Sasuke entered the portal, he held his hand out to help into the portal. You looked from his hand to your lover.  Your mind was set.

“I’m sorry Sasuke, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll stay.” You run to Mitsuhide and embrace him in a tight hug. 

Sasuke nods with a soft smile. “You do what’s best for you.”

With that, he disappears along with your old life. And you couldn’t be any happier.

[leoninapelliolovesconchitawurst]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION (by me)

"FAZ" Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung 01.12.2019

https://www.faz.net/aktuell/feuilleton/pop/conchita-wurst-tom-neuwirth-ueber-drag-queens-16511939.html

Interview by Tobias Rüther

Photos by Tobias Schmitt

I love myself incredibly

Why is the truth in the costume? A conversation with the man who became famous as Conchita Wurst - and now brings Drag Queens to German television

"I knew as a young child, I'm a star," says Tom Neuwirth, also known as Conchita Wurst. "Now I know it again." The picture was taken behind the scenes in the rehearsal building of the Nuremberg Symphony Orchestra

Nuremberg. End of November: Tom Neuwirth, world famous as Conchita Wurst, is in town to perform with the symphonic and jazz arranger Thilo Wolf in the Meistersingerhalle. In 2014 he won the Eurovision Song Contest as a beautiful, bearded singer, Conchita with "Rise Like A Phoenix". Now the 31-year-old Austrian with short hair in black overalls appears for discussion, which takes place between the meter-thick walls of the Congress Hall where the symphonic musicians are at home. Just now "Truth over Magnitude" (Sony) has been released. On his third album, the artist operates under: Wurst.

FAZ: You're doing electropop now. Nonetheless, on the new album, it always draws you back to the theatricality of "Rise Like a Phoenix". Do you see yourself as an artist?

My musical interests range from Céline Dion to Björk. There is a lot possible. But this drama will never be lost. That's how I perform, that's how I live music. I really enjoy electro-pop, but in the end it's always the same voice that sings.

FAZ: Do not you have a picture of yourself when you sing?

No, I see the emotion that triggers the song in me, and I have pictures in my head. For some songs, I need a speed in how I move, how I look at the audience. I translate that. And sometimes these are big gestures. And sometimes smaller ones.

FAZ: You have created an art figure, but wearing your heart on your sleeve. This tension between - I play a role but I have important things to say: how do you deal with it?

Of course it is inauthentic, especially in terms of the visual. And maybe it's the language that Conchita spoke. But it is a part of me. That's all me. I can be anything from the friendliest person who can cross your path, to the most unpleasant of all. That's why I'm sometimes extremely theatrical and sometimes not at all. That's why I think less about whether that is a contradiction. I'm just like that. I do what my body tells me.

FAZ: There is an artistic tradition of being able to play a role in order to act out on stage, something that you can not show in everyday life - but then just protected in this role.

Of course I have a different attitude when I'm wearing a long-haired wig or short hair. But I do not restrict myself. Not in private. If it turns out, I can also entertain people at the supermarket. That's why it is less dependent on the surface, although of course the inside and outside mix.

FAZ: You often tell how you, as a little boy, wore your mother's clothes even before you had a word for what you feel, that you are gay. But the costume had already given it a shape, as if it were a liberation.

What I probably did not know before. Probably that's it. When I come across early interviews, I often think, Ah, I've really learned in recent years. Also about me.

FAZ: At the moment you are part of the jury of Heidi Klum's "Queen of Drags", in which ten candidates compete against each other. Drag queens have played an important role in homosexual emancipation. Again, this tension: The truth is in the costume. No one sits there with a guitar around the campfire and sings his soul out of his body. A facade is created, and yet it is about the innermost of the innermost.

But it has exactly the same authenticity as campfire music. The worlds that these ten artists created, that they have come up with. That is their truth of beauty and aesthetics and form. Yes, it has absolutely something inauthentic, but at the same time something incredibly authentic.

FAZ: As a boy, you played Shirley Bassey, you slipped into a picture, also to find out a truth about yourself. Is this dispute completed?

For me it's all positive. Because I get to know so many facets of myself and perhaps learn much more than other people can or want. That's why I do not see the conflict. I can be this. And I can be that too. I have a variety of things that are good for me, where my heart tells me what the truth is. As a young child, I was incredibly self-confident. And then come all those norms that society puts on us and then you become so incredibly insecure. To come back from there, to say: I knew as a little child, I'm a star, now I know it again.

FAZ: You also said that you wanted to become famous because you are the best at it.

Also there I learned to be famous is in itself totally worthless. But I felt that way, because it is also lived: All who are famous, are happy. Of course that has nothing to do with it. Over time, I have understood that for me the most important thing is to have fun in my life. I want to be able to sit in a crashed plane, sit back in a relaxed mood and say: Okay, when it's time, it's time. I have not reached this condition for a long time yet. But: That's what drives me. I love my friends about everything, I love my family - and I love myself incredibly. Incredibly.

FAZ: Congratulations, that does not succeed for many.

Yes, thank you. And everything that I do, I do, because the way to the final product, like the new album, is the most fun - and this output is the other thing. That's like breathing. I can not express it myself. I also have an opinion on everything. I do not always say it. But that's the engine that drives me. My life goal is to make me happy. I would not say that I'm selfish, but I'm incredibly egocentric.

FAZ: You once called Conchita a "president's wife." Has the over-figure you created become a burden to you?

In between already. That's where the President's wife comes in: she can do certain things, not others, she has to do certain things. I reduced myself extremely to this one color of my character. This has made me unhappy and sick, that has made me lazy, I have lamented - and for a long time did not understand that I am responsible for how my life is going. I've never had a problem with people associating so much with this character because I always step back and say, I say what I say and I do what I do. But not any more.

FAZ: Conchita was immediately understood as a representative of the growing movement for equality of minorities. Did not you exactly plan it?

No, I did not have a plan. I grew up in an inn. Welcome culture is part of the job, and so I was not educated with prejudice. On the contrary. If someone was not treated properly, my parents were the first to say that in our house, that's not possible. This may not be understood as a small child yet. But the older I get, the more I realize that I am also the product of my parents.

FAZ: When Conchita came on stage, she obviously had a responsibility, whether she wanted it or not. And now has to face wishes and demands.

Yes. Others say that. I do not say that. I do not have to do anything. I have to do what my heart tells me.

FAZ: But you understand the wish? You have created a figure that provides such an identification potential that desires come as automatically.

Of course I understand that. But that's where ego-centric comes into play.

FAZ: These claims to Conchita are also loud at "Queen of Drags" again. The show has been criticized for using a subculture for entertainment, moderated by Heidi Klum. And Conchita joins in. Has that bothered you? Or did you think: the next stage to make something visible?

Meanwhile, I also see that the community exploits Heidi Klum. That gave us this slot. Of course it's entertainment and not a science show. But still shows people. Any comment that I see on social media and that says, hey people, I have not seen it that way yet, is already for me: "Yes!" It was the first season. Of course, everyone in the production department thinks: It was a learning process, we already know what we can do better. But I think we are going in the right direction.

FAZ: Science show is an interesting association. Because the question arises, how accurate you must be and how popular it can be, if you have a scene that is so refined ....

... of course it's a scene. But "we" and "the", I find that difficult. Even if it is a community, there are branches that are entertainment. And then there are branches that are serious. Respectively serious. And this show wants to enlighten people in a fun way.

FAZ: Then please clarify me: what's the art of putting on a dress and singing playback?

To be a drag queen means to do everything yourself, at least in the beginning. And you have to do that over a period of time in order to have a certain notoriety, success, in order to earn a living with it at the end. You have to have a sense of aesthetics, be able to make hair, make-up, choreography, you have to be able to dance and, if it's not singing, at least understand how to look at it. At best, one is also good at negotiating contracts. It is an accumulation of talent and know-how, diligence and perseverance. And that you do not stop, even when headwinds come. And then you have to invite people into your own head.

FAZ: "Queen of Drags" is the next reality TV show that brings a minority or subculture to the wider public. There is no Drag Queen show on ARD or ORF, which would do the same thing, but the format "Reality TV" remains suspect.

That's the spirit of the time, right? We do not know what the lever is in fifty years. Kim Kardashian is the face of this decade. It used to be the muses. But I think I do not take it all that seriously.

[subtleastequila-blog]

Life’s a Garden, Dig it

I quit my job Saturday.

For the past two months, I was a life insurance salesman for a company that provided “permanent benefits” for union members: truck drivers, firefighters, auto workers, brick layers. You know, the guys with calloused hands that give a depressing sigh every time they sit down. The all-American blue collar workers, if you will.

I put “permanent benefits” in quotes because that’s what we agents, or “benefits specialists,” were taught to tell our clients what we were providing, NOT life insurance (even though we were).

Why play word games? Because the average plumber cringes when he hears insurance. You see, Joe Schmo already feels cucked by State Farm doing a rear-naked choke to his checking account for his home and auto, so the last thing he wants to hear about after a shitty day at work is how he’s going to die some day and needs to cough over more bacon for life insurance, especially from a young, slick-talking punk that hasn’t turned a wrench in his life.

The company knew this, which is exactly why the words “life insurance” are not present on the four-page script, or presentation if you will, that they require all their employees to memorize. 

Consequently, the clientele’s prejudiced distaste for the product is already enough to make the job a bitch-and-a-half, but of course, there are two other bitches I haven’t touched on yet.

For one, you are paid by commission. No salary, no hourly wage. If you don’t make a sale, you don’t have enough change for a McChicken.

Secondly, you are required to work at least 10 hours a day, every day. Even Sundays. If you do the math, we’re talking a healthy 70 hours a week, or 49 hours in which you are awake and not working.

Out of those seven days, usually two are reserved for “call days”: days in which each agent calls through a list of about 100 to 150 designated “leads” –– sheets listing a union member’s name, address, phone number and union –– for eight hours with a quick, 10-minute break at the end of each hour. 

Just enough for a piss and a chat.

Now these leads consist of union members that had requested a small, free accidental death insurance policy (usually between $2,000 and $4,000) by filling out a 3x5 reply card that they had received in the mail. Many of these cards had been filled out years ago, making it highly possible that pipe-fitter John Dingle from Waterford had completely forgotten about the damn thing.

What made matters worse is that new agents, received crappy, old leads, meaning that many of the members in the pack had already been contacted by another agent within the past two years and had either declined to buy the “option B benefits” after he or she got their free stuff or had been uninterested in the no-cost benefits after finding out that an agent had to “drop them off” at their home to receive them. 

As you can imagine, most of these calls are ignored. Many that are received end up in hang-ups or an insistence in disinterest. Every once in a while you’ll get a guy who’ll drop a string of fucks, and rarely will you get an appointment set.

To be specific, you’re lucky to get 10 appointments set after 150 calls. 

After a call day, I’d usually get home from the office at about 10:30 p.m., exhausted and demotivated enough to make Eor sound like Tony Robbins.

In less than 12 hours, I would be out in the “field,” handing out some no-cost benefits and trying to persuade them into buying their permanent option B benefits (life insurance) as the script would say.

I didn’t count, but more than half of the appointments I set would no-show me, meaning they would either try to ignore your knock on the door thinking you would assume no one is home even though there were two cars sitting in the driveway, or they simply were gone and had completely forgotten about the appointment (even though I told them on the phone to write down when I’d be there).

It's bad enough that I must use my own gas and drive 25 minutes to your home just so you can give me piss-poor attitude while not making enough change to fall through a car seat. At least respect my time enough to be present at your own home and say no to my face.

However, even if every member committed to their appointment, this job would still be akin to putting bamboo under your fingernails, which is why 70 percent of a manager’s job is to motivate his agents, sometimes in the most annoying ways possible. For example, they required us to post messages at least once every 30 minutes on our Group Me –– a messaging board app –– log jamming it with motivational quotes, corny pictures, annoying GIFs and encouragement. Usually, this was done after someone had posted they had made a sale, added an appointment to their schedule, collected a referral, or were door knocking a member’s home.

Since roughly 11 agents comprised the Group Me board, the notifications were non-stop for the entire day you were in your car or in a home. Each minute I would hear my phone buzz, only receive a picture of a Lion leaping out of a pond with the words “rise and grind” placed in the lower-third.

Ah yes. Truly inspirational. Nothing fills my balls with testosterone more than a Lion leaping for a salmon.

No surprise, it didn’t take long to realize this gig wasn’t my cup of Joe. This past week was my first week alone in the field, and I quite Saturday at around 4 p.m. Now, my trial and error period with the company could have been completely avoided if the hiring superiors would have told me the hours, day-to-day tasks and commitments the position required.. But think about it from the company’s perspective. Why would you be completely transparent to candidates about a job that takes 100 of your time and pays out only when you’re making sales?

If they told everyone the ins and outs at the jump, they’d be lucky to hire 5 percent of their candidates. Moreover, many of their promising candidates – which I’ll be cocky enough to say I was one of them – would have turned down the offer on site.

Nevertheless, life is simply a collection of experiences, and with every new experience we learn something about ourselves, whether good or bad, so I refuse to act regretful or remorseful for trying something new. I learned that selling insurance doesn’t bring me pleasure, and moreover, I don’t have the salesman gene. That lesson itself was worth the experience, but that was far from the greatest part.

The people.

The individuals I met in that company were some of the kindest, friendliest, smartest, motivated and driven ladies and gents I had ever had the pleasure speaking to, especially my managers George and Brandon. Listening and working side-by-side with some of them made me learn not only about insurance but also work ethic, discipline, business and human nature in general. Moreover, I made relationships that will hopefully continue long after.

Yet and still, even great people won’t make a great job, which is why I decided to quit. The reason for this post isn’t to bitch about a job, it’s to say that you should never be afraid to quit a job that is not for you. I don’t care if you have $50,000 in college debt and you live with your parents, if you dread waking up every Monday to go to work, you’ll never find motivation to become better at your craft.

Let me be clear. I am NOT going to be cliché and say you should only do a job you love. I don’t believe in that shit. Work is a blessing, but nobody truly loves work. If somebody tells you they love working, slap them in the face and say they’re lying. Even your dream job will give you multiple days of stress, frustration, anger and sadness. No shit. This is life. I’m simply saying that you should find something you can stand doing for the next 30 years that allows you to have balance in your life and compensates you well enough that you don’t have to worry about how you’re going to pay your mortgage.

Unfortunately, these seemingly realistic job standards are hard to come by in 2018, which is what us Millennials are slowly starting to understand and why the job-search process will be much longer and more difficult than that of the generations before us.

This is part of the reason why I say it is good to quit in certain situations. Our entire lives we’re told to never quit. Losers quit. Lazy people quit. You should feel guilt and shame if you quit. Some of those clichés do hold water, but what your mom and dad didn’t tell you is to not waste your time trying to fit a square peg in a round whole.

You all have certain God-given talents, but you also must realize you are shitty at a multitude of things and have no business doing them. I suck at thousands of things. I can’t draw a crooked line straight. I blow ass at golf.

My point?

Just as you should know what you’re good at, you should also know what you suck at, which is often found through experience and is exactly why I don’t feel any shame in knowing I suck ass at selling insurance.

Just keep trying to find your purpose. Keep trying. Take risks. Take chances. Try something new if you haven’t found your niche, just don’t stop looking for your square hole, and learn from your experiences on the way.

If you keep trying, you can’t be a quitter.

God Bless, and keep it smooth as Tennessee Whiskey.