#first of all: i had to approximate the pamphlet

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

may 25, 2021 7:30 p.m. grant's house

watching television lost its glimmer hardly half an hour after grant stressed himself out again by checking his phone, so he escapes his mental prison by doing what he should have done in the first place. he braves whatever fears he still has and heads upstairs to play skyrim like he intended. so what if he does run into päivi later on?

skyrim more fun than brooding all afternoon and he’s quickly sucked into the game again with no external thoughts even crossing his mind until hunger brings him back to consciousness. he exits the game, realizes it’s well after 7 o’clock, and leaves to fetch something from the kitchen.

he never heard the creak of the front door, but there’s no doubt päivi is back from work by now. grant spies her shoes by the door and her leather bag hangs in its place on the coat rack. when he goes to open the refrigerator, he can’t help but notice her car keys and a magazine or something of the sort laying on the counter.

without thinking, grant abandons his search for sustenance and picks up the paper item.

he looks for only a moment before the paper morphs into a hot potato and he discards it in a hurry, putting it back under her car keys where it belongs.

planned parenthood.

it was a planned parenthood pamphlet.

not that he’s surprised, of course, or against the purpose of the pamphlet. he knows why she’d have it.

but still.

grant turns his back to it and awkwardly opens the fridge from the side, refusing to acknowledge his mistake of rifling through päivi’s things.

he ends up reheating another serving of the homemade macaroni and cheese his grandmother sent him back with. he saved it for last, and sure, he’s eaten in three days in a row, but he could never get sick of eating it. plus he decides not to banish himself to the basement. no matter what, he will walk back into the office, sit down, and eat his dinner in peace. he bought the house with his own damn money and he’s going to use it.

grant steps out into the living room, food in hand, and–

oh.

päivi is sitting on the couch. just sitting there twiddling her thumbs expectantly.

“you were waiting for me, weren’t you?” grant asks, gripping tighter onto the bowl in his hands until his fingers blanch cold white.

“can i please talk to you for like five minutes?” she pleads.

her tone is remarkably different than it has been every other time he’s spoken to her in the last two weeks. it’s more like the päivi he knows well. soft, gentle, relaxed. and for a moment her demeanor fools him. he almost abandons his plans to instead join her on the couch for a conversation, but no, he stands his ground. grant remains firm where he is and stares straight ahead at her, saying nothing.

“okay, fine.” she purses her lips, frowning. “i get it. i, um...i thought maybe...i don’t know, we’ve been together for a long time. i thought it’s only fair we settle affairs.”

“what affairs? like the one you had?”

she plays the silent game, too, for a while. päivi stares back at him, waiting until he cracks, though he never does.

but the tension in the room is shattered by an ear-splitting crash of thunder and the rattle of the house as the energy flows through it.

“never mind.” päivi waves him off with a flick of her wrist and a callous eye-roll. “anyway, you’ll be glad to know i'll be out of here in a couple weeks. i have some, um, things to take care of first, but don’t worry about it. i'll have my shit out of here before you even know it.”

grant sighs. “good.”

he vanishes and shuts himself away in the office, though the immediate sound of päivi’s crying as he closes the door is enough to steal his appetite and replace it with churning nausea. grant sits there at the desk for a few minutes stirring his food with a spoon idly, not eating a bite.

it’s over. he knows it is. he came to that conclusion days ago. nothing could or should salvage this. but maybe he could have been nicer. he could have heard her out that time. she had been palatable. she could have meant well this time.

grant anxiously shrugs off the thoughts as a chill runs down his spine. his hand quivering, he finally takes a bite of food. a second later, the bedroom door across the hall slams shut.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 screenshots #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #first of all: i had to approximate the pamphlet #second: iykyk but do NOT worry because grant is NOT a pro-lifer!! he's pro-choice!! he's just awkward in this particular scene obviously!! #third: EYE SPY THE ENGAGEMENT RING #also can we appreciate grant's strawberry socks? <3 #gamer boy strawberry socks <3 #holocene.png #holocene.docx #hlcn: grant #hlcn: päivi

[ceescedasticity]

(not sure how far I'm going to go with this one)

"The Secret History of Nan Elmoth" was a short pamphlet which purported to relate the history of Eöl the Dark Elf from his arrival in Beleriand until his disappearance pursuing Aredhel Fingolfiniel and their son. It was anonymously authored and never publicly distributed, with hand-scribed copies circulating discreetly in Doriath from approximately First Age 425 until the kingdom's fall.

Accounts vary on whether the lords of Doriath were kept ignorant of its existence, pretended not to know of it, or actively sought to suppress it. Whichever the case it was not considered to have much value beyond scurrilous entertainment and satisfaction of morbid curiosity. (Such a low-prestige tale would not ordinarily have been committed to writing, but perhaps possessing a pamphlet provided more plausible deniability than telling a story.) There is no record of any copies being carried out of Doriath.

Reconstruction of the pamphlet has been difficult. Most surviving Iathrim this scholar was able to interview either said they had never heard of the pamphlet or said they had heard rumors but never read it. Of those who would admit to reading it, none would claim in-depth recollection of the complete contents. (This scholar personally read the last page over an elder sibling's shoulder and then read the first page before the elder sibling realized they had picked it up and confiscated it.) As an additional complication, it appears not all copies were identical in text.

One might fairly ask why a scholar would wish to reconstruct a scurrilous low scandalmongering tale, but: On the last page, the pamphlet correctly gave the name of Eöl's son as Maeglin. While it was generally known that the son existed, the name was not so known. This suggests the author of the pamphlet really did have some unusual knowledge of Eöl. Therefore, the rest of the pamphlet is worth considering as at least potentially meaningful.

In all described copies, the first section was a short introduction, describing Eöl as the Dark Elf, and his land a place of dark secrets, before saying this history will reveal them.

The next four sections appeared in various orders and were sometimes omitted or drastically altered.

The "origins" section discusses Eöl's history prior to arrival in Beleriand. It was usually included. Versions agree that he came from Nen Echui but was not unbegotten. Some versions also made statements about his social status there (inconsistent), his ancestry (usually Nelyar), or why he left (seeking somewhere he could have lordship).

The "enchantments" section discusses the nature and origins of his uncanny powers. It was usually included. However, there were two disagreeing variations, one which attributed his powers to the Enemy and one which attributed them to ancient traditions of Nen Echui which Eöl turned to ill purpose.

The "smithcraft" section discusses smithcraft and also Eöl's relations with the dwarves. It is sometimes omitted. While the material on smithcraft is fairly consistent when the section is included (he learned from the dwarves but expanded on his own; he was by far the foremost elvensmith in Beleriand before the Golodhrim came and still rivaled them afterwards), there were at least three variations of the material on dwarves. One emphasizes his kinship and similarity with the dwarves; one emphasizes his misunderstandings with the dwarves; one brushes over the subject.

The "Elu" section is the section most often omitted entirely. It discusses Eöl's respect for Elu, the history of Eöl and Elu at Nen Echui, and their dealings in Beleriand. The gist of it is that while Eöl felt disdain, contempt, or hatred for Elu's brothers, wife, and other friends (particularly Finu of the Golodhrim), for Elu he felt true respect and friendship, and Elu returned it.

The "servants" section discusses the other inhabitants of Nan Elmoth: how they came to be there, how they lived, and why they did not leave. It is always included in some form but has several variations with different levels of focus on specific individuals, explicitly assigned culpability or innocence, and details of Eöl's enchantments. It is often the longest section.

The "Aredhel" section discusses Lady Aredhel's arrival in Nan Elmoth, Eöl's interest in her, and their marriage and life together. It is always included in some form but has several dramatic variations: two incompatible versions of events, one of them given in multiple levels of detail. The more detailed version is agreed to have been very disturbing and possibly obscene. Discussion of Maeglin is usually included in this section.

The final section discusses how Eöl came to abandon Nan Elmoth. It is always included but has several variations, disagreeing mainly in level of detail.

#a tolkien tag #other fic #reckless application of spackle

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Portraitist

Corina circled the portrait, once, twice, admiring her own handiwork; a slender paintbrush poised in hand, ready to add the final touches once her vision was complete.

"You know, this will be my greatest piece to date," she declared, a last appraising glance tracing the way her subject's hair cascaded down her neck, the folds of her high collar, the satin of her gown. The model had been a common girl, but in art she was elevated to something approximating the divine; anointed with the most unlikely of oils. "Yes - I am sure of it. She will be quite perfect."

"Aah!" Lady Sibylla cried out from her chaise, as if grievously wounded by the thought. "Oh, but my dearest Corina, you must always strive to create works of great imperfection. You must endeavour to find flaws, to correct the natural course towards completeness!"

That took her somewhat aback. Corina had always known her patron to be an eccentric, but ever still a lover of the arts and all things beautiful. "With apologies, my lady, you have lost me on that point. Surely you cannot mean that I should commit flaws on purpose?"

"If you create a work of true genius, it will be ushered into a museum where just any one might glance at it," Lady Sibylla answered - or else continued as if she had not interrupted. "For just as a beauty of her age may find herself inevitably cajoled into the starlight, so too great works of art find themselves ogled by even the least desirable eyes - copied on pamphlets and tea-towels, diluted until they nothing but background scenery, familiar to all and miraculous to none!"

So, Corina thought, this was to be one of those lectures. She listened impatiently, placing the brush like a cheroot between her teeth. Lady Sibylla had first seen fit to patronise her work some eighteen months ago - and, after a spell, she had also begun to support her financially. The money still came with sermons attached, but at least she was now paid to listen to them.

"Yes, far better to create a piece which is merely good, to be sold to hang above the mantle of a good family, to be loved and cherished and handed down for generations. You must trust me on this."

"Of course." Corina's focus was back on the painting. Beautiful. Far more so than the real thing - in fact, she could not even remember that poor girl's name. Oh, but that gave her an idea: "Forgive me, my lady, but have you ever had your portrait painted?"

"In another time. When I was a younger woman, and artists still cared to, or sought to use it as an excuse to enter my good graces."

"Ah, but that cannot truly be the case! You are surely as beautiful as you ever were - I hope that is not too forward for me to say. In fact, if you would be obliging, you must sit for me yourself sometime!"

"Truly?"

"It would be my honour. Come, next Tuesday at first light - and please, do dress for the occasion. I want to capture you at your very best."

Lady Sibylla did not disappoint. She arrived with Tuesday in full regalia, looking her absolute loveliest in a rich satin sarong, its layers ranging from a pale, delicate rose-yellow to the deeper burnish of honeycomb and saffron tea, an effect of cloth-of-gold against her brassy skin. Her hair was coiffured with pinchbeck pins, and a heavy shard of topaz nestled at the hollow of her throat, as a drop of amber congeals in the whorls of a copal tree.

It was an effort usually spared only for the finest balls and occasions, and that was exactly as Corina had hoped. She wanted to capture the Platonic ideal of her patron: to create a portrait of her at her very best, and which was therefore better than she almost ever was. As a painter, she aspired towards such art that imitates and surpasses life - just as Pygmalion carved a form more perfect and pure, and thus deserving of his love, than any woman of flesh and blood could even hope to be.

"Do remember to reflect these lights in my eyes," her subject continued to instruct, despite having been told to hold still. "I cannot bear the thought of becoming one of these dead-eyed portraits one sees in other people's hallways - some distant ancestor, of course, with not a trace of life in our time or their own."

"Of course." Corina had lit her as a shrine, illuminated from all directions by flickering flames on slender candlesticks. Too long had she been an unwilling disciple of the church of St. Sibylla, Reverend Mother of Wisdom, Our Lady of Condescension. Tonight, her candles all carried the same prayer.

The portrait showed the curve of her jaw, unencumbered by the folds of flesh that had begun to gather underneath; the deep brown of her noble skin, untroubled by the frown-lines which had spread over the years; and those eyes, so alight with reflected fire, an effect so seldom seen in her recent life, now known to squint through burgeoning myopia. In short, this was Lady Sibylla as she saw herself. As the painting took its shape, she was undone, and remade in her own image.

Corina added the finishing sheen to her patron's painted skin, reflecting the gold of the morning light, and marvelled at another perfect piece. It had taken the finest of snares to capture this essence, and the most delicate brushstrokes to tease it from Lady Sibylla's canvas onto hers, but she had caught it in that horsehair noose and deftly drawn her soul across. Having achieved what she had set out to do, she couldn't be prouder of her creation - and now, with it complete, the real business of destruction could begin.

She hung the portrait in her parlour, in pride of place above the hearth, well-angled to greet her guests as they arrived. True to Lady Sibylla's wishes, the audience was small at first: her patron herself, come to nod approvingly at what she must see as a shrine to her image, a form of encouraged idolatry, but also other dinner-guests, visiting friends, and the unexpected callers that one must also suffer from time-to-time.

Those who also knew Lady Sibylla - for their circles did overlap to some extent, with her patron having introduced her to society - remarked on what a perfect likeness the portrait held, at first marvelling at her gilded glow, and fawning over her actual beauty, highlighted here more than ever before, as much as Corina's brushstrokes in imitating it.

But that was curious - for, when they next suppered with Lady Sibylla herself, their opinion would reverse. They were unable but to note how drab and tawdry she seemed in comparison - in fact, the more they visited with the reflection, the more they ceased to recognise the real thing. It was if Lady Sibylla's shadow had somehow usurped her place, grappling her in turn against the wall, such that now when people saw her they felt she looked unusually withered and frail - as if suddenly drained of the life they'd seen her radiate just two days hence.

She would age, whilst the picture did not; her moods would shift with the weather, whereas the colours held constant, not disfigured by the dark clouds of despair or the torrid winds of long-term stress. Her voice was no longer the equal to its echo, her footprints standing twice as tall as she could ever be. The portrait would always look her best, and so she could only ever be its worst.

Over time, those who might have sought an audience with her were seen to take their tea with the canvas instead; Corina's audience grew, finding a comfort in her depiction that was now missing in reality, as if she'd captured some aesthetic truth they found unsettling in its absence. She was less liked than her likeness, less personable in person. With every week that passed, the ranks of its devotees swelled, and her own standing diminished.

Unaware of the subtle magic being worked within their hearts, Corina's visitors continued to praise the quality of her art - a constant stream of compliments which served to feed her pride, together with her growing popularity, almost as much as this demonstration of her power. They clamoured to be next in line to sit for her; such that, as the wolf that stalks amongst the flock, she had her choice of victim.

"It really is remarkable," an unwitting gentleman was heard to say, before giving that silver a clouded edge: "I would never have expected such mastery from such a novice. Indeed, even now one would not think it to look at her."

Corina sidled closer, pretending not to have taken offence. "I am honoured that you think so, my lord. In fact, if you would be so obliging, you must sit for me yourself sometime."

#short story #writing #creative writing #writeblr #gothic

[cheddarboye]

@idiotic-lawless-mayhem i have been invoked. get ready for some OVERSHARING ON THE INTERNET BESTIEEESSSS

Are you named after anyone? no lmao i picked my own name. but boy do i wish my name had some emotionally significant origin. i see people whose names were picked by a friend or loved one and i kinda cry a little /pos

When was the last time you cried? shit idk uhhh. last thursday i think

Do you have kids? HELL NO BESTIE. never will

Do you use sarcasm a lot? ohhhh noooo i never use sarcasm. /s.

What is the first thing you notice about people? whether or not they’re Probably Queer. literally every time i meet someone my mind is calculating their queer levels to evaluate how safe i am

What color are your eyes? blue, with a hint of greenish. i also have a thin ring of yellow-gold around my pupil.

Scary movies or happy endings? children’s animated films (like 12+ stuff). i don’t believe in false dichotomies a movie can be scary and still have a happy ending.

Any special talents? i am a jack of all trades my guy. the ADHD did that for me. i have some weirdly strong intuition tho

Where were you born? a hospital in the united states.

What are your hobbies? video gaemes and reading (mostly fanfic but sometimes i will touch a Book.)

What sports have you played? oh my god SO MANY. and i hated ALL OF THEM. soccer, baseball, basketball, softball, swimming, backyard hockey, backyard football, just. so many

How tall are you? approximately 5’6” i think.

Favorite subject in school? ART ALL THE FUCKING WAY I LOVE THAT SHIT

Dream job? graphic designer baybeeeee i wanna make them pamphlets and posters and shit. hand over the google slide presentation imma make her GORGEOUS

taggy tags. get taggyd. no obligation to do it but tag me if u do. sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged sorry i’m just tagging as many mutuals/friends as i can think of lmao @disembark-starstruck @vulturevanity @puppydog1030 @leafboy-the-great @piss-bong @that-bastard-with-all-the-bones

[diamondtaem6v6]

✨ 190327 - Taemin’s interview for his photo collection 「PORTRAIT」

In November 2018, Taemin had landed on the mainland of Okinawa, which was blessed with a good weather. During the first national solo tour TAEMIN Japan 1st TOUR ~SIRIUS~ which gathered approximately 100,000 people, he got out of his everyday life for a while, about 2 days in Okinawa for a shooting. 10 years after his debut, what kind of “portrait” the 25-years-old artist who gets busy with activities as SHINee (member) and solo Taemin would like to leave? We talked to Taemin, who came back to Tokyo after finishing his performance ‘SMTOWN SPECIAL STAGE in SANTIAGO’ held in Chile, South America.

- You’re spending intense days, aren’t you? I heard that you just returned from Chile today.

Taemin: That’s right. The travel time is long, also waited for about 8 hours for a stopover in Los Angeles... And since there was 12 hour time difference, I'm a little sleepy now. (laughs)

- For today's interview for the photo book, do you remember something about the shooting time?

Taemin: (*Looking at the photos*) This shooting is... (I guess it's) from half a year ago.

- It's from only 2 months ago.

Taemin: What? Only two months have passed. I'm surprised. Is it jet lag? (laughs) I feel nostalgic, Okinawa.

- Then let's hear the story while remembering (laughs). First of all, tell us why you chose the offshore location.

Taemin: I didn't know much about Okinawa, I had this image of "a place where your mind can relax". So when the staff told about the location, I decided that I absolutely wanted to go to Okinawa. If you actually go, it's the best comfort beyond imagination. The sunshine unique to Okinawa remains in the impression.

- How many times have you been to Okinawa?

Taemin: This is my 2nd time. It's been since the MV shooting of SHINee's 8th single "Boys Meet U" (2013). The air I felt at the time of shooting was left in the impression, the feeling of being a nice place, I thought that maybe I could express my present form more straightly. Actually I was able to shoot with a very good tension (relaxed).

- I heard that there was 1 day off before shooting.

Taemin: That's right. During the tour "SIRIUS", I flew to Okinawa right after the performance... The next day I slept until noon, I did scuba diving, I went to Churaumi Aquarium despite being last minute before it was closed. I also ate Agu Pork steak at night. The Agu Pork was really delicious so I also ate an Agu Pork shabu-shabu* for a night meal in the location (laughs).

* Shabu-shabu is a Japanese hot pot dish with thin sliced beef or, in this case, pork meat.

– You really enjoyed it (laughs). Did you actually want to dive?

Taemin: I actually don't like to set up plans, I'm not good at it. Even if I make plans, since I often chance my mind during the day, all in the heat of the moment, I'm the type who decides as an improvisation. So I went to Okinawa without making a schedule this time. I got up in the morning, took a quick look at a pamphlet to see what I could do, and (decided that) this was it! And an Agu Pork restaurant, here too! (laughs). The restaurant that I happened to find by chance seemed delicious, so I entered it intuitively. It was all right. Fun and delicious, it was a great day. I did dive in Bali before but the sea in Okinawa was more beautiful.

– The sea of Okinawa seems to be popular among divers in the the world. You like it (the sea), right?

Taemin: Since I go to many places with SHINee or solo, it wasn't a long time since last saw the sea, I could see the sea from the balcony in the hotel room this time and it was really beautiful, I could see the emerald green sea in the morning. I think it's important to take a time to look at such sceneries. Feeling refreshed, I think I can organize my mind and my heart.

- Where was the most memorable place for shooting?

Taemin: The place of the first page of the photo book. Huh, it was a little above a cliff. It looks like l'm going to fall if I slide my leg. And it's impressive because it started from the location on that sea scene. The morning light is beautiful, I think it's a good photo (laughs).

- If there was a Japanese word you didn't know that appeared during the shooting, it was impressive how you would always confirm the meaning and pronunciation with the staff.

Taemin: Really? Actually, even if I hear words that I usually don't know, I spend some time pretending that I know (laughs). Then I try to confirm later by asking "What did you say earlier?" (laughs).

- It's great if you can confirm later. Is that how Taemin improves in Japanese?

Taemin: When I'm in Japan, I'm always being careful when picking all the words (I say) as much as possible. But I think, I'm still 30~40 points on my level (in Japanese). I haven't made any effort at all... (*wry smile*) I don't have enough time to read books and study at the desk. For when the tour is over and I go back to Korea, I made these 3 promises to a Japanese staff: "I'll study Japanese", "I'll have voical trainings", "I'll practice piano". I didn't do anything yet (laughs). I'm sorry. I'm thinking of starting with buying a piano first (laughs).

- A piano that you can carry around?

Taemin: No, it's... I don't have to practice to the point of carrying it around, right? (*Looks scarily at the staff*) That's a little too hard... (laughs).

- In this photo book, you have been dressed in many outfits in each scene, do you have a particular interest in clothes?

Taemin: My knowledge about fashion is poor and l'm not confident, so at each place, after understanding what was required, I would convey my opinion firmly to the stylist. (I would) Take a look at places and clothes and from this, create a view of the world inside my mind and changing the clothes. This time too, as I often changed clothes after arriving at each shooting location, (I would) look at the place first and decide the outfit after thinking about the colors and atmosphere that fit there. Also, not increasing the number of similar costumes in the whole book, even in performances, even on TV, I think that I always stick with it. (*Turning over the pages of the photo book*) Wow, maybe l'm a genius. It went quite well. There are many outfits (laughs).

- How does it feel like to see your own photos like this?

Taemin: To be honest, it's still embarrassing. It's also different from looking at a mirror at home or in the hotel.

– Over 10 years have passed after your debut. You've done countless shots already, right?

Taemin: When shooting, I don't think of anything because I'm concentrated and working hard, if you look at it when it becomes raw, I think it's cool (laughs). That is expression and it's my job.

– Comparing to the photos of when you were a teenager, how do you see yourself now? (Do you think) Maybe your face has changed, or something like that?

Taemin: Something like this, l'm worried that the wrinkles in my eyes have increased. The resilience (of my skin) seems to have disappeared (laughs). Maybe I ate a little too much delicious foods while on tour. My face is slightly round in this photo collection. It's reflection.

– What is your first memory from birth?

Taemin: Everyone may think that this is absolutely a lie but I have a memory of when I was 1 year old. My parents moved home when I was 1 year old, (I have) the memory of the house before moving. There was a slide there, I still have this image, probably seen while being held by my mother.

– What kind of child were you?

Taemin: I was a child who never cried at all. And (I was) shy and introverted, I liked to always hide behind my mother, I felt safe there.

– When going out, you liked to grab on her skirt to walk?

Taemin: That's right, exactly. I really didn't like to have other people seeing me.

– Why is that?

Taemin: (laughs) Maybe it was a bit of pride, I was pretty cute when I was a kid (laughs). I was a child that was getting bored to people around me looking at me and saying "Oh, what a cute boy" (laughs). I think it would have been nice to remain at that time.

– (laughs) As an introverted, you were indoors? Like playing in your room?

Taemin: When I became an elementary school student, I started to go out to the park to play but rather than meeting up with my friends, I was asked by the children in the place (to play with them). Hide and seek, soccer... I liked moving my body and by going to the park I was able to join nature and the children who were there. It may have changed socially little by little.

– What are the memories that you have of your parents?

Taemin: (*Thinking for a while*) I think it was a very ordinary family. No episodes come out at all.

– Isn't there a memory of anger?

Taemin: Usual things, like having a fight with my brother, lying, in moments like these there was a moment of anger, but... I was the type to run away when someone was angry, my brother was the type to apologize. That's it. But I think no matter what I've done, I grew up really loved.

- With no big incidents, everyone is loved.

Taemin: Ah, there is this case that my mother still talks about. It was about when I was in kindergarten. Because I was introverted, I didn't like kindergarten very much. One day, as usual, I left the house saying "I'm going~", but instead I went to a nearby park alone without going to the kindergarten. When I was hungry, I ate the lunch and played a little until I thought it was almost time for kindergarten to be over and I went home. Since I didn't go to the kindergarten, they contacted (my parents) and asked: "Is Taemin absent?". I suppose I left everyone worried because I became a kindergarten child missing. But came back home with the feeling that it was noon already but apparently it hasn't been an hour since I left home (laughs). But because of that, I was able to quit kindergarten (laughs).

– You have very understanding parents.

Taemin: Even from such a small age, (they) already had that much respect for me. My mother is a very emotional person, I remember that I was treated with much love.

- Are you good friends with your father?

Taemin: We are good friends. We don't talk so much but I understand that he is always cheering (on me). I'm grateful. But after my 20 years old, I barely have time to be with my parents.

– Being part of such a normal family, how did you get into singing and dancing?

Taemin: When I was around 8 years old. I watched Michael Jackson's performance on internet, that was the first shock I received. Maybe it was too early... Precocious. Then I would hide in the house, watch it repeatedly and try to imitate the dance. I did my best and danced. Then, some people around me recommended me: "If you like dancing so much, there is an audition for SM ENTERTAINMENT". So I was able to get into SM. It's hard and fun to practice with friends who have the same dream, it was a good experience.

– When you started to dance, did you approach the artists you dreamed of when you were 8 years old?

Taemin: Not yet, but I think I could get close to it. I was actually a great fan of Michael Jackson at that time, I dreamed of (being) a solo singer. Even when I was an SM trainee I worked hard aiming to become a solo artist. The chance came up quickly, I made my debut with SHINee and furthermore, I also had the opportunity of solo debut earlier than I thought, I think I'm happy.

– While working with SHINee, did you have any aspirations as the solo artist Taemin?

Taemin: Yes I had. The images of my childhood are very strong and remain in my head but now I can do both SHINee's activities and solo activities, very rewarding, I think I have a good balance in myself. More than trying the solo more strongly, I understand the greatness of a stage that shows teamwork in a group. After all, the fact that the other members always come together may make me feel stronger. I think that previously I was greedy or still too young. During SHINee's activities, there were moments when I was quite individual. Prioritizing myself when I should work for SHINee. It might have been annoying to the members too.

– How did you feel when you were on a solo performance?

Taemin: Of course there was pressure to go up to the stage on my own, it would be always like this but, of course, I could feel the team work of the members. When I don't know (how to do something), I can leave it for the others (to do it). When I am as a solo singer, I have to communicate with staff and fans a lot. But of course, since I was introverted, I wasn't good at speaking properly. I think now I can do something about it.

– Did you keep in touch with the members while on a solo tour?

Taemin: Yes. Ah, but... The members contacted me first. They would support me by saying things like "congratulations" or "good luck". Of course, because I'm the younger (laughs). Everyone is worried and will take care of me.

– It's your image of "cute maknae" but there is no such thing in fact! What do you think about this?

Taemin: No... I think that is probably my honest appearance. I don't dislike it. Maknae... (laughs). I overdo it and put it cool, I don't do anything to deceive my appearance. If you can see that, you will understand that.

– Then, even for such a young boy like Taemin, there is actually a place for a manly person. What do you do if there is something to appeal?

Taemin: I don't want to do much appealing things... (laughs) I think masculinity is kindness. I want to be kind to everyone and I want to be able to smile.

- When there are painful things or sad things, how do you deal with them?

Taemin: I most often meet and chat with my friends. Drink some alcohol. I talk to my friends about a good subject. But I have to be with someone. If l'm with my friends, I don't worry about my problems at that moment. I can forget it. I try to prevent myself from feeling depressed. Then, if time passes, the troubles will be solved well before they happen.

– When you analyze yourself, what kind of person is Taemin? Optimistic or pessimistic?

Taemin: This question is asked often but it's really difficult to answer no matter when you ask. People, of course myself included, don't always have the same form and mind. Sometimes l'm noisy and sometimes l'm quiet, sometimes I smile or have a sad and painful face. Same as everyone, I'm a man who has all kinds of emotions. It's difficult to express (with words) this kind of personality.

- Do you like yourself?

Taemin: Sometimes I might dislike myself. Same as the previous answer, my mind is always moving like a pendulum. But I think it's not good to dislike yourself, so I try to imagine that I like myself. If you dislike yourself, you will lose your confidence, this is the worst. If I lose my confidence, I will have a negative impact on my surroundings. Members, staff and my family. And even all the fans. No one wants to see a performance without confidence, so I try to control myself in order to get better quickly.

– This is great. It seemed like the strength was visible beyond the amazing smile of Taemin. Is that what you have been trying since then?

Taemin: I feel that I didn't have such capacity or strength in the past. Maybe it could be the place where I grew up most since I had my debut. It's all about experience. I think you shouln't waste a failed experience as you head in a better direction. I would work while I was nervous, but now I have come to think that it may be possible to work while enjoying more. Failures, bad things, I will try to experience anything. (laughs) I think that's important.

– Now, it's said that it's a time for a big change, how do you see yourself many years ahead from now?

Taemin: How is it... I have 2 images. In one I'm married and in the other one l'm alone without getting married.

– These 2?! I guess usually there's only one of them. How old is this Taemin?

Taemin: Around 50 years old (laughs).

- Would you like to get married?

Taemin: I don't think about this at all for now. There is a mountain of things for me to do now. I'm 25 years old. To be honest, I feel that marriage doesn't suit me. Will I be able to live the same life forever? I'm sure I will seek for change. Changes, freedom.

- What is the image of Taemin's future as an artist?

Taemin: I think I will be able to dance the same way up to the age of 35... But after that, I don't know. It will be difficult to dance just as it is now. I think I'll grow and prepare for that time. However, it's important to think about the future, but I cherish the things one by one in front of me now.

– Can the fans expect more from this Taemin coming?

Taemin: (*Grinning*) Yes. I think maybe it's good. I always think about showing a new side of myself, the staff around me also cooperates on it, so I think that it will surely be delighted by all the fans. If they can't... well, it's inevitable. (laughs)

– (laughs) But are you confident?

Taemin: Yes, l'm confident!

– Well then l'll wait to see the "new Taemin" next time.

Taemin: Thank you very much. Please come and see the "new Taemin" by all means!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Credits: Taemin’s 「PORTRAIT」 photobook

JPN - ENG translation: @DiamondTaem

#taemin #lee taemin #shinee #샤이니 #샤이니월드 #Portrait

[tonkitrip]

Carpe diem edc

If you haven’t received a refund yet, first check your bank account again. Refunds are done within 10 Business days of the approval of the return If the return is approved, then your refund will be processed, and a credit will automatically be applied to your credit card or original method of payment. We will also notify you of the approval or rejection of your refund. Once your return is received and inspected, we will send you an email to notify you that we have received your returned item. that was received with the purchase)Īny item that is returned more than 30 days after delivery There are certain situations where only partial refunds are granted (if applicable)Īny item not in its original condition, is damaged or missing parts for reasons not due to our error. Please do not send your purchase back to the manufacturer. To complete your return, we require a receipt or proof of purchase. It must also be in the original packaging and include all the pamphlets or documentation included with the product. To be eligible for a return, your item must be unused and in the same condition that you received it. If 30 days have gone by since your purchase, unfortunately we can’t offer you a refund or exchange. Antique Bronze Finish (Brass Alloy - Chemically Aged).The Carpe Diem Coins are minted in the USA, by America's oldest mint founded in 1835. I decided to use latin for the text on the new coins: "TEMPUS FUGIT" for "Time Flies," and "MEMENTO MORI" for "Remember Death." The reverse shows a "tree of life" with the words "CARPE DIEM" for "Seize the Day." Surrounding the tree of life are the words "FAC VITAM INCREDIBILEM" for "Make an Incredible Life," and "MEMENTO VIVERE" for "Remember to Live." These two sayings are separated by roses, a subtle suggestion to take time to stop and smell the roses.Ĭarpe Diem Coins are 39mm in diameter, and approximately 2.7mm thick (10 gauge). The obverse has my original skull design re-worked with more detail to represent death, and the escapement gear, hourglasses and an hour / minute track, to represent the passing of time. Be present in the lives of friends and family.įor my Kickstarter Campaign, I re-introduced a newly designed Carpe Diem Coin, and had them professionally minted from custom engraved dies. Do good for others not as fortunate as you. The back ("reverse") side of my Original Carpe Diem Coin had a simple message: "Carpe Diem" which means "Seize the Day," and "Make Your Life Extraordinary." Make the most of every day you have. "Death Waits" was my very real, although grim reminder that at the end of all my uncertain days alive, there is only the certainty of death. "Time Flies" was becoming more of a reality every day as I approached 50 years of age. When I designed my Original Carpe Diem Coin, I wanted a challenge coin that could be carried and given away to friends and family, that would remind the holder that time is fleeting, that death waits at the end for all of us, and that it is important to make the most of every day. I designed the front ("obverse") side of the coin with a skull to represent death, with an escapement gear (found in all mechanical clocks and watches) in the forehead of the skull to represent the passing of time.

#Carpe diem edc

[tentskill84]

See How Easily You're Able To Balance Your Work And Home Life

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Here can be an example. They buy their urns that you can purchase to consumers from Turkey or India for approximately $30, then they sell the consumers at prices of $200 to $1200 +. Write down all of your highlights of one's life while keeping focused on other places that you've got gained the most success. The actual your strongest memories? How can you continue that success or develop new successes in living? Brainstorm ideas with the success notice yourself in the future. Appreciate the successes you have already had that you are experiencing.

At nearly 60 connected with age I am much more aware in the my own obituary will personally be like. As a young man I never gave this much thought. But if you think about this at any younger age you possess a powerful tool to a person to realize an individual only have so lots of time to reach for your thinks. While many definite benefits to obtaining an autopsy, might be always fraught with the possible that the defense will have gained useful information the following against you and your family during a wrongful death case. With that in mind that, is actually very usually beneficial to have an autopsy. This is why? To determine the precise cause of death. Even as we have confirmed the exact cause of death, it's work backwards and see whether this was a slow-growing cancer or fast-growing cancer. The difference is significant and often times will be the difference between a valid malpractice case or an individual which has no merit. At the beginning of this newsletter I mentioned that grow by copying many people. Yet now I'm saying that copying is killing the funeral home industry. So which the actual first is right? Actually, both statements are right at different times too as in different places. Here's a rule of thumb i learned from my business mentors years ago. If your industry is rapidly expanding, a great strategy through using copy the leaders and grow light and portable industry. For example, back in the 1990?s Dell copied IBM's personal computer and grew into an immense corporation. They eventually overtook IBM and became the leader in the pc market. Maybe assume like a memory wall for your family and family to view pictures and stories of one's life. An individual have any clothing selections? Some people in order to pick the actual clothes in which they'll be buried. Incidents where have preferences about their mourner's attire. Do you would like guests so that you can black, to provide an example. It pays a lot to conduct your own Obituary Searches rather than assume that someone has died already. For getting a more convenient and faster process, nicely conduct the search with those services over the net. Paid versions are exercise way to be for you to experience best type and services information there is. They guarantee in order to supply the most accurate, reliable, and fast result to add a one-time fee.

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[cornetband92]

See How Easily However Balance Your Work And Home Life

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69rojfp76cw online funeral program funeral pamphlets Here is definitely an example. They are buying their urns that you can buy to consumers from Turkey or India for approximately $30, then they sell for you to consumers at prices of $200 to $1200 +. Write down all on the highlights of your life while keeping focused on other parts that an individual gained the most success. Really are your strongest memories? Just how can you continue with that success or develop new successes in your lifetime? Brainstorm ideas with the items success look at yourself later on. Appreciate the successes you already possess had that you witnessed.

At nearly 60 involving age I am much more aware with the my own obituary will personally be similar to. As a younger man I never gave this much thought. Without any you think about this at a younger age you possess a powerful tool to an individual to realize an individual only have so a lot of time to reach for your dreams. While factors definite advantages to obtaining an autopsy, the time always fraught with the possibility that the defense may have gained useful information wireless against as well as your family during a wrongful death case. Having said that, may usually good have an autopsy. How come? To determine the precise cause of death. When you have confirmed the exact cause of death, daily work backwards and assess if this any slow-growing cancer or fast-growing cancer. Primary difference is significant and implies the distinction between a valid malpractice case or one that has no merit. At the beginning of this newsletter I mentioned that some companies grow by copying other companies. Yet now I'm saying that copying is killing the funeral home industry. So which the actual first is right? Actually, both statements are right at different times in addition as in different condition. Here's a rule of thumb which learned from my business mentors years ago. If your industry is rapidly expanding, a very simple strategy is actually copy the leaders and grow when using the industry. For example, within the 1990?s Dell copied IBM's personal computer and grew into an immense corporation. They eventually overtook IBM and have become the leader in laptop market. Maybe you would like a memory wall for your buddies and family to view pictures and stories of one's life. Anyone have any clothing seems? Some people prefer to pick out the clothes which experts claim they'll be buried. Some even have preferences about their mourner's clothes. Do you would like guests refrain from black, here is an example. It pays a lot to conduct your own Obituary Searches rather than assume that a person has died already. For almost any more convenient and faster process, noticed conduct the search with those services over the world wide web. Paid versions are essentially the most effective way to be for a person experience exciting workout type and services information there could be. They guarantee in order to supply the most accurate, reliable, and fast result to mention a one-time fee.

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[teamcoat9]

Eleven Steps To Profitable Content Material Improvement

I work for a web development and design consultancy and just last week I had a dialogue with the owner about this actual thing. I am the “content person” on employees (we’re small) and never get to do content development as a outcome of we don’t have the price range for it. Content strategy is also—surprise—a key deliverable for which the content strategist is responsible. Its development is necessarily preceded by an in depth audit and evaluation of present content—a critically necessary course of that’s typically glossed over or even skipped by project teams. Necessarily, the content strategist should work to define not solely which content might be published, however why we’re publishing it within the first place. The ICMJE believes that it is necessary to foster a comprehensive, publicly available database of medical trials. Medical interventions embody medication, surgical procedures, devices, behavioral therapies, process-of-care adjustments, and the like. The ICMJE member journals would require, as a situation of consideration for publication of their journals, registration in a public trials registry. We might help you conceptualize, write, edit, or create presentations, videos, articles, bulletins, awards, pamphlets, brochures, and different content material. Blog posts are an excellent place to start out with your content material advertising, as they've the lowest barrier to entry, by far. Once you begin excited about your viewers's wants, Rand presents a 5-step course of for arising with the precise matters and key phrases your viewers might be in search of. This will be the foundation of your content material advertising strategy. For scientific trials that have not been registered prospectively, BMC encourages retrospective registration to make sure the complete publication of all results. 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#seo

[becausethathappens]

SEXTEMBER - EPISODE ONE

themes: abandonment, shame, confusion, and discovery

(i was summarizing for a friend who can’t listen until later and figured it’d be good to share with anyone else in the same situation.)

it’s really clear still they were both super uncomfortable talking about this. they both sounded like they normally do on other people’s shows when the topic gets brought up. a lot of heavy-handed innuendo to assure you they can hang, but as soon as they got more into it, it quickly devolved into giggles and awkward “you did WHAT” reactions. i think the upcoming discussion on purity is going to have a baseline of the church being the background antagonist that will make opening up a bit less abrupt. as it were, rhett had to basically launch right into his discovering how his dick worked. they were appropriately uneasy about that transition and i think rhett’s song is more proof that he’s been thinking about this (and figuring out a way to work the word strap-on into the episode before it even started) a lot and was very anxious about sharing any of it.

it’s rewarding to hear them move past their discomfort and discuss their individual experiences openly. they also prefaced it that this could all change or continue to change tomorrow, since their thoughts are always evolving, and that’s also nice to keep in mind.

general conclusions of what was discussed:

rhett believes his brother got some variation of a sex talk from his parents but he never did. he likened it to his parents assuming he’d hear from the church when he needed to. he’s never discussed the topic with them to this day, from what he implied. eventually, the church did begin discussing sex and that you should not be having it and those attitudes fell in line. prior to that, both appear to have been pretty much left to figure it out for themselves. he kept going back to this and at one point even tried to make it seem like he doesn’t blame his parents and has done similar things with his own sons, but he emphasizes repeatedly that he was given no guidance about anything besides what not to do eventually. a caveboy discovering fire was an approximated analogy, for example. 

link’s mom gave him a diagram and addressed the topic with clinical sensibilities. it was made it clear if he had questions he should raise them, but he never wanted to. link also made it clear that while rhett discovered most of this information from inviting himself to friends houses who had older brothers and having one himself, he had even less of an idea about any of it because rhett didn’t share. he does point out that they’ll discuss the purity aspects next time, but they did begin having dialogues about the topic when they began to try to control the same urges when they started to see how incompatible these actions/thoughts were with the church’s views. 

both came off as wanting to acknowledge the fact that both paths were rocky and could have used more open talk about the topic (probably an impetus for the series). link is a self-described late bloomer, but he also indicates that they both fairly slow-going and were following what they deemed normal or expected, watching how others and one another navigated the topics, then making many decisions about their own actions or expectations. 

it’s conjecture, but these episodes are really seeming to explicitly be about them discussing the topic openly with each other for the first time, to me. which is what i was expecting and i appreciate that they’re willing to be that vulnerable/gutsy to share with anyone let alone all of us. the way they reacted to and discussed things makes it clear some of these experiences were still private and embarrassing up until when the story was told. rhett sharing his first time jerking off and asking link not to make him feel ashamed of bringing it up in the first place, for example, comes to mind. i think it’s about them wearing down the filter that they have around the topic while testing the waters for how poorly it’ll be received (by general listeners, not fans who don’t vibe) if they were do this more often. 

it’s A Lot, but it’s always refreshing to hear the two process their journey beyond of the shame of their conservative upbringing. and to just to hear them talk about dicks and clits and strap-ons, honestly. 

i think being open and loud about enjoying sex will be a major throughline because they didn’t get that and wish they had.

out of order highlights, from memory (heavily pet paraphrased):

rhett believes pussy is “the pinnacle of creation.”

link didn’t want his parents to know if he was dating at all, even once he started, because it meant people knew he could potentially be intimate with that person and it was too much to handle discussing.

rhett found out about sex by his brother showing him a vintage magazine with women athletes in uniform, posed nude. with lots of bush.

rhett found out sperm wasn’t a powder when a friend showed him their older brother’s used and dried out underwear at a sleepover.

link remembers makeout parties in grade school being a lot of pressure on the attendees in fear they’d be found in a compromising position by the adults.

rhett thought he broke his dick the first time he jerked off. he thought powder was supposed to come out, not semen. the same time, he also had an elaborate fantasy about the girls he thought were cute at school coming up to him and taking turns inspecting his dick while he was jerking off on a medical gurney in an observation room.

link’s mom gave him a pamphlet that explains the functional mechanics and had a diagram of an erection. he read this in the closet with a flashlight but never discussed it with rhett or anyone else at the time.

rhett would discuss sex with other guys but not link or ben because he didn’t feel appropriate to discuss with them. he let the guys he hung out with that were into sex lead the discussion/exploration.

link doesn’t remember the first time he jerked off. he estimates it beginning around 7th grade, based on remembering a victoria’s secret catalog being left out when he had friends stop by and feeling awkward that they might put two and two together.

link remembers being very into the lingerie worn by the women and specifically likes the panties with suspenders attached to a garter or stockings below

rhett’s exhibitionism dates back to him “heavy petting” (and being pet in turn by) a girlfriend during a church lock-in, where they were laying in sleeping bags, next to link and others, listening to a pastor address the crowd.

rhett told link about this afterwards and it’s implied this is around the time where they began discussing the subject.

link saw a portion of the sex scene in lethal weapon ii by accident very early, with his dad and was only aware it was wrong and he shouldn’t be watching, not really what was going on onscreen.

rhett eventually stopped dating the girl from the lock-in because of that experience at the lock-in.

link’s initial impressions of porn and other adult content was that it was wrong which is why it was stolen, hidden in the woods, fast forwarded through or otherwise made inaccessible. he burned porn in the woods because the temptation to look at it felt so wrong and strong.

they both have only had sex with their wives.

they both waited for marriage to have sex.

they used to pretend to look at baseball cards and take turns going into a dingy bathroom to look at porn mags left out by the shady dude that worked there. rhett would jerk off to them, then let link have a turn. this whole time rhett thought link was jerking off, too, but he wasn’t. this eventually escalated until link stole a magazine by putting it down his pants to smuggle out to the woods for later viewing.

#extremely relatable content #lapsed catholics rise up #but not for everybody #spoilers i guess #ear biscuits #sextember indeed #i found it so soft #idk #😅

[anonthenullifier]

“I think this one’s going to be it.”

Vision remains unconvinced despite the realtor’s optimism. “We shall have to see.”

It’s the fifteenth town they’ve looked at, the thirtieth house, and nothing so far has been perfect. All the blogs online and the pamphlets at the realty office and the conversations with Mary, his persevering and upbeat realtor, have informed him that perfection can rarely be bought, but if he can find a home with good bones and have a can-do attitude, he can make it perfect. This he does not disagree with, at least when it comes to the house, but the town itself cannot be so easily molded and that has led to the disparaging length of the search.

Mary holds up her clipboard, blocking out the afternoon sun, watching him stare at the town’s main square. “Why don’t I go along to the lot and you just get a feel for the place as you mosey on over?”

“Very well.”

“Okay, take your time.” She gets back into the blue sedan she drove down in and leaves.

There is a particular atmosphere he is trying to find, a homey, old-fashioned quality. The first place he investigated was New Rochelle, the very location of the van Dyke household, and it was charming in its quaintness and soothing in its familiarity but it was also a tourist trap, signs speaking to its history and a handful of people wandering with cameras to see the house from the show. What Wanda deserves is the feel of a small town, not the exact replica and so he hired Mary and they have discreetly traveled across New York and now, growing desperate, have dipped into New Jersey. To be fair to the realtor, he is not an easy client, quick to determine if the feel of the area is off and speaking to her in the only comparisons he can make based on his knowledge of Wanda’s preferences. Some towns were too Gilmore Girls or not enough Bewitched, others only had one corridor that spoke to Family Ties while the rest felt like a modern city. They’d trudged through areas that felt like the Munsters and others where he knew it would turn into the Twilight Zone simply based on the odd stares and eerie feeling from the facade of happiness in towns long past their prime.

Vision surveys the current possibility and is not immediately disappointed. The town square houses a gazebo, well kept and inviting with its lattice work and the shrubbery framing the grass around it -an ideal spot for a picnic or a tea during their lunch hour, assuming they try out true domestication of idle employment. Lining the main road are small shops and little restaurants, eclectic in their conglomeration and relatively satisfactory to stroll beside, or so he tests, hands in his pockets and his disguise reflected back to him as he stares into a clothing shop where a mannequin rests in a red, billowy dress Wanda would adore.

A little spark jumps in his chest as he keeps moseying, the closest approximation to hope he has felt in his search, spurred on by the flower cart overflowing with roses outside a little boutique and the way all the townspeople have either smiled or waved at him when their eyes briefly lock. Vision is not known for his imagination which is why it is fascinating how easily he can picture walking this street, Wanda’s fingers twined with his, an ice cream cone from the creamery on the corner in her hand, her joy bubbling over as she tells him the latest frivolity of gossip in the town.

It’s when he turns down the road where Mary is waiting in her car that his synthetic heart begins to whirr at the trees lining the street, their thin leaves shading the few houses that stand with picture perfect porches for a lemonade in the stifling summer sun or a hot chocolate when fall begins to run its frosty fingers in the air. Curious as to their scientific categorization, Vision studies one, his hand running over the grayish bark that ripples with diamond-esque patterns. Slowly, and as inconspicuously as possible, he leans in and sniffs, cataloguing the pungent odor, one that if he was pressed to describe it would be spicy...not one of heat but of the spice that always filled the compound when he and Wanda baked after going to pick apples. The long leaves are pinnately organized, forming couplings that cling to either side of the branch. The final piece that leads to its categorization is the round green seed hanging below a pair of leaves. It is a Juglan nigra , the black walnut and all he can hear in its swaying leaves is the riotous laughter from Wanda as the van Dyke household fills with walnuts.

Vision smiles, overcome momentarily at the rightness of it all.

But there is one more determination before he commits to this life, before he decides that this is what he wants to promise Wanda the next time they meet. Apprehensively he approaches the car, tapping on the window to let Mary know he is ready. “What’d you think so far?”

The falsity of her grin should be alarming, yet he knows he is to blame for it, having had to inform her of her failure to find him what he wants dozens of times before . This time, however, he is happy to inform her, “It is quite promising.”

A real, full bodied smile erupts on her face. “Good, because I watched every season of that show just to figure out what it was you wanted.”

“It has been successful so far.”

“Come on.” She leads him down the road about ten feet before waving her arms like one of the women on game shows who is in charge of the grand prize. “Here it is.”

“I, um,” it must be some form of humor he has yet to master because there is no actual house, merely a stretch of grass with a lonely sign declaring For Sale! “Where is the house?”

Her laughter does not allay his discomfort at all, “Based on our search so far and how particular you are,” this is said with a friendly needling that no doubt hides some resentment, “I decided to find you the town and let you build the perfect house.”

The words wash over him, cling to his mind until he can comprehend the meaning. And then he can feel his lips curve up and part into a bliss of possibility. Before him is an empty lot, but in his mind he is already constructing the foundation of their future. After all this business with the Accords he simply wants a quiet life and before him it stands, floor by floor he sees the house form, visualizes himself bringing Wanda home for the first time, scooping her up to carry her across the threshold, her arms tight around his neck. They’ll paint the outside together, argue over the best place for the couch and whether the television should be a focal point. He’ll cook for her in the kitchen as she sits at the counter, informing him of his missteps before they happen. At night they’ll sit on the back porch, under the walnut trees and enjoy the silence of the world revolving. It is everything she had told him about, everything she has quietly smirked at while they watch her favorite shows, thinking he did not see her wistful enjoyment at a life of domestic bliss.

“I’ll take it.”

“Do you want some time to think?”

“No.” Vision shakes his head for added emphasis. There is a rightness here, an all encompassing hope for what their lives can be. “It is perfect. You can contact Stark Industries for the mortgage information.” Yes, this is where they can finally be together, where they can experience a life so far denied. This is where they’ll grow old together and never want for anything but each other.

#wandavision #scarlet vision #wandavisio spoilers #slightly #vision #I just have a lot of emotions #and needed to write some fluff #mine

[undoundue]

caliban iv: glass and scissors / giantess / heaven

1. there's a new cult around town that holds glass and scissors as sacred. glass, scissors, locks, walls, and white paint. glass, scissors, locks, walls, white paint, ghosts, chasms, oceans, and space. their sacredness is in approximately that order. whatever separates. whatever mitigates. whatever promotes distance from the immiserating world of people and things.

well, i won't pretend to understand "youth culture," but i can't say i approve. for one, they are virulently anti-semitic, which i am not. for another, they reject any skin-on-skin contact that breaks the five second rule, which i do not. and furthermore, i don't like how they look at me. their evangelist grins run thick as cough syrup, and their eyes, shadowed by cowls, still gleam like a scarab's back. they preach outside cvs pharmacy in the bad part of town, thocking cowbells and chanting, offering pamphlets called HELPING THE HYLICS while their leader calls out to passerby: "hey brother, hey brother, the rules have betrayed you. hey brother, hey brother, because of your vagueness, the rules have betrayed you, now the ogre of shadows has caught you in his evil eye. hey brother, hey brother, lock your doors and smash your idols, wash your hands and shave your head. beat your breast, kill your darlings, put a glass window in an empty field, yes brother, a glass window, to promote distance—"

their smiles betray poor dental hygiene, for in their cosmology dental hygiene belongs to the world of things. when i pass by, there are three of them. one does the preaching. one holds the pamphlets. the third hits the cowbell and chants. they have a donation box, lined with aluminum, but i never give. instead i check my cellphone and smile bitterly, thinking: "well, i wouldn't want to immiserate them in the world of things!"

when i sneak a corner-eye glance, i find them smiling back, as if they expected this.

2. well, on the bus the other day i heard an argument between two giantess fetishists about how tall giantesses should be.

one guy said they should be between 100 and 120 feet tall. any shorter and you're leaving eternal feminine on the table, any taller and they might not feel it when you put it in.

this guy argued for giantesses between 30 and 50 feet tall. his argument was that giantesses over a hundred feet tall are so strongly associated with vore, diaper/scat, and unbirthing, that humble lovers of gentle femdom need a separate height to clear the libidinal palate ("my dick has locked me in a cell with three types of fetishes that i absolutely hate, and thrown away the key.")

well, that sounds rough, but i get where the first guy was coming from too. if i might paraphrase robert frost:

Some say the world will end in vore giantesses (100-120 ft) Some say in gentle femdom giantesses (30-50 ft) From what I’ve tasted of human boredom I hold with those who favor vore (dom) But if I had to die again, I think I know enough of tender closeness, To say that kindness I would commend, Is no less potent To the same end.

this is all conjecture, of course. my personal experience extends only to a 5000 foot giantess, Gnathaena Moedecker—and at such a scale the rules of everyday giantesses simply do not apply.

it was a few months after college and i was desperate for a job. the margrave of zebulon, that damned miser, only offered two grand for disposing (by any means necessary) of the giantess who had wrecked zebulon's economy; for every unmarried man, and some married men, and some women, had emigrated to Gnathaena's armpits, kneepits, or pubis, as she passed zebulon, north carolina, heading north to who knows where; maybe pittsburgh; and now, the scarcity of local labor was intolerable.

it took a day to climb her knee-high stockings, for her legs shook like earthquakes with each county stride, and besides i had to go around the men who were clinging like limpets and sniffing. the smell, to be fair, was quite nice—like potpourri, but sweatier. in a virginian corn field she lay down for a nap and i made progress more quickly, though there were still obstacles. the ass-cultists who lived in the pockets of her jean shorts tried to wicker man me in a denim effigy. the slow respirations of her tanned abdomen tumbled me towards her umbilicus, from which it was said no one could return. dozens emerged from her rose-gold gucci handbag and explored her snoring corpus, playing guitar, composing sonnets, painting portraits that were also landscapes, masturbating, looking for meaning i suppose, and it wasn't hard to find, because everything you do on a 5000 foot giantess feels meaningful, and the way the moonlight fell on the surrounding corn stalks was pristine.

well, in the early morning i reached Gnathaena's mouth. i tried to pour in the potion, but her lips were slippery with lip balm, and too heavy to part an inch. i pored through my textbooks and ruined them with my balm-stained hands. could the potion be administered aurally, as well as orally? i did not recall. but in a compendium of fairy tales another solution presented itself: i kissed her. her eyelids made a sound like waves crashing as she blinked awake.

"sup, pervert," she said.

"i am not a pervert," i said defensively, hiding the potion behind my back.

"sure ya are." she yawned. "did you like kissing me?"

"well, they're softer than i expected...given their size..."

"anyone who likes kissing is a pervert. anyone who likes parts of things is a pervert. you're supposed to like everything or nothing at all. anything else, that's what being a pervert is."

i started to object, but well, she was obviously right. the moonlit corn stalks had indeed been beautiful, and while watching their sway there was a moment when, a little high from the estrogen fumes, i accepted existence in its entirety, as a transcendent calm flowed through me and i felt like crying at nothing at all. but it only lasted a second, and then i glared at the crescent moon and moved on. for i didn't know what to do with moonlit corn stalks or transcendent calm, any more than i knew what to do with a 5000 foot giantess, and something very old and never satisfied, not with the kernel that preceded the big bang, not now, turned the machinery within me and crunched transcendence into its parts.

well, but now i felt a little bit sorry for Gnathaena Moedecker, who after all was not really existence but merely synecdoche for it. so i said: "well, perversity aside, around your sternum i really started to wonder: where are you going?"

"new york city," she said, and exhaled a slow twister. "i started working right out of high school, but ever since i saw Lady Bird, i've been obsessed with the idea of going to NYU. so i've decided to pull together a personal statement and apply." she bit her lip. "do you want to read it? i don't know if it's very good..."

well, it now became apparent to me that Gnathaena, if she was synecdoche for existence, was not very smart, or at least she was younger than i had expected. i mean, Lady Bird is not a very good movie, and i was sorry to learn that her personal statement was equally saccharine. she had an uphill battle, to be sure: most admissions officers can't relate (and not in a "good" way) to the experience of being a 5000 foot giantess hiding out in the appalachian mountains, emerging only at night to devour the sheep of terrified farmers, all while harboring a secret, lifelong dream to work on sustainability in high-end fashion.

so i told her that a few edits might help, and together we came up with a statement that de-emphasized her size and instead focused on a formative trip to Madrid and her volunteer work for the ASPCA. but it wasn't enough, and we both knew it. and, softly, though even her regular voice was softer than i had expected, she told me to "just do it."

"do what?" i said dumbly.

"give me the potion you've been hiding behind your back for the past three hours."

and since it was going to happen eventually, i did.

so it happened that Gnathaena Moedecker shrank to five foot eight inches, which is taller than average but by no means bestiary-worthy. sudden whumps, painful yelps, and angry shouts accompanied this rapid shrinkage. since i doubted the mob of recently giantess-deprived individuals would understand the inverse relationship between the abstract and the individuated, i took gnathaena's hand and read my scroll of return.

in zebulon, north carolina, the weather was warm but cloudy. we rented a room at the motel 6 and spent a few lazy days drinking and eating mexican-asian fusion. it was strange to get to know her, strange to get to know her until it felt like there was not much more to know; for she was young, and we didn't have much in common. her freckles were smaller than i had remembered. i saw her off at the airport, and we promised to get coffee if i was ever in new york, or she in zebulon.

the margrave cried and gave me a $500 bonus when i told him the news. i was stunned—i guess his interest in the local economy was more sincere than i gave him credit for. i bought takeout sushi and ate it crosslegged on my hotel bed. i flipped through the channels. sports. news. rocky iii (1982), pay-per-view. scooby-doo. news. ghost world (2001), pay-per-view—

whoa, what are the odds? ghost world was my favorite movie as a teenager. maybe this is just nostalgia speaking, but enid seems a tier above any cinematic art girl this side of anna karina. her jokes are weirder, her worldview is firmer and yet less legible. you can't quite identify with her, so you get the feeling she might still exist when you turn off the screen. plus, steve buscemi—i mean, steve buscemi's always great. it's a great movie. every time it gives me a feeling sort of like transcendence, but while transcendence happens in my skin and spine this feeling happens mostly in my chest. it's sharper too, less like a flow and more like an arrow emerging. i'm still not sure what to do with it. but, since it's a movie, i guess there's only one thing to do. i hit play.

3. the divine offers strange incentives. if you're angry, god grants you nothing, but hate yourself and he descends. blessed are the meek and masochistic; cursed be the paranoid pugilists. well, i'm no atheist, i've met the big man himself once or twice, but i can't stand him getting up in my business. "jesus takes the wheel," says the sucker. what—and i suppose you play videogames on easy mode, too?

that's why, whenever i feel i'm becoming too sympathetic, i go to my walk-in closet and whisper hateful words. last monday, for instance, i meticulously insulted the irish, the choctaw, the norwegians, and the balinese. i could practically feel the freedom as omniscience looked away. kind of a nausea, but kind of a pleasant dizziness too. if you've ever walked on a hardwood floor in fresh socks, you've felt something like it.

so i don't swing too far, i keep it fair. it's not like when comedians claim to "offend everyone equally." nice try, buddy—ever heard of the availability heuristic? no, what i've done is write each entry of https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_contemporary_ethnic_groups on a flashcard, with the harmful and unjust stereotypes on the flip side. then i use a random number generator to pick the cards.

it's not a perfect solution—even 4chan can't provide stereotypes for the more obscure peoples. still, up until now it's worked.

but now a beam of golden light enters my living room, not even bothering to knock. a holy refridgerator humming fills the air. and, despite my best efforts, the archangel michael descents, cherubim fluttering around him, and the room is perfumed with frankincense and myrrh.

the archangel michael tells me the gig is up.

"the gig is up," the archangel michael says, "too many people are exploiting the 'good intentions' loophole—thinking of the reduced carbon footprint when committing arson, or whatever—and on occasion there are 'bad intentions' exploiters, like you—so we're closing them in the next moral patch. it's good works or GTFO."

"this is bullshit, mike," i tell him, "matthew 5:27-28, for instance."

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery:

But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

"i commit adultery in my heart constantly. depriving me of purgatory is unjust."

"you're single," michael says.

"i have a tulpa," i retort.

"tulpa tulpa!" motte says indignantly, setting a cheese plate on the table.

"that's masturbation," michael says. "it's not great, but it's definitely a venial sin."

motte shrugs. we eat the brie. the cherubim flutter nervously, deck us in laurels, make kissy lips, send stylized hearts through the air which i puncture with carefully aimed magic missiles.

"so the nerds won, eh?" i lean in confidentially. "you can be real with me, mike. a bunch of heaven's eggheads got together and decided that silicon valley guys deserve a shot at passing through the eye of a needle? probably for the best, really—presuming that manna is vegan. i hope you enjoy your donated benches. hell, even tolstoy said that goodness was fungible. but villainy, now that takes courage. to not do what everyone else is doing, even when what you're doing is obviously and horribly wrong—"

"don't blame the nerds," michael says angrily. "if it weren't for people wanting so desperately to be something they're not—!"

michael's golden, pupil-less eyes glow with an impossibly compassionate and righteous light. i blink away tears.

"heaven could use you, bill. you belong there. everyone does, if they would only let themselves be."

"nope," i tell him. "nope! for i am no sorry do-gooder. i am bill caliban: the graye wizard of new canaan! and not in the next life, but in this one, my name shall be known! mwa—mmmph. sorry." i finish chewing and swallow. "mwahahaha! ahahahah!"

the archangel grumbles inaudibly, then pops a mouthful of gouda. the cherubim give up their visual antics and instead launch into a surprisingly capable harp rendition of the first eight minutes of st. matthew's passion. we listen.

"it's beautiful," michael says. "you have to admit."

it is.

then michael stands, thanks motte for hosting him, says "bill" in a neutral and vaguely paternal voice, and teleports away with the cherubim.

nothing is left behind but a faint scent, a mix of baby powder and incense, and a few silvery-white feathers from angel wings.

i bite my nails. "you don't think i'm a good person, do you motte?"

"tulpa tulpa tulpa tulpa tulpa tulpa tulpa," motte says.

and i know what she means: that i am vile. that everything about me disgusts her. my face, my body, my odor, my habits, my personality, my spells, my staff, my tattered grey robes. that if it weren't for my explosive sexual charisma, she would never dream of choosing to spend time with me, and the fact that she does proves that something has gone deeply and profoundly wrong in her astral life.

i hug her. i love her very much.

[justforbooks]

February 20, 1943 – The Saturday Evening Post publishes the first of Norman Rockwell's Four Freedoms in support of United States President Franklin Roosevelt's 1941 State of the Union address theme of Four Freedoms.

The Four Freedoms is a series of four 1943 oil paintings by the American artist Norman Rockwell. The paintings—Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Worship, Freedom from Want, and Freedom from Fear—are each approximately 45.75 inches (116.2 cm) × 35.5 inches (90 cm), and are now in the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. The four freedoms refer to President Franklin D. Roosevelt's January 1941 Four Freedoms State of the Union address in which he identified essential human rights that should be universally protected. The theme was incorporated into the Atlantic Charter, and became part of the charter of the United Nations. The paintings were reproduced in The Saturday Evening Post over four consecutive weeks in 1943, alongside essays by prominent thinkers of the day. They became the highlight of a touring exhibition sponsored by The Post and the U.S. Department of the Treasury. The exhibition and accompanying sales drives of war bonds raised over $132 million.

This series has been the cornerstone of retrospective art exhibits presenting the career of Rockwell, who was the most widely known and popular commercial artist of the mid-20th century, but did not achieve critical acclaim. These are his best-known works, and by some accounts became the most widely distributed paintings. At one time they were commonly displayed in post offices, schools, clubs, railroad stations, and a variety of public and semi-public buildings.

Critical review of these images, like most of Rockwell's work, has not been entirely positive. Rockwell's idyllic and nostalgic approach to regionalism made him a popular illustrator but a lightly regarded fine artist during his lifetime, a view still prevalent today. However, he has created an enduring niche in the social fabric with Freedom from Want, emblematic of what is now known as the "Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving".

Rockwell's Four Freedoms—Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Worship, Freedom from Want, and Freedom from Fear—were first published on February 20, February 27, March 6, and March 13, 1943 along with commissioned essays from leading American writers and historians (Booth Tarkington, Will Durant, Carlos Bulosan, and Stephen Vincent Benét, respectively). They measure 45.75 inches (116.2 cm) × 35.5 inches (90 cm) except Freedom of Worship which measures 46.0 inches (116.8 cm) × 35.5 inches (90 cm). Rockwell used live models for all his paintings. In 1935, he began using black-and-white photographs of these live models extensively, although he did not publicly reveal he did so until 1940. The use of photography expanded the possibilities for Rockwell who could ask models to pose in positions they could hold only for brief periods of time. He could also produce works from new perspectives and the Four Freedoms represented "low vantage point of Freedom of Speech, to close-up in Freedom of Worship, midrange in Freedom from Fear, and wide angle in Freedom from Want".

In 1939, Rockwell moved to Arlington, Vermont, which was an artist-friendly community that had hosted Robert Frost, Rockwell Kent, and Dorothy Canfield Fisher. Of the move from New Rochelle, New York, Rockwell said "I was restless ... The town [of New Rochelle] seemed tinged with everything that happened to me". In New Rochelle, he had both endured a divorce and run with a fast crowd. Artists John Atherton, Mead Schaeffer and George Hughes established residences in Arlington soon after Rockwell. The resident artists, Rockwell included, were mutually supportive and hired local citizens as their amateur models. Using photography and Arlington residents as models, Rockwell was able to capture what he referred to as "human-looking humans", who were generally working-class people, in an hour or so rather than hire professional models for the entire day. Rockwell paid his models modestly. Rose Hoyt, who was engaged for a total of three photographic sessions for Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Worship, earned $15 ($234.71 in 2019 dollars) for her sittings.

When the US entered the war in 1941, it had three agencies responsible for war propaganda: The Office of Facts and Figures (OFF), The Division of Information of the Office of Emergency Management (OEM), and Office of Government Reports (OGR). The OFF was responsible for commissioned artwork and for assembling a corps of writers, led by Librarian of Congress Archibald MacLeish. By mid-1942, the Office of War Information determined that despite the efforts of OFF in distributing pamphlets, posters, displays, and other media, only a third of the general public was familiar with Roosevelt's Four Freedoms and at most one in fifty could enumerate them. The Four Freedoms had been a "campaign to educate Americans about participation in World War II".

By 1942, Rockwell had been illustrating professionally for thirty years and was having a successful career. Additionally, by mid-1942 Rockwell's Gillis was becoming famous. Lorimer had been the editor of The Post from 1898 to 1936. He was followed by Wesley W. Stout for five years. In early 1942, Stout ran an article entitled "The Case Against the Jew", which led to advertising and subscription cancellations. The Post was rumored to be in financial trouble in 1942. Soon Stout was replaced by Hibbs who revamped the magazine.

On May 24, 1942, Rockwell was seeking approval for a poster design at The Pentagon because the Artists Guild had designated that he advocate for the U.S. Army Ordnance Department. Robert Patterson, who was then United States Undersecretary of War, suggested revisions. On the same day, he visited with Thomas Mabry of the Graphic Division of the War Department's Office of Facts and Figures, which coordinated war-themed posters and billboards. Mabry relayed the need for Four Freedoms artwork. Rockwell returned home pondering the Atlantic Charter, which had incorporated the Four Freedoms.

Rockwell remembered a scene of a local town meeting in which one person spoke out in lone dissent, but was given the floor, and was listened to respectfully, despite his solitary opposition. He was inspired to use this scene to illustrate Freedom of Speech, and Rockwell decided to use his Vermont neighbors as models for an inspirational set of posters depicting the themes laid out by Roosevelt the previous year in a Four Freedoms series. He spent three days making charcoal sketches of the series, which some sources describe as colour sketches. Rockwell's patriotic gesture was to travel to Washington, D.C. and volunteer his free services to the government for this cause. In mid-June, accompanied by Schaeffer, he took four charcoal sketches to Washington, where they stayed at the Mayflower Hotel, as the two sought commissions to design war art. During the trip, Rockwell was asked by the Boy Scouts of America to continue his annual creation of a new painting for their annual calendar by publishing representative Orion Winford. He was unable to hold Patterson's attention during their meeting, so he met with the new Office of War Information (OWI), where he was told "The last war you illustrators did the posters. This war we're going to use fine artists men, real artists."

On his return trip to Vermont with Schaeffer on June 16, they stopped in Philadelphia to meet with new Saturday Evening Post editor Ben Hibbs. Many accounts portray this visit as unplanned, but whether it was is unclear. Hibbs liked Rockwell's Four Freedoms sketches, and he gave Rockwell two months to complete the works. A June 24 correspondence from The Post clarified that both Rockwell's and Schaeffer's series would be published. By June 26, The Post's art editor James Yates notified Rockwell of plans for a layout of paintings with an accompanying essay or accompanying essays by President Roosevelt.

Rockwell's summer was full of distractions. At one point a Manhattan gastroenterologist prescribed a surgery of uncertain nature, though it was not performed. He had commissions for other magazines, and business complications regarding second reproduction rights. He also had his Boy Scout commitment. Under time constraints, Rockwell made every excuse to avoid all other distracting assignments. In October, The Post sent its art editor to Arlington to check on Rockwell's progress. At about the same time, despite its Graphics Division chief's, Francis Brennan's outrage, the OWI began showing signs of renewed interest. In fact, after Rockwell was chosen the entire OWI Writers' Division resigned. The press release associated with the resignation asserted that the OWI was dominated by "high-pressure promoters who prefer slick salesmanship to honest information. These promoters would treat as stupid and reluctant customers the men and women of the United States." There was further turmoil in the OWI from a faction supporting work by Ben Shahn; Shahn's work was not used in propaganda because it lacked general appeal. There were several artists who were commissioned to promote the war, including Jean Carlu, Gerard Hordyke, Hugo Ballin, and Walter Russell. Russell created a Four Freedoms Monument that was eventually dedicated at Madison Square Garden in New York City.

The series took seven months to complete, and was finished by year end. Supposedly, Rockwell lost 10 pounds (4.54 kg) from the assignment. As Rockwell was completing the series, he was motivated by news of Allied setbacks, a fact that gives the work a sense of urgency. Models included a Mrs. Harrington who became the devout old woman in Freedom of Worship and a man named Jim Martin who appears in each painting in the series (most prominently in Freedom from Fear). The intention was to remind America what they were fighting for: freedom of speech and worship, freedom from want and fear. All the paintings used a muted palette and are devoid of the vermilion Rockwell is known for.

Some sources published after Rockwell's death question whether the government was truly as discouraging as Rockwell claimed. They cite an encouraging April 23, 1943 correspondence with Thomas D. Mabry of the OWI (a former Executive Director of the Museum of Modern Art). At the time, the three government propaganda agencies were disjointed until they were unified under the OWI on June 13, 1942 by a Presidential Executive Order. Furthermore, the writers' division, led by MacLeish, was under pressure for failing to deliver a message intelligible to people of varying intelligence.

Upon completion, Rockwell's works were briefly exhibited at the West Arlington Grange before being delivered to The Post in Philadelphia. The series arrived in Philadelphia in January 1943. Roosevelt was shown the paintings in early February, and The Post sought Roosevelt's approval for the series of paintings and essays. Roosevelt responded with both a personal letter to Rockwell and an "official" letter of commendation to The Post dated February 10. Roosevelt instructed The Post to have the OWI have the essays translated into foreign languages so they could be presented to leaders at the United Nations.

The Freedoms were published in a series of four full-colour, full-page editions, each accompanied by an essay of the same title. The panels were published in successive weeks in the order corresponding to Roosevelt's speech: Freedom of Speech (February 20), Freedom of Worship (February 27), Freedom from Want (March 6), and Freedom from Fear (March 13). For the authors of the accompanying essays, Hibbs had numerous options given the number of regular contributors to The Post.

Rockwell is considered the "quintessential middlebrow American artist" by Michael Kelly. As an artist he is an illustrator rather than a fine arts painter. Although his style is painterly, his work is produced for the purpose of mass reproduction, and it is produced with the intent of delivering a common message to its viewers via a detailed narrative style. Furthermore, the vast majority of Rockwell's work was viewed in reproduced format and almost none of his contemporaneous audience ever saw his original work. Also, Rockwell's style of backwoods New England small-town realism, known as regionalism, was sometimes viewed as out of step with the oncoming wave of abstract modern art. Some say his realism is so direct that he abstains from using artistic license. John Canaday, a New York Times art critic once referred to Rockwell as the "Rembrandt of Punkin' Crick" for his aversion to the vices of big city life. Dave Hickey derided Rockwell for painting without inflection. Some critics also view his sentimental and nostalgic vision out of step with the harsh realities of American life, such as the Great Depression. Deborah Solomon views the works as being "based on lofty civic principles", but rather than dealing with the warring patriots, they present themes with "civic and familial rituals" for "emblematic scenes".

Post editor Hibbs said the Four Freedoms were an "inspiration ... in the same way that the clock tower of old Independence Hall, which I can see from my office window, inspires me." Roosevelt wrote to Rockwell "I think you have done a superb job in bringing home to the plain, everyday citizen the plain, everyday truths behind the Four Freedoms ... I congratulate you not alone on the execution but also for the spirit which impelled you to make this contribution to the common cause of a freer, happier world". Roosevelt wrote to The Post, "This is the first pictorial representation I have seen of the staunchly American values contained in the rights of free speech and free worship and our goals of freedom from fear and want." Roosevelt also wrote of the corresponding essays, "Their words should inspire all who read them with a deeper appreciation of the way of life we are striving to preserve."

The Four Freedoms are perhaps Rockwell's most famous work. Some have said Rockwell's Four Freedoms lack artistic maturity. Others have pointed to the universality of the Freedom of Religion as disconcerting to practitioners of particular faiths. Others complained that he idealized American life because by depicting wholesome, healthy, and happy sentiments, Rockwell depicted the good that was remembered or wished for, but by avoiding misery, poverty, and social unrest, he failed to demonstrate command of the bad and the ugly parts of American life. Rockwell's response to this criticism was, "I paint life as I would like it to be." Rockwell made it known that he hoped these would be his masterpieces, but was disappointed. Nonetheless, he was satisfied with the public acceptance of the series and that the series was able to serve such a patriotic purpose. Laura Claridge feels he might have achieved his ambition if he had pursued the "quiet small scenes" he later became known for.

Although all four images were intended to promote patriotism in a time of war, Freedom from Want, which depicts an elderly couple serving a fat turkey to what looks like a table of happy and eager children and grandchildren has given the idyllic Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving work as important a place in the enduring marketplace of promoting family togetherness, peace and plenty as Hallmark at Christmas. Some say the Four Freedoms were unable to live up to the role of "illustrating grandiose concepts with humble correlatives" because they are too loud.

The commercial success of the series was in part because each painting is considered to be a model of understandable art by the general public. The success of Rockwell's depictions was due to his use of long-standing American cultural values about unity and respect of certain institutions while using symbols that enabled a broad audience to identify with his images. This understandability made it one extreme on the scale of artistic complexity when comparing the series to contemporaneous art. It was diametrically opposed to abstract art and far removed from the intrigue of surrealism.

In 1999, the High Museum of Art and the Norman Rockwell Museum produced the first comprehensive exhibition of Rockwell's career that started at the High Museum on November 6, 1999, stopped at the Chicago Historical Society, Corcoran Gallery of Art, San Diego Museum of Art, Phoenix Art Museum, and Norman Rockwell Museum before concluding at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum on February 11, 2002. Although there has been a long history of Rockwell detractors, during this Norman Rockwell: Pictures for the American People touring exhibition attendance was record-setting and critical reviews were quite favorable. The nostalgia seemed to cause a bit of revisionism in the art world, according to The New York Times which said, "What's odd is the show's enthusiastic reception by the art world, which in a lather of revisionism is falling all over itself to embrace what it once reviled: the comfy, folksy narrative visions of a self-deprecating illustrator..."

Some found Rockwell's presentation somewhat patronizing, but most were satisfied. The New Yorker remarked two years later: "They were received by the public with more enthusiasm, perhaps, than any other paintings in the history of American Art". Claridge notes that the series is an example in which the sum is greater than its parts. She notes the inspiration comes in part from their cumulative "heft".

Following the 1943–44 War Bond Show, the Four Freedoms toured the country further by train in a specially-designed car. Through the 1950s the Four Freedoms hung in Hibbs' offices at The Post. Hibb retired in 1961 and by the time The Post was discontinued in 1969, Rockwell regained possession of the original paintings. Norman Rockwell bequeathed his personal collection in trust to the Norman Rockwell Museum in 1973 for the "advancement of art appreciation and art education". This collection included the Four Freedoms paintings. The works remained on exhibit at "The Norman Rockwell Museum at The Old Corner House" for nearly 25 years. In 1993, when the Rockwell Museum moved from its original location, the Four Freedoms were displayed in the new museum's central gallery. As of 2014, the Four Freedoms remain in the collection of the Museum. In 2011, the Williamstown Art Conservation Center did some work on the Four Freedoms, including reducing exposure to various elements and preventing further wear.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Norman Rockwell #Four Freedoms

[graces-of-luck]

Education (Carnival of Aros, July 2021)

This month's Carnival of Aro is on Education. It was nice to reflect on my experiences in school as an aromantic and the role that education plays in the community.

Word count: 728

Reading time: Approximately 3-4 minutes

Seeing as I’m in my third year of a PhD (and therefore in my 20th year of formal education), education is certainly a fundamental part of my life and daily experience. As an aro, middle and high school were rather alienating at times. I remember one time in orchestra we were told to play like we were in love. Another time in a class, a teacher asked us to raise our hands if we had ever been in love so that he could relate that feeling to the experience of addiction. I felt out of place as my classmates and friends were becoming obsessed with getting a romantic partner. Whenever we had to read books in my literature classes, I dreaded the thought of the mandatory reading containing romance. Sex education was basically non-existent where I grew up, but it was definitely super heteronormative and very abstinence-focused, so of course it was all “when you get married…” I definitely felt different, but at the time, I thought I was simply mature for not going “boy crazy.”

I wish that I would have learned about aromanticism when I was younger as it would have explained a lot and made things clearer earlier on. I first came across the term aromantic in my late teens but there was so little information available that I dismissed it. I then came across asexuality in an elective course I took in college. While I no longer identify with asexuality, it’s what brought me back to aromanticism. I think about how my life might be different if I didn’t take that one random course for fun. I would have found aromanticism eventually, but how much longer would it have taken? I learned a lot in the course in terms of course content but also about myself.

Education doesn’t have to only occur in formal educational settings, however. This is especially true of education on aromantic issues. I’ve been realizing the importance of knowledge and education outside of formal institutions lately. We are all knowledge-makers. There’s a lack of academic research or knowledge on aromanticism, which is a shame. At the same time, the aromantic community has produced so much knowledge through the community. Tumblr was my primary source of learning about aromantic topics. Reading about people’s experiences has been instrumental. It’s great that there are basic informative materials, but being able to see real-life examples as expressed through personal experiences was so helpful because it makes ground informative materials in reality. Information from aro 101 pamphlets are brought to life by the posts of people explaining what their aromanticism means to them. It’s also wonderful how folks will just create surveys. It may not be academic research, but it gives us a lot of important information nonetheless. We are creating our own records and history by posting about our experiences, creating resources and infographics, and conducting community surveys.

There are still many more resources we need. I wish there were more formal educational resources on the societal/systematic impact on aromantics. Learning that it’s society that has issues (read: amatonormativity) rather than me helped me in embracing my aromanticism. Having such resources could be so helpful for someone who is questioning or has newly identified as aromantic. I also think it’s important for helping folks outside the community understand our struggles. We also need more educational resources that are intersectional. Information on the intersection between aspects like neurodivergence or racism and aromanticism are important as they capture the nuances of the lived experiences of many aros.

Inspired by all the education and resources that other aromantic folks create, I’ve also started creating my own educational resources. One I’m really proud of is my “Challenging Amatonormativity” guide, which teaches about amatonormativity and how to unlearn it as it greatly affects aros. I also collaborated with a fellow aro on developing a webinar on aromantic competent care for mental health care providers! We hosted the webinar and have now made a recording in the hopes that it can inform care providers on how to better interact with aromantic clients. I’m not sure what’s next on my list, but I definitely want to continue being involved in education about aro topics.

I'm curious to see what else I will learn from this community and am looking forward to seeing information on aromanticism in formal educational settings as well.

#carnival of aros #aromanticism #aromantic #aro #education #learning #aro experience

[ibethalantyr]

To His Most Radiant of Lathander, Kelddath Ormlyr, Governor of Beregost

Your Excellency,

Please find enclosed with this letter extracts copied from my personal papers detailing the incident we discussed last month.  Sincere apologies for the delay: I have found my papers to be in an odd state of disarray owing to an (unrelated) magical problem. This manuscript was created approximately three days after the incident described, during which time I had undertaken further investigations, the fruits of which are also recorded here.  I assert, on oath as you instructed, that no material has been altered or omitted within its continuous length, making said length wholly your own fault.  The absence of personal names is consistent with the original, a practice I have adopted in all similar papers as a defense against magical surveillance. No post facto alterations have been made.  “The gnome” refers to that individual whose name I disclosed to you at our earlier meeting.

I hereby consent that you or your appointed representative inspect the original to confirm my sworn assertions above, with the stipulation that such an inspection take place within the walls of the High Hedge House, as we discussed earlier discussed.

***

The old conjurer is convinced that there are few things easier than for a wizard to go bad, and few things worse than a bad wizard.  The gnome, unfortunately, is just the latest proof.

Upon reading this line, he is discomfited to discover that it sounds like the product of some Athkatlan zealot pamphleteer rather than a long practicing conjurer with some professional pride.  As such, some clarifications are needed before he proceeds further.

There are “few things worse than a bad wizard” because wizards hold considerable power for making their plans and desires a reality, and so when those plans or desires turn toward the selfish, the callous, or the hateful, the scale of damage a wizard then creates is larger than the average creature.  Powerful wizards can - and do - kill, enslave, and mutilate for no reason at all, or for no reason other than that they want to.  Even the gnome’s peculiar penchant for petrification is not unique, although the power to do so is unique to wizards.  But while the power to do certain kinds of damage is unique to us, it is not uniquely large: a bad king, or a bad merchant, or a bad priest can leave a trail of damage at least as long behind them.

Even when writing “there are few things easier than for a wizard to go bad,” it is not the old conjurer’s intention to assert that there is anything inherently corrupting about either the study or practice of the Art.  Years of honing and exercising power - whether arcane or otherwise - simply make it fit comfortably in the hand, and may (not to say must) bring out the worst parts of a practitioner’s personality.  Magic - or better, power - will not make a person bad, but it may make a bad person worse.

The gnome’s first letter arrived a little more than a year ago.  He was a very pleasant correspondent: a fellow conjurer (unusual for one of his species) who was pursuing a research project, a project on which he had hoped for some assistance.  He was interested in a refinement of the monster summoning spell which would allow for the conjuration of a specific type of creature - a greater basilisk.  Both the specificity of the summoning and the power of the creature involved would represent significant advancements to the classic form of the monster summoning genre, making this a very exciting project indeed. To be invited to contribute to such an undertaking was extremely flattering.

What prompted the first letter (or so the gnome claimed at the time) was a treatise that the old conjurer had written many years before, dealing with the bound loyalty of summoned creatures.  This is a topic about which most specialists show little interest, but which was especially interesting to the old conjurer due to its relevance to his old favorite question (creation vs. summoning). The gnome’s interest was more practical. Unless the loyalty of a summoned basilisk could be assured with the same level of certainty as for other objects of a monster summoning, the spell itself would be nearly suicidal to attempt. Flattered by the approach and (to tell the truth) lonely for professional conversation, the old conjurer was only too happy to reply.

And so the correspondence began.  Every few weeks, a new letter would arrive, full of compliments for the old conjurer’s insights and with new questions, born (it would seem) from the gnome’s ongoing observations of the basilisk’s life cycle.  It made for a pleasant diversion from the often mundane work of a magical shopkeeper, and reminded the old conjurer of his younger, more ambitious days.

Then, about a month ago, a letter of a different sort came. Still full of effusive praise, but this time with a request rather than a question.  Could the old conjurer create an item - an amulet or a ring perhaps - incorporating some of the techniques they had discussed?  Such an item would be an invaluable tool for studying basilisks in the wild, and potentially provide an essential proof of concept for the loyalty portion of the planned spell which, from the sound of it, was nearly complete. Excited by the prospect of contributing, even in a small way, to such a breakthrough, the old conjurer readily agreed, and set a date for the gnome to come to his stately house and collect the item in question.

The meeting - their first and only in the flesh - had started out quite cordially, though in hindsight there had been a number of danger signs even then that the old conjurer should have recognized. The gnome had been immoderately pleased with the ring, which he expected would serve only too well. When the old conjurer, who had planned a number of experiments to test the efficacy of the new and innovative enchantment, heard this, he expressed considerable surprise.  How could the gnome be so certain?  He smiled chillingly, and in a voice I will never forget, replied,

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

The gnome then began to cast.  Based on the wording and structure, it was a gate spell of some sort, though modified and radically simplified, probably castable as a sixth-tier working. At the end of the incantation, the gnome spat out an object, probably the scale of a greater basilisk, given that that is what appeared in the middle of the old conjurer’s sitting room.  Before he could recover from the shock of this, the gnome brandished his new ring and ordered the beast to turn the old conjurer to stone.

By happy accident, the old conjurer was prepared for such an attack.  Expecting to see a controlled version of the proposed summoning spell in action, he had prepared a contingency spell that would protect him from petrification in the event that a basilisk or similar creature came within 60 feet of him. While the old conjurer had been caught unaware, the spell had not, and so he was protected from the attack even before it was ordered.

Unfortunately, he had lost valuable time, and the gnome at least had come prepared for a fight.  Magical duels general follow a classic form.  First, cast spells of defense, generally an illusion or a direct abjuration.  By the time the old conjurer had gotten to his feet, the gnome was already mirror imaged.  A low level defense, but a wise one on the whole. As a fellow conjurer, he knew only too well that his opponent had made no study of the sort of major divinations that provide the most direct countermeasure. He had also guessed rightly that I would be unwilling to destroy my own house with a fireball, and a mirror image provides more than adequate protection against more precise forms of offensive spell casting.  It also frees up higher tier spells for offensive use.

But not quite yet.  For, before moving on to physical harm, most mages will first make an attack on the minds of their opponents, a gambit that is both defensive and offensive, in that it undermines the ability to attack and defend simultaneously. Enchantment spells are the most common choice in such situations. The gnome had instead begun a spell which used heavily necromantic vocabulary. Horror, then: lower level and quicker to cast than most offensive enchantments, but correspondingly easier to resist. With a mirror image in place, successful disruption would be very unlikely, even if the old conjurer had prepared for a duel.  He had not.  He is a shopkeeper, and had been expecting a pleasant conversation with a colleague and then a normal day’s work.

But one must work with the materials to hand. Having been planning to finish brewing a stock of potion, the old conjurer had a spell of lesser invisibility prepared. Even with the gnome’s head start, he would be able to cast it on himself before the horror spell was complete. He did. Barely.

Luckily - or perhaps not; fear had been the old conjurer’s frequent companion for years - he was able to resist the spell. Even more luckily, his invisible state meant the gnome had no way of knowing that. This was not the sort of fight for which he had prepared. In all likelihood, the gnome had expected either to turn his host to stone at once or else to engage in a lengthy and intricate spell duel. Given the low level opening moves, he had probably reserved his higher level preparations (which would be at least sixth-tier, judging by the gate spell) for breaching spell defenses and dealing maximum punishment afterward. A game of cat and mouse with an old coward was not at all what he had been expecting.

He said as much, and more besides. That the old conjurer was an self-absorbed fool, so easy to flatter and manipulate. That he, the gnome, had only ever been interested in controlling basilisks and that the method had not concerned him. That he had already worked out the gate spell before writing for the first time, having been living for some time at a basilisk’s nest in the barrens east of town. That he had only ever wanted a control item, and had been feeding the old conjurer the information - and the simpering flattery - that he would need to complete it. He had discovered the treatise later and thought it would be the perfect way to start an acquaintance, and that the old conjurer would be the perfect mark. Real mages, after all, aren’t soft-skinned school boys interested in books and minutia.  Real wizards seek to be as powerful as possible for as little effort as possible, so that they could do was they pleased. And that what pleased him was to take possession of this comfortable house and mount its previous owner on one of the turrets as a gargoyle.

How much of this is true, the old conjurer cannot be sure. He is a fool, certainly. No question of that.

But one does not live to be an old fool without learning a thing or two. He had known fear and danger, and he had known magical duels aplenty once upon a time. In that time, the old conjurer had discovered - like many greater wizards before and since - that winning such a contest has less to do with sheer power than many mages would like to think. At least as important, perhaps even more important, is timing. The most powerful mages can hurl swarms of fiery meteors capable of devastating whole towns. Such castings take time, however, and in the time that a great archmage is rattling off the necessary incantation, the greenest apprentice can shoot off a single magic missile, breaking his counterpart’s concentration and wasting the whole effort. And if that apprentice has brave friends with weapons, that may be the end of that.

As he crept invisibly around the sitting room, listening to the gnome rant and watching him pocket various valuable items, the old conjurer was trying to work out the timing. Presuming he did nothing more vigorous than creep, the invisibility spell would last a full day. He could try to escape and raise the alarm, but he was unwilling to leave the gnome alone in the house, with so many valuable and dangerous weapons with which to arm himself. (Truth be told, he was also unwilling to confess to others the depth of his ego and his blindness, an unwillingness he still feels). Perhaps he could simply leave the room, grab his staff and a few scrolls, then return to the fight on equal footing? But the gnome seemed to be thinking along similar lines, for he quickly ordered his pet monster to block one door, and was now busily looking for any others. As it happened, there weren’t any secret passages out of the room, a problem to which the old conjurer should tend soon.

So, it would come down to timing, If he simply waited, the mirror image would wear off in a matter of minutes, leaving the gnome vulnerable to attack. But any such attack would reveal his presence not only to the gnome but to the basilisk as well. How long the monster would remain was impossible to say. Summoning spells generally expire after about an hour, but this wasn’t a traditional summoning spell.  How long could he afford to wait?

The gnome was getting more and more frustrated. He began to cast again, this time an enchantment. The old conjurer steeled himself, ready to fight off an intellectual or emotionally attack. But then he recognized the spell: the greater malison, designed to weaken his magical defenses. His impatient house guest wanted this over as quickly as possible, and intended to make it more likely that whatever dire or spectacular working he attempted next would be the last he would need. But what would he choose? 

Creeping closer, the old conjurer watched as the gnome pulled from his pocket a single black pearl. As he crushed it to dust, the conjurer moved too. Picking up an empty potion bottle, he smashed it to shards against the table.  The gnome, who had just begun the death spell incantation, flinched at the noise, and at his enemy’s sudden appearance within arms reach of him. He did not break his concentration, however. The conjurer began an incantation of his own: feeblemind.  The spell was complex, though less so than the death spell.  He should be able to complete it before the gnome could complete his.  Then it would be down to whether the gnome would be able to resist.  Seeming to realize this, he split into a mad grin.  At the same moment, his mirror images flickered and went out, leaving only the real gnome, still mid spell.

And the old conjurer cast.  But rather than casting at the gnome himself, he aimed his spell squarely at the ring on his finger.

The old conjurer is a shopkeeper, and he knows a thing or two about magic items. One thing he knows is that properly enchanted items remain receptive to magic for a certain amount of time after the completion of the spell. The ring was still within that receptive period, and by design. The old conjurer had not yet cast the spell that would make it’s basilisk-control powers permanent, wanting to be sure first that the experimental spell was effective. Instead, he added the feeblemind spell, because of something else he knows. When enchanting items, it is possible for the items to “resist” receiving the spell, much as a person might. An items ability to resist is always tied to the enchanter’s own magical resistance, resistance that the gnome himself had attacked. So, by targeting the ring rather than the gnome himself, the old conjurer had greatly diminished the ability of the gnome to resist the spell.

The fact that he sits here writing about it attests to his success. The feeblemind spell attached itself to the ring and badly damaged the mind of the casting gnome. His death spell died on his lips, though the look of shock and incredulity that he wore suggested that his mind was not so damaged as was usually the case. The basilisk, too, linked to the mind of its master, simply stood stupidly in the doorway of sitting room.

Knowing the importance of timing, the old conjurer set about removing his guests, both wanted and unwanted, as quickly as possible. Given the hasty construction of the gate spell - the old conjurer suspects that the gnome had opted for such a simple conjuration as a time saving measure - he surmised that a simple “dispel magic” would dispatch the basilisk back where it came from. Stuffing the basilisk scale back into the gnome’s gaping mouth, the old conjurer focused his dispelling on the creature.  Both it, and its master, vanished without a trace, leaving the old conjurer with a bleeding hand (he’d needed the glass for his spell), a wrecked sitting room, and a sick, empty feeling.

In the time since he has tended his hand with bandages and the feeling with research (the room will have to wait until his hand is better). This is what the old conjurer has discovered so far. The “summoning” spell the gnome created was in fact a modified gate spell. He was able to cast it at the sixth tier rather than the usual ninth because of his deep knowledge of basilisks and, more importantly, because he had hidden the basilisk nearby, in a small cove on the coast. The sirines had told him that they had seen a gnome matching his guest’s description anchoring a ship there for the last several weeks, most recently unloading a large crate. Disturbingly, it was one of several. The rest were not onboard when the ship returned for its addled master a few days later. His mind was apparently intact enough for him to operate the ship, though not successfully.  It wrecked a few miles to the south. The whereabouts of the gnome himself are at this time unknown, but inquiries continue.  Hopefully, his mind is now too damaged to perform further magic, or at least magic at the level he once practiced.  It would be foolish to take too much for granted, however.  And to judge by his horrific actions so far, a diseased mind did not stop him from being a mage before I intervened, so there is no reason to expect that it will be so now.

It is far too easy for a wizard to go bad, whether out callous greed or ego and loneliness. A lesson learned.

***

Well, that’s the worst of it. I suspect he’s hiding somewhere northeast of town, but it would probably be best to wait for him to come to us rather than place a bounty on his head.  If he remains in possession of his powers and his monsters, he will be a more formidable foe than most around here can manage, and if we are to fight him ourselves, I would prefer to have the advantage of defense.  But then, perhaps I am a coward after all.

-T

#an old conjurer's memoirs #bg1 #baldur's gate #wizard #mage #this took forever #and i cut so much #and it's still so long #ugh

[elladescent449-artspace]

It Started with the Milk: Chapter 6 - Respit

Note: Guess who finally figured out how Tumblr's "Read under the cut" system works!!!

When the woman brought the bell-bird in, April knew it was time to go, screw the rain. April scrolled down to the band’s store on ITunes, finally conceding and purchasing DIGG’s most recent album. She plugged in her earbuds and let the rapid beat of drums replace the screeching call of whatever was happening in the vet clinic as she opened her umbrella and walked out. Without a carrier, April had to carry Mayhem out of the clinic in her arms, not that either of them were complaining. She walked a few paces until she was on the outside of the clinics gate, just on the outskirts of the street.

Looking back, April noted that this place didn’t look anything like a human veterinarian clinic, it was comparable to a theme park. What April had gotten from the pamphlet was that “Squaker’s Creature Clinic” was a 6 acre property that provided care for any exotic creature (everything was exotic down here, April had a hard time telling the difference between pet and owner.) Sunita had been able to get her Dad, Exploding Frankie, to drop April off in front of the clinic a few minutes before the appointment, but April had had no idea what she was getting into. It was easy enough to find a seat, but while she was waiting in the clinic, the clerk had mistaken April for Mayhem’s pet, and had spent the first 10 minutes making baby noises at her. The doctor had made the same mistake, but they were eventually able to get down to business and take care of the appointment.

She tried getting into the beat of the music, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to ignore the cold that was crawling up her ankle. She started pacing to try and get the blood flowing. When she felt the warm brush of Mayhem’s tongue against her face she reopened her eyes to see his worried expression. “I know buddy, i’m cold too.” She heard a gargling screech come from inside the clinic and cringed, “better out here than in there though, huh?”

April and Mayhem both sighed in tandem. Mayhem curled back up in her arm, breathing gently as he settled in for warmth. “Leo, where are you…” she muttered under her breath. At the thought of Leo she was reminded of Donnie, and with that she felt her blood pressure rise.

‘Why didn’t he come, he’s never not come.’ The fact that he hasn’t messaged her since last week was one thing, ignoring her six calls was another, and leaving her waiting for an hour was the tipping point. She tried to “zen out” to DIGG, but she kept thinking.

“Why would he ignore me?!” She looked to Mayhem who was startled by her abrupt start of conversation, “Sure, I kept calling him today before and after your appointment, but that was because we had made plans about this like five days ago…” She should have gotten Mayhem to the clinic sooner but there was such a long wait time. She held Mayhem a little tighter, “I haven’t done anything… right?” when he shook his head ‘no’, April continued: “Yeah! Donnie would have told me if something was up, it’s not like he’s one to mince words.” She scoffed at that and groaned, the cold was crawling back up her legs again. She picked up the pace, bouncing a little with the steps. She landed in a puddle large enough to soak into her socks and she made a noise of disgust.

When April turned a blur of blue rammed into her, knocking the umbrella out of her hand as the form tightly enclosed her. She wanted to shout, but her call was cut off by the guttural sob that bled into her shoulder.

“Leo?” He responded by fixing his grasp to hold onto her tighter. Mayhem chittered in complaint as he was squished between their two bodies, teleporting to the ground behind April to escape Leo’s hold. April wrapped her arms around Leo, feeling him shiver uncontrollably at her touch. “Leo what’s wrong?”

When he didn’t respond April pulled him away from her by his shoulders. She kept him close but now she could see a redness under his eyes. A purple mark was swelling on his left cheek and there was redness forming on his throat. He looked away from her before rubbing his face with both hands. April saw the charred cloth of his sleeve and gasped, “Leo, what-”

He spoke in a low tone of voice that April was not familiar with, it was shaky and it fought back a choke as he uttered, “can I please hang out at your place for a bit?” he removed his hands from his face and looked pleadingly, “please.”

She wanted to ask, now and here, but he didn’t look up for it. He was soaked from head to toe and even at their close proximity April could see that his legs were shaking.

She hugged him again, putting on a strained smile as she tried to stay calm. “Yeah, Leo… Of course.”

He broke the hug first and stepped away, rubbing at his eyes before pulling out his Odachi. He stood stationary as he tried to concentrate, taking a deep breath and stabilizing before swinging his sword to form an electric blue portal. Wow. First try. April picked up Mayhem and her umbrella, closing it as she walked up to Leo.

“It’s going to be okay, Leo,” She felt the cold rain speckle her hair and her cheeks, slowly soaking into her jacket as she put a hand on his arm. “You’re okay.”

April’s apartment was (thankfully) empty. Her parents were out and she knew that they wouldn’t be back until late evening, so her and Leo could hang out at least until then.

“How do you feel about a pizza,” April pushed Leo towards the couch as she pulled out her phone, “because I am famished.” She watched as he flopped down onto the sofa, he rubbed his eyes with a stiff sigh. She typed in the familiar number and paced into the kitchen to open the fridge. The number only rang twice before being answered with a familiar voice.

“Run of the Mill, this is Hueso speaking.”

“Hi,” she pushed over the carton of milk to get to the soda’s and juice. “Do you guys deliver?”

“Yes we do, what would you like.”

“Can you do a half cheese, half creepy-special, I got a friend who really likes that kind of stuff.” April squirmed at the thought of the creepy special, it was all of the boys favorite though.

“Brown, blue, or black?”

“Uhhh~” April drew out the sound in confusion, “you mean like… olives?”

“No.”

A chill shot up her spine but she choked it down, “... A- a mix, then?”

“Of course, would you like to add on an order of Garlic knots with that order?”

That sounded more up her human-palette-alley. “You know what, sure.” “Muy bien, what is your address?”

She relayed her address information and her card number from memory and was given an approximate time of 30 minutes for delivery. With the pizza on the way she shouted from the kitchen, “Leo! What do you want to drink!”

“I’m not thirsty.” This was worse than she thought. She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair, 30 minutes until pizza, what was she going to do for 30 minutes? April usually did this for Donnie (and the occasional Mikey), but the procedure always went like this: A Jupiter Jim movie, weighted blanket, pizza, soda, and then she would ask if Donnie (or Mikey) would want to talk about it. Donnie opening up about something was a good 75%-25%, Mikey was 100% going to talk about it before she even started the movie. Leo though, April had never seen him this upset before.

She walked into her bedroom and grabbed a thick blanket off of the foot of her bed, pulling it off messily before making her way back to the living room.

Leo snapped out of a distant stare when April sat next to him on the couch.

She spoke softly as to not startle him any further. “You wanna get out of that soaked jacket?”

He looked down, as if noticing his wet demeanor for the first time. “Oh, uh…” he put on a grin, “what, don’t like the way I sparkle?”

She rolled her eyes, “C’mon, Leo,” if he was cracking jokes maybe he was feeling better, “you’re turning my sofa a whole different shade of brown.”

She watched him chuckle as he began to peel the hoodie off of his but he stopped with a jerk. He was frozen as a darkness passed through his eyes.

She reached a hand out to gently rest on his shoulder, “Leo?”

He snapped, “I need to use your bathroom.” He jumped up from the sofa and stumbled through the hallways before April heard the bathroom door shut with a click.

She had the notion to follow him, but took his place on the couch instead. April looked to Mayhem who likewise looked at her with confusion. She threw the blanket on the chairs arm before getting up again, going to the cabinet below the TV as she started flipping through her collection of old dvds and (ugh) vcr’s. She heard her phone buzz and pulled it from her pocket, a text notification buzzed with Donnie’s name on the screen. She huffed and threw her phone behind her onto the couch. “You ghost me, I ghost you,” she muttered under her breath as she kept flipping through the video’s. Mayhem came up next to her and looked into the drawer.

April heard her phone vibrate again, “I’m trying to pick a movie to watch with Leo,” She pulled out two, “do you think he would like ‘Jitsu for Justice,’, or… ‘Punch Chowder, Directors cut’?” She looked to Mayhem who squinted at the weathered disks before pointing to ‘Jitsu for Justice’. “Yeah, you’re right,” April tossed Punch Chowder back into the drawer, “only criminals like ‘Punch Chowder’.”

She heard her phone vibrate a few more times but ignored it again with a huff. Mayhem teleported onto the sofa where he flipped over the phone to look at the screen, it vibrated again and again and he cringed. April turned on the television and powered up the vcr player, should she let the previews play now or wait until Leo came back into the room. Nah, only Splinter likes the previews. She loaded up the timely tape and let it start playing. Her phone started buzzing again and she groaned in annoyance. April went back to the sofa to snatch up her cell, “ugh, what?”

She opened her messages and was sent the first unchecked message. They kept coming in as she began to read:

Donnie 12:23 pm:

Hey April, did Leo come get you

Donnie 12:28:

Did Leo come get you

Is Leonardo with you

April are you back home safe

Sorry I couldn’t make it something came up.

Txt me back

Have you seen Leonardo

This felt… wrong. April looked to Mayhem who eyed her with mutual discomfort as he watched her from the sofa, she looked back to her messages as she scrolled down farther.

Donnie 12:29

Was Leo able to come get you

Leo’s not at home, have you seen him

Is Leo at your apartment

Text me when you see this

Donnie 12:30

Are you ignoring me

I need to know if Leo’s with you

*we

We need to know if Leo’s with you

We’re really worried pls respond

Donnie 12:32

Text me

Are you mad

April, Something’s up with Leo

Can you call me, Leo’s not picking up his phone

April was pulled out of the trance when she heard the clatter of falling objects and a frantic curse coming from the bathroom.

The excuse to drop her phone back onto the couch was welcome. She moved out of the living room to the start of the hallway. “Leo?” Silence.

She could hear the sink running as she walked further. “Leo,” she tapped on the bathroom door, “are you okay?”

“I-” A shaky breath bled through the thin wood. There was a pause laced with shaky breaths that April could hear despite the flowing sink. “No.”

Her heart sunk and she gripped the door handle, “can I come in?”

When he didn’t answer, a wave of dread washed over her. Should she go in now? Would breaking into the bathroom startle him? Would it make whatever was happening worse? Was he doing something bad?

“Yeah.”

April didn’t hesitate.

Leo stood over the vanity with his arm under the running faucet. She gasped when she saw the pale blistering skin under all the white bubbles. April nearly tripped as her foot kicked a bottle of some beauty product across the bathroom floor, sending it flying into the side of the tub. The cabinet under the sink had been opened and emptied, piles of bottles and scrubs organized frantically in search for something. She barely noticed his hoodie and sword, discarded into a messy pile in the bath. She covered her mouth with one hand while the other went to gently touch the top of his arm. He turned his head away from the sink with a forced smile, “I can’t find your med kit.”

She ran to her room where she slid a small green backpack out from the underside of her bed, a piece of worn and slightly peeling piece of scotch tape with a red sharpied cross adorning its front (she’s known the boys long enough to have one of these). She returned to the bathroom and turned the sink off. She gripped Leonardo firmly as she forced him onto the toilet, she took her place sitting on the side of the tub as she practically ripped open the bag.

“Leo, what did you do?” The burn was on the side of his forearm, starting an inch below the wrist and stretching all the way to his elbow. The skin was a dull and ashy green, distant from his healthy neon shade and covered in small, broken blisters. She reached for the towel hanging on the wall and dabbed at the skin gently to dry the sink water, Leo noticeably flinched at the contact but said nothing. She dived into her bag, retrieving a gauze, a roll of bandages and a burn spray that she sat next to her on the tub ledge. “Leo, what did you do?!” she repeated again. She applied the spray first, an antibiotic burn spray laced with lidocaine, spraying libberaly before applying the gauze loosely to the face of the burn.

“I- I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?!” her sudden shout made him flinch, “this is a second degree burn and you don’t know?!.” She started to loosely apply the bandage, too tight and it would cause more harm than good. Mayhem appeared in the bathroom on top of the sink, curiously looking down on the wound as April applied her first aid. She heard Leo suck a breath in and looked away from his arm to see him holding his face in his hand.

“I don’t know what he- what to-” Leo rubbed his hand down his face, a few tears falling down his cheeks as he spoke, “I don’t know what to do.” He choked and hiccuped with every word. Mayhem trilled quietly with concern, leaning closer to Leo as he watched the two of them interact.

“Leo...” April switched from restraining his hand to holding it, softening her tone as she looked him in the eyes. “Leo, take a deep breath. Can you breathe with me?” He nodded.

“In-” She inhaled deeply through her nose and he copied her, “out.” She exhaled through her mouth, and although his breathing was ragged he replicated the motion. April repeated this with him until his breathing was calmer. She finished wrapping his arm and hugged him, holding him tightly in the dim lighted bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” Leo hesitated, sniffling quietly into her shoulder as he considered what to apologize for, “about the mess, about you being left there in the rain, about Donnie not...”

April took a deep breath, “it’s okay, Leo.” She sat on the lip of the bathtub and swept him over with her eyes, “is there any other injury I should know about?”

He did a little shimmy on the toilet seat, “not that I can feel,” he said blankly. “I didn’t…” Leo looked at his bandaged arm, turning it over slightly before feeling the bandages with his other hand, “I didn’t even feel this, the burn.”

April tilted her head in concern and placed her hands awkwardly in her lap, she didn’t know where else to put them right now. “Were you in shock?” With how upset he looked in front of the vet, it wasn’t unlikely, but the boys usually nursed their own injuries together. April could feel her heart rate pick up as her mind started thinking the worst “Leo… Where are your brothers?”

He straightened and shook his head, “no… No, April they’re fine, this was…” he pulled his arm up to rub at the back of his neck, his hands ghosting over the formed bruise on his throat before moving away again, “Dad, Raph and Mikey are fine, they weren’t even there when it...” Leo paused and his eyes focussed on something distant.

“What about Donnie?” Leo shifted uncomfortably. April took his face in her hands, forcing Leo to make eye contact with her, “Leo, what. About. Donnie.”

“I think he’s… okay?”

“What?” Mayhem hopped onto the back of Leo’s shell, rubbing against his head as Mayhem took a closer look at Leo’s arm, going over the medical work with narrowed eyes. “What is that supposed to mean!”

Leonardo leaned back out of her hands. “April, I don’t even know how to explain it, he-” Leo groaned in frustration and grabbed Mayhem quickly to place him back on the floor, “It. It wasn’t even... It wasn’t even Donnie.”

April felt a wave of confusion roll over her. She balked, “what are you talking about?”

Leo laughed pitifully as he brought his hand up to his face, “ah-ha-ha~” he sputtered out, “I don’t even know where to start…” He rubbed over his eyes and leaned back in defeat on the tank of the toilet. He sighed deeply before quietly saying, almost to himself, “I think I'm going crazy, April.”

April said nothing, examining Leo as he laid back in defeat, not looking at her, not looking at anything really. She finally noticed the dark bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes, he looked utterly exhausted and she wasn’t sure what to do. Keep pushing for an answer? No. No not yet. She sighed and looked away towards Mayhem, who was circling the bathroom floor. Mayhem was still disgruntled from being placed on the floor but walked up to Leo’s leg, sniffing at his ankles and narrowing his eyes.

In the uncomfortable silence April could finally hear the TV going, the previews were coming close to an end. “Leo, do you want to go sit in the living room?” He looked uncertain at the question, looking over April as they both hesitated. She turned to a softer tone. “Go get comfortable on the couch, I’ll clean up here and I’ll be with you in a second.” He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. “Okay?”

After another moment, Leo simply nodded and stood. Mayhem staggered back from the sudden movement and stumbled backwards as Leo moved out of the bathroom, Mayhem quickly followed, close behind his heels.

April breathed out with a sigh of relief, loosely running her hand through her hair as she leaned over her knees. What was going on? She took a deep breath in and tossed the burn spray back into the bag, zipping it up quickly and placing it on top of the toilet. April took to the floor as she began to place the miscellaneous beauty products back into the bottom of the sink. While looking for her medical kit, Leo had tried to place the cabinets contents in neat rows on the floor and counter, but somewhere along the way something must have fallen, causing a domino collapse and causing the noise that brought April to the door.She finished placing everything back into the cabinet and closed the door quietly before standing and approaching the bathtub.

Leo’s hoodie was soaked in her hands, would he even still want it with the massive burn on the sleeve? She considered hanging it on the curtains tension-rod to dry but reconsidered. Wouldn’t want to forget it's there and have her mom find it and asked questions. April reopened the med bag and stuffed it in there, she’d hang it up to dry later and ask if Leo would still want it. She bent down and clasped his sword, freezing as she got a closer look at the blade. Along the sharp edge was a thin stretch of red. His sword had blood. Was that normal? It was a sword so blood shouldn’t be unbelievable, but it was blood. Leo had never really cut people before though so what blood- whose blood was this? He was burnt, not cut. It wasn’t his, but it was blood so who…

April’s head ran around in circles. It was blood. On Leo’s sword. April turned the bath’s faucet on and quickly ran over the edge with a hanging washcloth, quickly removing the red and going it over a few more times for good measure. She took the hanging towel and dried it before setting the Odachi on top of the towel rack. Why did she do that? Should she have asked first? Asked what, if he wanted to keep it on it? If he wanted to keep blood on his sword?! April groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. They felt cold from the bathwater, it felt nice against her flushed cheeks.

April inhaled deeply and held it, holding her breath and counting to thirty before releasing it in a long, deep sigh.

“Okay.” She repeated the breath again as she held her hands together in front of her lips, holding for thirty before releasing another long, deep sigh. “Alright, April. You are going to go in there, and you are going to be there for your friend.” She paused and picked up the med bag, starting her trek back to her room where she returned her bag to the bottom of her bed, “he’ll tell you when he’s ready, it’s okay, he’s okay…” She felt calmer from talking to herself, she didn’t do it often, but it helped, and she could feel it helping her now as her nerves subsided, “it’s all going to be okay.”

-

April called from the kitchen, “water or soda?”

He wasn’t thirsty earlier, but he could feel the stripping dryness in his throat now. “Just water, please.” Leo could hear the refrigerator open and close with a clap.

Mayhem returned to Leo’s lap the moment he sat down, curling back into a ball and purring softly as Leo stroked his fur. For the first time in days Leo felt relief wash over him, and he gave a heavy yawn.

Leo snapped his mouth closed, he didn’t want to sleep just yet. April walked into the room carrying a bottle of water and a can of soda. Once she handed the water to Leo she plopped down onto the opposite side of the couch and cracked the can open.

Why did he say all that in the bathroom? Leo was filled with embarrassment and fear, did April think he was crazy now?

Might as well make small talk. “Why did Mayhem need to go to the vet?”

April swallowed the soda with a sigh, “poor little guy wasn’t eating, turns out he had some yucky stuff in his guts and now he’s gotta go on a “delicate tummy” diet and take some pills.”

“Yucky stuff as in…”

April took a sip, pushing out an audible sigh afterwards. “Some intestinal parasite, I think?”

Leo cringed. “Ugh,” it just had to be that. Leo brushed off the chill and sipped at his water, “how was the vet?”

“Oh don’t even get me started,” April sat her can on the coffee table with a hard tap. “I couldn’t get Mayhem to a vet up here for obvious reasons, so I call Sunita about it and she recommended this vet clinic,” her phone vibrates but she ignores it as she starts her tangent, “so I get there and it looks like a prison, I get Mayhem inside and the receptionist doesn’t take me seriously until I show her the appointment on my phone. I end up waiting an hour longer than I need to before the doctor finally sees me and Mayhem bites him!”

“He bit someone?” Leo carefully moves his hand off of Mayhem’s back, eyeing the comfortable yokai cat-dog who grumbles at the loss of the touch. “I thought he reserved that kind of stuff for Raph.” Leo chuckles dryly.

April gives a ‘Ha’, but continues “I know right! Anyway, after he pins Mayhem down with some ‘magic hands,’” April makes jazzy hands at those words, “he prods and pokes mayhem for like twenty minutes before putting like three shots in his tummy.” She leans over and picks Mayhem off of Leo’s lap to set him down on her own, gently petting his head until he was comfortable again. “Mayhem throws up like two times his body weight all over the doc’s shoes and that’s when the guy finally tells me that Mayhem was sick with some weird stuff before shoving me out the door with a bill.” April huff’s. In hearing April retell his traumatizing tale, Mayhem stands gruffly and hops back off of her lap onto the floor to start licking his fur.

Leo watched Mayhem tentatively and shifted his legs to be a bit farther away from the weird dog. “Sounds… awful.” Mayhem noticed Leo’s movement and started sniffing again, getting closer to his ankles as he inspected.

“Yeah, now he’s gotta take pills for like a whole month to make sure it all gets out of his system, apparently it’s some super persistent variety.” April sighed and leaned back. “For a doctor, he didn’t talk much and I barely understood anything he was saying when he did.” She moved her eyes to the screen of the T.V.. ‘Jitsu for Justice’ was starting now, the opening shot starting with Lou Jitsu (like most of his movies.) “But… I’m glad that it's over. This little guy was acting all kinds of weird, he’s acting way more like himself now.” She sighed.

‘Wish I could feel the same way,’ Leo thought. Leo tried doing the same, staring at the screen as he tried to zone out. He was suddenly aware of the blanket next to him as he pulled it off the arm and wrapped himself in it. A wave of heat shot through his arm up to his shoulder, making him wince just as he settled in for comfort. He ignored it and tried to focus on the screen... The fight with It… A visual of himself on the ground, with Donnie’s body hovering over him settled in his brain like a transparent filter. The rocketsetting on Donnie’s tech bo after he pushed the button. When the purple flames started and he felt the heat on his arm. Leo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That must have been it. When the rocket setting started and he was so panicked that he hadn’t registered the pain.

Leo suddenly felt queasy as the burn on his arm visualized in his head. He leaned back until his shell was flush with the sofa, keeping his eyes shut as he took a deep breath. Painful heat went up his arm again. The hand on his neck. The choke hold he was forced into. Calling Raph. Being dragged away by the throat…. Donnie’s hand. His eyes snapped open, but not before the visceral picture of his twins gaping palm flashed through his mind. Oh no oh no nono. It was so deep and there was white. It was bone. Leo lurched forward into his hand. He cut someone. Hurt someone. Donnie. He sucked in a harsh breath. ‘It wasn’t Donnie. It’s not Donnie,’ the small voice - maybe it was Leo’s conscience, which, funny enough, took the form of Raph - tried to reason. Oh but it was a body. Maybe not Donnie’s but maybe it was Donnie’s and he just hurt him.

“Leo?” He heard April but he didn’t want to respond. He felt like he couldn’t respond without breaking down. He now realized that he still had the water bottle in his hands. Not wanting to crush it with his vice grip, he set it onto the coffee table between them, staring at the water as it quaked.

He exhaled shakily as he tried to get a grip on himself. ‘Don’t do this, not here,’ he tried repeating the words in his head. What if it was Donnie. What if it wasn’t? If it was? Then his brother is being puppet controlled by a worm the size of a python from the inside out. If it wasn’t, then Donatello might be dead already and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Leo.” A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again as the words caught in his throat. He tried again, only a gargle coming out the second time before he snapped it shut again. April moved to hold his hand, patiently looking him in the eyes as she listened. He blinked the tremor out of his vision as he focused on her. “It started two days ago,” Leo started, “I didn’t think much of it… but then it started getting worse.”

She squeezed his hand when he hesitated and he swallowed. Closing his eyes as everything revisualized at once. He had already started, ‘keep it as “on-track” as you can, man’ the voice in his head - which he now knew was mind Raph - chastised gently.

“It’s Donnie.” He felt a sting in his throat again but he swallowed it down, “or maybe it was Donnie at some point... but isn’t any more. But I don’t want to think that because that would mean that…” that he’s dead. “I-” that Donnie’s dead. That he’s dead and something did it, and they didn’t stop it, that he didn’t stop it and Donatello, his twin, his brother their brother was dead. Leonardo tilted his head back as he fought tears. “I just knew that something was wrong, nothing was wrong, but…” He should have said something to Raphael, maybe he would have believed him more than Mikey did and none of this would have escalated like it had, but then again, “he wasn’t even acting weird!” April shifted back uncomfortably at the sudden outburst. “And the stupid milk!”

“Slow down Leo,” April kept her hand on his, squeezing it comfortably as she brought her other hand up defensively. “Can you start from the beginning?” She watched as Mayhem jumped onto the sofa and curled up in his lap. Leo looked down in surprise but hummed softly as he started to pet his fur.

He thought he was starting from the beginning. He breathed in and out, picking a better place in the story to start with. “It didn’t start getting odd until breakfast, the other day, when I asked him about why he was putting milk in his coffee, not a big deal.” April nodded, “But then he got uncomfortable with my questioning, so I tried leaving it alone. Then it got weirder… like,” Leonardo looked to April as he hesitated, she was paying attention to him as he spoke, taking in everything as he said it as she tried to understand, “he started trying to spend more time with me. He intentionally lost a game to me, which he would never do, and he didn’t care when Mikey broke the turtle tank!” Leo’s voice had risen again.

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait.” April briefly interrupted with a shocked tone. “Mikey broke the tank?”

“Well, no… just the soft-serve machine.” Leo trailed off, “but he wasn’t even annoyed!"

Mayhem rolled over on Leo’s lap but seemed to be bothered again, hopping up on all fours to jump off the couch.

April hummed, “he didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing! And I-” Leo stumbled over his words, “and I know that that’s so small! It’s like I said, nothing was bad, nothing was wrong. Just… off, and there was no reason for me to be suspicious, no real reason for me to be paranoid. And then, right after you called…” he forced himself to stop when he heard the quiver in his voice.

“It’s okay, Leo,” She took his hand again, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand as she held it tightly. She gave a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

“There’s something inside of him.” Leo’s voice broke. “It crawled back inside of him and it’s not him, I think it’s his body but it’s not him who’s moving and talking,” Leo brought his hands up as he accentuated his words, breaking contact with April’s hand as he continued. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that there’s some monster impersonating him, or that nobody knows, or that I have no idea how long he- It has been like that.” Mayhem sniffed at Leo’s ankles again, squinting before poking at Leo’s shin guards (ankle warmers? socks?)

“What do you mean?” April felt unease at what Leo was insinuating, a similar feeling to when she had read those texts.

“It was like… a snake, or a worm, it was black and it came out of his mouth before Donnie- It attacked me.” He has it in his head that it’s not Donnie, but his mouth can't get it right. “It’s like...”

April hesitantly finished for him. “Like… like a parasite?”

Mayhem screeched.

Both Leo and April jumped at the sudden noise and Mayhem ripped off Leo’s shin guard with his (surprisingly strong) tiny hands. Leo jumped back farther into the couch with a yelp at the motion as April tried to grab the little yokai.

“Mayhem, stop!” She tried grabbing him but he dodged April’s hands as he jumped onto the coffee table between them, shaking Leo’s shin guard roughly.

Something struck the table, sticking stationary to the hard surface with a tap. Mayhem threw the guard over his shoulder - which flew over April’s head - and inspected the small item. He squinted his eyes as he took it between his tiny fingers and sniffed it once before growling. With a huff, mayhem showed it to them both, holding the small bead in the air for Leo and April to see. Mayhem held a black bead the size of a pinky nail between his tiny claws, it shined dully in the light of the T.V. Leo flinched in recognition. It was one of the beads that Donnie had pulled from behind his shell.

“Uh, Mayhem?” April asked, “what’s up buddy?”

Mayhem reached it towards her and April took it between her fingers, tapping it between her finger pads. “It’s… kinda sticky?” She offered the observation as she handed the bead to Leo, who did the same. Mayhem rolled his eyes as he watched her pass it off to him. It was sticky. As Leo rolled it between his fingers he could feel it’s pull on his skin, it was also kinda squishy under the pressure.

Mayhem pulled Leo’s water bottle over to the center of the table and quickly unscrewed the lid. He hopped onto Leo’s lap, snatching the bead from his fingers before turning back to the table. Popping the bead in quickly, he recapped the bottle before shaking the container vigorously with both hands. Both Leo and April watched silently (although definitely confused) as Mayhem performed the task with shut eyes. After what felt like minutes, Mayhem set the bottle back down with an tired sigh, keeping his tiny hand on the lid to hold it down. The bead was now three times its size.

April looked towards Leo. He was transfixed, his lips pressed tightly together as he stared with wide eyes. He gasped. April snapped her head back towards the coffee table. The bead squirmed and twitched before cracking open. A black, rounded point shot out from the crack, extending and expanding as it breached what they now knew as an egg. The thin tubular worm escaped its egg as it circled its environment, slowly expanding.

“What the-” April gasped. Leo was silent as he watched, unconsciously gripping the arms of the chair until the fabric squeaked. Horrified, they both watched over a span of minutes as the creature grew longer and thicker, soaking up the water until it filled the space of the entire bottle. Even when there was no space to grow, they could still see it slithering around and into itself, turning the water into a murky black.

Mayhem broke the silence with a chirp. Looking expectantly at them both.

“Mayhem, i’m going to assume that you…” April tried her best to avoid looking at the bottle, trying instead to focus on her pet/friend to fight the nausea. “Know what that is?”

Mayhem nodded.

“That’s…” April and Mayhem both looked towards Leo, who forced his words out with bated breath, “that’s the thing.”

Mayhem pushed the bottle to the side, getting back up onto all fours as he looked towards Leo pitifully. April jumped as the bottle shook on it’s own, she felt her skin crawl and shifted in her seat. Looking towards Leo she could see what only could be described as despair and disgust.

“That’s what’s in Donnie.”

The doorbell rang.

#rottmnt #tmnt #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #April o'niel #Leo #Leonardo #Mayhem #Donnie #donatello #It started with the milk #Chapter 6 #Chapter six #parasite #horror attempt #Rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles