#my wig was all over the place that day it was so windy

[atypicalantinomy]

Me as Shiro from Voltron Legendary Defender, Cartoomics 2017 i just realised the original post disappeared so yea let me just post these again

#takeshi shirogane #shiro (voltron) #shiro (vld) #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #takeshi shiro shirogane #cosplay #my wig was all over the place that day it was so windy #next time im flooding it with hairspray #i strangely felt good in this cospaly even if its not perfect

[guylty]

Hello hello hello! A week has passed and I am back from my mini break. I am going to indulge in a little travel report here, so those of you who have no interest in sitting through someone else’s holiday pictures – no offense taken, I totally understand! – please just scroll down to where you see the header for the round-up. All your tumblr Armitage needs will be satisfied down there 😉.

Tbh, it was lovely to leave the confines of my home town and finally venture out a little bit farther afield. In fact, it only occurred to me as we were on the road, that I hadn’t left Dublin at all since mid-January 😱. Ireland is not really that big – it reaches about 500 km (300m) from top to bottom – but the terrain here is characterised by rocks and hills, which makes for small, windy roads, especially as the infrastructure does not need to be as car-friendly as in other, more populated countries in the world. So don’t be surprised if you see the estimated travel time in the map below.

Yes, it takes more than 4 hours to travel 287km (178m) in Ireland. 😁 If you look really closely at the map you will actually notice a black jagged line running through the land. That is the border between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom. Our route this time took us the Northern Irish way, crossing into NI near Belturbet and then exiting again via Pettigo. The border is still “green”, i.e. there is no visible sign that you have actually moved from one jurisdiction to another. (I can usually only tell by the difference in road surface 😂 and the fact that the speed signs are suddenly in miles/h and not in kilometer/h any more. It’ll be interesting to see the Brexit regulation work out the issue of the United Kingdom’s *only* land border while keeping both EU customs rules as well as inner-Irish peace…) This is the shortest way of getting up from Dublin in the centre of the East coast, into the Northwestern corner of Ireland, which is part of the Republic and called County Donegal.

Our journey took us even longer than the estimated 4 hours, but then we also had to switch drivers in order to relieve my mother-in-law (77) and take a lunch break. We eventually arrived in Dunfanaghy in the late afternoon where my father-in-law had specifically booked rooms with a view in the plush Arnold’s Hotel. At first I was a bit taken aback at the layer of dust in our otherwise lovely room but then I realised that it meant the room had not been used in months and we were the first occupants since reopening the day prior, i.e. no lingering viruses there… From our luxurious king-size bed we had views out to the beach. (Click all images to enlarge!)

View from the bed

Village idyll

Busy despite the Covid crisis

Dunfanaghy beach at low tide

I have to say I was a bit skeptical as regards the attitude of the holiday makers towards keeping safe from the virus, though. Dunfanaghy was packed to the gills with tourists, particularly from Northern Ireland. (The weekend actually coincided with the traditional, Protestant celebrations of the Battle of the Boyne on the 12th of July every year. This is a significant date in NI, marking the victory of Protestant king William III over Catholic king James II, celebrated with drums, huge bonfires and marches by the Orange Order. It continues to be a controversial tradition within NI, with (some) Catholics offended by the celebration of this victory, while (some) Protestants insist on their right to express their traditions.) As part of the UK, NI has had a different approach to the Covid crisis than the Republic, and tbh I was not really that impressed with the general lack of social distancing displayed last week. (It goes without saying that it was *not only* NI people who were far too close for my comfort; there obviously were also plenty of Irish holiday makers there, too.) Within the hotel, there were hand-sanitisers at all exits and corridors, so it was easy to keep hands clean. In the restaurant, the staff wore PPE masks and the guests were seated well apart as fewer tables than normal were set up. So I felt relatively safe in there. But I hardly saw any face masks worn in the village, people were congregating in big groups outside pubs and shops, and it felt as if there were no covid restrictions at all. All that made me very angry. On our walks, particularly in the very busy Glenveagh National Park, people would not keep distance even though the paths were more than 2 meters wide, and on the parking lot, cars parked directly side-by-side. But then again, at least we were outside, and Glenveagh is an absolutely stunning place.

Glenveagh

Glenveagh Castle

In the kitchen garden of Glenveagh

Bag End?

Entrance to the kitchen garden

Wild life very close by

I have been to Glenveagh a good few times before. It’s a stunning valley with a 19th century hunting lodge castle at the centre. There is a formal garden through which you enter the castle grounds, but what I had not see until now was the amazing kitchen garden. The little gardener’s cottage under the large tree somehow reminded me of Bag End.

The best thing, of course, is the beaches and dunes and the mighty North Atlantic.

Tramore Strand

Horn Head

View of Tramore from the dunes

Horn Head from Dunfanaghy

I was thinking of Squirrel/Radagast who had commented about wild flowers before I left for the North, and I took a good few photos of flowers.

Native Irish orchid

Calla lily – associated with the Irish struggle for freedom

The weather was – Irish. We had two days that were predominantly dry, with only a little bit of drizzle here and there. Only on our last day the weather really turned against us, which was annoying as we had planned to go walking with my in-laws a bit. But well, a bit of wet doesn’t deter my hardy in-laws. There is no bad weather – only inappropriate clothing. So we trudged off on a two-hour walk in the Ards Forest. I think I was the only who got drenched to the skin. Yep, even after 20 years I still haven’t learnt… or bought the right equipment.

Typical family picnic. In the rain. Sharing 1 bottle of Guinness, 2 apples and 2 sandwiches. No lie.

However, we did also get a bit of sunset in, and so the trip’s best memory is this – a sundowner from Horn Head with the ragged shape of Tory Island in the background.

So, that was my summer holiday 2020. Four nights away with family. It was actually really lovely, especially as my f-i-l is now getting really old. This may have been his last trip up to Donegal. It was lovely to spend time with him and my m-i-l who are still very active and who are interesting to chat to. I was especially delighted that Little Miss Guylty came along, too – not just for myself but also for the grandparents for whom her presence is particularly special. And I had four nights of sound sleep that really recharged my batteries. So much so that I can now jump energetically into this week’s tumblr round-up:

  Badtennantwolf has put together a set of icons. I am including the set here for the first four pictures of RA at SDCC in 2015 as we recently had a chat about that occasion (and the famous dragon beanie throw) elsewhere

Richardarmitagefanpage reminds us of a Hobbit Extended Editions rewatch organised by One Ring Net for 21 July

Some dramatic Guy of Gisborne gifs, season 3, by riepu10

LOL. Including this mainly for the spot-on caption by thewarriorandtheking

*sniggers* Mezzmerizedbyrichard has come to the aid of many hot and bothered Mr Thornton admirers…

I have always been somewhat intrigued by that pock mark on Richard’s arm. Maybe he had it removed or something, because I also remember pictures from around the same time where he sported a blue plaster on his bicep. Picture posted by hobbitoferebor

Goodness me. 13 years ago. Yes, he looks a good bit younger. And full-on Gisborne-sideburns. Gifs by riepu10

Eyelash porn courtesy by mezzmerizedbyrichard

Ignore the wig and enjoy the nose! Richard as Claude Monet, giffed by mezzmerizedbyrichard

Lehnsharks’ Thorin drawings

BTS footage of Richard as Thorin was few and far between, so here are a few precious scenes, giffed by riepu10

Daniel Miller/Trevor Price looking ominous… Gifs by riepu10

One of nfcomics’ What A Guy Wants… interesting metaphor…

There we go. Sorry for the whole long holiday crap. I can faithfully promise that that is it for this year *sardonic laugh*.

However, before I go and more importantly, just a quick reminder:

It’ll be August soon and that means… RA birthday auction time!!! Donations of items have been coming in and it is high time for me to start organising and promoting, soon. Watch this space for more info!

Have a lovely weekend,

Sonja ❤️

  2020 Armitage Weekly Round-up #28 Hello hello hello! A week has passed and I am back from my mini break. I am going to indulge in a little travel report here, so those of you who have no interest in sitting through someone else's holiday pictures - no offense taken, I totally understand!

#Daniel Miller #Guy of Gisborne #John Thornton #Richard Armitage #Thorin Oakenshield #Weekly tumblr Round-up

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Wig Worland

If you walked into a WHSmiths during the 1990s, then chances are that you will have seen the high-calibre work of Wig Worland.

As a photographer at seminal skateboard magazines like R.A.D. and Sidewalk, his sharp eye helped capture a relatable world of British skating, a million miles away from sun-drenched California schoolyards.

First question - when did you start taking photos? Was there something that set you off with it?

I started in school when one of the better teachers realised I wasn't going anywhere academically and lent me her camera. I don't think there was anything else I could have done to be honest. I started to assist photographers straight out of school.

How did you end up doing skate photography? What was the camera set-up back then?  

I grew up near an adventure playground. One day in the early ‘80s a quarter pipe with 'Skatopia' written on it appeared there. We would ride our BMX bikes on it. A few weeks later a guy called Wurzel appeared - he literally dropped over the fence.

All of us, including Wurzel, rode bikes for a bit but as the world transformed around us we all got into skateboarding. One of my best friends at the time was London street skating legend Phil Chapman. He let me take pictures of him and I got better at it.

It’s funny how when you're young it just doesn't occur to you that those are the formative years, even though that’s what every older person is saying to you at the time.

My first camera was a Canon FTB with a 24mm lens - I couldn't afford a fisheye lens. I then wasted more time and energy on a 17mm lens. It was really terrible, but I did get my first picture published in RAD using it.

What was that?

A guy called Doc with a chuck on handrail at the bus station in Milton Keynes in an article in R.A.D. in 1990. In the same article came my second and third published picture. It was such a pivotal moment in my life but just like buses, three came along at once.  

Do you remember the first photo you took where you thought, “I’m getting quite good at this”?

Not any single shot, but I think when I got to shoot Manzoori or Channer or Wainwright, I was beginning to shoot people who were making great pictures all the time. The trips back and forth to the lab became less fuelled with anxiety and worry about what I was doing.

So something must have been going right, maybe I knew enough about the dark art of shooting on slide film that I could relax into it. A bit anyway.

The late 80s and early 90s are quite a while ago now. What are some things people forgot about that time?

There was no Instagram! There wasn't anywhere other than the monthly magazines (and of course books) to get any information about anything. It really is odd to say it now because we are all so used to finding anything out that we want to know immediately.

My sister has a theory that technology is making us all more stupid. We simply don't have to retain any information anymore. To get from place to place you don't even need a sense of direction, just flick on 'Waze' or whatever and it tells you where to go.    

How weird was it to be a skater or a rider in the late 80s? Obviously now skating is going through another 'cool wave', but how much stick did you get back then for it?  

We got so much hassle from everybody at the time. It’s ridiculous when you think about how 'cool' it all is now. We didn’t care at all though. We knew what we were doing was way more important than simply school or fashion or T.V. or whatever else our other friends or peers were into. We were involved in making something happen.  

R.A.D. was split fairly evenly between skating and riding. Was there much of a divide at the time? And what were your opinions on the other avenues of raditude?

I'll fully admit it; I went from BMX to skateboard. I was probably a little too young to catch the first wave of skateboarding in the UK. I was six or seven and my mum wouldn't let me have a board, though my best mate at the time had much older brothers so I can claim to have ridden a Logan Earth Ski in the 70s.

By the time BMX hit I was a little more in control of my life. I saved up my lunch money for an entire year so I could buy a Kuwahara ET. My friends and I had so much fun knocking about on those bikes in the 80s — it was amazing. Before I knew it I'd given up BMX 'racing’ and was getting more serious about BMX 'freestyle' (which really is an oxymoron when you stop to think about it).

Within a year or two I had switched to a GT Performer and I was entering freestyle 'contests' and wearing ever more dodgy clothing. Obviously we didn't know it at the time but they really were the formative years of my life.

A good friend from that time, Lee Reynolds moved to California and went on to become a very successful freestyle pro rider with Haro. Back then we all hung out at Mons ramp like one big happy family, and that’s where I started to meet more people.

As BMX started to die, I just moved my attention to skateboarding. There was just so much to get into. You can do way more stuff with a skateboard than a bike! Sorry to the entire BMX community.  

What were you looking at for inspiration back then? Even your early photos had a definite style.

I was looking at BMX Action and BMX Plus from America that would appear periodically in the newsagents near my school. Then Freestylin' and Transworld, and Thrasher when I could find it. Back then Thrasher wasn't quite so appealing — it was half a music magazine with really cheap paper, and was scrappy compared to glossier titles of the day. It’s amazing how Thrasher has outlasted them all.  

I loved Spike and Windy, and, obviously J Grant Britain, but I also really love TLB's pictures. He really was an amazing complete photographer - properly trained and much better than me. Now I have had a chance to see the stuff in the RAD archive, I can't begin to say how amazing it is. It might not have looked all that good in the mag but that was because of the awful print quality. When the book comes out you’ll see what I mean.

R.A.D. faded into the shortly-lived Phat in the early 90s. How did Sidewalk come about?

Andy Horsely and I were doing a magazine called The System during the last days of TLB R.A.D. When R.A.D. was sold to yet another publisher that was out of town, Tim didn’t want to leave London. He thought it was a dead end. By a series of strange occurrences Andy Horsely and I managed to get ourselves in the door at R.A.D. There’s a bit more to this story, but the full version will be in the book hopefully.  

Whereas early skate magazines had their fair share of day-glo high-top fashions and boned-out, high-zoot grabs, Sidewalk had a much more British look. Was this intentional? Or was this just a reflection of the times?

It was absolutely intentional. We wanted it to look like a British skate magazine, and perhaps naively, we wanted it to feature all British people, in Britain. The US skate magazine culture was, and still is, so dominant, but we wanted to showcase the UK.

At the time the world was beginning to see Rowley, Penny and Wainwright but we knew there was so much more. Making an all-British magazine was way more difficult than any of us imagined and I'm not sure how sustainable that idea was (and still is). We tried our very best given the resources we had.

Was there things you wouldn't photograph - maybe dodgy outfits or questionable moves?

We had an unspoken ban on the Benihana at Sidewalk. Ha! I wonder if anyone else would admit to that. Everything else was totally fine. We even put Dan Cates in the mag with all his craziness for heaven’s sake!  

The mid-90s seemed like the real glory days of magazines. They were thick, they came out once a month, they had all sorts of mad stuff in them… and they could all be bought from WHSmiths for a few quid. Why do you reckon there were so many good mags around at this time?

It was really the only way to communicate before the internet really took a grip. Nowadays, you put your tricks up on Instagram and let the world judge you. Back then, we shot the photo, we took it to the lab, and then it was sent off to be printed in cyan, magenta, yellow and black on paper.  

After a lot of fuss and bother, the magazine hit the shelves and the rest of the world could see the moments that I had had all to myself. It really was an incredible moment. I'm not sure I'd go back to it though! It was pretty insular and created some difficult politics. It's probably a bit more democratic now. If you don't like what somebody is doing, you 'unfollow' them and that's that.  

What was a typical day like back in the early Sidewalk days? Was there a typical day?

Probably wake up late and head to the office via the lab, to pick up the film from the previous day. Maybe pet the dog when I got there for a bit. Horse would invariably arrive later than me and we'd get lunch. After looking through some pictures on the light table I'd head out to shoot skaters in various parts of the country.

One day I'd be in Hull, the next in Birmingham and the next in London. It was a pretty insane schedule to be honest.

I’ve said this before in other interviews but I’ll say it again, I hated driving up and down the motorway system in the UK, but I loved the people I met along the way. I really don’t think there was anyone that I didn’t like — it was incredible. A good example of this is driving to Hull, which is a really long way from anywhere. But when I got there, there was Eggy and Banksy and Scott. Amazing people.  

This might be a bit of a camera tech guy question… but imagine I’m stood at the top of that flatbank hip at Radlands and a young Tom Penny is cruising towards me… how do I capture the action? Should I pan? Is my flash mounted on the top of my camera… or on a cable… or on a stand? What film should I use?

If you're at a comp it's best that your flash is mounted on your camera, because if you’re trying to be clever like I was in the 90s trying to use an off-camera flash on a lead (Windy Osborn/Spike Jonze style) you're going to miss a lot of shots. Yes, always pan with the subject if you can, it's just better and I'd use whatever film you can afford. It’s really expensive and you only have 36 to 39 shots depending on how clever, or stupid, your camera is.

If it’s not contest day then spend a little longer on your lighting. But not so long that you forget to shoot the scene, the look of the place and the informal portraits of the skaters. You’ll regret that later on if you don’t shoot that stuff. Ahem…

Sidewalk did a very good job of making some fairly drab looking spots pretty good. That photo of a lad named Cookie gapping from a Carpet Right car park in the rain comes to mind… something like that could easily look pretty depressing in lesser hands. What were your tricks for making these fairly everyday places look decent?

Bring your own sun — a portable flash. Oh, and a little jiggery pokery with the slide film we were using as well. Also, know what you’re doing, and how the film is going to react to the light. Photography is all about various kinds of lies to create the shot you want.

I’m glad you remembered that Cookie shot because it is pretty special. He was such an amazing, positive person. Never mind my photograph, but how did a person stay positive when you had such terrible conditions to skate in! It’s not exactly California.

Pretty much sums up how we should all approach life, the Cookie story...

I don’t know if I’m looking into this too much, but a lot of the Sidewalk stuff celebrated British culture rather than disguise it. I’m not sure where I’m going with this question, but do you think it’s important that people embrace their situation, rather than endlessly dream of California?  

My entire life’s philosophy is to draw out what you can from the place where you are, rather than dreaming that somewhere else has the answer. This ridiculous dreaming is the reason that the air is so polluted these days with people crossing the world on long haul flights to wherever and with people driving from perfectly fine A, to almost certainly nearly the same B.

Of course all this is fine for me to say, I don’t have a car but I live in London where there is a brilliantly sophisticated Public transport system. I grew up in Milton Keynes so it wasn’t a shock to get to California and see the state they’re in, but I truly believe the car has ruined a lot. Not least for our children who can no longer play in the streets primarily because of the number of vehicles on the road. Rant over.  

Haha fair enough. What were some of the hassles of making a magazine back then? Any camera mishaps or blatant errors come to mind?  

Radio slaves were terrible but they still are. That’s the nature of radio waves in a very wet country. There was some dodgy kit but you could usually spot it pretty quickly and pass it on. I did have all my cameras stolen from the boot of my car once which did feel like the end of the world at the time. Grant  Brittain  very  kindly  sent  me  one  of  his  old  cameras  and  a  fish  eye  to  start  me  off  again  and  Pete  Hellicar  rang  round  all  the  big  names  in  the  industry  in  the  UK  asking  for  donations  to  get  me  started  again. Really  kind,  amazing  people.  

The problems were always with the printers or repro people. Handing over your precious photographs and layouts to people who aren’t as invested in the project shall we say. Having said that, there weren’t that many problems, only ever issues that the editor or I would notice.  

I’d say skate photography fits under the documentary category, but how far would you go to get a better photo? I know moving the occasional rucksack out of shot is fairly commonplace, but I’ve heard stories of photographers carrying around brighter clothes for people to wear so they stand out more.

There are a few skaters who would bring their own brighter clothes for the shoot. Have a look through my shots and see if you can guess who they are for a fun game. I think this is brilliant.

I don't think that skateboard photography is documentary at all. It’s a collaboration between the skateboarder and the photographer to produce the best image they possibly can.

What about the days when nothing happened? Surely there must have been a few afternoons when no one was feeling it, or did the fact you had a big camera bag egg people on a bit? It rains a lot in Britain, I'm sure you've noticed. On those days, if you were lucky, we'd sit about in the local Skateshop. If we were less lucky we'd get caught at the local indoor skate park and wait for the rain to stop. I remember thinking then that I would never get that time back, now of course if I had that time back I would do just the same thing. Amazing days. I'm sure people did feel motivated by having a magazine photographer in town to shoot pictures of them yes, but that just makes me wonder what it's like now? You can literally shoot a picture whenever you like and upload it anywhere.

Do you think these advances in technology have improved skate photography or not?

I would have killed for a digital camera back when I was shooting skateboarding every day. I’d not only have been able to see what I had in terms of stills, but shooting sequences would have had a lot less pressure involved as well. A couple of people have said that seeing the used rolls of bails lining up on the stairs or pavement beside me gave them extra incentive to land the trick, but it made for some pretty heated sessions.

The Chris Oliver kickflip off a bus stop into bank with another drop springs to mind. Fair play to the ginger genius though, he bloody landed it, and he can say he did it on film as well. So, so sick.

Did you enjoy doing sequence shots or was it just a case of documenting the new tech?

I wasn't really interested in shooting sequences to be honest, I always thought that was the job of the video camera. In some ways I wish I stuck with that attitude and concentrated on the style of the skater rather than the high tech that they could put down. I think that would have made for a more interesting back catalogue.  

This is maybe another fairly camera-orientated question, but I’m interested, so the casual readers will have to suffer… you were maybe one of the first skate photographers to push the studio-lighting style out into the real world. What led to this development?

Ollie Barton thinks I was the first to do the studio on the street thing. I guess other people had tried using flash slaves off camera before, but I made it my own. I was the first out there with portable studio flash which had more spread of light than the dedicated flashes made by camera manufactures. I'm sure I was responsible for keeping the Lumedyne brand going for a while. Lumedyne really are the most terrible looking lights that have ever come to market, made from bits bought from Maplin or Radio Shack, but they worked quite well and everybody had them in the early 2000s.

Did setting up multiple flashes in ropey areas ever become a problem?

It's funny you know, I never felt odd about setting up lighting anywhere. If you’re prepared to pop a light out on a dodgy estate then you’re serious about getting something done. I think most people whoever they are respect that, some are even interested in it.

There were a few hairy moments — like a car taking out a light in downtown Stockport while shooting late at night. But the light was in the middle of the street, so that one was on me. Nobody ever picked one up and legged it. Not once, but as I said they don't look expensive so maybe that was enough.  

Maybe a bit of an obvious question, but do you have a favourite photograph you’ve taken? And are there any photos which you wish you took?

As I rather flippantly alluded to earlier, I don’t feel I shot anywhere near enough incidental stuff. I was too interested in making the lighting right to capture the trick perfectly. If I could go back I’d have a point and shoot with me at all times and I’d use it constantly.  

I don’t have a favourite photograph. There are just too many, of so many amazing friends and brilliant talented people. I couldn’t pick one above all others.    

Today it’s easier than ever to take a photograph. Is this good or bad? Has the advent of phone-based camera gadgetry devalued the art (or at least the science) of photography?

No, it hasn't devalued it. Because more people have cameras, more people are interested in photography. If you want to lug around a huge old school view camera to shoot pictures then there are sub-genres of sub-cultures that can more easily facilitate that stuff nowadays. Of course more people think they can do it, but it's still the case that only some people do it well.  

Have you got any wise-words you’d like to add?

No, just enjoy life as best you can. We’re not all going to be famous or millionaires, so don’t believe anyone when they tell you to follow your dreams — real life might conspire to not let you get there. Life just happens to most people.

#Interviews #photography #sidewalk #wig worland #skateboarding #skate

[artificialqueens]

interlude 1.1 (Branjie) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - before i say anything i’ve just got to say a massive thank you to Evan (formercongressman) for beta-ing this for me and Alexandria (alexandriabelle1) for pointing out i should probably get one. They’re absolute godsends.

This is a 5 time fic prompted by an anon and tbh i loved writing it so if anyone has anymore they want to send me, i’d love to hear them. As usual, Brooke is ‘him’ and Vanjie is ‘her’ just for clarity of reading and this is my interpretation and in no way supposed to be accurate or anything. Enjoy!

The 5 times Brooke kissed Vanjie to calm her down, and the one-time Vanjie kissed Brooke.

1.

[episode one]

  She’s ecstatic and god he can see why. Between the two of them, they collectively slayed the first challenge and she looks on the verge of tears. Her chest glitter is mixing with the sweat from awful studio lighting and her eyebrow might be slipping but she’s just so happy. None of it matters now.

  He pauses for a moment to watch her, and he knows that this might not continue but it’s such a beautiful sight and to never see it again would hurt. He vows to commit the contours of her face in this face at this moment to memory, so he can flick back through them like a scrapbook, discerning the good from the bad.

  She looks over to him, the twinkle in her eye a congratulation on his success, but more so, a challenge. Like she knows he’s been staring. In truth, he knows she’s been staring too. He’s sure that the producers will make them voice over these moments in sugary anecdotes and play their blossoming whatever like a fiddle for views, but he just can’t bring himself to care. Because she’s so happy.

  He takes her challenge, later in the werkroom when it’s quiet and colder and the glitter and the makeup have all washed away. They’re pseudo-alone on their couch in the corner - everyone else crowded at the other end of the room, obscured by tables or out in the smoking area absorbing the fresh air into their clogged pores. She looks at him the same way she did in Untucked, stares with her glistening eyes and starts to cry because ‘I never thought I’d get this far, I don’t know how I’m still here’. He leans in and savours the feeling of her stuttering breaths on his chin, the scent of powder and strong makeup remover that cloud her from his vision. He hyper-focuses on the crease above her lip that looks so good. He knows there are tears rolling freely down her cheeks as he places one hand to steady himself and takes another deep breath of her.

  When their lips touch it’s warm and soft and nothing like he’s ever felt before. In an instant he feels like he can see their future, he can watch like a spectator in his own life, and he lets himself melt into her as they become one to fit the contours of the couch and each other. Her breathing instantly calms, because nothing about this kiss is passion or fury or anger. It’s just sweet and reassuring and everything she needs; he’s everything she needs.

  2.

[january twenty nineteen]

  The trailer just went up and she’s terrified. He heart is pounding and her head is spinning and god she needs everyone to shut up but no one is talking. She’s locked herself in a bathroom stall somewhere in the World of Wonder building where everyone is getting set up to film their Meet the Queens live stream, and honestly she’s just praying no one finds her. She’d gotten about ⅔ through her makeup before the panic overtook her in its entirety, but it’s swallowing her whole and it’s terrifying.

  She’s uncertain still as to why this is affecting her the way that it is. It shouldn’t, of course, because she’s done it all before, but this time is just so different. The first time around she had nothing but a legacy to uphold and a quick wit. She came out of it a broken person but damn she learned. She took everything she got from 30 seconds on television and built herself a career out of it. This time, she’s come out of it with solace, dignity, and a fine looking Canadian. She has a life now, pets, and a man who takes her as she is and she loves him for it. Plain and simple, she loves him like she’s never loved another person, and the fear of losing that to the global tours and shows and flashing lights… it scares her.

  She hears the door open before she sees his shadow. It looms over the stall door and fragments like shattered glass when it hits the light. She can’t find the stability to talk, though, so her breathing carries on in its brutal staccato, harshly shallow and burning.

  He taps quietly on the door, knowing she needs space but just wanting to help her. God knows they’ve been doing this long enough now that he knows just what to do. He momentarily wonders why she didn’t just come to him, but he remembers his own excitement towards the day and knows that she didn’t want to ruin it for him. Briefly forgetting the current situation, it warms his heart to know that she thought of that.

  She doesn’t have to speak when she slowly opens the stall. He knows her well enough to be able to tell what’s going on, and she knows he wouldn’t push anyway. Instead, he just pulls her into his arms in a tight hug, tells her he loves her in actions, not words. His nose grazes her fade, breath tickling the stubble. She leans into him willingly, her own nose nuzzling at his chin. He smells like always, like cigarettes and coffee and Fenty lipsticks, and it soothes her soul like menthol and tea.  

  When their lips meet it’s not for show, for anyone but themselves. Even though they’re in the same environment that’s always exploited them, they take this moment for them. She knows that no matter what happens, they’ve still got this.

  3.

[august twenty eighteen]

It’s 3am on a warm and windy night in New York as he walks into the AirBnB they’re sharing for the week. He’s so glad that for once since they’ve returned from Drag Race they can share the same four walls for longer than a night, can let themselves be a couple again. His gig had run long and he’s angry that he’d missed her going to bed but he’s here now. As quietly as he can without waking her, he places the keys on the counter by the door, snakes into the kitchen and pours a glass of water. Sneaking back through to the lounge he rummages for a second in her rucksack to find the Advils she always keeps. He pops two out and places them next to the glass on the table. Contemplating writing himself a note (because he always questions the Advil in the mornings) he remembers that for once, he’s not alone. Tonight there doesn’t have to be a note.

  ‘Crap’ he mutters to himself as he crosses the wooden floor with a creak. He pauses. Listens.

  As he strains though, he can hear soft whimpers coming from their closed room. All attempts at silence are abandoned as he rushed to the door, pushing it open as quietly yet quick as simultaneously possible. He wants so desperately to be imagining things. He knows, quite quickly, that he isn’t.

  Brooke moves around the bed. It’s roomy when you consider the size of the apartment but they both knew the second they saw it that they wouldn’t need that much. Not when they sleep like koalas, clinging to each other til morning.

  When he realises she’s still asleep he can’t tell if he’s glad or not, but hearing her soft cries in the night breaks him. He just wishes this wasn’t her bren to carry alone. Wishes he could split the anxiety and the panicking and walk up the mountain together. Luckily he’d had the wherewithal to shower and de-drag at the venue and he’s dressed for comfort. All of this is good news to him as he drops the last of his bags at the end of the bed and slowly, carefully, sits on the edge. Swinging his legs on, he leans back so his chest is level with her head and draws her into him. She goes quiet as she burrows into his chest, so small in that moment and, as he presses a long, protective kiss to the top of her head - he promises to never let her go again.

  4.

[episode four]

  He follows her over in Untucked as she panics to herself. It’s the least he could do, he muses, as she frets over something he feels is trivial. But even less than a fortnight in, he knows not to argue or point it out. He’s all to aware that she’s experiencing this differently to everyone else, he’ll just have to accept that.

  The tension is seeping out of her and he can feel it, hot on his skin. Her body has a quiet shake to it as if she’s vibrating softly, but he knows that the sweetness of that imagery is nothing compared to what is happening. He’s seen it before in his friends. In Courtney before her first drag coven show. In Nina the first time they met. He’s seen it in himself before every performance since he was 7. But despite his exposure to it, he hates it on her. The twisted look on her face pains him as she tries to sort what she’s doing and all he can give her is encouragement, full of conviction and maybe the naivety of someone falling in love.

  ‘Out of the three of them I know you were, I feel like you were given the least harsh critiques’

  He’s hoping he said it with enough persuasion that she’ll believe him. She needs to believe him because he can’t keep watching her tear herself apart like this without knowing that he did everything in his power to stop it.

  ‘Fuck that shit’

  Her reply is short but definitive and frankly, he’d be laughing at her bluntness if he didn’t know that it was a defence mechanism. He brushed the blonde hairs from her chin, takes a moment to admire the wig on him and notes that it’s a fantastic look. The orange is, too. The whole thing is something he’ll bring up later.

  ‘Honestly they gave you like almost no negative critiques… and you were killing it with the dancing’

He feels it necessary to equivocate on his beliefs. He won’t allow her for a second to believe that he’s not 100% supportive and confident in her abilities. She just makes soft humming noises and he can hear ‘Living in America’ booming from the Apple headphones that she’d haphazardly shoved into her ears. It’s at this moment he realises that he’s not going to get anything else out of her and so he just pulls her into his arms, laying a gentle peck at the corner of his mouth, not letting his lipstick mar her cheek. She turns her head and he can see the pain in her eyes as she puckers her lips at him. He leans down and captures them, knowing that when he pulls away his lips will be tacky with gloss and glittering a pleasant gold. It looks good on her but it’s not the most subtle thing.

  As the producers call cut on the conversation they weren’t even directing, Brooke smiles to himself. He knows that they’ve just secured her safety, knowingly or not, and he’s just grateful that they will have more time.

  5.

[march twenty nineteen]

  He’s in the cab back from his gig with Nina when she calls him. It’s late there but not too late in comparison to the pitch black 4 am they can see out of the windows. Their seven-seater taxi feels too crowded, full of sweat and drag queens and he feels like this conversation will need privacy. He knows that even if it does he won’t get any.  

  She’s drunk in a t-shirt dress and a yellow waist length wig muttering about instagram stories or love and he knows she misses him. It’s evident purely from the fact she’s facetiming him on the break between her sets, in a storage closet. If that wasn’t enough, she’s spilling secrets left right and centre and if he was sober he’d be terrified, but honestly it’s so good to see her face and it feels good to laugh with her again. She holds off on the sobbing til he gets into his own room (although she isn’t shy on imitating him, screeching ‘I have two kitties’ at an ungodly pitch for Brooke’s own waning drunkenness).

  When he’s alone though, she begins to cry, it’s hard to make out on the grainy facetime that will never do her face justice for him. They use it too often to truly dislike it, but it’s not a substitute for holding each other on cold nights like these when they’re both too lonely to be alone. If he were to write a list of things he misses, he would list her at the very top, leave a few lines blank, and then write poutine. But even that was hard to miss in Canada, so really she is all he longs for and fuck it hurts. The incomparable yearning he feels burns into his very soul, and he wonders how cruel the world must be to have found him someone so perfect when they’re both required to be everywhere but together all the time.

  She brings him back to the present as she tries to blot her running foundation with a receipt she found in her pocket. He wants to reach through the screen and brush them off her soft skin himself. Even though they’ll both be together by the end of the day, it hurts that they’re so far apart now.

  They cry together, when he’s taken off his makeup and hung his outfits up nicely on the back of the door. They cry for the naivety they had when he thought they would be okay doing this. Before they’d spent weeks on opposite sides of the country. They knew it would get worse but god they hoped it would get better first because she can’t stand this anymore, and he isn’t far behind her.

  Later, when her show’s done and she’s home and it’s almost the afternoon in Canada where he is, he talks her to sleep and maybe in his fantasy he kisses the tears off her cheeks till she calms down. He places a meaningful kiss to her forehead and turns off facetime, knowing that when she wakes up he’ll be next to her.

  *

  1.

[march twenty nineteen]

  She rolls over to the sound of her alarm going off. It’s almost 3 in the afternoon, which means she has about an hour to get her ass out of bed and pick him up from the airport. She realises she may be cutting it close. In the shower, she uses up the remainders of his favourite shampoo, knows he loves how it smells when he presses his nose deep into the unruly mop of hair she keeps trying to maintain. She puts ice compresses under her eyes as she eats what can only be described as a pseudo-breakfast (because it is neither eaten at the time of breakfast nor does it contain any real breakfast foods, but it does the same job), and she almost forgets to take them off as she leaves the house. The hope is that they removed the last remnants of her crying herself to sleep but frankly, the hangover might have done that too.

  The drive is mostly uneventful, although she flips off an unusual amount of drivers in the baking Los Angeles heat. She’s bouncing in the driver’s seat by the time she arrives and she rushes into arrivals with less dignity than she afforded herself going home first because she’s so excited she might burst and her man is coming home.

  He’s hard to miss, a 6’3 Canadian ballerina in a crowded airport and his thousand bags help her to spot him almost immediately. She does a quick once over of what she’s wearing as she fiddles with the bandana around her neck, knowing it will make Brooke happy (and also so mad). It takes the very little restraint she posses not to scream when he runs over to her. Suddenly all his bags are on the ground and she’s up in the air, feet dangling, and they’re both crying again because the feeling of each other will never get old.

  She’s engulfed in the smell of that one time that he made seafood at 3am and they laid on the street til dawn. The time she pulled him into the Florida ocean when all he wanted to do was get Panda Express and watch TV. The smell of airports and long nights and coffee and menthol and shit red wine and good red wine and everything all at once. He smells like love and he smells like home and she kisses the tear tracks on his face because she fucking can.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #pinkgrapefruit #interlude #concrit welcome #submission #canon compliant #on set fic #s11

[zne-theartist]

Stalking Destiny Ch 1 (rewritten)

Stalking Destiny chapter 1 rewritten | original post | AO3 link.

Author’s Notes: I hope everyone else is enjoying season two of OPM like I am! and I want to apologize to all my loyal fans waiting three years for me to return for OPM. alijsdfklksejfd. I rewrote the first chapter to fix spelling and grammar errors - but also to match my current writing style since it has changed since 2016 and I didn’t beta read it when I first wrote it. All the content is the same, just better worded! I also rewrote this because I’m writing the second chapter (coming within this week) so I wanted the first chapter to flow well for it!

Again the idea for this fic was spawned by @wamaii , I’m finishing this soon my pal lol

Chapter 1: The Meeting

It had been three months now.

Three months of having to deal with the incessant stalking of the great villain, Saitama. It had taken him two weeks to first realize that the villain had been watching him and it wasn’t just a coincidence that he was seeing the villain out more often in the areas he frequented. He had happened to look over his shoulder while walking to school because he thought he heard a friend calling his name when he saw him. The bald headed villain sticking halfway out from an alley, acting like he was completely hidden as he stared intensely at the blonde. When the villain had realized they had locked eyes, he only moved an inch more into the alleyway, no doubt thinking that would be enough to hide his form. Genos at that point quickly turned around and quickened his pace to school.

At first, he had been frightened. Why would the villain known for dealing so much destruction be following him? It didn’t help that Saitama wasn’t exactly being discreet about it. Sometimes, Saitama had a hideous, cheap, brown wig on his bald head, struggling to keep it on on windy days. Other times he sat on a bench on the school campus, eyeing at him through two holes cut in a newspaper for his eyes. Eventually thoughts sparked up in Genos’ mind: ‘what the fuck is he doing? Who does he think he’s fooling?’ But, no matter where Genos went, that villain was sure to be there.

Progressively, his feelings had moved from fear to confusion to irritation. He was in college and he was trying hard to keep his 4.0 GPA up, something he prided himself in since middle school. Genos was a dedicated person when it came to school and he wanted to get his degree as fast as possible; and this villain was posing a threat to his perfectionism. Genos was losing his concentration. The unknown of why the villain Saitama was following him ate him up from the inside out. He couldn’t even hang out with his friends to relax and get his mind off things because he was always there. His limits were breaking from this annoying, bald headed freak who just wouldn’t stop watching him!

That day had been particularly hard on him.

He had to sprint just to make it to his first class of the day, nearly missing it. A teacher had called him out after class, worried that he wouldn’t make an A+ for the grading period which was highly unusual given Genos’ track record. In another class, he had gotten a C on a test; that Genos had to beg the teacher to let him retake. The cream of the crop? His favorite sandwich was out at the cafeteria. At this point the blond’s patience was diminished so low he had nearly nothing left to deal with the stalker hot on his heels as he walked home from school. Honestly, if the man was trying to stalk the blonde, didn’t he know he had to put distance between them and make it not noticeable? The villain wasn’t even five feet back from him - in that ridiculous wig! He was using the last shreds of his patience to desperately try and ignore the heavy footsteps behind him, clutching tightly to the straps of his book bag.

Something snapped in Genos and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was the reason he was beginning to slip up in his studies! He stopped walking and spun around, finger already up to point at the man in the hideous wig - for fuck’s sake anyone could tell he was bald and had slapped a toupee on! Anyone could fucking tell who it was!

Saitama nearly collided into the finger that pointed accusingly at him, but managed to stop in his tracks. His wide eyes stared down at the blond, unable to believe he was face to face with the cute, freckled face Genos. Saitama thought he was so much cuter than that cyborg Genos, and a whole lot slimmer. Also, compared to cyborg Genos who had been his own height, Genos was much shorter than he thought he’d be. He was also a thousand times cuter up close than afar.

“Stop fucking stalking me, villain!” Genos’ bark of sharp words snapped Saitama out of his thoughts. His mouth flailed open and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… I… m-my name…” Saitama felt absolutely powerless in this moment. Why? Was it because he was faced with the one thing he had been searching for the last year since he had come back from the hero alternate dimension? Saitama attempted to swallow his nerves as the blond’s hot glare dug into him like a knife. “I-I am… E-Eggb-b-bert…” His voice sounded so deflated. Where was all that fire he had earlier when he had pepped himself that today was the day he’d finally talk with Genos? That was the whole reason he had tailed him so close today!

“Cut the crap! I know it’s you, anyone could see, you’re the villain Saitama!” Genos was angry, upset the villain would even think such a stupid name and scheme would work on him like he was dumb.

Saitama opened his mouth to dispute Genos, but nothing came out. After a few silent minutes of nothing, a gentle breeze uprooted the wig from his shiny dome and sent it flying. Mentally he bid goodbye to the five dollars he spent on it from the tacky shop he had bought it from. His cover had literally blown away.

“I know that fucking bald head anywhere! You’re all over TV. And you’ve been stalking me for the past three months.”

Saitama felt like he had no strength in him; not even the strength to engage with his infamous, lame comeback that he wasn’t the bald one, but Genos was.

“I’m sick and tired of it. You’re ruining my life following me around!” Genos’ hands moved to stand firmly on his hips as his feet stood a shoulders’ width apart, his torso bent forward slightly as he was giving the villain Saitama a lecture for his life. “My grades are slipping; my friends don’t even want to hang out with me because you’re always around - I can’t concentrate anymore!” Genos felt like tearing at his hair as he glared daggers at the man. “Why the fuck are you stalking me in the first place? Do you have a problem with me?”

Saitama stared blankly at the man. “I…uh…um…” All words escaped him and he stood there, staring at the beauty before him. He was completely powerless, all thanks to a loss of words.

“Stop stalking me, or I’ll call the police!” Genos turned on his heel and angrily walked back home, leaving the villain in his dust.

When Genos got home he felt like punching a wall to let out all of his frustrations, but instead he did his best to focus on studying for the test he’d have to retake. When he failed, he did his best to sleep. Sleep didn’t come easy for him however, and he was suddenly wrought with the thought he could have died with the way he had talked to the very well known villain Saitama. He groaned into his hands as they covered his face. “What does he want from me?” Genos had never seen such a desperate look before. Saitama had looked at him like he had so much to say yet he had said nothing at all. He had looked incredibly weak. Genos let out a heavy sigh as he turned on his side, staring at the shades covering his window that was parted just enough to let a sliver of the moon peak into his room. That had not been the villain that was depicted all over the media…

Meanwhile, as soon as Genos had left, Saitama did not follow him back to his home like usual. Instead, he watched Genos’ figure retreat. His hand moved on its own, bunching his shirt into his fist as it rested on his chest, in a motion that almost seemed he was trying to clutch at his heart. “Damn.” His face contorted for a second into a scowl. “Is this what the hero me feels for the cyborg version?” Was he feeling happiness over Genos calling him bald, at talking so crudely to him, at finally coming face to face with the boy and talking to him? (Even if Genos was the one who had done all the talking.) He couldn’t even blame the kid for the outburst. He had been stalking Genos, and maybe he really wasn’t the best at hiding it.

This wasn’t his fault though! It was Genos’ fault. It was his fault for not coming to his side sooner. It was his fault for letting him become so dark. It was his fault for not saving Saitama. His mood progressively darkened and the people who were walking the streets took their time to completely avoid him. Yes. It was all Genos’ fault. “All your damn fault I’m like this.”

The poisonous depression rolled over him then dissipated until he felt nothing again. Like always, nothing and no one stopped him from breaking a few buildings.

All of a sudden Saitama was gone.

For two whole weeks he was able to relax and get his scores back up to his acceptable A+ status. Genos could have forgotten the villain had stalked him in the first place if the news would let him forget his existence. There were more recent sightings of Saitama destroying buildings and terrorizing people. As he watched the news each night, he felt some part of him that wanted to dispute it all. If he was such a villain, why had he been left completely speechless when confronted by a mere college student about his stalking? Was the villain in love with him or something? Genos scoffed at the idea, refocusing on his books and trying to refocus his mind. “That’s absurd… a heartless villain wouldn’t have such feelings.” His brown eyes gravitated to the television screen as they showed a close up of Saitama’s face from a traffic light camera. “...right?” Genos found the remote in his hand, clicking the pause button. He leaned his cheek into his other hand that had now forgotten he had been trying to write notes. He stared at the face on the screen in silence for a long time.

“He’s kind of handsome…”

His grades were back to normal and so was his mind. As a nice treat to release all the remaining tension caused from the three month long stalking trip, Genos had decided to go out one night with two of his friends to the arcade near the park.

They had been playing on one of the machines when their laughter and teasing was interrupted by the machine jolted on its own. They exchanged glances and looked back at the machine which was oddly silent. Genos reached out to touch it but the machine suddenly jumped up! Genos gasped, eyes wide as they all scrambled back.

The machine was turning into a monster! All of a sudden it was warping into a hideous mix of the skee ball machine and a humanoid figure. It was a massive, twisted result of machinery and man.

“I AM SPAWNED FROM THE TERRIBLE TREATMENT FROM YOU HUMANS. YOU TREAT US MACHINES LIKE DIRT, AND KICK US WHEN YOU DON’T GET YOUR WAY. I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL FOR THE TREATMENT OF MY BRETHREN AND MYSELF.” The machine howled in anger. The howl seemed to ‘wake’ the other machines as they began to glow and jolt just as the skee ball machine had done.

People were already screaming all around the arcade and beginning to run. The fun arcade games were turning into monsters! Genos look to his friends and shouted over the deafening noise of so many machines whirring to an impossible life, “We have to get out of here!” They joined the late night crowd in running to the doors of the arcade. Genos struggled to keep up with his friends who were ahead of him, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the increased volume of clunking was the machines beginning to give chase. As they reached the doors he glanced around at the chaos, so many running for their lives. This had to be terror that he was feeling - and it propelled him to run faster.

“Keep going!” He shouted to his friends as they reached outside, pointing down the sidewalk. “Run, I’ll try and distract it!” As much as the terror shook his body, these were his friends.

“Genos! What the hell are you talking about?”

“We can’t just leave you behind!”

He had to protect them; no matter how stupid it was to act like a hero when he wasn’t a hero.

“Just go!” Genos yelled, eyes bright with determination as he began to run across the street. He glanced over his shoulder as the arcade’s automatic glass doors broke with the machinery monsters breaking out. Thankfully his friends had already began to run down the sidewalk.

“COME BACK HERE. LET ME SHOW YOU THE SAME TREATMENT THAT YOU SHOWED US.”

He was relieved they didn’t purse his friends or other fleeing patrons - but now they were giving chase to him. His breath caught in his throat as he turned back towards the park and sprinted towards it. Maybe he could lose them in the trees or get them to somehow fall into the pond. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but at least he knew his friends were safe.

Genos’ lungs burned as he ran through the park, panting, as he tried to lose the monsters. He was honestly terrified. He wasn’t sure what would happen to himself, but he knew people died every day that a monster appeared. His eyes burned at the thought that he would be in that statistic. He was thrown out of his thoughts literally as his ankle was caught and twisted painfully in a tree root, sending him flying forward and flat on his face. He cried out in pain and rolled onto his back, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he tried desperately to catch his breath and quiet himself. He could hear the rustling of the machines in the distance. He could guess they must have split up to cover more ground. They would probably look for other teenagers who might be in the park. Once it quieted down he could get up, escape the park, and run home to safety.

“FOUND YOU.”

Genos shrieked as the machine came into his line of sight a few feet away. He scrambled into a sitting position and tried to pull at the root which seemed to tighten its hold on his ankle. It hurt. He was scared. Genos could feel hot tears falling down despite his stubborn and scowling face. He didn’t want to cry when he was about to die, but everything he still wanted to do was flashing before his mind while he tried to still break free from the root. He hadn’t done a damn thing in the world. He hadn’t done anything memorable! He had only kept his nose stuck in a book his entire life!

The machine raised its fist as it screeched out in revenge, “I WILL DESTROY ALL YOU HUMANS.” He’d be crushed underneath the machine’s fist. Feebly, with the last ounce of protection he could give himself, he raised his arms up over his face. At least this way he wouldn’t see when the fist came down. “STARTING WITH YOU!”

Was this his death bed?

“Oi.” A deep, gravely voice thrust itself into the mix. Genos moved his arms at the voice and only caught a blur of black and red. His body was pushed back by a sudden gust of wind, landing back on his elbows. He gasped with his wide eyes staring in disbelief at the glint from the moon atop a shiny, bald crown.

“Saitama!” It was like a huge wind was knocked out of him at the name. Where had he come from?

There the villain stood, holding the machine up by, what was supposed to be, his neck. Saitama’s eyes were a dangerous red glare at the face of the monster. Genos could see the waves of anger rolling off of him in the same way his cape billowed out behind him.

“He’s mine.” The villain raised his other hand into a fist, and just like that - the monster was gone. Genos stared in awe. He had taken the monster out with just one punch. One punch… It brought about another fact to marvel at: Saitama had just saved his life. “Easy…” He heard the villain mumble to himself before he turned to Genos. Genos felt his body go rigid as Saitama walked over to him before he knelt down at his feet. Easily, the villain tore the root off of Genos’ ankle. Genos felt frozen as he stared at the villain. “Ah, you might’ve twisted your ankle with that fall. ...was kind of funny seeing you fall.” No smile accompanied his words. Had Saitama been watching him this entire time? Saitama looked up at Genos with relief before his eyes widened in slight shock and he reached out with a gloved hand.

Genos pulled his face back from the outreached hand and the villain rethought his action, bringing his hand to his own face. He scratched a little underneath his eye with his gloved finger. He was giving him a look like he expected him to know what he was trying to say without words.

“Huh?” Genos was confused, but brought a hand to his face to touch his fingertips just beneath his eye. “Oh.” How embarrassing! There were fat, wet tears still falling from his eyes. Quickly, he yanked his sleeve down over his hand and rubbed his eyes till the tears ceased. He couldn’t believe the villain had seen him crying! Saitama had to find it deplorable, laughable even. The villain said nothing, and simply stood to his feet. After a moment of awkwardly standing there, he extended his hand to Genos. Genos stared at it. “What?” His voice was quiet. Saitama jolted his hand to get his point across, unable to look at the blond. The dots connected and slowly Genos took his hand. After taking it though, he squeezed it. The squeeze caused Saitama to stop before he could pull the boy up off the ground. “Why?” Genos looked at their hands, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

Saitama stared down at the boy and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. He didn’t say a thing and just pulled the boy up as gently as he possibly could.

Genos could only go with the motions as he was pulled back onto his feet. However, as soon as he was up, he winced and a soft hiss left his lips from the pain that shot from his right ankle up through his entire leg. The pain was horrible (and Saitama hadn’t let go of his hand) so he went crashing forward into the villain’s chest. Saitama was the one who went rigid next, still as Genos used him for support. Genos knew he wouldn’t be able to put any weight on his hurt leg.

Saitama swore to himself he was about to let out a very strangled, strange sound and so he turned abruptly, nearly pushing the kid off. Genos was surprised and was about to move back, but Saitama hadn’t let go of his hand yet. Instead, Saitama had turned his back to him before he crouched down to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Was there a hint of pink on the villain’s cheeks or was the moon playing tricks on him?”

“Don’t make me say it.” His voice was gruff, but Genos could hear no malice in it. As if to elaborate, Saitama yanked his hand so Genos was forced to lose his balance and brace himself against the waiting back. Finally, Genos wrapped his arms loosely against the villain’s neck which prompted the villain to let go of his hand so he could loop his arms underneath his knees. He couldn’t believe Saitama was offering him a piggyback ride.

As soon as he was settled, Saitama began the walk out of the park and back into the city with Genos on his back. As they walked out of the park, Genos noticed there were strewn mechanical parts littered everywhere as if a tornado had blown through the area. Had Saitama defeated all the machines? Genos looked at the back of the bald head before slowly he noticed their surroundings changing. He knew the route very well. The villain was taking him back to his home. It didn’t surprise him that he would know the way given he had stalked Genos for so long. Honestly, it would’ve been more surprising if he didn’t know the way.

His heart pounded in his chest as Saitama walked, and he could only hope that Saitama couldn’t feel it against his back. Genos was more confused than ever before. First, the villain stalked him. Second, he didn’t say a word when Genos confronted him and could only blub his mouth around like a fish. Third, he just disappeared out of nowhere except for being shot on television for destroying cities. Fourth, he showed up out of the blue after two weeks of nothing, and saved Genos. What was with this guy?

“You’re a villain,” It was a fact he stated out loud that he knew Saitama had heard but it didn’t garner him a response. “So, why did you save me?” Genos stared at the cape he was resting his cheek against, focused on the way the muscles beneath the suit began to relax as if he had let out a rather long exhale.

“You’re supposed to save me.” Genos nearly didn’t catch the soft spoken words. He tilted his chin up so he could look over Saitama’s shoulder, staring at the profile of his face. Genos’ eyes softened considerably. Handsome… Genos didn’t understand the villain’s words, but he squeezed his arms around his neck a little tighter and pressed his face into the back of his neck. He allowed himself to close his eyes and relax in the strong grip that kept him up.

They remained silent the rest of the way.

#Stalking Destiny #wamaii #fanfiction #fanfic #one punch man #one punch man fanfic #opm fanfic #saigenos #human genos #villain saitama #villain au #getting back on the opm train #I actually never left it's just been crazy

[prettykikimora]

HiYesterday was the worst ever. I want to get a haircut for my new job but my place I like closed at 4 early, so the car which was promised to me gets taken away as I'm about to leave, says it'll be gone for an hour, so I call an uber, this whole time we have no power in the house, I bring my phone charger, the shittiest dodge caliber I've ever seen pulls up, whatever, I FORGET my phone charger in this car as I go to the place, I'm on 18% for the day, I get there, I get the worst haircut of my life, "I don't have time to straighten anything" she says, it's an hour before closing time, I have to walk over to the cvs nearby to buy another phone charger, it's now thunderstorming and windy and cold. I need a fast charger so I find a much more expensive one that says 5w $20 instead of 2.8w like the $8 one is. Buy that instead... oh listen, it's definitely not what I wanted, lets get that out of the way. Get rescued by my friend as my phone dies, go home, get my wig to cover up this horrible cut, start realizing more and more that this looks so incredibly fake on me and no one says anything just to be nice. Feel like a fucking idiot all day long, stay the night here on his couch, my neck hurts, I have gut issues, and I feel myself getting sick with something. So all in all that's about 17 awful garbage things that have happened that would not have happened if our power had been activated, because I only got that haircut because my hair becomes clown bullshit if I don't try and straighten it properly mostly got it so I don't rip it out by hand myself freaking out over it like I did before.

[mp100secretsanta2017-blog]

From: ravaenello

To: @ymiresque

Happy holidays from your secret santa! I hope that this holiday season treats you wonderfully, and that you come across great happiness. Enjoy your gift!  🎁🎁🎁

––––––––

On the day that school resumes after Tsubomi’s rejection and the supernatural disaster that nearly leveled the whole city, Mob stays home, still recovering from what his parents have determined as a severe cold.

Not all the symptoms are present. His forehead isn’t feverish to the touch, and his nose doesn’t run. He is, however, coughing more than usual. His throat feels raw, and his skin is too cool, too pale, as if he’s not quite all there –– which isn’t right, either, because he also feels more whole than ever before. Too much at once, he thinks, yet not enough.

When Ritsu bids him a lingering goodbye in the morning on his way to student council and their parents give him soup during lunch before leaving for work, Mob doesn’t go back to sleep as he’s done for the past few days. He sits on the couch and sips a glass of milk.

He sips some more milk.

And some more.

Once he drains the whole cup, he frowns slightly at reaching the clear bottom of the glass. He’s made it to the end; now what?

“Well, you’re quiet today.” Dimple hovers inches in front of Mob’s face. “Don’t think too much, Shigeo. Walk around! It’s the beginning of your new life.”

“You’ve said that before.” Mob sneezes. “And I’m sick.”

“You’ve had worse,” Dimple says, in his way of being encouraging. “It’s because you overuse your powers, so now the physical reactions are catching up. It’ll be good for you to step out and be spontaneous. Get some ice cream or something.”

“No, thank you,” Mob replies. “I’m too full to do anything right now. You should take your own advice as well, Dimple-kun.”

Dimple looks affronted. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’ve been with me since I got home from confessing to Tsubomi-chan, which was a few days ago.”

“I’m not always here,” Dimple says, adamant. “I’m more subtle than you give me credit, Shigeo.”

“Not really.” Mob gets up from the couch to put the glass in the kitchen sink. It’s still a wonder how Dimple has tried to trick him into thinking the spirit cares for him only for his powers.

“You have to admit, there are worse people who won’t leave your side,” Dimple continues as he follows Mob to the kitchen. “Reigen, for one. Your brother spent the whole day with you yesterday. That Hanazawa kid also stopped by Spirits and Such at some point.”

The empty glass hits the sink more solidly than Mob intends. “Oh,” he realizes. “I haven’t seen Hanazawa-kun yet.”

Mob doesn’t know how Hanazawa’s faring, considering the damage Mob inflicted on him last time. Mob left him there on the street, after he tried to save Mob and protect all those people. Mob’s beyond grateful and amazed, and he feels disconcerted that he hasn’t returned the kindness yet.

“The kid’s fine,” Dimple says, as an answer to Mob’s worries. “He’s probably at school now.”

“I’ll go visit him,” Mob decides, resolute. He has to thank Hanazawa for all he’s tried to do.

Mob changes into outside clothes and puts on his shoes. “See you later, Dimple.”

“What,” Dimple says, “you don’t want me to join you?”

“Not really,” Mob answers as he salutes Dimple at the door.  “Have a good day, Dimple.”

Dimple sighs once the door shuts. “I’ll check on how Reigen’s doing.”

––––––––

From a distance, Black Vinegar Middle School looks ordinary, the bustling students exiting out showing nothing amiss. As Mob peers closer, though, he passes metal fences that look like some giant being had bent them and hastily tried to straighten them back, unable to bring them back to their original state. Mob’s a green sweater standing against the flow of purple uniform, so he moves closer to the walls of the school, waiting aside enough that people can go through. There’s not a single blonde spot that he can see, but that’s fine. Mob can wait.

From this position, he can’t quite see the hairline cracks that lather the school buildings, but he knows they exist, shards of a broken teacup expertly glued back together. There are no other signs of destruction having hit here, and absently, he notices that now other parts of Seasoning City can’t say the same thing because of him.

Five minutes later as he waits, he sneezes, the coldness reminding him that he’s still yet to have fully recovered.

Fifteen minutes later, he tunes into the conversations flying around him, hearing words like “freak accident” and “destruction” and “government intervention.” For now, none of it is his most current worry. Hanazawa is still nowhere to be seen, after all. But he senses Hanazawa coming out, so he looks.

When a group of students emerges from the school building, Mob finally spots blonde hair on a familiar face. It seems that Hanazawa has regrown his hair already, or invested into another nice wig.

Hanazawa has seen him too, for his gait changes and his eyes widen in pleasant surprise. He quickly beelines straight to Mob like a comet shooting directly for the earth, prepared to efficiently blast through whatever insignificance stands in his way.

“Kageyama-kun!” Hanazawa says, energetically. His eyes don’t quite look at Mob, instead tracing an outline around Mob’s whole body, analytically emotionless, before firmly settling back to Mob’s face. Whatever he’s found seems to satisfy him, and when Mob blinks, Hanazawa looks completely content and relaxed. “I’m glad you’re feeling much more like yourself! Are you doing well?”

“I am.” It warms Mob to see Hanazawa once more. “I wanted to tell you something important.”

“Anything,” Hanazawa says immediately. Taking in the other Black Vinegar students walking about, he suggests, “How about we go for a walk and you can tell me what brought you all the way here?”

They walk side by side down the street, walking away from the school and toward some unknown destination. Pieces of broken buildings and cracked asphalt occasionally block their way, and while other pedestrians dodge these areas, Hanazawa seems to take it all in stride. He waves his hand to clean the broken bits away, or he changes directions expertly as though it’s been his decision to go that direction in the first place.

As they pass a fairly undamaged store, Mob coughs.

“Are you cold, Kageyama-kun?” Hanazawa pulls out a scarf from his bag. It is a different scarf from last time, Mob notices. The other one must’ve been destroyed, then. “It is rather windy today.”

“No, I’m fine,” Mob answers, and sniffs his nose.

“Are you sure? You should borrow my scarf. It’ll keep you warm.”

The breeze has slowed down enough that Mob doesn’t really need it, but at Hanazawa’s kind gesture, Mob doesn’t want to refuse him either.

“I’m very sorry for hurting you the last time we met,” Mob says, finally, around a bright pink and blue striped scarf now covering the bottom half of his face.

“Ah,” Hanazawa says. He slows down, so he can look Mob in the eyes more steadily. “I accept your apology,” he says, with all sincerity, “but please don’t worry about it, Kageyama-kun! I’m only thrilled that you have recovered since then. There is nothing better than knowing you’re in better health.”

“I knocked you out and destroyed all of your clothes while you bled,” Mob says. “I shaved your head again.”

“Well, you’ve come back to visit me,” Hanazawa points out, closing a hand around one of Mob’s arms for emphasis, “just to make sure that I’ve gotten better. And as you can see, I am, with you here!” He takes his free hand to gesture at himself, demonstrating the perfect condition that he currently was in, as if thanks to Mob’s presence somehow.

“I also wanted to thank you,” Mob insists, pulling the scarf completely down to his neck and feeling more light-hearted now after Hanazawa’s exaggerated pose. “You tried to help me, even when I continued to beat you down.” He wonders if he should say more, but he thinks that’s enough to express how much he feels for now.

As though he understands completely, Hanazawa smiles, a tad softer than usual. “Of course, Kageyama-kun.”  

Mob returns the smile with his own, though halfway he fails when he stumbles in his step and stops to sneeze five times in a row.

“Let’s take a seat,” Hanazawa suggests, gesturing to a bench ahead of them.

“So, Kageyama-kun,” Hanazawa says with some sort of finality, once they’ve sat. With a casual expression, he sits with his back straight and slightly puffs out his chest, as though preparing for a final blow of sorts to hit him. “I take it that you saw Tsubomi-chan at the end, then?”

“Yes,” Mob says. Before Hanazawa can react, Mob continues. “She rejected me.”

“Oh!” Hanazawa does an odd combination of straightening his shoulders and relaxing them, as though insistent on doing both actions simultaneously. “Well, I’m sorry that she couldn’t see how wonderful you are.”

“I respect her decision,” Mob says. “I’m still not quite over it, though.”

“Well, take your time to move on, Kageyama-kun,” Hanazawa says reassuringly. “I hear that the best way handle a rejection is to keep your mind occupied with other people. Spend time with your friends and family.”

“I suppose.” Mob mulls the advice over. “I didn’t know you’ve been rejected before.” He doesn’t comprehend it quite fully, given how wonderful Hanazawa is.

“Not in the romantic sense, no,” Hanazawa concedes eventually, “but I’ve seen those who’ve been rejected before. Another thing they do is try to woo the person who rejected them again. As Tsubomi-chan is your dear childhood friend, though,” he hurriedly adds, “it may be best to give her and –– more importantly –– yourself time to think. ”

At this point, Mob reflects that there’s unlikely a chance that Tsubomi will reconsider anytime soon. But she’s given him the phone number of her new house so that they can call each other once in a while. He doesn’t know what to feel as of now, but he’s content for the chance to continue their friendship.

“You can explore other things in your life,” Hanazawa continues. “The best thing for comfort, I find, is ice cream, Kageyama-kun. You know, there’s a good ice cream store just nearby. Would you like to go with me?”

Mob’s small cold stands no chance at stopping him from having dessert with Hanazawa. “I would,” he agrees.

They resume walking, this time toward the ice cream shop. Along the way, Hanazawa lists the flavors he’s already tried so far there.

“The red bean is especially delicious,” Hanazawa advises.

Mob nods. “That sounds nice,” he says earnestly. “I can’t wait.”

Hanazawa beams at Mob, and then turns to gesture ahead of them. “It should be around here, just across this––”

He halts, taking in the sight of a pile of concrete rubble wading in the middle of a river crossing their path. It’s clear that where the large empty air ahead of them is, a bridge used to be there. Now, its pieces are scattered in the water or are already swept away.

Smoothly, Hanazawa turns back to Mob. “Let’s fly over,” he suggests. “It’ll be quick enough that you won’t be motion sick.”

On the other side of the river, the ice cream shop clearly stands, merely a bridge length away.

Mob looks down below at the broken pieces of the bridge sitting half-submerged in the water, like clusters of warped floating islands.

“Are you ready, Kageyama-kun?” Hanazawa asks, patiently waiting.

“Just a moment.” Intently, Mob lifts his hand.

All the stone and metal emerge from the water, collectively floating closer to one another the higher they rise. For a moment, he leaves them suspended in the air, a large temporary plateau of rubble that he’s created just floating, before he swirls them around and coalesces them together into a recognizable form. The previously empty gap above the river is occupied, holding a bridge that will take Hanazawa and him to the ice cream shop.

They step up to Mob’s bridge.

Bending down for a closer look at the railings, Hanazawa inspects, delighted. “How beautiful, Kageyama-kun! I love how you redesigned the bridge from how it used to be.”

Mob stares at the bridge. “Wasn’t it like this earlier?”

“Not at all,” Hanazawa replies happily. “But it was rather boring in its original state, much too curved. Yours has more life with how straight and simple it is.”

“Oh, I see,” Mob says. “Thank you, Hanazawa-kun.” He pauses. “Would you want to add more –– life into it?”

Hanazawa straightens up from his position. “You want me to decorate your bridge?”

Mob nods. “I think,” he says carefully, as an idea slowly formulates and his imagination freely trickles out, “that having flowers around it would be nice. I want you to have a part in it.”

Hanazawa responds with an expression brighter than the sun. “You never cease to amaze me, Kageyama-kun. I would be honored.”

––––––––

Five minutes later, Hanazawa opens the door to the ice cream shop for Mob. “Ah,” he comments as he reads from the sign. “Today they have milk-flavored ice cream. Very interesting! How about we try that?”

Mob smiles widely. Together, they step inside.

Behind them, their bridge stands firmly, dozens of colorful plants burgeoning at both ends. With the occasional flower here and there, small vines twirl along the railings in interchanging patterns as they lead down the bridge’s path, ready to embrace anyone crossing to the other side.

#mp100 #submission

[shunkashuutou]

｢Yuki Yuna is a Hero｣ Photoshoot!🌸

Last Monday Mabs and I finally did a “Yūki Yūna wa Yūsha de Aru” photoshoot! (If you don’t remember me talking about this series before, you can read my review of the anime, or check out all of my posts about YuYuYu here)

Mabs cosplayed the main character, Yuna, and I cosplayed her best friend, Togo.

Recently this anime has been bringing quite a few tourists to the city of Kanonji, and now the tourism center even has these cute free maps that show the places around the town that appear in the anime! 

A few weeks ago, Mabs and I got one of these maps and set up a meeting with the event planning department at the city hall to ask them about getting permission to take cosplay photos at the places that are in the anime. They were happy to give us permission, and we discussed what locations would be okay.

On the morning of the photoshoot, our friend/cameraman Hide picked us up in his cool sports car, and our first stop was the udon shop where the characters often enjoy a snack after school. We arrived a few minutes before they opened, Hide asked if it would be okay if we took a few photos inside the restaurant, and the staff said we could! (A lot of YuYuYu fans go there, and there were even some posters of the characters on one of the walls)

The udon was delicious! I had kitsune udon of course (this photo is of Hide’s niku udon). It had a lot of grated ginger inside, which is something I hadn’t had in kitsune udon before, but it was really good.

Selfie with Mabs and Hide!

And then it was time to start taking photos around the town! Our first stop was the the area in front of Kanonji station.

The school that the characters go to (which is in the same location as the actual junior high school here) is right next to the beach, so they walk along this path on their way home from school every day.

Sankabashi bridge!

And the bridge in front of the train station, from which you can see the hospital where the characters go for checkups after fighting the creatures trying to destroy their world.

The anime copied Kanonji’s scenery very accurately, so it was really cool to be able to take photos in these locations!

Amazingly, we’re the first cosplayers ever to do a Yuki Yuna photoshoot in Kanonji?! YuYuYu has a decently large fan base, but there are VERY few cosplayers of it; I’ve searched online, but only found like fewer than 10 people. When we talked to the people at the city office, they said that they were interested in the possibility of holding cosplay events in Kanonji, so hopefully there will be more YuYuYu cosplayers taking photos here in the future!

Alright, behind-the-scenes time! In place of Togo’s wheelchair, Hide brought a folding chair for us to use! (the fanciest folding chair I’ve ever seen) I just changed the color of the seat and added the handles on the back in Photoshop. It worked very well for the photos!

It was an extremely cold and windy day and rained on and off, so it definitely wasn’t the best conditions for doing a photoshoot, but we still got a lot of cute pictures. (And thankfully we could sit in Hide’s car and warm up in between locations) Long wigs can tangle easily even with no wind, and in weather like that it was really hard to keep my hair from flying all over the place!

Since our focus for this photoshoot was the scenery of Kanonji, we didn’t end up using it in too many of the photos (you can see it in the upper right photo), but I made a plushie of Gyuki, the little cow fairy that helps protect Yuna in battle! (All of the fairies in this anime are based on creatures from Japanese folklore, although traditional “gyuki” are terrifying)

Gyuki is one of the best parts of this anime; please look at this cute gif of it eating Pocky. Adorable.

(Actually its favorite food is beef jerky, even though it’s a cow??)

Sewing Gyuki took me a lot longer than I thought it would, but it was very fun and relaxing.

And I’m so happy with how it turned out!

Two weeks from now, we’ll be doing another Yuki Yuna photoshoot, this time at an actual school! (That secret location that I mentioned in my post about the cosplay photobook shoot last summer is finally opening to the public for its first official cosplay event!) That's like the ideal place to get some cute photos of these characters’ daily lives as students, so it should be a really fun event!

Stay tuned for a blog post about that photoshoot a few weeks from now, and for some other things (I’ve saved up a lot of photos for another “Random Update Time”) in the mean time!

#yuki yuna is a hero #yuuki yuuna wa yuusha de aru #cosplay #yuki yuna #togo mimori #photoshoots

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Orchid Throne by Jeffe Kennedy

Forgotten Empires #1

At first I was bored...but...after awhile I became interested and by the end I was eager to read book two in this trilogy. Why was I bored? I found the introduction long and windy without seeming to tell me anything. A bit like the opening words to a Star Wars movie perhaps but without knowing the plot or players I was lost. I began reading and did not connect with either Lia, Queen of Calanthe or Conri, former crown prince of Oriel. Conri spent most of his time bashing people a bit like a Berzerker and Lia seemed a painted doll living in a gorgeous garden that was there to please her and those living on the island paradise.

So...I skimmed and read and then finally I hit the part where Con and Lia meet. She was still cold and calculating and he was a bit of a loose cannon. And I waited and read and wondered. I wondered how the two would eventually be bound together and why and what kind of relationship they could possibly have. And...I think we find that out in book two.

Why do I want to read book two if it took so long to actually get to know and care about the characters? I am not sure. I believe it is because the story grew on me and I want to see how the couple will move forward. I want to find out what will happen to Ambrose the wizard and Sondra the warrior. I want to find out if Con and Lia will find common ground other than providing an heir and taking down the tyrant Anure. And I want to find out that there is more to Con than the oafish warrior he seems at first and if there is warmth in the cold painted doll that Lia seems to be.

Did I enjoy this book? Eventually

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

4 Stars

Excerpt from The Orchid Throne by Jeffe Kennedy

“Arise, Your Highness. The realm awaits the sun of Your presence.”

The ritual words cut through the thick smoke of the nightmare, bringing me awake with a start. A bad omen that I hadn’t come out of the dreams on my own—and a sign that gave the images the power to linger in my mind, stains refusing to be scrubbed clean.

The wolf fought its chains, howling in hoarse rage, shedding fire and ash.

The sea churned, bloodred and crimson dark, bones tossed in the waves, white as foam.

The tower fell into a pile of golden rubble, then to fine sand, the grains sliding against one another with soul-grinding whispered screams.

I loathe dreaming, where I have even less control than in the waking world. Calanthe Herself sings sweetly to me of the seas, the plants, and the creatures that walk Her soil. But outside our fragile island, the abandoned lands beyond cry like frightened children in the night. I can’t help them. It’s all I can do to protect Calanthe, and most days I despair of being able to do even that.

Still, with no one else to hear them, they call to me in chaotic images, the nightmares dashing me from one dark scenario to the next. No matter how the dreams plague me, I usually wake when the light of the rising sun reddens my eyelids. I keep my eyes closed, pretending to anyone who checks on me that I’m still asleep. Pulling the pieces of my composure together, I listen to the morning song of Calanthe. The birds sitting high in the canopy to catch the first warming rays of the sun show me the sky. The fish swimming in the sea speak of clean water and plentiful food. Even the trees, the flowers, the small insects in the soil all hum to me of their lives.

All reassure me of the balance, that Calanthe, at least, is peaceful and vital.

Only I and the land I’m tied to exist in that time after sleep and before true waking, in what I call the dreamthink, an almost enchanted bubble where I belong entirely to Calanthe. The emperor does not own me. The crying lands he’s orphaned are silent. My ladies have not yet woken me to wrenching reality and the trials of the day ahead.

Dreams always seem to me a terrible price to pay for the succor of sleep. Neither my naturalists nor my physicians seem to be able to explain the purpose of such dreams. And of course, Anure killed all the wizards, so I have none to tell me if magic can answer those nighttime screams. So without answers, and like the exorbitant tithes I’m forced to send to the emperor, I do pay the price, and nightly. The dreamthink is my reward, my time with Calanthe. A gift arising from waking Ejarat of the earth welcoming the return of Her husband, Sawehl of the sun. In the dreamthink, in Calanthe’s sweet communion, I can believe the old gods are with us still, that they haven’t abandoned us. That I have reason to hope.

“Euthalia, wake up. We’re ready,” Tertulyn whispered in my ear. My first lady-in-waiting, doing her duty as always. She couldn’t know she’d woken me from the nightmare instead of the dreamthink. Or that starting my day this way meant it would be certainly cursed.

No one believes in omens or curses anymore. Or hope, for that matter. In this, too, I am alone.

Euthalia is a mouthful, but no one calls me that except for Tertulyn so it doesn’t matter. Only Emperor Anure has the rank to address me by my given name, and I avoid conversation with His Imperial Nastiness to the best of my ability. Tertulyn has called me by my name since we were children, but only when no one can overhear, as etiquette demands.

As if she’d whispered them into my ear along with my name, the concerns of the realm immediately flooded my mind. The emperor’s emissary should have returned in the night and would want an audience with me—something I’d been dreading, as he never brought good news. Rumors had spread of slave uprisings, possibly even rebellion, as unlikely as that would be, that had the emperor both angry and insecure in his power. The worst possible combination in a man like him.

If I believed a rebellion could succeed, I would rejoice in the battle to come. But I had no hope of that. No one could defy Anure’s vast power and ability to destroy the least whimper of resistance, as all those kingless and queenless lands testified, crying their hopelessness to me every night.

No, such rumors meant the Imperial Tyrant would only tighten his fist—one that already strangled us nearly to death. The prospect of worse to come made me inexpressibly weary, and I hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet.

Nevertheless, I had to face the day. A realm awaited the sun of my presence, after all.

I opened my eyes and pasted a serene smile on my lips.

Tertulyn—already wigged, gowned, and decked in fresh flowers—stood a decorous three steps back from my bed, hands folded over her heart. All equally polished and lovely as morning dew, my five junior ladies awaited in a ring around her. They’d all been up since well before dawn to dress themselves before attending me. And yet their eyes sparkled as brightly as the birds that had shown me the sun on the sea, pretty painted lips curved in delighted smiles. Though I was only twenty-six, they made me feel old.

If a witch offered me a magic potion to remove the last ten years and restore my youth—and the innocent belief I’d had then, that my life would be a good one—I’d down it without question. Even if it meant my death the next day. No, that was a lie. I would never shirk my duty to Calanthe, not even for such a fantasy. Not without an heir to take my place. No matter how old and tired I felt.

ABOUT THE ORCHID THRONE:

A PRISONER OF FATE

As Queen of the island kingdom of Calanthe, Euthalia will do anything to keep her people

free—and her secrets safe—from the mad tyrant who rules the mainland. Guided by a magic ring of her father’s, Lia plays the political game with the cronies the emperor sends to her island. In her heart, she knows that it’s up to her to save herself from her fate as the emperor’s bride. But in her dreams, she sees a man, one with the power to build a better world—a man whose spirit is as strong, and whose passion is as fierce as her own…

A PRINCE AMONG MEN

Conrí, former Crown Prince of Oriel, has built an army to overthrow the emperor. But he needs the fabled Abiding Ring to succeed. The ring that Euthalia holds so dear to her heart. When the two banished rulers meet face to face, neither can deny the flames of rebellion that flicker in their eyes—nor the fires of desire that draw them together. But in this broken world of shattered kingdoms, can they ever really trust each other? Can their fiery alliance defeat the shadows of evil that threaten to engulf their hearts and souls?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

JEFFE KENNEDY is an award-winning, bestselling author who writes fantasy, fantasy romance, and contemporary romance. She serves on the Board of Directors for SFWA as a Director at Large.  Her most recent works include Prisoner of the Crown and the upcoming Exile of the Seas, from her high fantasy trilogy from Rebel Base books, The Chronicles of Dasnaria, in the same world as her award-winning fantasy series The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms. She is a hybrid author, and also self-publishes a fantasy series, Sorcerous Moons. Her books have won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance of 2015, been named Best Book of June 2014, and won RWA’s prestigious RITA® Award.  She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine. Jeffe can be found online at her website: JeffeKennedy.com, every Sunday at the SFF Seven blog, on Facebook, on Goodreads and on Twitter @jeffekennedy.

Buy this book: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250194312

Author website: JeffeKennedy.com

The SFF Seven blog: https://sffseven.blogspot.com/ on Sundays

Author Twitter: @jeffekennedy

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jeffe.kennedy

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1014374.Jeffe_Kennedy

SMP Romance Twitter: @SMPRomance or @heroesnhearts

SMP Romance Website: https://heroesandheartbreakers.com/

#Jeffe Kennedy #St. Martin's Press #NetGalley #Fantasy #Forgotten Empires book 1 #Trilogy #High Fantasy

[jerryepstein]

Before I got into the LA PHIL, I joined a group called Mariano and The Unbelievables. It was a Baroque Rock group consisting of a string quartet, a guitar player, Bass, conga, drums and Argentinean born Mariano Moreno on Piano and Harpsichord, represented by big time agent, Jerry Perenchio. I was called by Lenny Poncher who worked for Perenchio, to put together the best string quartet he could find. He hired Jay Rosen on violin and via Jay’s recommendations, called Ron Folsom on Violin, Ryan Selberg on Cello and me on Viola because we were three of the best string players in town. The four of us gathered our instruments and drove over to the 9000 building on Sunset Blvd where Perenchio had his office. Upon arrival, we were lead to a room, asked to set up, had music placed in front of us and we played like a strong solid unit and were hired on the spot. Immediately the next day, we began rehearsals with Mariano and the band. We all clicked so it was a lot of fun because I was used to playing classical music all the time and it was a pleasant break to actually play some popular hit tunes. They dressed us in 18th century drawing room outfits with powdered wigs and brocade waistcoats. The pants that we wore had no zipper so when you needed to go to the bathroom you needed to pull the pants down which was a little dicey if you only had a five minute break. We ended up making two albums for Capitol Records and touring with Donovan. We played at venues such as the Hollywood Bowl and The Cow Palace in San Francisco. When we opened for Donovan, prior to the start of every concert, Donovan‘s father's job was to throw flowers out to the audience to the screaming girls. They would jump and try to grab the flowers. One evening, I arrived early and I saw the basket of flowers on stage. I picked up the basket and proceeded to toss flowers out to the frenzied girls in the audience. It was quite a power trip and so exciting because the girls were going crazy fighting over the bouquets and throwing their underwear at me. Donovan‘s father's other job was to find a cute girl for his son. If Donovan noticed a girl from the stage, he would inform his father to bring for backstage to his dressing room after the concert. One of the highlights of the show was ending the concert with “Mellow Yellow”. It was Donovan’s number one hit at the time and the audience became very animated and sang along with the tune. Everyone was dressed up in hippie clothes because that that was the style of the time and Donovan wore a long flowing white shirt and beads around his neck. After the tour, we were hired to perform for the opening of a brand new club, Spectrum 2000, on Sunset Blvd in West Hollywood, California. It was formerly the home of Ciro's, a popular Hollywood nightclub owned by William Wilkerson, and later, The very famous Comedy Store. On the first day of our opening they actually found out that I was under age; I was still a teenager and they served liquor in in the club so technically I was not allowed to be there but they couldn’t just replace me at the last minutes' notice. The management just told me to stay away from the bar and keep my mouth shut. It was quite a thrill and a lot of fun opening up a brand new club packed with celebrity actors, musicians, singers and writers. While Mariano played his harpsichord on stage with the band, our string quartet strolled around the audience while performing. They put a small mic on the bridge of our string instruments which allowed us to control the volume and special effects. We played some of the hits from our albums. I enjoyed strolling instead of always sitting on stage, intimately noticing the patrons expressions and body language; everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. During a performance of Winchester Cathedral, Mariano pointed at me to just take it and I played solo and loved being the center of attention for that moment. I ended up tripping and falling into the lap of Andy Williams. who just kind of grinned at me so I grinned back. We got one check…disbanded and our string quartet went on to become The Midnight Strings . . . . . . . . . #Marianoandtheunbelieveables #Musicians #stringquartet #jerryepstein #violist #capitolrecords #pophits #baroquerock #Donovan #hollywoodbowl #cowpalace #jerryperenchioartists #mellowyellow #upupandaway #canttakemyeyesoffyou #windy #sundaywillneverbethesame #dontsleepinthesubway #georgygirl #rockandroll #60s #sixtiesmusic #hippyfashion #retro #vintage #throwback #obscure60srock #groovy #brocadewaistcoat #soulfulstrings https://www.instagram.com/p/BwGH85wAYTo/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1og7zkyadt082

#Marianoandtheunbelieveables #musicians #stringquartet #violistjerryepstein #jerryepstein #violist #capitolrecords #pophits #baroque rock #baroquerock #donovan #hollywoodbowl #cowpalace #jerryperenchioartists #mellowyellow #upupandaway #canttakemyeyesoffyou #windy #sundaywillneverbethesame #dontsleepinthesubway #georgygirl #rockandroll #60s #60s fashion #60s music #sixtiesmusic #hippyfashion #retro #vintage #throwback

[nic-and-annie-in-france]

Vienna in 10

1.Both of us having the sniffles. I was proud of myself for managing to spend three fall/winter months surrounded by hundreds of small children without getting sick. With two weeks to go before Christmas break, I could tell I was fighting something off, so I was doing my best to get lots of extra rest. However, travel takes a lot out of me, so I finally succumbed in the first half of our trip, dragging Nicolas down with me. In Vienna in particular, neither of us were feeling too hot. We scrapped a couple of things on our itinerary to make time for extra sleep, spent less time outdoors, and we swiped tea bags and salt packets from the breakfast buffet (🤫) to soothe our symptoms later in the day. At times, our sickness made things a little more difficult to enjoy, but I think we maintained a good attitude, which is half the battle.

2.The fancy vibe. When we were touring a palace in Vienna, I told Nicolas that I felt like we should be strolling arm in arm and I should be wearing a fancy old-timey dress. And that is kind of how I felt all over Vienna. I don’t have the vocabulary to describe the architecture, but so much of it was just fancy, right down to the typography on the train station signs.  In the center of town, there were horse carriages carrying tourists around and men dressed in wigs and coattails hawking tickets to the opera. Obviously the horses and ticket hawkers are more artifice than elegance, but it was fun to suspend my disbelief awhile and walk around in my imaginary fancy dress.

Portrait of the couple in invisible fancy attire.

3.“Imagine how nice this would be in the summer!” Our first stop on Christmas morning was to the gardens of Schönbrunn Palace. Unfortunately for us, it was very windy, rainy, and cold the whole morning. Despite the dreary conditions, though, we had a nice time. The gardens had all kinds of statues, fountains, and arches, usually situated at the end of a long hedge-lined pathway, so that your eyes were drawn to them. It was a beautiful place, but there were no flowers or leaves to speak of on the plants in the gardens. I kept saying how pretty the garden must be in the spring or summer, and tried to imagine it leafy and warm. Unfortunately, this positive thinking didn’t help me retain the feeling in my extremities.

4.Christmas Day in the art gallery. We spent most of our Christmas in an art gallery where half the fun was looking at the building itself.  Every inch of it was adorned with some sort of decoration. We spent hours looking at Egyptian, Greek and Roman art, only to be starving well past lunchtime with three quarters of the museum still left to explore. We ate our late lunch in the museum cafe, which was situated beneath an ornate rotunda. After we ate, we visited the wing called the Kaiserliche Schatzkammer, or Imperial Treasury. It was a collection of hundreds of ostentatious objects—altarpieces, tapestries, chalices, gems—amassed by the Habsburgs purely to display the breadth and depth of their wealth, power, and influence. We found all sorts of curious objects to admire there. We took a quick glance at the painting collection as well as a temporary exhibit curated in part by filmmaker Wes Anderson before the museum closed.

Nothing says “I’m rich” like a crystal egg cup shaped like an elephant.

5.The bells at the Gothic cathedral. We happened to in one of Vienna’s main squares as St. Stephen’s Cathedral sounded the hour. The sound was surprising and overwhelming and beautiful. Cathedrals are supposed to draw the spirit upward by drawing the eyes upward. This one drew my ears upward too.

6.The Monet exhibit. I know it makes me a snob to admit this, but I tend to not enjoy the Impressionists as much as other people do, precisely because other people enjoy them so much. I didn’t have very high expectations for the Albertina Museum for this reason. By the time we left, the museum had forced me to get over myself and really appreciate the genius of Monet. I’m a read-everything kind of museumgoer, so I was really geeking out at the connections between Monet’s visual art and the literature I studied at UK. Some of the same concepts and ideologies I was familiar with from French Lit were represented by Monet with paint instead of text. I left wishing I could write a new master’s thesis, which I think means the museum did its job.

7.The cathedral concert. Music plays a big part in Vienna’s tourism industry, because it was the home to Mozart and Beethoven. However, we weren’t able to get tickets to a concert or opera during our trip. I did plan for us to go to a free Christmas concert at a cathedral, though, which was a nice consolation prize. The concert was housed in one of Vienna’s smaller cathedrals, and it was slightly dark and warm inside. We listened to about 45 minutes’ worth of songs performed by an organist and a youth choir, including the Michael W. Smith song “Here I am to Worship” translated (presumably) into German. All the songs preceding that one had been arias in Latin or traditional Christmas carols, so Nicolas and I looked at each other in bewilderment when we found we both recognized the tune without recognizing any of the words.

8.Franz Josef and Sisi. We went to a three-in-one museum called the Hofburg that had exhibits about the imperial china and dinnerware, the imperial apartments, and the most famous Empress of Austria, Elizabeth, nicknamed Sisi. I had never heard of Sisi, or her husband, Emperor Franz Josef, so I didn’t have any expectations one way or the other for the exhibit about her life. I was surprised by how interesting I found that portion of the museum. Sisi was betrothed to the eventual emperor as a teenager, and very excited about becoming royalty, but after she was crowned, quickly realized that fame and power come with lots of restraints on one’s personal freedom. She became withdrawn and moody, obsessing over her super-long hair, her daily workouts, and her diet. She reminded me of a real-life Emma Bovary, withdrawing into her fantasies to escape the constraints of her life. But at the same time, it seemed to me like she foreshadowed the way the negative effects of fame and celebrity on people today, especially child stars.

9.Favorite fun fact: Franz Josef, emperor and Sisi’s husband, worked super hard! I feel like most monarchs and heads of state are known for enjoying luxury with a little bit of responsibility on the side.  Franz Josef, on the other hand, woke up super early every morning and spent the first half of his day giving an audience to anyone, rich or poor, important or not, who scheduled an appointment with him. Of course, these appointments usually only lasted a few minutes apiece, but I think it’s cool that he gave such a priority to listening to his citizens.

10.The Hundertwasser apartments.  We spent most of our time in Vienna basking in its traditional elegance. But on our last day there, we took a trip outside the city center to the Hundertwasser apartments. Hundertwasser was an artist/architect who was known for his distaste for straight lines, and thus built an entire apartment without any straight edges. I can’t confirm that there are no straight lines in it because they are private apartments that people still rent, so we weren’t able to go inside. But on the outside, the pavement rose up into big bumps and the façade looked like a rumpled patchwork quilt. Our visit here was short, but it added a lot of dimension to my perception of Vienna. Even in a uniformly beautiful city, there can be eccentricities hiding in plain sight.

**Bonus** Doppelgängers: Vienna edition

#annie #tapif #tumblr #austria

[seprofcorp]

Jackson Browne - The Load Out/Stay FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY SHORTENING TIME LEFT, ONE NAGGING, EMPTY HOLED REGRET WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. HOW ON THIS EARTH, GALAXY, DID I EVER, EVER, "MISS A "CLASSIC "JACKSON BROWNE CONCERT ,EITHER IN"MADISON SQUARE GAR'DEN'S VAST ARENA OR IN , QUEENS, THE VILLAGE, OR ANYWHERE ON LONG (ISTHMUS) ISLAND. MY GOOD BUDDY FROM "HOFSTRA U TURNED ME ON J.B.((OWE HIM REAL BIG TIME(FORGIVE HIS FEW "CHILDISH PRANKS(STUFFING 1 OZ. OF GRASS IN MY SPORT JACKET POCKET WHILE I'M WORKING(ASST' SUPR, AT GIMBEL'S ROOSEVELT FIELD MENS DEPT, B4 CLOSING,KNOWING SECURITY HEAD HATED ME & MY SEMI=HIPPIE LONG HAIR(GREAT DRESSER THOUGH,IF I DO SAY SO); NEXT' " SLIPPED "CAMERA LENS CLEANER" IN MY POCKET RIGHT B4 WE LEFT A CAMERA STORE;, HOWEVER: AT 2ND "1969 MARCH ON WASHINGTON DC. ANTI=VIETNAM/DRAFT/NIXON"MARCH(WE ARRIVED AFTER DARK, I PARKED MY( IF I STILL HAD IT), CLASSIC 1963 BRITISH RACING GREEN 390 4 BARREL THUNDERBIRD AT AN ADJACENT CURB .CLOSE , BUT STILL OKAY, TO THE "WHITE HOUSE(ANYBODY FOR "WHITE SUPREMICIST HOUSE??). WAKING LATE MORN, GUESS WHAT??: MY CLASSIC TO BE WAS "SURROUNDED BY "GREY HOUND BUSES, OUT OF A HOLLYWOOD ATTACK!!. WHAT TO DO, NADA, WE PARTICIPATED,THE 1ST MARCH, I, WITH OTHER GUYS,(EX- 2ND AT THE TIME, BEST FRIEND STEVE( A FORMER "FORBES MAG, BIG WIG(MALCOM TOOK HIM ON HIS YACHT UP THE HUDSON FOR BI-CENTENNIAL/ROAD " MOTORCYCLES TOGETHER,REALLY), WE WERE TEAR GASSED IN AN OFFICE, WHERE WE CAMPED OUT)..WELL, HAD TO LEAVE NEXT DAY, TOSSED COIN=HECK NO, WE(GUYS, SMARTLY PICKED GUARDING the bus entrance. gave "george" my keys, he "managed to talk the(so the agent told gEorge-he had jumped on "mrs, Jacqueline Kennedy that traGIC ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT. KENNEDY DAY, IN DALLAS),TO MY(OUR( GREAT RELIEF/SURPRISE. THE AGENT " DROVE MY T-BIRD THRU THE PARTED BUS SPACE, GAVE GEORGE THE KEYS..WHAT A "JUMPIN' JACK FLASH, IT'S A GAS GAS GAS MOMENT; IT WAS" SO SWEET. NATURALLY, MY 1ST WORDS TO APPROACHING "GEORGE": " DID U GET THE GUY'S AUTOGRAPH??(NATCH-HE DID NOT). 2ND: AT "GIMBELS AGAIN(B4 CLOSING, A COLLEAGUE(LAURA HOFFMAN(MAIDEN NAME) APPROACHED, ASKED A FAVOR": PLEASE TAKER HOME ONE OF HER STAFF IN LADIES FINE DRESSES(DID NOT KNOW WHO SHE WAS). HOWEVER, GEORGES EVENTUALLY WIFE, WAS WAITING IN MENS' DEPT, FOR A LIFT BACK TO HOFSTRA U.(HER DORM & THEN WHAT??WE WERE SEMI-DATING(SHE WAS/IS A BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, BIT KOOKY LADY, saved my "bacon once when "moM' KICKED ME OUT,AFTER BRINGING HOME NEWEST FRIEND("HERE CAME WINDY, THE SHELTY MIX')(those"  REALLY WERE THE DAYS, MY FRIEND, & THEY REally did end"(forgot the author/group):WELL, CALLED GEORGE, AT HIS HOME, PLEADEd for fav, he drove over(not far away, GAVE the red head a lift home(beginning of his "odyssey march to the alter for both), why so IMPORTANT & WORDY, U MAY RIGHTLY SAY??. ON NY RIDE TO HER PLACE homE, SHE WAS sweet, really looked close to"elizabeth taylor, ingrid bergmen & to me, SIMPLY AN "ANGEL" , SOMEHOW, A MYSTERIOUS FORCE(FROM OUTER SPACE? BLINDED, HYPNOTIZED)ME:  THIS YOUNG LASS, AND MYSELF "HIT IT OFF, SLOWLY "TRUE LOVE GREW, OVERTIME, AS LOVERS, THEN SADLY, SHE WENT AWAY TO MIAMI U., AFTER A "T/GIVING HOLIDAY TOGETHER(FOR ME IT HAD TO BE 7 DAYS/NITES OF PURE HEAVEN, THAT I'LL NEVER HAVE AGAIN),SHE MOVED BACK TO LONG ISLAND. N.BELLMORE, , ATTENDED LONG ISLAND U(C.W.POST,ON CAMPUS; HERE IS THE " KICKER" SOMETIME MID FEB. WINTER(NEVER FORGET THAT MOMENT/DAY,AT HER HOME, "SHE KICKED ME TO THE CURB, 4 EVER, IN A NICE( WHO AM I KIDDING, NOTHING NICE HERE) MANNER(REMEMBER SHE WAS ALWAYS "SWEET " TO ME")MY WORLD IMPLODED. BELIEVE ME, IF NOT STRONG, COULD HAVE TAKEN THAT " LAST SCUBA DIVE" TO FABLED 'Davy JOnes locker(THIS IS THE END" MEGA HIT BY JIM MORRISON/THE DOORS(JULY 4TH, 1972( THE LADY DI'S  HOME, YES, I CRIED, SITTING IN ROCKER, DOWNING A " COLT 45 CAN" LISTENING IN HORROR TO THE T.V. NEWS REPORTING THE "DEMISE" OF MORRISON,IN PARIS BATH TUB". "THE DOORS" MUSIC'/MESSAGES / words,were my " main stay. my "obsession,if u will). guiding my life, driving me forward(did not know where),MUSICALLY OR JUST IN GENERAL(WITH LADY D, AS MY LIFE BOAT, SHE SO SWEETLY QUIETLY ACCEPTED MY PATHOS, QUIET, ROLLING TEARS,& WE MOVWD ON TILL OUR FATEFUL MOMENT TOO(NO ONE WAS EVER HURT PHYSICALLY). "KICKING ME TO THE CURB", I WAS LOST,GRADUATED HOFSTAR, ALREADY LEFT GIMBELS TO VACATION W/ HER IN MIAMI, EXCEPT TOR "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S WINDY" GIVING BIRTH TO "6' german shepard mix pups(apparently "SIZE DID MATTER TO WINDY"(ACTUALLY SAW THIS PERPERTRATOR SHEPARD DOG(AFTER RAPING MY LITTLE DOGGy) LEAPING OVER THE WHITE PICKET FENCE TO ESCAPE MY YELLING, WAVING, PRESENCE. YES, FOOLISH NE, NEGLECTED TO HAVE WINDY SPAYED *DONE A.S.A.P. AFTER NURSING PUPS). (GOT TO BREAK HERE(IF ANYONE HAS EVEN STAYED THE DISTANCE)< THINK I "FORGOT "MY POINT"(ANOTHER FLAW OF MINE. THANKS IF U ACTUALLY  READ THIS BLURB( NOT A "RANT", BELIEVE ME, ACTUALLY ALL HAPPENED. ((MY FONDEST MEMORIES R STILL INTACT))ETERNAL THANKS TO " GEORGE R.AND(ALWAYS REMEMBERED  HER FONDLY AS "LADY DIANE".

[arathoonabroad]

Chapter 3

In which Katie battles the wilderness, and then all her relatives flee the country.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

"What are these lumps in the bread?" "I think they're seeds, Biddy." "What seeds? The seeds of destruction?"

Biddy and I escaped the weeding and spent five days at Uncle Biv and Aunt Mo's beautiful house in Levin--five days marked by peace, tranquility, and delicious food. There was, however, one moment of peril, from which I was glad to escape with my life. On a pretense of "showing us the farm," Biv lured Biddy and me into the heart of the Otaki wilderness. High up a mountain we went, on a long windy road, to view his collection of trees--pine trees, to be specific; more than 85,000 of them, to be even more specific. After lulling us into a false sense of security by giving us a tour of his woolshed and dutifully plucking a few feathers for Biddy off of some rather indignant guinea fowl, Biv casually suggested that we might like to go and see a little bit of the bush. Of course, we foolishly assented; what could possibly go wrong?

When first I came to this country, I was under the impression that, as far as flora and fauna were concerned, New Zealand was like Australia with the poison removed--a harmless, defanged wilderness. I was about to be proven wrong. We were happily trundling along the windy lane, taking pictures of Not-Quite-Silver-Ferns-But-Jolly-Similar, when suddenly Biv screeched to a halt and leapt out of the car. "Do you see this?" he asked, wrapping his sweatshirt sleeve around his hand and carefully pulling a branch of something prickly over to us. Biddy and I leaned back. "This plant is called Bush Lawyer, and it's a devil," Biv explained. "The thorns stick into you and it's impossible to untangle yourself. It's an awful beast." And that was not all, for as we continued on our way Biv pointed across the road and said, "Can you guess what that is?" We gazed up at the plant, a six-foot tall bushy green thing, and could not. "That," said Biv impressively, "is a stinging nettle! People have died from falling into stinging nettles in this country!" He spoke with pride, as if scorning all lowly English stinging nettles for merely providing mild agony to the shin regions.

There was more. "Lupines," said Biv gloomily, pointing. "I'm so allergic to them they've put me in the hospital, and they're everywhere." And, when I jumped out of the car, "That's a deadly nightshade by your foot." I looked down in horror at the terrifying little plant that towered almost a full centimeter above my ankle. "They're everywhere too."

Then, with a distinctly mischievous look in his eye, Biv announced: "Oh dear. It seems I have forgotten the code to the last gate. You two stay here while I just pop over this mountain and ask the neighbor what it is."

Off he strode. Biddy and I leaped back into the safety of the car. The sounds of twittering birds and sadistically swishing plants filled the air. I rolled up the window. The sun sank a little. The air in the car got hot and stuffy, but we did not dare open the doors.

"What happens if he doesn't come back?" asked Biddy.

"I'm afraid we'll have to chop off your leg and roast it," I said sorrowfully. Biddy didn't seem to mind, as her ankle was swollen and causing her grief anyway.

After about half an hour Biv returned. Clearly, his plan to dispose of us had failed, so he had to drive us home, hopes shattered. Still, I now have a healthy respect for the New Zealand outback.

Proving that New Zealand has not changed me too much, I've approached my new- non-vegetarian lifestyle with a typically complete lack of moderation. I am outrageously carnivorous now. I can scarcely go two days on end without bacon, and have tried all manner of other charred animal flesh: cows, sheep, chicken, quail, and deer have all fallen into my mighty maw. The concept of being able to eat everything on a menu--rejecting things only because I don't like them--fills me with a new delight. I feel no guilt, I feel no squeamishness. In Wigs's field there gambols the fluffy white sheep Butter, whose former friend Einstein I eat on a regular basis without the slightest compunction. Sometimes as I look at Butter, sweetly munching on grass, I think happily, "Oh, sweet little sheep--if I wanted to, I could rip your head off its neck and feast on the gory innards that leak out." On my gloomier days all I have to do is remember that this Thanksgiving (if I'm back home) I will get to eat Real Thanksgiving Turkey, and I cheer right up.

Biddy's last week in NZ was spent back at Wigs's house. Together we stripped a little wallpaper and avoided weeding, and generally did Not Much aside from complain about how much work we were being forced to do. Jemma—my sophomore year roommate, and the only person in the world who can look sexy while wearing a combination of socks, sandals and shorts—and her boyfriend Kyle, showed up to keep us entertained (and take me out for St. Patrick's Day debauchery). In the final days, Wigs threw a few lovely tea parties so that the people who had met Biddy could come and enjoy her company one last time. At one of them, Biddy was handed a glass of one of her favorite drinks, Campari with soda. The rest of us had tried Campari early on in her trip, and found it to be possibly the most bitter and revolting stuff ever devised by human hand. I'd rather drink pigswill, frankly. Much to our surprise, Wigs's friend Glenda had not only heard of the drink but liked it. Biddy waved her glass magnanimously at Glenda and announced, "When I go home, I'll leave you a present: a half bottle… well, a quarter… well, an eighth of a bottle of Campari!"

She is a frequently maddening woman—picking away for hours at wallpaper, for example, to clear a space that could be cleared in a few minutes if she would just allow the removal solution to sit for long enough. Her cigarette butts litter the garden, and, while she did eventually stop calling Wigs "Joan," her nickname for me stuck, and we all took to calling me "That Girl." Still, as Wigs, Brian and I clung to the chain-link fence and watched her little form climb up into the aeroplane and away, tears streamed down my cheeks without the slightest regard for avoiding cliché. My constant companion of the last month is gone, and the gods only know when I'll see her again.

After Biddy's departure, the rest of us dispersed. Brian took off on a business trip. Wigs packed for Kenya. I myself am currently hitching a ride to Wellington with Kyle and Jemma, sitting in the backseat of their wonderfully derelict and now somewhat overloaded Mazda. I'm not sure what I'm going to do in Wellington, and I still haven't told cousin Cleo that I'm coming; I have no place to sleep lined up, no idea of how long I'm staying in town, and no idea what I'm going to do with myself during the day.

I guess the traveling part of my trip has finally begun.

[groomingadeptswebsite]

How to Deal with Hair Loss: Fight It or Embrace It?

In “The Gambler”, a song most famously sang by Kenny Rogers, he states that you have to know when to hold ‘em, and know when to fold ‘em. It’s about cutting your losses or trying to hold on to what you have. This is a perfect analogy for those dealing with hair loss. How much longer do you want to spend fighting it? Are you fighting a winnable battle? Or is it time to literally cut your losses?

How to deal with hair loss

There are many options to take when dealing with hair loss. Some people are only losing a bit of their hair, so it really isn’t too noticeable. Others age gracefully and just lose the right amount as the years go by. Other times, it appears that a person is losing ten percent of their hair every week or two, and it is not growing back. The severity of the hair loss is going to lead you down certain paths. However, be certain that you retain your self-respect through it all.

Supplements

There are definitely supplements, vitamins, and medicines that have been shown to help keep your hair or even regrow a bit. Most of these require taking a pill or two every day or applying something to the top of your head once or twice a day. In doing so, this is a lifetime commitment. You will have to keep on doing this or lose the hair soon after you stop.

Hair Transplants

We have all seen the infomercials that seem to show that a good hair transplant could be the answer to your dreams. Most of the ones shown are incredible, with the transplants being virtually undetectable. What they fail to tell you is that the full head of hair look that was achieved was a result of probably at least two or more hair transplants. Again, if money is no object, then two or more transplant procedures could be perfect for you.

However, if an average hair transplant procedure is $10,000 and you have at least two of them, you are looking at a cost of $20,000. Plus, in real life and not on infomercials, it appears there are just as many hair transplant failures as there are successes. One telltale sign is the scar strip on the back of their head after they start cutting their hair close to the back.

Concealers

As a man that used concealers every day for five years for my hair loss, I would like to think I am an expert on this topic. It is a good way to fight the appearance of your hair loss, but it does take some time and it comes with a bit of risk.

If your hair loss is near the back of your head and you would like to conceal it, hair fibers are the way to go. Probably the most popular hair fibers product on the market is Toppik. Just scatter some out on your thinning spot and pat down to disperse. Then use a hairspray to keep them in place. The cover-up sprays and cream be just as effective.

Although be careful about running your hands through your hair. It will come off and get under your fingernails.  And it does make it a bit awkward when you are in a romantic situation and they start playing with your hair. It is tough to explain why their hands appear filthy. It can definitely ruin the moment and perhaps make you look less manly in the process. Trying to reason with a woman on why you wear hair makeup is beyond cringe-worthy. I used to have one always ask me why I would turn her pillowcase black when I spent the night. I never had a good answer.

Wigs

There are a lot of fancy names out there for wigs. Of course, men are said to wear toupees and not wigs, but it is the exact same concept. Maintaining and preparing the thing every morning and night seems like a lot of work to me. But some of the ones out on the market now are undetectable.

There is a famous hair system available on the market with several infomercials on late at night. They make it all appear so mysterious. Hair Club for Men says they have a non-surgical hair replacement system available. In their infomercials, they say they add more hair to your existing hair. In my head, I was thinking this was similar to hair extensions of some sort.

I actually made an appointment and met with them. I was ready to be clued into the whole process. The man that met me had amazing hair, and he told me quickly it was one of their systems. Then he started telling me about all of these celebrities that wear their hair system but they are unable to mention it on the commercials because of privacy reasons. Next, they parted the curtain and allowed me to see the secrets of the universe. Or at least on their non-surgical hair system. To put it simply, they shave the top part of your head, super glue a wig or toupee to where they just shaved your head, then they cut and style it to your liking. Not exactly rocket science.

Styling It Just Right

Some men get very creative when dealing with hair loss. They comb it all forward to hide it. They comb it all backward to cover up the spot. They comb it to the side and spray everything in place. This can definitely work for those that still have quite a bit of their hair. It is only when you are facing severe hair loss that this can become quite painful. Spending an hour on your hair in the morning and having it still look bad is not acceptable.

Cut It Close

If you are losing your hair and you are done with the concealers, the styling tricks, the supplements, and the wigs, then the best thing you can do is to take out the electric clippers and take it down as far as it will go. If you leave a little bit of length on the top and take the sides and the back as low as the Clippers will go, it is actually a pretty good look. It’s saying to the world that you are comfortable with yourself.

Just think of all the things you will be able to do again. You can stop wearing baseball caps. You can go out on a windy or rainy day and not be concerned about concealers running all over your face or the wind ruining your perfectly styled hair. You can actually go swimming again!

Take It All Off!

Cutting it close is just one step away from shaving it all off. There is something so freeing about having a completely shaved head. Until you get used to it, it is a bit like walking around naked. Once you do it, you will wonder why you struggled with hair loss for so long. You will be kicking yourself for not doing it earlier. However, make sure you stay in shape or get in shape once you start walking around with the bald look. You do not want to be the fat, bald guy. You want to be the muscular, bad-ass bald guy that chicks love.

The maintenance of it is almost zero. Once every couple days or so, take out the razor and shave away. There are actually special razors made just for this. The HeadBlade is a pretty popular one to use. But almost any razor will do. And you will have so much extra time on your hands now. Plus, it will save you money! No more hair loss shampoos, special products, paying for haircuts, and purchasing hair loss items. Get a little scruff going on the face and keep your head smooth. It is a timeless look.

The post How to Deal with Hair Loss: Fight It or Embrace It? appeared first on Grooming Adepts.

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[ourbigadventureblog]

Tasmania

After a super-foodie-healthy-vegan-no-additives-Buddha lunch of falafel and cashew nut fermented cheese toasties we hit the road from Launceston.

We began our trip at the Bay of fires which is a beautiful stretch of coastline decorated in orange and yellow lichen covered rocks. It was named so because the sailors at sea used to think the bay was on fire due to the warm colouring of the rocks. Tasmania has a lot of well equipped free camping sites so we downloaded an app called WikiCamps which is a must for anyone road tripping and camping in Australia! It was so helpful because you can download the offline map for the whole of Australia to use for navigation and for filtered searches on where to find the free camps, lookouts, water refilling stations, free public BBQ areas etc. The bay of fires was so nice that we spent the next morning exploring and snoozing on the rocks until lunch. A little way south we aimed to stay the night at Coles bay so that we could do a walk to one of the top rated beaches in the world: Wineglass bay. Both beaches are on the Freycinet peninsula and on either side. Our walk took us up to a lookout then down onto Wineglass bay, across the peninsula, past some marshes and onto the other side where we had a dip in clear turquoise waters at Hazards beach (named for the Hazard mountains above).

The next day we followed the curve of the peninsula and around Great Oyster Bay to the mainland. We stopped often to stretch our legs at pretty beaches and Spiky beach was one of our favourites. We made it to Triabunna on Great Oyster Bay for freshly shucked oysters and fried scallops and chips lunch. Divine. In Tasmania Oysters and Scallops are abundant and very affordable so we decided this was the best place to try them on the harbour side watching the ferry boats leave for nearby Maria Island. That afternoon we arrived in Hobart to do a bit of Christmas shopping at the Salamanca market and warm up with a proper pot of earl grey tea.

We stopped in Westbury overnight in order to get as far north as we could for our last day in these wondrous landscapes. Only a few hours of driving windy roads, we shared our habitual oats, dates and raisin bowl on the edge of the mountains overlooking the pine forests changing from green to orange. We got to Cradle mountain to find snow on the ground and we're quickly recommended a walk and shuttled away to the start of the Dove Lake circuit. This was my favourite day in Tasmania, even though it was colder than we had felt in months and nothing had prepared us for it after the 38degree heat in Sydney just a few days before! We made mini snowmen and enjoyed the walk so much we took the extra path down Ronny Creek to meet the shuttle bus further down the road.

On this section of the walk we last over granite staircases and spiky grasslands. We were ecstatic when we together stopped in our tracks and spotted a wild wombat which turned out not to be bothered by us at all! Shaun filled up his memory card once again while the cuddly wombat munched his way around the grasslands. Glowing wig satisfaction from our walk we were almost at the bus stop when we passed a couple who had spotted a wild platypus! We had seen platypuses in Cairns Tablelands, where we learnt that only 2% of Australians ever see the cute billed animals in the wild. It was a magical moment watching her clamber over the lumpy grassy mounds to reach the creeks of water between.

After all the fun and games we drove as close to the airport as possible to a place called Perth for our overnight stop. The following morning we flew out early to Melbourne.

Love S+T

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