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wittez · 1 year

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working title: further joy

if anything, it can be safely concluded that having the worst time of your fucking life at lax is a rite of passage for every traveler around the world. it’s something almost as certain as that you’ll find sand in the arizona desert, or a crowd of completely clueless vacationers falling victim to whatever the newest hip tourist trap right by times square is.

because, you see, not one good thing has happened since he landed. or, in fact, since he even boarded the plane to begin with. the following is an abridged retelling of the series of hapless events that have plagued every aspect of eric’s very existence for about the past twelve hours, because if we sat here and started the story from any further back, then we’d find ourselves here for a long time. like, airline staff finding and shipping back the bag you lost in tokyo two months prior long.

his favorite hoodie seemingly vanished into thin air right at the moment he was about to pack it (only to later find out his sister had taken it hostage, got a bbq stain on its pocket, and buried the evidence to avoid his reaction. talk about a reaction now!).

his dad’s old printer effectively swallowed, chewed up and spit out three sheets of paper as eric tried to print out his tickets. as life just so happens to be, these were the last three sheets of paper they had in the house (and then, eric remembered he can just have his ticket on his phone. right).

speaking of his ticket, it said gate 26. after waiting two hours and focusing really, really hard on the gibberish that came out of the airport intercom, enough so that he couldn’t even peacefully consume the miserable raspberry jelly-filled donut he was having for breakfast because they were out of all the other donut kinds he actually likes, it’s suddenly revealed his flight now departs from gate 8. half a glorified poptart is abandoned in a nearby trash bin as he dashes off like a madman hauling a bag that’s more or less his own weight along with a flimsy jansport backpack that’s most certainly seen better days, sneaker soles squeaking across the linoleum despite the shoes themselves being just barely a tier above unacceptable at a thrift store.

when he finally gets to board, a horrifying finding awaits him… he’s seated right between a mother and her young child. fate smiles upon eric in the way that the kid, surprisingly, doesn’t cry. however, he discovers fate’s also frowning down at him when said kid makes it a task to question whether eric has any games on his phone every ten minutes despite the continual denials from his part.

like, seriously. eric even takes it upon himself to read some random newspaper article his mother had sent just last week about stress-induced health risks, as if to demonstrate he’s just that fucking boring and absolutely not the kind of person to have any games on his phone at all, yet the boy isn’t deterred by this.

the one thing that saves him and whatever remaining shred of sanity he had left by the two hour mark is the youth’s regularly scheduled naptime, at which point eric heaves out a breath and finally gets to play subway surfers.

…and all that is without even delving into how he nearly got into a fight with an older french lady who boarded at the connecting flight and kept claiming his seat as her own, but…

the thing is, it’s been a journey and a half yet he still isn’t anywhere near his destination.

baggage claim is another beast entirely, the conveyor belt mocking his nearly empty stomach with just how agonizingly slow it moves, and then makes fun of him once again as if only to ensure his misery by getting stuck at some point. it takes little under five minutes to get it up and running once again, but those few moments are surely enough to have eric questioning why he even packed half the things he did and if it’d actually be that much of a big deal if he left his suitcase to rot away in there in favor of walking to the nearest taco bell and finally having some real food (real is kind of a stretch, but then again he’s running on fumes and half a donut. he who doesn’t know god will pray to any saint).

truth be told, most of his life is kept right here in the bag that’s been his trusty sidekick ever since freshman year of high school— wallet, second favorite hoodie, notebook and handful of ballpoint pens half-empty to varying degrees, toothbrush, headphones and charger are all here (this is the part where he realizes his recently upgraded cellphone isn’t in that list; a hand haphazardly flies in direction of his back pocket, and a sigh of relief is released upon verifying its presence).

right as he’s at the very cusp of turning on his heel and ditching his luggage, the familiar navy blue suitcase with a neon orange tag labeled ‘DON’T LOSE ME!’ and a cat scratch across its axis finally shows up. maybe eric just wanted the conveyor belt to think he didn’t want his bag anymore so it’d spit it out at last, or possibly the truth is he was about to discard it for real. or, perhaps, that’s just what he wants it to think…!

he isn’t sure whether it’s worse to argue with an inanimate object in his head or to do so aloud, because both make him seem like just the slightest, teeniest bit of an absolute fucking loon. as he pulls out the handle of his suitcase and starts towards the nearest exit, eric supposes he can find a marginal hint of solace in the fact that at least those around him didn’t bear witness to him trying to use reverse psychology on, again, an effing conveyor belt of all things.

eric’s grandfather seems to always drive at half the speed limit, yet car rides with him never feel long because every time they’re together his grandfather always has a new anecdote from a childhood long gone to narrate. a glance towards his left finds the older man’s features, much like eric’s own although mellowed out by time, his gentle gaze a reflection of his kind soul. “my boy, i’m so glad you could join us this year again,” thinning skin crinkles by the elder’s eyes as he smiles, not once looking away from the road ahead. “your grandmother says she’s already got the perfect role for you at the bakery. you’ll be filling in for the cashier while we find someone new, because charlie— remember charlie, youngjae? —quit a week ago since he’s going off to college in philadelphia, or pennsylvania, or some such thing. we’re pretty short on staff right now, but the kids we have are pretty capable and easy to get along with… i’m sure you’ll have no problem making friends with them, son.”

“that so, pops?” eric doesn’t remember charlie, because from what his grandmother’s told him over the phone the younger boy had started working during fall the year prior shortly after eric had already gone back up north. still, he humors the elder. looking out through the window at the palm trees high above them leaving the frame in slow motion— a side effect of his grandfather’s leisurely driving, eric realizes as an afterthought —makes this feel just like coming back home after being gone for a long time. “when do i start?”

there’s a short pause as his grandfather considers the question, “today’s a what… tuesday, right?” eric confirms this with a nod. “you can take tomorrow off to rest up and get settled in, then start on thursday. is that okay with you, son?” eric plugs his seatbelt in, an action that had gotten tangled up in the flurry of thoughts plaguing his brain and was promptly forgotten about the second he got into the car.

“yeah! i’m excited, i can’t wait to see what this year’s new recipes are…” the promise of fresh bread is more than enough to lift his spirits, and clearly this transmits to his exterior if it gets a chuckle out of his grandfather.

some things never change.

lunch had been more of a gossip session rather than a lunch; if his grandfather’s an introvert, his grandmother most definitely balances it out with how extroverted she is. and actually, might even tip the scales in this direction if you ask eric. because, while he’s busy eating enough stir fried beef and rice to cover for an entire day and a half’s worth of food intake, she makes sure he knows all about a budding rivalry with a new bakery two blocks over (whose bread isn’t even good, by the way, according to her), her favorite hairstylist’s pregnancy (and how she can’t wait for the baby shower), the two employees they’ve hired since last time he came (a matter she didn’t speak much on, to his surprise, citing that she wanted him to get to know them himself), and her recent obsession with smoothies (wherein taro root and wild berries are just the anti-aging recipe!).

as he flops down on the bed— decorated by washed-out blue bedding with an assorted sports balls pattern, the windows adorned by matching curtains —a familiar ceiling stands before him, from which hangs a fan with a broken lightbulb out of three along with one of those sticky hands that were all the rage at the playground just shy of fifteen years prior that he’d never managed to… well… unstick. back then he was too short to reach up and too embarrassed to ask for help, and even though he’s tall enough by now he can’t bring himself to take the poor thing down... there’s just something about it that pulls the entire aesthetic of the room together, you know!

(WHAT DO YOU MEAN, FIFTEEN? the thought alone is nothing short of depressing and thus eric folds it up and shoves it into the corner of a drawer between his underwear and a pair of sweatpants that don’t fit him anymore, safely packed away to never see the light of day again.)

this room is just like he remembers it from last year and the one before that, and ten years before it as well, because sometimes it’s not possessions the ones that change. it’s people that do, instead. every time he visits he’s a different version of himself; an eric who’s ever so slightly improved from the last, yet fundamentally remains the same person at his core. or, sometimes, the eric that walks through the door on the first few days of june is a little bit worse than the prior one. and that much is fine, because people are always changing, and regression isn’t always a bad thing. sometimes, getting worse just means you’re experimenting as you try to find out who you really are.

and who is he really, then? is he truly himself, or is he someone else?

eric groans into his pillow drowsy in the after-lunch daze, train of thought deliberately missing the station and re-routing off his mental map as the young man pulls at the covers with clumsy hands, passengers waiting for it be damned. he’s much too tired to entertain this crap today.

as he drifts off to sleep, he wonders whether the framed pictures on the bookshelf next to the bed are of himself or of someone who just so happens to look a lot like him.

come thursday morning, the bright red letters of his alarm clock glowing with a furious 6:37 am, eric’s fresh out of the shower and set to start the day with a healthy dose of cautious optimism to his mood. he’d picked out cleaning products at random and is pretty certain this macadamia nut soap bar thing is supposed to be used for hands, but he feels so moisturized and… renewed, as though he’s just stepped out of one of those body wash ads with all the nature surrounding the scene and one of vivaldi’s four seasons playing in the background, that he’ll just keep it for himself from now on.

getting ready is a ritual in and of itself, that must be followed to a t every time or else it can and will disturb the flow of the rest of his day, despite how easygoing eric tends to be in regards to… most other things in life, actually, other than religiously recording and reviewing every single movie and show he's ever watched on letterboxd regardless of if they’re bad (especially if they’re bad, in fact). the last couple steps in the routine include arranging his necklaces to fall in front of his loose t-shirt, spraying a refreshing face mist and tying up dirty canvas sneakers with a double knot lest they come undone and have him tripping over his own feet like some awkward, uncoordinated loser.

not like he’s speaking from experience, of course.

rounding the corner into the kitchen his gaze meets his grandmother’s, a fond smile quickly pulling the corners of her lips upwards as soon as she spots him. “good morning, child! how’d you sleep?” but she doesn’t even let him get a single word in, because before he can even arrange the words in his mind and put them into the queue for his mouth to tell her he dreamt all his teeth fell off and his mother dyed her hair blue since she developed a phobia of ducks, she’s already placing a platter of cut up fruit in his hands and nearly shoving an orange slice into his mouth.

the kitchen itself is simple, a small space that’s all white tile with small floral details at the edges, wood flooring with cabinets that match and appliances that are probably nearing eric’s age and yellowing as time erodes away what once was a pristine coat of white paint, but the special part of it all hides away in each and every touch of individuality to be found; it’s in the collection of fridge magnets ranging from cartoony farm animals to souvenirs from european destinations, the colorful tupperware labeled and neatly arranged inside it, the decorative china set a young eric once got in trouble for using, and the handcrafted recipe book on top of the oven. there’s a treasured memory in every piece, even in the basic little salt shaker with a cracked corner eric bought for her two summers prior at the dollar store.

“good morning!” the bakery’s already open by the time he gets there, a good 10 minutes late but still 20 minutes early before the morning rush. the store is mostly unchanged except for the wall calendar now displaying the picture of a cat instead of a dog and being of the current year as well as a new poster advertising the strawberry cheesecake cookies they'd recently added to the menu (though you could hardly call it a poster, given that it’s barely more than just a sheet of printer paper with a title made in rainbow wordart).

“mornin’,” calls a voice from the back of the shop as eric ties up his apron and safely sticks his backpack under the counter. “you’re the new guy, right?” this is when curiosity gets the best of eric, and uncertain footsteps take him directly towards the open frame of the kitchen. the owner of said voice seems to be rummaging around the fridge, the appliance’s door obscuring his view of this mysterious individual, and the only information he knows about this guy is that he knows who eric is and that the old skool vans he wears are, somehow, even more beat up than eric’s converse.

“yeah, my name’s eric,” he answers, sincere smile in place. and then, he realizes the guy can’t actually see him so he shakes his head and tosses the smile out and into the air. “is it just us working this shift, or is someone else coming later?” it’s not until the stranger gets up from his crouching position cradling a monstrously large bag of pastry cream that eric finally gets to actually look at him, and the first thing he notices is that his dark bangs are in his eyes and eric can’t understand just how he can work like that without going crazy.

the second thing he notices is that the grin the other gives him is pretty charming.

“cool. i’m sunwoo.” the shift between his initially relaxed posture and a hand dramatically flying up towards his heart nearly gives eric whiplash, and even though he seems to want to act seriously he can’t help the laugh that escapes as he says, “what, is little old me not good enough for you?” then he shakes his head, simultaneously hauling the bag of cream onto a metallic countertop. it lands with a particularly painful-sounding thud. “bad joke, sorry.” sunwoo turns around, his back facing eric, and eric can only assume he’s now dividing the liquid into equal portions in a bunch of smaller recipients. “don’t worry, younghoon’s clocking in at ten. that way, we’ll be prepared for the lunch rush! shit gets a little crazy out there, man. i had to work register for like two days after charlie left, but!” as sunwoo speaks his words get progressively faster and start blurring into each other, but luckily he halts to turn back in eric’s direction with clasped hands and a smile. “you came to save us! hope you’re good at customer service, though, ‘cause some of these people…”

sunwoo doesn’t have to finish that thought for eric to infer what he means, because even if he doesn’t know sunwoo he’s, woefully, well-versed in the horrors of retail, customer support, and everything in between.

#word count: 2999

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billiewena · 3 years

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for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

#if you were one of the people who offered to beta read back in march know I WILL be reaching out to because I need it lol #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #fanfic #spn 10x05 #also this is a given but if you did want to be tagged when this is posted hmu!#been having so much fun with this especially with writing the new songs #also tbh the musical itself is the closet I will get to writing a sam & cas fic so that's been fun too lol #ESPECIALLY because then I can immediately add dean's reaction to it which is typically 'time to walk straight off the stage'#it's also fun to write a s10 fic since I'm a 'dean's been in love since s8 at least' truther #anyways new to this and my untreated adhd means I make a gazillion typos/take forever to work on things/get distracted by new ideas but #literally every positive comment on that first post is the reason why I'm still workin' at it

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Hi! “If I fail, I’ll fall apart/Maybe it is all a test/because I feel like I’m the worst / so I always act like I’m the best” -Oh No! This is one of my favorite lyrics ever, and I'd really like to see what you bring out of it :) You're amazing, ily! 💞

what if maria had more of an effect on tony’s upbringing than most? howard’s still a dick but make it funny

Tony has known he was probably not the best human on earth ever since he was five and his dad made a bigger deal out of a dead man’s birthday than his own.

At age five, you don’t really know a lot about the world yet. There were about two things that Tony didn’t know that he wishes he did know:

1.) The word “fuck.” It would have helped with a lot of his situations.

2.) The concept of jealousy. He probably could have gone to a child therapist or some shit, he’s not sure if those even existed back then, or if his parents would have even let him go.

(After all, he’s supposed to be their perfect little boy, just the right amount of precocious and the other amount being something like genius or respectability.)

It is actually his mother who takes the reins on his life. Howard has effect, he has huge effects.

Maria is a socialite who absolutely refuses to let her son succumb to Howard’s devil-may-care attitude that he’s so infamous for. Her son is going to be well-mannered, respectable, and know exactly how to treat a lady of high social standing.

This involves training at a young age. Six would be a fine age.

It’s not Howard who sends him to boarding schools, it’s Maria. She ensures that he goes to the finest schools available, most abroad in Europe. She trains him out of the American accent, into something a bit more refined.

He spends summers learning different languages and different skills. He learns how to fence by the time he’s ten, and becomes quite proficient at it.

She quizzes him on established families, up-and-coming families, and never keeps him far from her sight.

Anthony Stark is not going to be a wild-child, she decides.

Anthony isn’t, for the most part. Sure, he usually stays up past what is acceptable for the night to work on some mechanic stuff and uses the word “damn” a bit too much for his mother’s liking, but that’s the reason make-up and apologies were invented.

He follows rules and is known to smile like his mother and enjoy listening to quartets play out in the open air during the summer months. He travels to Europe and participates in various activities and is the talk of many socialites who eagerly await his arrival.

He’s a portrait, holding still for all’s approval, and he’s not quite sure how to move.

That’s troublesome, he thinks.

The problem is this: Anthony Stark doesn’t have any interests outside what is required. He loves working on inventions, and they are necessary for the company to survive, but his father hates any robotic invention he pushes for, and mother thinks that if he tells people he’s rather fond of AC/DC then he’s a plague to society and will be shunned.

(He doesn’t say it to her face but they haven’t shunned Sunset yet, and she’s a whole world of problems, so rock music is the least of their problems.)

There is one thing that he pushes for: university in the United States. He’s been traveling to Europe since he was a child, and he honestly needs to do something for himself.

Maria is not pleased.

“So after I sacrifice so much for you, this is how you repay me?” she asks him over dinner.

He places his fork to the correct side.

“Yes. This is how I am repaying you. By getting a perfectly respectable college degree from a critically-acclaimed university that anyone would be lucky to attend. Not to mention it might reflect badly on Stark Industries if I don’t go to an American college. Do I not trust American institutions to run an American business?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Anthony laughs.

“Mother, they cannot teach me anything that Europe can’t. Let me go to college in the United States. Please.”

“No.”

It takes Howard to convince her, and a.) Howard doesn’t even like Anthony that much, and b.) he also doesn’t like his wife that much.

“He’s going to a damned college here, Maria. We don’t need him to go to any more of that fancy bullshit you call school over there.”

“Fancy bullshit, Howard?! Bullshit?! You mean what has gotten him this far in life and will make him a better man of social standing than you?”

“My god, is social standing all that matters to you? What are your little friends going to do, choke on their silver spoons when they find out that your son is going to an American college?”

Jarvis also convinces her.

“It will be easier to monitor his progress from a shorter distance,” he advises. “And you can visit frequently.”

Anthony gives him a very dirty look. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to mention that.

Oops.

But, Anthony gets his way. He’s going to MIT, and he has a roommate.

(Okay, so mother doesn’t know that. But he supposes she will if she ever visits. Or maybe not considering if Tony can successfully convince his roommate to “disappear” for at least a day.)

Rhodey does not give a singular shit about high society anything or anyone. Anthony Stark is a name he registers, but doesn’t recognize.

“Anthony’s a mouthful,” he says a week into their cohabitation. “You have a nickname or something?”

“Ah...no? I mean, not yet,” Anthony says.

“How do you feel about Tony?”

“I...I suppose that that is alright.”

“Are you from Europe?”

“No, from New York.”

“Well holy shit, you sure as fuck don’t sound like it.”

Anthony--well, Tony now--learns quite a bit about American schooling and what he’s actually supposed to be doing to pass off as normal.

Rhodey (yeah he got a nickname that ended in ‘y’ too, Tony said he wouldn’t be the only one) takes him to the thrift store and tells him to pick out some clothes.

“...there’s a shirt that’s advertising a restaurant from Montana.”

“And? Does it look hilarious?”

“Is that the point of this?”

“Fashion is supposed to make you like what you’re wearing or like yourself. I swear if you say that those boring black suits make you feel better about yourself, I will be dragging you to any therapist that will take us for at least five dollars.”

“Five dollars?”

“Maybe less if I can negotiate.”

“Hey!”

Tony learns how to have fun. He loves it.

Rhodey makes him go to record stores and find the bargain bin, and they play the warped records and laugh as voices go up and down in pitch. Tony blasts Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden until the RA begs him to go to bed and Rhodey throws all of his pillows off of his bed.

In return, Tony teaches Rhodey how to read other’s facial expressions, dress for any occasion and be the best-looking there, as well as avoiding any sort of conflict by bringing up past embarrassments.

“Are you serious about the color of my shoe affecting my social standing?” Rhodey asks, trying to shove his foot into a shoe that was a brown color that Tony had described as a “golden mahogany.”

“Yes, I’m dead serious.”

“No fucking wonder everyone says eat the rich all of you are so fucking pretentious. It’s brown, Tony.”

“Tell that to any high society woman over fifty.”

“I will.”

As it turns out, he ends up doing it much sooner than anticipated.

Tony’s parents come to visit.

They call him Anthony. Which is gross. Rhodey hasn’t used the name “Anthony” in about six months.

“I wasn’t aware that you were his roommate,” his mother says.

“Well, here I am,” Rhodey says. “Name’s also on the information they sent out to the parents about the living situations.”

Tony tenses as his parents brush off the obvious comment on how little they actually know about his situation and move right into the room.

Maria stops at the huge poster of a rock band.

“I assume that this is...James’?”

“No,” he says timidly. “It’s...it’s mine. Their use of movement on the guitar strings-”

“Take it down,” Maria demands. “It’s unsightly.”

“Oh give the kid a break,” Howard says tiredly. “For once he’s not listening to you talk about the merits of paisley prints.”

“I’m training our son for a more successful life than yours,” Maria hisses. “Of course, you’d have to stay away from your friend Jack to understand that.”

“Rhodey, leave,” Tony says. “Trust me, it gets messier from here.”

He does think about it. How easy it would be to walk out and check in with a couple of his other friends and talk about how crazy Tony’s parents are. How he could check back in near dinner time and then Tony could tell him all about how terribly it went.

But Tony already looks terrible, and he’s doing that weird thing with his hands where he wrings them and then remembers he’s not supposed to wring them and makes it worse.

“No,” Rhodey says. “I am staying until the bitter end. Who knows? Maybe I can give your mom a heart attack when I ask her the difference between kelly and forest green.”

Tony grins.

“You can leave any time, it’s about to get...interesting.”

Tony’s family is quite dysfunctional. They can put on a good front in public, for what it’s worth.

Howard is impressed that Rhodey’s planning on going into the Air Force and then talks about Captain America for a lot of the dinner. Rhodey is very uncomfortable and then asks about business and Maria rolls her eyes and orders another glass of wine.

After Howard finishes up talking about some contract and making vague threats against businesses that Rhodey thinks might actually be in trouble, it’s Maria’s turn.

“So, Rhodey, where is your family from?”

“We live in the Boston area,” Rhodey answers.

“And what do your parents do?”

“Dad works as a consultant for a local construction company, and my mom works as a high school history teacher. They both like their jobs.”

“Hm,” Maria remarks, and it’s so light and casual and yet so cutting. Tony can see how Rhodey squirms, and he can’t just let it stand.

It’s one thing for Maria to cut her own son down until he’s nothing. Still fucked up, but Tony can handle it. He’s been handling it for years.

“Rhodey, how did your mom come to want to know she liked teaching?” Tony asks. “That sounds like it could be really hard to figure out.”

“Oh, well it all started when she was in high school and wanted to change how one of her teachers treated students. It was a really inspiring moment for her.”

“That sounds really cool,” Tony says. “What does she like most about her job?”

“Probably the kids,” Rhodey says.

The conversation carries on about Rhodey’s family until their dinner arrives and his mother manages to cut in with more questions.

“So, what else does your mother do?”

“She volunteers at the local food kitchen and helps some of the younger kids at the after-school program,” Rhodey answers. “She also makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Would you look at that,” Tony says. “Mrs. Rhodes sounds like a fine cook, I wish I could say the same for you, mother.”

“Oh?”

Howard actually laughs at that as he signs for the bill.

“The kid is right, Maria. At some points I think your kitchen is only used for decoration.”

“Oh, and you know how to cook, Mr. Stark?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to see you make anything other than coffee.”

“I’ll make toast.”

Rhodey laughs, and so does Tony.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks, and part of it is a way to get away from an isolated conversation, and part of it is to make his parents leave for their hotel room sooner.

“Tony, I want to have a talk with you before we retire for the night,” Maria says, and Tony tenses up.

Rhodey can’t protect him from that, and he squeezes Tony’s hand as they walk behind his parents.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers.

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe.”

Rhodey goes into their building, and Howard waits in the car. He nods to Tony on his way out.

“You’ve...changed,” mother says.

“Well, that’s how humanity goes,” Tony says dryly, looking anywhere but her eyes.

“Rock music? These snappish remarks towards your own mother? I don’t know if this college was such a good idea.”

“It is,” Tony says. “I just...learned new things and incorporated it into my life. Nothing the matter with that.”

“Nothing wrong with that?” Maria reiterates, surprised look on her face. “Rock music is for other people, you know things that others don’t know! You can perform violin and piano, you don’t have to listen to the personal manifestation of a headache!”

“And if I like that headache?!” Tony asks. “If I like something that’s outside of what you approve, why so angry about it? Is it because you finally can’t control every single aspect about my identity? Is it because I’m not like your perfect little toy that you can make walk and talk how you like?”

“You know it’s not that.”

“Isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Because you want me to change every single interest that I’ve found I like by myself. I bet you want me to listen to Bach for fun.”

“I do not want you to change from who you are,” Maria says. “You have eaten at the finest restaurants in the world and now you brag about making something called ramen in a microwave. A microwave?!”

“A surprising amount of families in America have them,” Tony says. “And I’m a college student! I’m supposed to eat crappy food and then laugh about it in twenty years!”

Maria turns red, and her lips screw up into a tight line.

“I don’t think you should be here,” Maria says. “You’re forgetting your place. Your roommate is...”

“My roommate is what,” Tony starts, glaring at her. “My roommate is what, mother? You want to honestly finish that sentence?”

“He’s not good enough!” she yells at him. “You are a Stark!”

Tony stares at her for a moment. And then another moment.

“Leave,” he says. “Get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t tell me-”

“I do,” Tony says, using his full height to his advantage. “You can tell me how many times I’ve fucked up as many times as you want, but you never talk about James that way ever again.”

He twists on his heel, forcefully opening the door to the dormitory and not once looking back.

Rhodey finds Tony back in his room when he gets back from getting ready for the night, and Tony is clutching a pillow and laying face down on the bed.

“You know, you’ll have to turn over eventually to get some fresh air.”

“Leave me to die, Rhodey. Oh my god.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. She’s probably going to try and put me in a prestigious college or some shit.”

“Oof. Wanna fake your death and run away?”

“Please.”

“Well, too bad. I have a test next week, and you need to do your poetry notes.”

“But poetry sucks.”

“It only sucks because you don’t like modern poetry, suck it up and pull it out of your ass or something.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Maria is trying very hard to get her son away from MIT and towards a fancy school in Europe. She doesn’t even care where, just away from his roommate and his classic rock posters and the dormitory. Anthony needs an environment where he can focus on networking, meeting more people.

Howard says no.

He can’t even bother to remember her son’s birthday, and he says “no.”

“We need Anthony to go to an American school, and nothing is better besides maybe Cal Tech, and he’ll have to finish another year of college and Hammer Industries can use that as a sign of an unsteady heir.”

“Well then get rid of his roommate.”

“I’m not doing that, you’re asking for a PR death sentence.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

“No he’s not,” Howard says tiredly. “The kid is finally standing up for himself, and you hate that.”

“I don’t hate that he can be his own person.”

“You just wish he were his own person under your specifications,” Howard drawls. “He’s staying at MIT, that’s final.”

“Hmph.”

Howard rolls his eyes.

“Go back to planning whatever charity gala you’re hosting this week, honey. I’m sure things will be fine.”

Maria doesn’t speak against her husband, just fumes and decides she’s going to try to get Jarvis’ opinion.

Edwin is also a flat no.

“He will not forgive you if you do this,” he says, pouring her tea and adding in one sugar cube. “He loves his school, he talks about it all the time.”

“And what, he calls you?”

Edwin Jarvis realizes he shouldn’t have mentioned this.

“At times, madam. At times. Will that be all?”

“...that will be all.”

Jarvis does bring up a good point. Besides her, of course, he knows Anthony best, even if he does keep calling him Tony. Anthony will grow out of that nickname soon enough.

She has hope for her boy. He will most likely grow out of this silly little phase in life and finally appreciate her lessons.

Tony Stark doesn’t.

Well, he learns her lessons. Can appreciate some of them and how much he hates that he uses them.

But he learns a far more important lesson from Rhodey, and it shapes everything:

“You’re your own person, and you’re far better as your own person,” Rhodey says. “I wanted to kick the shit out of you when we first lived together.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did!” Rhodey explains, gesturing with his coffee mug and getting yet another stain on the pillow. (Laundry again. Ugh.) “You talked like you were from a movie from the forties, it sucked.”

“Oh, you mean the transatlantic accent?”

“It’s pretentious, just ditch it. You’re interesting enough to listen to on your own. I listen to you talk about how much you hate Picasso sculpture, don’t I?”

“You do,” Tony admits.

“So then be yourself. Use what your mom taught you sometimes, but otherwise don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I’m a fucking genius.”

Tony snorts.

“Okay, Mr. ‘I Forgot to Run the Dishes Again.’”

“I already said I was sorry!”

Tony takes Rhodey’s advice into account when he walks into any board room. He wears the worst possible shoes with every single suit, usually uses all sorts of cultural references that fly over the old board members’ heads.

He does things his way. It’s unconventional, it’s unpredictable, and it earns him a reputation.

He’s in an interview in a suit and patterned tie (patterned with tiny robots), and the woman is smiling in a plastic way on the other side.

“Now, a lot of people are saying you’re taking the business world by storm with your unconventional methods and personality. What helped you formulate this, your father?”

“Oh god no,” Tony says, laughing. “He’d probably curse me to hell and back for even wearing this tie. My mother would drag me back down to hell again for this.”

“Then who helped you with this?”

“Rhodey, who else?” Tony asks. “He always gives the best advice, even if I’ll deny that about fifteen minutes later. He really is the reason that I’m who I am today.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

“He is. He always is,” Tony says with a grin. “Except, of course, when he doesn’t fold his laundry, that bastard.”

The interviewer laughs and moves on, but Tony smiles to himself.

He doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to be Rhodey’s. That’s all that matters.

#lovelyirony writes #maria stark #howard stark #tony stark #rhodey #ironhusbands #kind of #i'm hinting at it and i didn't outright rlly say shit but y'all know me so you should know this #anyways tony DOES develop his own personality and rhodey hates him for like three months

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suncityblues · 3 years

Text

Bad Luck and Sunshine

Part 1/5 - SPN - 3k words

read on AO3

He can fit all his worldly possessions on the passenger seat of his car.

Car keys, red bic lighter, a toothbrush in a ziplock bag. Cellphone, charger, brown faux leather wallet. A maxed out credit card with the name James Ledbetter on it, and a fake ID to match the card. Fourteen American dollars, one Canadian quarter, a Blimpie’s buy-one-get-one coupon.

A pen with the name of a bank on it, a tin of salt. A paperback with a four leaf clover carefully pressed into the pages between the title and the acknowledgments, and that’s it.

Castiel taps the book in the spot where the clover is pressed. He can feel the slight bump of it.

“They’re supposed to be good luck,” Dean had told him with a shrug when Cas asked why he was rooting around in the grass that day. Dean had handed Cas the book with the clover inside and said, “I used to search for them sometimes when I was a kid. It’s dumb but, hey, I figure we could use all the luck we can get.” Dean had smiled softly then, a bit sheepish. The tips of his ears had gone red.

Back then the world had been ending, so Cas supposed Dean was right, they could use luck.

He remembers trying to be encouraging, saying something about the placebo effect that made Dean roll his eyes and laugh at the same time. He can’t quite recall the specifics of it anymore.

A while later he had reached out to the clover with his grace and found nothing particularly special about it, but kept it and the book anyway. He reaches out again, now, with what little of his power he has left. It’s still just as lucky as any other dead plant.

He takes stock of his possessions again, focusing in particular on the fourteen American dollars and the one Canadian quarter. He checks how much gas he has left in his car and it’s not much. If he keeps going he’ll have to choose between food and gas, just to run out of it again anyway.

He needs to eat sometimes now, and drink water. He needs a shower and a bed if he can get them. Clothes, shoes, soap, toothpaste. All of it costs money, and to get money you have to trade time. Castiel has always found that a little ridiculous but it’s not like he makes the rules anymore.

He’s been pulled over in a dark parking lot in a truck stop town called Laurel for a while now thinking about what to do. Sam and Dean had set him up with the card and the fake ID before he left and Cas doesn’t want to ask them for any more help. He decides Laurel is as good a place as any other to get stuck in.

It’s 9:52 on a Tuesday.

A day and a half later Castiel is once again employed at a gas station. He’d tried a diner, a vegetable canning factory, a hardware store, and a rundown CVS but the gas station is the first place that got back to him. They were short staffed after someone named Ricky had walked out, and desperately needed a replacement. Kendra, the manager, had said “it’s like you were sent by an angel!” When she read through his mostly fictional work history. It had made Cas laugh.

This one is called Sunshine Gas and Go. They have to wear ugly yellow polo shirts that say “Let me know how I can help make your day sunny!” On the back. They keep the beer on the left side of the cooler bank instead of the right and the jerky next to the self-serve coffee but aside from that it’s remarkably similar to a Gas-N-Sip.

He wonders bleakly if he should have been the patron of gas stations while he had the ability.

The angel of Thursday, the angel of gas stations, that’s Cas. The guardian of the spaces you have to pass through on your way to better days, better places.

He sometimes wonders how Nora’s doing; if her kid’s okay.

It takes Sam and Dean five weeks to cave and check in on him. Cas has been in Laurel for the last three.

They pretend to be on their way back from a hunt, a totally routine salt and burn, and just so happen to be refueling at that particular gas station in this particular truck stop, exactly fifteen minutes after his coworker leaves Cas alone to cover the overnight shift. It’s an obvious and flimsy excuse to make sure he’s okay, but he’s known them long enough to understand that obviousness and flimsy excuses to see one another are gestures of affection in the Winchester family. He finds it somewhat exhausting to witness, and even more so to experience but he doesn’t call them out on it.

He does, however, make pointed eye contact with Sam who waves his hands in a placating gesture behind Dean’s back and excuses himself to go stare at the overpriced air fresheners on the other side of the store. He had hoped Sam, at least, would have had the sense to text first.

On the counter next to the cash register there’s a plastic bin with a picture of a bald child in a hospital bed taped to it and some loose change inside. Dean picks the can up, looks inside it, shakes it a bit, puts it down. It’s mostly empty.

“You’d think people’d be a little more generous, what with the cancer kid at stake and all,” he says. When Cas doesn’t immediately reply Dean continues, “Or is this one of those, uh, charity scams? You know, where the evil mega corporation asks you to pretty please donate so they can use it as a tax write off?”

Castiel shrugs, he doesn’t know what the Sunshine Gas and Go does with the money. Says: “I’m not sure, Dean.”

He pretends not to see Dean stick some gum from the display under the counter into his coat pocket. He’s watched Dean do this before to other casheers, leaning close to flirt and making off with what he can. Cas supposes old habits die hard. The gum is sugar free cinnamon.

Dean sees him pretending not to see. He smiles big and bright, his nose does a little crinkle that Cas always liked. The term “shit eating grin” comes to mind, Cas must have heard it somewhere, probably about Dean that time too. He rolls his eyes and says, “How was your hunt? Were you or Sam hurt at all?” He can’t do much besides heal minor cuts and bruises these days, but for the Winchesters he’d still offer what he can.

Dean waves him off, “Fine, fine, got shoved around a bit but it’s nothing a cold compress and a good night’s sleep can’t fix.”

“Speaking of,” Dean segues in a breezyl tone Castiel knows is dangerous territory, “Where are you sleeping these days? You gotta sleep now right?”

The ghost of Rexford sits heavy between them, though it’s been years since then. Cas realizes being back at a gas station might have caught Dean off guard, or felt like some kind of dig at him. He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s just bad luck, and he’s not sure Dean would believe him if he did.

This time around he’s not squatting in the back room with the cleaning chemicals but he is sleeping in his car, just until he has enough money for a place to stay or decides to hit the road again. He knows that’s not anything Dean wants to hear.

“Yes, Dean, I need to sleep” he answers, then pauses. He considers lying but it never works out when he does, and this isn’t life or death; just embarrassing.

Besides, Sam and Dean are observant and thorough even during a glorified social visit, so Cas figures they’d put two and two together as soon as they walked in the door. There’s no way they hadn’t clocked his too-big thrift store jeans under the uniform shirt, or the circles under his eyes. The way his beard is a little patchy from shaving in the bathroom mirror in the truck stop visitor center. It’s likely they’d found his car in it’s discreet parking space at the edge of the lot before coming into the Sunshine Gas and Go.

Cas tries tactful honesty: “I’m saving up.”

And it’s true, he is, though he’s not sure what he’s saving up for. But every Friday he gets a paycheck and brings it to the check cashing place in town. After the fee, and groceries, and little necessities he carefully stores what little he has left in the locked glove compartment of his car, under the book with the clover in it.

Dean’s lips press flat together. He stops leaning over the counter and stands at his full height. He makes an aborted head shaking gesture. He speaks like there’s an awful taste in his mouth.

“So,” he says, slightly too loudly to pay it off as cool. Out of the corner of his eye Castiel sees Sam’s head wip towards them, no longer pretending he’s not eavesdropping.

“So, ah—“ Dean repeats, “you’re gonna, what? Drift around? Lay low in some podunk shit hole for the rest of your life?“ he stops, puts his hands on the counter to steady himself, or to keep from reaching over and grabbing him, Cas isn’t sure. A beat.

“You know what?” Dean says, “Nevermind.”

Cas deflates. He knows Dean disagrees with him leaving so soon after becoming human again, and feels guilty about so many things it’s hard for Cas to keep track of them all, but he knows he couldn’t stay either. Just like lying to the Winchesters, it never works out in the end. With almost no power, he’s no help to anyone, not Sam and Dean, not heaven, not even himself. It hurts to think about but maybe that’s just part of being human.

“Dean—“ he starts to say but he’s cut off.

“Don’t worry about it, man” Dean says, he taps the counter twice with his knuckles, “nice place you got here. I’m glad you’re doing alright.”

Dean swallows and abruptly turns to leave, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Cas watches him go until Sam comes to the counter with two bottles of water, a coffee, and an energy bar.

He puts a twenty down, says apologetically, “For this stuff and whatever Dean stole on his way out.”

“Gum,” Cas supplies, and slides the twenty back towards Sam. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

The cameras don’t work inside the store, and according to Joanna, the only reason they’re still up at all is to deter would-be armed robbers. Castiel watches less deserving people steal from them all the time, so it doesn’t seem worth it to take Sam’s money.

Sam shakes his head and gives him a flat smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes his things but leaves the twenty. Says, “See you around, Cas.” He pauses for a moment, and seems to debate something with himself. Then: “Check in sometimes if you can, okay? You know how Dean can be when he gets worried.”

Castiel knows. He waves to Sam as he walks off into the dark.

Cas checks the gum display, then manually rings up the items Sam bought. He puts the change into the plastic jar with the kid in the hospital bed on it.

A few days later a woman comes in with a ghost behind her. Cas checks the time to keep from gaping. 11:27 AM.

The ghost is a man, perhaps in his mid forties. Too young to be dead, but Cas supposes most people feel that way when they die, no matter how old. When the woman comes to the counter and gives him thirty dollars to put on pump six he sees a wedding ring on a chain around her neck. He puts two and two together.

“That’s a lovely necklace” he says, he looks directly at the ghost when he says it. They make eye contact. The ghost does a sharp inhale for a moment and the lights flicker. The ghost disappears.

Cas frowns, “Sorry about that. It happens all the time,” he lies. He wonders if he could purify the ghost with what powers he has left, that way she wouldn’t have to burn her wedding ring.

The woman seems caught off guard, then smiles politely.

“No worries, it happens all the time at my house too. Must be a faulty power grid in this town or something, my kids swear it’s a ghost or something,” she says.

There’s an apprehensive edge to her voice then, hastily: “have a good one.”

“You too,” Cas says. He thinks about following her out, trying to explain. He thinks about texting Sam and Dean.

The slushie machine makes a mechanical crunching sound and suddenly there’s red goop all over the ground.

Joanna starts yelling and runs for the mop. He goes to unplug the machine and gets sticky pink syrup all over his last clean pair of pants. The ghost slips his mind.

Two days later Dean shows up by himself. It’s 6:43 in the morning on a Tuesday.

Cas has been finished with work for fifteen minutes already but there’s a rush at the end of his shift so he says on to help Javier and Kendra out. It’s mostly people stopping for gas on their way to work, or truckers picking up breakfast before heading back on the road. He doesn’t mind sticking around in the mornings, everyone’s usually too tired to be angry and it’s a nice break from the drunks and the sad eyed kids he usually meets on overnights. The extra money doesn’t hurt, either.

Cas doesn’t notice Dean until he’s placing two coffees on the counter in front of them.

His first words are a surprised, “Oh, hello Dean. Where’s Sam?” Which makes Dean huff, and shift from one foot to the other.

“Not here,” he says, then points at the coffee closest to Cas, “That one’s for you. Milk, no sugar still, right?” Cas nods. He knows this is Dean Speak for an apology. He can feel Javier and Kendra look over at them from behind the other register and the cigarette display, respectively.

Dean smiles, all charm but Cas can tell his face looks a little more drawn than usual, like he’d been driving for too long without a break, “You get off work soon?”

Kendra answers for him, “Yes, he does.” She has a maternal look on her face when Cas turns to her. Javier rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Shoo,” she says, with a smile. She points at the slogan on his uniform shirt, “Go have a sunny day, James.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, James. Have a sunny day.” There’s that smile again.

Cas closes out his register and gets his coat from the back room. Dean’s waiting for him outside, drinking his coffee and leaning against the Impala. The lighting is the soft grey-blue of the morning, and it feels nice compared to the white fluorescents of the store.

Before Cas can say anything Dean scrubs at the back of his neck, then says, “This coffee tastes like piss. Let’s get breakfast.”

There’re a few diners in town but Cas has never been to any of them. Dean picks one on a whim, because the sign has a 1950’s pinup girl in a skimpy waitress uniform.

It’s warm inside and smells nice, like syrup and strong coffee. Dean orders something called The Lumberjack Platter and when Cas tells the waitress, “Just coffee, thanks” Dean overrides it and orders him scrambled eggs with a side of sausage and toast.

“My treat,” Dean says. Cas shakes his head but doesn’t fight him on it.

Dean avoids talking about anything personal. Instead they mostly chat about the case Sam and Dean are currently working on. Apparently they’ve hit a wall with the research and Sam’s been holed up at the bunker for days pouring over blueprints and hacked security footage. There’s a cursed object in a locked bank vault in Little Rock that’s making people have violent outbursts. The questions are: why did it start acting up now, which lock box it’s in, and how to get to it.

Cas wishes he could still fly, then at least he’d be able to solve two of their problems. He runs the idea of trying to find a spell to make the object useless by Dean and Dean types it into his phone to send to Sam. A moment later it lights up with a call but Dean mutes it and sticks the phone back in his pocket.

Dean changes subjects and tells him about the latest Dr. Sexy storyline, about a vampire nest he took out a few years back, about running into Garth in Topeka. Cas talks about the gas station a bit but mostly just listens. He always likes listening to Dean talk.

When they leave the diner and get back into the Impala, Cas realizes this is the first time he’s enjoyed himself in a long while. He smiles over at Dean, expecting to be asked where he’d like to be dropped off. He’s thinking about the park by the river on the far side of town, it’s a long walk back to the truck stop but he likes to watch the trees shift in the wind and the fresh air there is a nice change from diesel fumes. Instead Dean says, “You still don’t got a place to stay right?”

Cas nods cautiously. He puts his hand on Dean’s upper arm and, not willing to let the day go south, says sternly, “I assure you Dean, while I’m not strictly an angel anymore I still don’t need nearly as much rest as you or Sam do…”

Dean nods at the steering wheel, his jaw moving. Cas can tell he’s also trying to not turn this into a fight.

Dean shifts towards him, Cas keeps his hand firmly on Dean’s arm. The energy in the car changes and suddenly Cas realizes where this is going. Dean puts one hand on his waist and the other comes to rest on Cas’ neck behind his ear. Cas breathes in sharply.

“Dean,” he says, then he broaches the subject he’d been painstakingly avoiding all morning: “Why did you come here today?”

Dean blushes and goes still for a moment, he swallows but doesn’t say anything. After a moment tugs him in gently and Cas takes pity on him. Dean tastes like maple syrup.

It’d been a while since they’d done this, but they fall back into it easily. After a few moments of kissing Dean pulls back. Their foreheads and noses are still touching and they’re breathing hard.

“What I was trying to say was, uh,” his ears get red at the tips, “that I got a room at that Budget Motel by the gas station.”

All Cas can think of to reply is, “Oh, I’d like to see it.”

It makes Dean laugh and wiggle his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah wanna come up and see my art collection?” He says. Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he likes that Dean keeps his hand on his thigh while they drive.

By the time Cas wakes up for his next shift Dean is gone. There’s a text on his phone that says Sam finally had his breakthrough based on something Cas had said. Then a second one that tells Cas the room is paid through till the end of the week. He can stay in it or not, doesn’t matter to Dean one way or the other. A third one that just says: Thanks.

Cas lays in bed for a moment enjoying the soft sheets and suddenly remembers the ghost.

++++++++++

Thanks for reading :)

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #Dean Winchester/Castiel #supernatural fanfic #my fic #dean winchester #castiel

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blarrghe · 3 years

Note

“Hands brushing unexpectedly” maybe on one of those tourist attractions...? 👀

This was cute!! Dorian and Anders don’t have a lot of time for sight seeing, but they do their best. Some wining and pining... below the cut or here it is on AO3! --

Friends. That was what they had decided to be. Anders was satisfied with the arrangement in principle, but the problem with being friends with Dorian was… well, everything.

He was sad. Very obviously and very understandably not in a good place. But following that first meeting, he zipped himself right up, kept all that aching intensity to himself. He changed subjects ever and away from his mood, his thoughts, his desires; treating Anders more and more like a casual acquaintance as a distance spread itself, a bit belatedly, between them. They talked about politics, they talked about medicine, they talked about magic, and all the time his flawless hair would shine and his voice would cut through the air with enviable confidence and his hands would bounce about with passion. He was tall and silver-eyed and beautiful, and something in Anders desperately wanted to hold him. But he didn’t — couldn’t. Dorian was hands tied behind his back and perfect posture kept at an insurmountable distance, and Anders wasn’t about to force himself through. Friends. Every now and then, they got coffee. A minute here or there between meetings and rounds. Sometimes late at night, they’d have long conversations over text about everything and nothing at all, and Anders would try to remind himself that on the other side of that screen, Dorian was probably drunk. Emboldened by alcohol and the illusion of anonymity in a text message. The next time Anders saw him, his guard would be back up, and whatever was honest about him would get swept back underneath a thick carpet of sarcasm and flirtation.

And oh, Maker, the flirtation. It wasn’t fair, really; an apostate mage from the gutters of Kirkwall pitted in wordplay against a shining star politician of Tevinter high society. It was like he’d been born to flatter and beguile. Anders had had a reputation for sass, once, as a mouthy lad in the Circle. Later, Isabella and Varric had been fine players to practice a game of wits with, but Dorian was better than silver-tongued, rich with fine words and perfect-teeth-bearing smiles. Varric would have had a field day, mining the man for dialogue. But it was a cold sort of flirtation, more game and art than anything else. He used it with everyone; ordering coffee, thanking store clerks and cab drivers for their time, giving directions to wayward tourists, it was just his way, nothing special. Problem was, each time Dorian flashed that shining, secret-keeping smile at him, Anders felt special. Or wanted to.

“Follow me,” Dorian had met him at their usual coffee shop, standing outside with two paper cups already, Anders’ usual order and his own. He handed him his coffee and turned to march off, motioning Anders along as he headed off fast down the busy street. Anders stumbled to catch up, drinking the coffee as they went.

“I only have an hour,” he warned, brows furrowing as Dorian led them across the avenues in a straight line away from the coffee shop and the nearby hospital. He tossed his own espresso straight back and threw the cup away into the next rubbish bin they passed, pausing to separate the plastic from the paper. A small thing that something in Anders appreciated far too much.

“And I have forty-five minutes,” Dorian tossed him one of those smirks that were not, he repeated to himself, special. “So try to keep up.”

He made a sharp turn down a sloping main street, and then the ocean leapt into view. At the bottom of the hill was a small beach, one of the city’s less crowded, close as it was to the harbour. Great tankers and commercial ships sat heavily in the grey water, blocking the view of a sunny, tropical horizon, as might be found on the wider beaches further up the coast. There was a dog park, and a playground, and several ice cream trucks were sidled up to the curb by an overstuffed parking lot. Children played at the playground and obnoxiously fit people trotted along the walking path that wound around the park and then off along the coast towards those bigger, better beaches. Dorian stopped at the bottom of the hill, toes poking over the edge of the small grassy field of the park where it gave way to gritty brown sand. There were volcanic sand beaches on the islands out at sea, glowing black in the sun a day’s ferry away from the harbour, and clean white beaches spanned long lines of coast away from the city, if one drove the Imperial highway some hours out of town, or took the once-a-day train, but this beach was just brown, smelling a bit of seaweed and city smog amidst the salty breeze and the sun. Anders breathed in deep as the wind whipped up from the ocean, tasting the salt as it mingled with city grime, reminding him a little, but not enough, of home.

“Alright, stand here,” said Dorian, turning and gesturing out, his shoes sinking into the sand, “look out over there, and take this:”

Anders looked out where Dorian had pointed, across a clear swatch of sand and chirping gulls and into the waves, away from the obstructions of wharfs and ships. Dorian reached into his bag — a strappy leather briefcase that had more buckles on it than it could possibly need — and pulled out an entire bottle of red wine. He handed it to Anders.

“There, not quite the view from the cliffs, but it's the air that matters.” He gestured out at the view as Anders warily took the bottle. It was wrapped in thick, textured paper, an elegant script declaring the year and the vineyard over a label designed after a painting of the ocean under a setting sun. Anders looked between the bottle and the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to dip into a red glow. In the painting, the waves washed up against a picturesque bank of rock and sand, not seaweed and seagulls, but the sunset matched. “I can’t imagine you’ll ever find the time to actually get out of the city, so this will have to do.”

Another of those Tevinter must-sees that Anders had scandalized Dorian by having never seen: Tevinter wine country. They’d talked about the importance of wine once, and Anders had been unable to be convinced to appreciate it, much to Dorian’s chagrin. A glass of wine at one of those cliffside vineyards along the coast was, according to Dorian, akin to taking a seat at the very side of the Maker himself. Dorian waved a casual hand over the bottle as Anders held it, loosening the cork so that it slid out with a quiet pop. Anders’ eyes lingered over his fingers as they flicked out this frivolous bit of magic. He was full of little tricks like that, as self-serving and casual with his magic as a Magister was expected to be. Anders could set a bone, but Dorian had a spell for uncorking wine — of course he did.

“I don’t drink,” Anders protested, shaking the image of his dancing hands casting spells under the sunset out of his vision and redirecting his look, with a healthy show of skepticism, at the bottle. “I’m still working.”

“Well, first of all, you’re getting ahead of things. You need to let it have some air, first. Just breathe it in.” Dorian instructed with a nod. Anders shook his head, but wafted a hand over the mouth of the bottle and inhaled, smelling the sea salt and spice.

It smelled good. He wasn’t homesick, with the wine in the air, and the sudden rush of warmth hitting him now felt nothing like Kirkwall. Dorian smiled, watching his face as he inhaled. Deep red of the sunset-stained sea and the dark sweetness of finely aged grapes. Bright teeth and a seductive lean to his lips. He could practically taste it.

“Feel that? Now, one sip won’t kill you.” Anders shook his head again, rolling his eyes.

“I know what wine tastes like.” He had nothing against drinking, it just seemed to filter through him while bypassing all the fun parts. And without that, wine lost most of its appeal.

“You’re Ferelden,” Dorian jabbed back, a continuation of their earlier argument on the subject, “no you don’t.”

Anders sighed and took a sip.

The gulls cawed, a ship’s horn blasted noisily across the harbour, dogs barked and swings creaked and ice cream trucks jingled out their ditties, but Anders wasn’t there. He looked out at the sunset, red across the foaming grey sea and brown sand, and held the wine on his tongue. He leaned back, free hand dropping to his side as he closed his eyes, and let the warmth soak in. Spice and cherry and old smokey oak, smooth and dry and only sweet after it had some time to linger. He swallowed, and passed the bottle back.

Dorian took a sip, and stared out over the water with all those troubles of his, eyes just as tumultuous and grey as the waves themselves as he cast them out into the sunset. Anders felt himself leaning a little closer.

“So? Do you concede?” Dorian asked, too close, after a moment too long.

“It’s good wine,” he took the bottle again, and risked himself one more very small sip before passing it back.

“I told you it mattered,” Dorian took another, larger swig, “the winery, the vintage, the air —”

“The company,” Anders added, winning himself another pleased smile, feeling special.

Dorian leaned back and closed his eyes with one more sip, each drink seeming to draw them a little closer. Anders watched the sun set and filled his lungs with a slow, careful breath of salty air. Down at his side, miles away from his conscious thought, his hand found Dorian’s and brushed against it for all of an instant; just a fleeting rush of heat and giddy inebriation before Dorian’s hand flinched itself away.

Dorian resealed the bottle and packed it back into his briefcase. He grinned with the satisfaction of having won his argument, and walked Anders back up the street with fast strides, bragging about Tevinter wines. They parted ways again at the coffee shop with nothing more than nods and waves.

The flirting was toothless, ordinary; not special. Dorian kept his sad secrets to himself, his flirting all talk. Friends, they’d agreed. Arguments about wine and quick cups of coffee, and sometimes wine-sweetened text messages that were almost vulnerable, after the sun had set.

#dorianders #dorian x anders #my fic #my writing #what if we were

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srsly-messed-up-fruitloop · 4 years

Text

Tug of War (Ch 2)

prev - next

Word Count: 1,756

A month has passed since Danny and Wes had served their detentions (unfortunately Mr. Lancer’s favouritism didn’t extend to Casper’s basketball players). However, like always in the past, the chowder incident didn’t deter Wes from trying to expose him. And like before, Danny just ignored the lunatic’s attempts. At least he hasn’t tried taking any more of his stuff from their shared locker since.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Slamming his locker shut, Danny made his way to find Tucker. It was Tucker’s suggestion to go on patrol right after school since he had something planned later in the evening. However, no matter how many times Danny asked, he wouldn’t say what that something was. Too bad Sam was on vacation now. For sure she would’ve been able to squeeze the truth out of him.

When Danny approached his friend, he was kneeling, with his entire upper body swallowed up his locker.

“Uh, Tuck?”

Without budging from his position, Tucker responded, “Yo Danny, just give me a sec. I just need to finish with this wiring.”

Danny just stood there, observing in the various tools surrounding his friend before his eyes finally settled on an empty box for a George Foreman grill.

“Tuck...you didn’t...”

“Aha!” Tucker exclaimed enthusiastically. He backed out of the locker and admired his work. “Now let’s test this baby out.”

Danny watched wordlessly as he plugged something in a makeshift AC outlet inside the locker. A light beaconed from the top shelf, and there he spotted the grill.

Meanwhile, Tucker jumped up in glee. “Yeah baby! Can’t wait for lunch tomorrow!”

“But…” Danny paused as he noticed the stack of textbooks on the floor by his feet. “What about your textbooks?

Tucker motioned to the empty space at the bottom of the locker. “Thank god Sam took home her shoes, I’m just gonna dump ‘em all there.”

“And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s going to be furious.”

“Let her, I’m doing her a favour. I’m pretty sure you can grill vegetables too,” Tucker said as he began cleaning up.

Danny stooped down to help him. “How did you even get the time to do this?”

He shrugged. “Just did it all in my spare.”

“Wait, you have a spare?”

“Yeah, last period. You didn’t know?”

Danny struggled to recall if Tucker ever told him this. His mind has been a whirl since school started. “I guess I forgot. Hold up, why don’t you go straight home then? You don’t have to wait for us.”

“Nah dude it’s okay, I actually get a lot more done studying at the library here than the entire evening at home,” Tucker assured as he placed the last tool in his backpack. He stood up and fished out his PDA from his pocket, checking off ‘Install grill’ from his to-do list.

“I see what you mean,” Danny understood, remembering how much of a distraction his parents were at home. Now that Jazz had left for Stanford, it seems that his parents have doubled their efforts to spend time with him. He gets it, they missed Jazz a lot. And in less than a year he’ll be gone off to college too (hopefully). Still, they were pretty distracting, especially when they had a new invention or discovery to show off. Thankfully he had a spare next semester.

“So Tuck, before we start, are you gonna tell me your ‘special plans’ later?” he inquired for the last time, trying to inject as much ‘Sam’ into his voice.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’.

Danny pouted. Before he could say anything else, he gasped when an icy fog escaped his mouth.

“Guess we’re starting patrol at the school today,” Tucker stated nonchalantly as he activated the ghost radar on his PDA.

Looking both ways down the hall and confirming no one else was around, Danny transformed.

Meanwhile, peering around the corner of the hallway in his basketball uniform, Wes seethed as he witnessed Fenton’s transformation for the seventeenth time! And like always, he didn’t have his camera with him. Why did basketball tryouts have to be today?

“Dammit!” he exclaimed, angrily stomping back to the gym.

How many times does he have to watch Fenton expose himself before the school finally takes a hint? Why are they so damn oblivious? Three years have passed and he still has yet to open anyone’s eyes to the truth! And Fenton has been masquerading as the town’s hero the entire time!

He doesn’t have much time left. Once he leaves for college, he’ll lose his chance. Sure, he could continue posting on his blog, but the seven visitors he gets every month either think it’s a joke or never heard of Danny Phantom. And who knows where Fenton’s heading after high school. He’d probably be stuck relying on his old evidence. Which isn’t even that effective, considering all the convincing it’s done so far.

Time is running out. He refuses to let all these years go to waste. He’s dedicated his whole being to this. He cannot fail, he needs them to believe him. Otherwise, what has been his purpose all this time?

He can’t—they have to eventually believe him, right? He cannot go down that path again; the world needs him to prove this.

He’s the only person who can.

But what else he could do? He’s come to realize that Mr. Lancer gifted him the perfect opportunity to get close without faking being friends. Yet, except for the thermos that one day, Fenton hasn’t stored anything suspicious in their locker. Fenton must be keeping his weapons in his stupid sidekicks’ locker. That doesn’t help him at all!

There must some advantage to this sharing lockers thing. Some way...the memory of Fenton’s furious green eyes flashed through his mind.

That’s right! Fenton’s temper brings out the ghost in him. And Wes has the perfect opportunity to get under his skin. Once the ghost loses control in front of everyone…

Then he’ll finally fulfill his purpose.

A yawn escaped from Danny as he trudged into school the next day. On autopilot, he grabbed his supplies from his bag and went to phase it into his locker. Except, when he leaned closer and his arm was halfway through the door, he stopped and sniffed. Something reeked.

Scrunching up his nose, he cautiously opened the door and cringed as the stench hit him full force. His eyes darted around the locker until they settled on the source of the offensive smell.

Wes’ basketball uniform. It was innocently lying crumpled at the bottom of the locker, but the stink it was emanating was criminal. He suddenly felt the urge to hurl.

Didn’t Wes ever hear of deodorant? He didn’t know whether to feel disgusted or concerned.

He was tempted to toss it into the trash bin in the hallway, but that would mean touching the smelly jersey and shorts.

Unable to stand it any longer, he kicked his locker shut and quickly retreated to his homeroom, backpack still on him.

“Yo, Danny, you okay?” Tucker asked worriedly, noticing the sick look on his face when he sat down beside him.

Danny shook his head as he placed his books on the desk. “No. I…” he began, pausing when he saw his locker partner enter the classroom. “I need to talk to Wes,” he finished before abruptly standing up and striding towards him.

“What do you want, Fenton?” Wes coldly demanded.

“You left your gym clothes in the locker.”

“Yeah, so? I’ll need them again for practice tomorrow.”

“Wes, they stink.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “It’s not that bad. You should feel lucky you’re not sharing with any of the other jocks.”

“You’re hardly a jock.”

“At least I’m something. Something real. You—you parade around this false loser facade, but I know who you really are Phantom,” he declared, poking him right in the chest. “And one day I’ll expose your true colours to the whole world.”

Danny really wasn’t in the mood this morning. Batting away Wes’ accusing finger, he cut straight to the chase, “Look, please just don’t keep your bas—”

“No.”

The two boys met each other’s eyes in a glaring contest. Neither side wanted to back down. After a moment, Danny continued, “Why not?”

“I’m just as entitled to keep whatever I want in there as you are. You don’t hear me complaining about your ghost hunting equipment.”

He was truly starting to lose his patience now. “No. Instead, you take my lunch and get us detention for spraying it on everyone.”

“Any other day I could’ve exp—”

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

The two boys jolted as the bell rang.

“We’re not finished here,” Danny grunted before heading back to his seat. Why didn’t he just get rid of that horrible stench right then and there? One ectoblast would’ve surely turned those clothes to ashes.

“Sausage?” Tucker offered when Danny sat at their lunch table.

Danny eyed the smoke swirling from the meat. “Did you just make those?”

“Yup, here, try one,” he said while picking up one with a pair of tongs.

Before accepting it, Danny muttered, “Sam is going to be so mad.”

“I know. Anyways, what went down between you and Wes this morning?”

Danny swallowed a mouthful of sausage before he started, “He left his clothes from basketball practice in our locker.”

“And...?”

“Tuck, they stink.”

“My dude...” He pulled out a can of Foley and pushed it across the table. “You’re lucky that we’re friends. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

Danny scrunched up his nose from an overly musky smell coming from the so-called cologne. “Tuck, this will just make it worse.”

Smirking, he smoothly replied, “Precisely. How do you figure I got Sam to take her shoes home?”

“Oh,” he realized, matching Tucker’s smirk with his own.

“FENTON, WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CLOTHES?” Wes shrieked when he stomped over to his desk the next morning.

Feigning innocence, Danny raised an eyebrow and responded, “What are you talking about?”

“My uniform, you—YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T TOUCH MY STUFF!”

“And I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

Technically, he wasn’t lying. He just sprayed a little Foley at a certain spot in their locker. Okay, maybe not a little.

“I didn’t touch anything. It’s not my fault you’re just realizing how much your clothes stink,” he shrugged indifferently.

“I’ll...I’ll get you back for this Fenton!” Wes promised before stomping back to his seat.

Danny turned to an amused-looking Tucker and they both began to snigger.

#i MUST finish this before classes start #i have just over a week #i can do this #next chappie's a christmas one #hush ik it's august #fic #tucker #wes #grooveactuallywrites #tug of war

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years

Text

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 25

Lucifer ate when he was told, he took his medication, he slept enough to properly function. All of it fueled by memories of his own demise, the fear of wasting away and falling again.

Damn MC and their...vivid descriptions.

Lucifer was not the only one struggling with humanity however. Mammon had gotten into his fair share of confusion-based trouble. Likewise Lucifer was not the only one receiving help.

Acacia walked purposefully down the street towards the sheriff's office.

Opening the large door she strutted in like she'd done so a thousand times before. That being because she had. She spat her spearmint gum into the bin beside the door and addressed the man behind the desk.

"Hey Bill, how's the puppy? Come up with a name yet?" The man didn't even look up from his paper. He just held out his hand expectantly. "Ah, right to the point." Acacia placed a thick envelope in his hand and he pocketed it. Wordlessly he stood from his seat and made his way to holding, Acacia marching behind him.

He unlocked the metal cage with one of the many keys on his key ring.

"Come-on get out" he spoke gruffly to the man sitting in the cell.

"Oh what?" Mammon looked up surprised, "hey Acacia! You bailed me out?"

She just grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the building.

0"Thanks Kay, you're a lifesaver. I'll pay you back I swear, just give me a few weeks to–"

"Mammon this is your 4th offence in as many weeks. There wasn't a bail." She grumbled. Mammon blinked in confusion.

"So what you...bribed him?"

"Hmm" Acacia groaned anxiously. "Me and Bill kind-of have an... understanding." She responded cautiously. Mammon looked at his feet as he walked.

"Dang...thanks." it was genuine, and it made Acacia's cheeks heat up a little. "You're a good friend, you know that?"

What.

"Haha…" Acacia laughed nervously to cover the way her stomach sank. Good friend indeed. "Well, no more pick-pocketing people in the park, you're at the mercy of the law now and if you end up going to court I can't save you."

"Hah! I can worm my way out of much worse than 'human court'." He spoke with air quotes.

"Not without an ID you can't."

"I got a guy for that," he winked.

"That…" she put her hand on her face in exasperation. "will get you in even more trouble, doofus."

Mammon just rolled his eyes.

They walked along in silence, the stores were starting to close for the evening and the sky was growing dark from the setting sun. The air began to chill and Acacia found herself rubbing her arms that were exposed by her short sleeve shirt.

Something in a shop window caught her attention. The mannequin wore the most wonderful jacket she'd ever seen. Black leather studded with silver bands and embroidery. Long as a trenchcoat and cut perfectly for a shapely hour-glass figure. The hood was lined with incredibly soft- looking faux fur. So many pockets she was sure she could lose Mammon in it. Oh it was so punk and awesome and warm looking, and the shop was closing in 15 minutes!

Quickly she rushed to the door of the store, hoping they had more than just a display, hoping they had her size. She stopped with her hand on the door handle.

It was then that she got a look at the price tag. Definitely not something she could spend on a coat, much less an impulse buy. Reaching into her pants pockets she realized she couldn't buy it even if she was so frivolous. She'd spent the last of her paycheck from her part-time on bribing the police. Sighing she looked at the coat for a minute more before continuing down the street. Mammon stared after her.

What the heck was that?

"Kay! Wait up." He rushed to catch up with her. "You really just gonna let that coat go? That was real Italian leather, trust me I have an eye for these things." He elbowed her in the side.

"Oh well...I already have a coat at home, and it's way too much for just a coat." She waved it off. She wasn't too disappointed, she was used to pinching pennies and not getting what she wanted every time. That and she knew there would be other cool coats. Mammon was still incredulous.

"Just a coat? Kay, just a coat?? That is not just a coat, I saw the way your face lit up. That is a really cool coat. Don't you deserve something really cool?"

"No more than the next girl" she shrugged. She wasn't special, if anything she was just annoying and awkward, she had accepted it.

"No you're not getting it, it's not just a coat." He circled around and stood in front of Acacia, blocking her from continuing home. "It's...the feeling of sliding the card across the scanner and getting something new! It's the hanger that no longer sits empty in your closet. It's the knowledge that every time you step outside, not only will you be warm, but you'll be the baddest bitch on the block guaranteed." He was practically salivating.

Acacia hid her smile with her hand. He was like an excited dog.

"You have a serious spending problem, Mammon" she rolled her eyes and kept walking.

0"Levi!"

"No"

"Aww come on," Mammon sat down next to Levi on the floor in front of the PlayStation. "I didn't even get to say anything."

"You wanna borrow money."

"Well I mean if you're offering…" Mammon responded quickly.

"No! Even if I was born yesterday and thought you might actually pay me back, I don't have any. Take your panhandling elsewhere." Levi didn't look up from his game.

"Fine" he grumbled. Guess his brothers were as broke as him, who would have human money?

Turning his eyes to the kitchen he noticed MC turned away from him, cooking. That could be a good start. Sliding up behind them he planted one hand on the counter in front of them and spoke quietly in their ear.

"Hey MC, whatcha makin'?" They smiled slightly.

"Mac and cheese, your brother won't eat unless I make him."

"You're gonna make Lucifer eat kraft mac and cheese?" He shook his head.

"He'll eat rocks on bread if I make it for him cause he knows he can't cook for shit. What do you want?" They turned abruptly to face him, arms folded across their chest.

"I uh…" he always got flustered when MC talked to him like that. "Well I was wondering...um maybe...heh uh...you know you could…"

"Before we're dead."

"Ah so I wanted to know where I could get some money?" He said a little too quickly.

"You could try a job." They shrugged, turning back to their cooking. Him? Mammon? Work?

Obviously they weren't in the mood to give him a loan, and he thought even his most sophisticated scams wouldn't make it past their radar. None of his brothers had human money... maybe a job was his only option.

As he weighed his opinions he didn't notice Acacia peeking at him from the hallway. She pushed down the jealousy rising in her chest, she had nothing to be jealous of. She had no claim on who Mammon liked and she knew that. Still she couldn't help the envy and self hatred that rose when she saw how he stumbled over himself talking to MC.

Why wouldn't he like them more after all? They were straightforward and confident and knew exactly who they were and what they wanted. They were so good with people and stressful situations...what did Acacia have in comparison?

Sometimes it felt like everyone she'd ever liked ended up liking MC.

Sighing, she stepped back into the bathroom. She didn't want to embarrass him while he was trying to talk to MC.

But Mammon didn't have MC on his mind at the moment. He was thinking of money as he paced down the street. He was thinking of finally getting those boots he'd been eyeing. But apparently work was the only way to do that. He shivered at the thought.

He could always walk around town and... see what he could rustle up. It was a tried and true method of fast-cash-grabbing. He probably wouldn't get caught again. His pace slowed as he actually weighed the potential consequences.

Acacia bailed him out yesterday, and three times before that. It couldn't have been cheap, and his brothers probably would've just let him rot in holding to teach him a lesson. Even if he was 90% sure he wouldn't be caught…

He couldn't bring himself to believe it was enough.

Coming to a full stop he looked at his shoes as he processed what he was going to do. He could, in theory, just not work and not get the boots. The only question was whether he was more willing to work...or to not buy stuff.

There was really only one option here huh.

Squaring his shoulders he continued his stride, this time with more purpose. The purpose of getting a j-huaeh.

Ehem, sorry he gagged a little.

The purpose of getting a job! Surely it wouldn't be that hard.

0Mammon had worked in customer service for 2 days. He was never going to work again, he couldn't, boots weren't worth it. A woman spit on him. Actually spit on him.

And he couldn't even peel her skin off! He just had to take it like a trained dog. He was over it. Stomping down the street he started mentally plotting his elaborate job-quitting scenario. Then a familiar store caught his eye.

There in the window was the same jacket Acacia had been eyeing. He only looked for a moment before continuing down the street. He didn't know why she wanted that thing, it wasn't even designer.

And she couldn't afford it cause she had to bail him out. No, he shook his head, she couldn't have afforded it anyway cause she's poor and can't spend a lot on a stupid coat.

Oh...that was worse.

If she couldn't even afford a coat there was no way she could afford to bribe the cops on a regular basis. So why did she? Why was she helping when she didn't really have the means? Was she hoping he'd do something for her?

Or... maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she bailed him out once cause she was a good friend but then he kept being a selfish prick and getting himself in trouble. He turned around and looked back at the coat.

It really was a simple wish.

He made a decision, he'd make it up to Acacia. She'd been nice and hadn't asked him for anything. She hadn't even called him stupid when he screwed up, she just gave him tips to stay out of future trouble.

He'd postpone quitting for a while. A different scenario started to take form in his mind. One that wasn't as elaborate, but just as important.

0Acacia was upset that Mammon had been so flustered around MC, but she had come to terms with it. She trudged up the stairs, still tired from school, and flopped onto the bed. Distant conversation caught her ears.

"You can't expect me to eat that, it's not–"

"Eat the damn mac, Lucifer."

Rolling her eyes she turned to lay on her side and got a face full of leather.

What?

Sitting up she examined the foreign garment. Without explanation or credit, there on her bed sat a brand new coat.

The very one she wanted.

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #Holy Hands

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

Text

What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

Follow the Beacon Taiyang—COSTumes

[Link to Masterpost]

[Hey, look! A normal-length chapter!]

"Ramparts! For all of your cosplay needs!" Summer declared, throwing the door open dramatically. The Taupes followed her in, looking around in confusion.

"This is a costume store?" Raven asked, brushing through a rack of sweaters.

"Thrift store," Tai corrected. "People donate old clothes, they sell 'em cheap, and the money goes to charity. Summer likes to find stuff and make alterations."

"Come on, let's look at suits!" She grabbed Qrow's wrist and hauled him off toward the men’s section. Amused, Tai and Raven followed.

"Okay, we want to find a green suit and vest for Ozpin, and a red suit for Pete," Summer said, already digging through the racks for anything near the right colors. "Preferably double-breasted, but we probably won't find one. We can sew a little gold ribbon around the edges to make it look like him. I've got a scarf we could tie like his ascot. What about shoes? Should we get shoes?"

He accepted the hideous maroon suit she was holding out. "Our uniform shoes will be fine, Summer."

"Yeah, you're right." She was in her natural habitat now, comparing every dark green suit in the store to one of their photos from Ozpin's file. It only took a few minutes for her to pop back out of the racks with a three-piece that looked to be about Qrow's size. "Try it on!"

"Uh…" He eyed it warily, holding it in front of his face.

"We are not spending four thousand lien on something you're only going to wear once," Raven said, glaring at the tag.

She had a point. Tai glanced over Summer's shoulder at the photo on the scroll, searching for another solution. "Y'know, Ozpin's suit is really dark—the uniform jacket and pants would probably work fine if we got a green turtleneck to put under it."

"I was thinking just a scarf for that bit, actually," Summer said, running to the end of the aisle and grabbing one with horrible stringy fringe. "We'll tuck the ends in under the jacket. Cardboard will work for his tie-pin-thing, and then all we need are some glasses."

The bin was right next to Tai, and he started rifling through. "None of these look like Ozpin's."

"Those weird bendy parts on the sides are probably custom. Just grab some small round ones."

He held up a pair he’d seen almost immediately, and Qrow gingerly took them.

"How does he see though them?" he muttered, squinting. "These are tiny."

"They're also only thirty lien 'cause the lens is cracked, but we can take them out back at school."

"What should we get for the Carmine costume?" Tai asked. "I don't think we're going to find a leather apron here. Or for less than fifty thousand lien."

"What? No, I'm wearing the one I didn't finish in time for WeaponsEx!"

"Come on, you can wear it next year. We've gotta match. Nobody will be able to see the detail on it in the dark anyway!"

"Fine," she sighed, grabbing maybe the ugliest brown dress in existence off the rack behind her. It looked about six sizes too big for her, layered with thick ruffles in multiple shades. "I'll cut patches of the darker lining for the embossing Carmine has around the edges. There should be plenty of fabric."

She just couldn’t do a sewing project halfway. "That's still way more effort than you need to put into this."

"What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

"Yeah, it's where the SDC unveiled the Guillotine last year." Summer said, still thumbing through the suits. "The easiest way to do Professor Mesánychta's suit would be to splatter-paint stars onto the school uniform, but anything that would show up might not wash out…"

"Flour." Tai pointed out.

"Ooooh! Yeah!"

Raven frowned. "It'll just fall off."

"Not while you're wearing it! Your aura kinda holds it in place—I speak from experience. We can make her headband out of cardboard too. Lucky so many of the staff wear dark suits."

They brought their things up to the registers, the twins looking much more at ease with their two hundred lien price tag.

"So, where should we eat?" Summer chirped.

"…We're not going back to the school?" Qrow and Raven shared an anxious look.

"Well… we could, but it'd take like two hours to fly there and back," she said. "Besides, don't you want to go somewhere other than the cafeteria?"

"Maybe, uh, we'll just meet up with you again after, then…" Qrow stammered.

"What? Come on, that'll take ages," Summer said with a wave. "Come with us to Goldenrod's! We go every time we’re in Vale, they have these giant noodle bowls, it's great—”

"We'll meet you there in a half hour," Raven said. "There's a comic store Qrow wanted to look at."

Why were they—oh. They hadn't been worried about the cost of the suit just because it was frivolous. Tai's ears burned with secondhand embarrassment. "Uh, Sum—"

Summer tilted her head. "You know I love comics… Why don't we all go after lunch?"

Qrow straightened up, bracing himself. "Because we don't have any money."

Raven shot him a panicked glare as Summer wilted. "…Oh." She fiddled with her hands for a second before shoving them into the pockets of her hoodie. "Sorry, I…"

"I—I mean, it's been nice looking around with you two—"

"We'll buy today," Tai said quickly. Anything to make the awkward stop.

"You don't have to—" Raven began.

"No, come on, it's team bonding time! We've got you. And next time we come to town we'll just pack a lunch."

* * *

"So, have you ever visited Mistral?" Summer asked, errantly drumming on the table as they waited. "I guess you said you were from southern Anima, that'd be a long trip…"

"It was. We went twice."

Her eyes widened. "Really? What's it like? I don't really remember Anima that well."

"It's…more dangerous than Vale," he said, glancing out of the window at the end of their booth. "Unless you're rich. We mostly kept our heads down. …What about your home? What's Patch like?"

Summer shrugged. "Not much to say. It's just a little port town on an island outside Vale. Forest on the west side has some Grimm, nothing big enough to be a real threat."

"It's the most boring place in existence," Tai sighed.

"At least you'd have ships to look at," Raven said. "There is nothing on Remnant less interesting than a farm." Everyone stared at her for a half-second, she'd been her usual withdrawn self all day. She flinched at the sudden attention. "…I've always liked boats."

"Me too," Summer admitted. "But, sailing boats. With sails. You know, the old-fashioned windy kind, not the new big loud cargo ships."

Nobody liked the giant—usually Atlesian—monsters that would barge into the harbor at all hours. Tai gestured with his chopsticks. "Ugh, and that one asshole that always runs too close to the north side of the island and wakes everyone up in the middle of the night!"

"Well, hey, why don't we go to the docks after the comic store? We could take pictures and stuff!"

"Because your camera’s broken. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Her face fell a little. "Well, we can still look around."

"There's not actually a comic store," Raven admitted. "We were trying to buy time."

Summer reached across the table, taking her hand in both of hers. "Raven. You're not getting out of going to the comic shop with me and Qrow just because you made it all up."

Raven rolled her eyes, the ghost of a real smile playing around her mouth. "Fine."

Next Chapter: Summer—Mission Critical

[Yet another chapter of Qrow is a Nerd. ‘Suave flirt’ is a valid interpretation of the text, it’s just not my interpretation]

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #strq #team strq #taiyang xiao long #summer rose #qrow branwen #raven branwen #ozpin #peter port #zelenia mesánychta #carmine eitri #follow the beacon #mine

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blurry-fics · 5 years

Text

Chapter Two

Prove Me Wrong | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Bad driving, minor angst, profanity

Word Count: 1841

Author’s Note: The first chapter from Tyler’s POV! I’m not really sure why I dedicated an entire chapter to them grocery shopping together, but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless :)

I laid into the horn for a third time, hoping that Y/N would hear it. She had said she would go grocery shopping with me today, but all three of my texts announcing that I was outside had gone unanswered. Now, creating as much noise as possible was my last resort to get her attention.

“Hey!”

My eyes shot to the porch. Y/N’s brother, Carter, was leaning out the front door. I immediately pulled my hand off of the horn and rolled down the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

“Trying to get Y/N’s attention!”

“You know, we have this really cool thing called a doorbell right here,” he said, gesturing to it. “Works great!”

“Sorry!”

Carter waved a hand at me, “I’ll go get Y/N.”

The front door shut and I leaned back into my seat. Leave it to me to make an embarrassment out of myself in front of Y/N’s family.

I was starting to get impatient when the front door flew open again, revealing Y/N with only one of her shoes on. She slipped on the other one and came running down the path towards my car, looking frantic.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she slid into the front seat. “I was up late last night working on a paper, and then I fell asleep today right before you were supposed to show up and - oh, you texted me.”

“Three times.”

“Oh man, I’m really sorry, Ty,” she said, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“It’s fine. As long as you didn’t totally bail on me.”

Y/N turned to me and smiled. Despite the fact that she had just woken up from a nap, she still looked absolutely gorgeous.

Stop, Tyler.

“I got to have a nice chat with your brother about not making so much noise,” I laughed.

“So I heard. He was talking about it as I was running around my room trying to get ready.”

“Ready to go?”

She took a moment to look around the area she was sitting in, “Yeah, I think I have everything.”

“Great.”

I pulled away from the curb and headed towards the grocery store. Y/N was quick to kick her feet up on the dash.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I said, idly tapping my fingers against the wheel. “I don’t know that I would know what to buy if it weren’t for you.”

She laughed, “You know you’ll have to learn how to shop for yourself eventually, right?”

“Not as long as you’re around.”

“I may not be around forever, Ty.”

I turned to look at Y/N. She was looking out the window, watching the trees that were whizzing past as we drove down the quiet street. It was hard to imagine a life without Y/N. She meant too much to me for me to ever let her go.

I thought back to the night that her feelings for me had been revealed during a stupid game of truth or dare. She had been so scared that I wouldn’t think of her the same, but it had never felt that way. Y/N was still Y/N, no matter what her feelings towards me were. I had never understood what made it such a big deal.

“Ty!”

My reflexes kicked in just in time for me to swerve away from a trash bin sitting on the side of the road. Y/N had a hand splayed out on the dash as she turned to me with wide eyes.

“What was that all about?” she laughed.

“I was thinking,” I smiled innocently, hoping she wouldn’t press the matter any further.

“Well, think less next time.”

“Yeah, then I might finally understand what it’s like to be you.”

“Hey!”

She reached over and lightly punched me in the arm. I laughed and tried to duck out of the way, but the confines of the car didn’t really allow for that.

“You’re mean, Joseph.”

“You love me.”

“Maybe I do.”

* * *

“Now where are we going?” I asked, leaning my body into the grocery cart to get it to start moving.

“We still need to get you fruits and veggies.”

“I don’t eat those.”

“You’re going to now.”

I groaned, but knew better than to argue with her over this. She was just making sure that I was taking care of myself, that was nothing new.

“What do you think? Apples?” she asked, holding up a particularly shiny one.

“Sure.”

She shot me a look, “Have some enthusiasm, Ty.”

“Then show me some exciting fruit!”

Y/N tossed a couple apples into a bag and added them to the cart with the rest of my groceries before moving on to another type of fruit.

“How did you learn all this stuff?” I asked as she looked over some oranges. “I don’t even know where to start with groceries, aside from snacks.”

“My mom used to drag me and my brother to the grocery store with her when we were little,” she smiled. “I guess I memorized her shopping list from seeing it so many times.”

“So what you’re saying is that I should be paying attention to what you’re choosing?”

“Tyler!” she laughed, turning to face me. “Are you not paying attention?”

“I’m just pushing the cart.”

She pursed her lips for a moment before bagging the food in her hand and adding it to the cart as well. The disgruntled expression on her face made me smile and for a moment I couldn’t get myself to look away from her. Everything about her was just so…

No.

Y/N started to walk farther down the aisle, so I followed after her. She stopped in front of the salad section and began to look over the options.

“Now that looks like a level of cooking that I could handle,” I said, hoping it would get another smile out of her.

It did.

“Why don’t you pick a kind that looks good? I don’t need to pick all of your food for you. You’re the one that’s going to be eating it.”

I moved around the cart so that I could better see my options. Y/N grabbed a bag for herself and put it into the little basket that she had grabbed for her own groceries. She didn’t have nearly as many things to buy, mostly because she was still living at home so her parents handled most of the shopping.

“What about this kind?” I asked, reaching for a bag.

“Ty, it doesn’t matter what I think.”

I glanced at her for a moment. She was too busy looking at more salad to notice.

“But for the record, that kind is really good,” she added.

“Ok, I’ll give it a try.”

I added it to the ever-growing pile of groceries in the cart. If I was lucky, I could convince Y/N to come over and help me put away all the groceries.

“You know, I really do worry about what you’ll do if we’re ever apart,” Y/N said.

“I’ll just call you wherever you’re at for help.”

She turned to me, “I can never escape, can I?”

“Nope.”

“I think there’s only a few more things that we need to pick up and then we can get out of here.”

“Lead the way.”

I followed Y/N through the produce section as she picked up a few more things that she said would be good for me to eat. Occasionally she would try to explain how to pick out good fruit, but I knew it was no use. All the information would be gone again by the time I had to grocery stop for myself.

“I don’t even know what to do with half of this stuff,” I said as we loaded bags into the back of my car.

“You know, there’s these great things called cookbooks and the Internet that you can use to find recipes. They even tell you what to do to make the food.” Y/N shot me a smug smile from the other side of the car.

“You and your brother are the same person, I swear.”

I loaded the last bag into the backseat and then shut the car door. Y/N did the same and hopped into the passenger seat of my car while I returned the cart to where it belonged. She had already started playing her music by the time that I hopped in the driver’s seat.

“I’m way cooler than Carter, just so that’s clear,” she said before I had even buckled my seatbelt.

“I never said one of you was cooler than the other, I just said that you two are the same person.”

“That would imply that his level of coolness is the same as mine, and there’s no way that I’m as dorky as him!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry! You’re way cooler than Carter,” I laughed, throwing my hands up in defeat. Y/N seemed pleased by my response.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, are you coming over? Or should I drop you off at home?”

“I can come over for a little bit, as long as I’m home for dinner. I still have more homework to catch up on.”

“Do you ever get a break?”

She leaned back and kicked her feet up on the dash, as she always seemed to do. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

I put one hand on the back of her seat so that I would actually be able to see out the back window while I pulled out of the parking spot. My mom would never let me hear the end of it if I scratched up my car again.

“Then consider hanging out with me your break,” I smiled.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my time.”

* * *

I pulled up against the curb outside of Y/N’s house. She gathered up her things before stepping out onto the pavement and leaning down into the car.

“Thanks for letting me come over for awhile, Ty. It was a much needed study break.”

“It was the least I could do after basically making you grocery shop for me. Thanks again, by the way.”

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, “It was fun.”

“Agreed. Good luck with studying.”

“I’ll need it.”

Y/N shut the car door and waved to me through the window. I watched as she walked back up the path to her house and jumped up the steps that led to the porch. Once she was finally inside the house safely, I pulled away and headed home.

The quiet of the car allowed my mind to wander. I thought about Y/N, mostly.

A bird dived at my car, making me almost swerve into a trash bin for the second time that day. Apparently daydreaming and driving wasn’t a good mix for me. I reached over and turned the radio up, hoping that it would give my mind something else to focus on.

* * * * *

Taglist

@faceofcontvsions @ohprettyweeper @spookyjiimfanfiction @addictoftwentyone @svintsandghosts @gaiatheroyalrabbit @iamnotawasteofspace @patdsinner33 @merandlune @addictwithaheavydirtycheetah @schrodingersjustine @ccfffee @frappeitea @gayy-pilotss @coolcxt @donttellaweirdweakling @a-stumpsexuals-world @5secondsofmoxley @breadbinishigh

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courtneyyharper · 4 years

Text

Depopin’

Hello folks, another day in the life of lockdown and another article to fill up “five” minutes of your time. One way I’ve been spending my time is spending some more time on my Depop account and just thought I’d share my knowledge (what little I have) with you all.

I’ve personally been using Depop for close to two years now and genuinely when I first started I thought nothing would come of it. Then one day I randomly sold my denim jacket for nearly as much as I had bought it for originally. From then it’s been a steady process of learning the ropes and although I am by no means a professional at this or making an income I do enjoy it. There are ways to make a brand out of this with wholesale goods and making your own goods etc. but these are just tips for anyone like me just trying to make a little extra money, save some money and be more sustainable even with fast-fashion.

So, I’m going to talk you through what to do before you start selling, how to sell and ship and even how to pick up a bargain for yourself…

Before you start…

Okays, I’m not going to go through the actual making of the account. I’m pretty sure you guys have got that covered. Make your password secure and stuff.

On to finding stuff to sell. My most popular items have always been going out dresses as they’re usually my higher branded clothing, such as Oh Polly etc. You can post almost any type of clothing but the more interesting the more likely it is to sell. Anything you do choose however should be in good condition and something you’d be happy with purchasing yourself. The best-selling items are usually brand new or in close to perfect condition. Every once in a while I like to do a clear out of things in my wardrobe I haven’t worn in a while and although it is up to you what you sell and of course there is an audience for everything I personally try and be realistic about what I can sell and what needs donated/binned.

Next you must be willing to ship the things that are purchased (this is something I struggled a lot with at the start as I learned the best process). I’ll talk more about shipping later but first you need the supplies. There’s nothing worse than receiving a Depop parcel in a taped together plastic carrier bag with your address scribbled on it. My top tip out of this whole article is to purchase some packaging.

Packaging bags can be surprisingly pricey at the post office or in office supply stores so what I first did was buy packs of them for £1 in stores such as Poundworld and Home Bargains which works out at only a few pence per parcel. Even better still if this becomes something you really get into a groove off you can buy wholesale packs of 100 on Amazon and eBay etc in colours. Little things like this can mean a lot to your customer and will actually end up saving you money in the long run.

Now you have the items you’re going to sell and your packaging to do so!

Taking your photos…

Honestly, this is kind of the entire key to selling. If your product looks good, then people will want it. There are three types of photos I like to use:

Website photos:

These ones are usually best if you have no photos in this clothing or would prefer to not be in the photos. They’re the easiest to put up on short notice. You just screenshot the photos from the website where you purchased them. The only problem with this is that some people prefer to see what the clothes look like in real life (I know I do if I’m on the fence) and will most likely ask you to provide a photo which is just effort later. Usually if I’m using these photos, I provide them in addition with some of my own photos or disclose I’m using this because the clothing does not fit so I can’t try it on, hence why I’m selling.

My own photos:

Sometimes I get lucky and I have a nice Instagram picture in the dress or top or whatever it may be but sometimes I have to set aside time to try on and photograph the clothes. When I do this, I like to do it as though it were going to be uploaded for Instagram. If you have someone to take photos of you in them than great but mirror selfies are also grand if you can do them right. That means having good lighting, so that the clothes are highly visible. I try and take them in bright day light, in a clean mirror and with a clean background. No one wants to see your laundry in the background or those water bottles that haven’t moved from your room in two months that we’re all guilty of.

Flatlay:

If you’re not overly comfortable or confident with being in the photo, then you can still take good photos of the product without wearing it. Always make sure your clothing or shoes or jewellery or whatever it is you’re selling is laid out freshly. It really goes without saying but all clothing should be clean and without wrinkles if possible. You can hang them up on a wall or lay them on a clean background on the floor. For this I like using a white wall or a clean block colour blanket, but everyone has their own style when it comes to this. Maybe even add some plant props or other things to spice up your photo but remember to make the product the focus of the photo.

Videos are also an option on Depop but it must be over 5 seconds long and I only like using this for sparkly or metallic items etc to show the real affect in person.

Although this isn’t always the case but when I really organise my page I like my account to look like an Instagram feed itself. It’s not necessary but it can really draw people to your page if they’re just clicking on for a browse.

When taking your photos always get a photo of the front, the back, any close-up details and of course if there is any marks etc on the item you should always show in a photo. You can only post four photos total so try and give people a good idea of what the item really looks like.

Description:

Next you need to describe what you’re selling. All the words you include will make it easier for people to search and find your items.

You should mention what exactly you’re selling along with brand, size, colour and anything else people need to know.

Always mention what condition the product is such as: 10/10, perfect condition, BNWT (Brand new with tags)

Even mention why you’re selling it: no longer fits, doesn’t suit me, ordered 2 sizes, didn’t return in time etc. Especially mention if it is not in perfect condition: small mark on right sleeve but barely noticeable (see photo 4)

#tags: You also have the options to add hashtags to your description to make is easier to find but you don’t need the hashtag to make it searchable. If I mention the brand it will come up in search when people search for the brand name, even without the hashtag.

Although against Depop regulations (so I’m not recommending) if there were to be other keywords (popular and similar brand names to what you’re posting for example) then your post may reach a wider audience…

Everyone has different layouts for their description but here is an example of one I would do:

Oh Polly LOVE ME KNOT dress

Ruched long sleeve bodycon dress in Oyster White

Size 10 (small fitting would fit an 8 also)

Thick good quality material

Bought on Depop and worn once by me

Great condition just won’t wear again

RRP 38 SOLD OUT ONLINE

#nightout #party #ruched

Then simply fill out the information it asks you for again, brand, size, price and shipping price too! (This is separate from price).

Pricing:

People don’t want to be buying things close to full price unless it’s brand new and you have the last available one to buy anywhere. If demand for your product isn’t high, then you’re going to have to be reasonable with pricing. You must remember (unless you’re handmaking your own clothes etc) that you’re not a retailer and people are looking for a bargain. However, every item is different so I can’t really give you a baseline price for items. The best way to learn where to ballpark your pricing is search for other items similar to yours and see what everyone else is pricing them for and if they’re selling well. I usually try and price things around 60-70% of what I paid and over time drop the price if there’s no movement.

You must remember websites are usually running offers on their own items. For example, I had one dress up recently and was getting a lot of messages as I was selling it for half the original price. Recently I had no questions about it at all and while writing this I realised the retailer had it on sale for lower than even that. Pricing can fluctuate daily and sometimes you must wait it out and/or concede to lowering the price.

Reposting:

If your item has been up for a few weeks and still hasn’t been purchased I usually go in and edit my item. Maybe switch the photos around, update the price and description a bit and post it again. This way people see something different and it gets put back to the top of people’s search.

Shipping:

This is the bit my friends ask me about most when Depop is mentioned. It’s also the most effort.

I’ve tried to get into a routine so as soon as someone purchases an item, I like to package it up straight away. Fold the item neatly and put it in its packaging. Make sure the address is correct. It’s always best to direct message the buyer and thank them for the purchase and assure them when you will get it shipped. Communication is key for good feedback later and although not necessary, I usually include a little thank you note in some funky way (at Christmas I sent Christmas cards and lately I’ve been using felt unicorn shapes I picked up in the arts and craft bit of the pound shop).

Now as soon as possible, you usually have about 5-7 days after purchase, take it to the post office. All you have to do is take it to the window where they will most likely ask you to set it on the scales for weighing and do the work for you. Once you’ve done all this once it’s a breeze.

Packaging costs me £3 a parcel (this is for second class, under 2kg, less than £20 value, unsigned and untracked which is pretty standard). However, for safety and for the first few sales I’d spend the extra and send it tracked. This way no one can claim they didn’t receive a parcel.

Top tip: if you’re sending a small package like a single t-shirt, then package it flatly. Sometimes they can fit it through the letter stencil, and you can ship for large letter prices which is cheaper than parcel prices, but this is also up to the cashier’s discretion so don’t count on it.

All current pricing can be found online too! You can print labels here and pay online to save going to the window, but I find it easier in person.

Make sure to get your proof of postage receipt and keep it! I always like to post a photo of this to let them know their item has been shipped and remember to update the shipping status too. Plus, you’ll need it if there’s any problems later.

Feedback:

Remember to leave your buyers honest feedback and hope they leave you one in return. The more positive reviews you have them more people will see you as a trusted seller later.

DMs:

Always try and click on to the app a few times a day and respond to any mails as soon as possible. Usually if you wait a day to respond they’ve already found something else instead.

Likewise, if people like your item feel free to shoot them a message: Hey, are you interested in [insert item]? If you have any questions just let me know! [insert friendly emoji]

Remember it’s all about interaction! Followers and following on Depop mean next to nothing. People use the search bar much more frequently than their timeline.

The Realities of Making Money!

Some weeks I’ll sell nothing on Depop and usually there’s more of these weeks than not but other times I’ll sell a formal dress, a few going out dresses, a jumper and make about £100. Although these weeks are far and few between you have got to persevere.

You should always remember when pricing items that Depop take a 10% fee and Paypal 2.9% after you’ve sold something (it costs nothing to list an item!) and account for this when pricing your items but also remember that people probably won’t want to pay £5 + shipping for a plain black t-shirt from New Look. Honestly, I rarely notice the fee being taken out especially if it is for clothes that I would otherwise just pack away under my bed for years.

Another thing to remember is that even when the money is deposited into your Paypal account you’re more than likely still going to have shipping to pay and packaging costs, so you need to set this aside also.

Buying:

So, when I’m looking for something specific online or find a nice dress that I’m thinking of purchasing then I like to do a quick search for it on Depop. I search the website name for the item (Oh Polly Love Me Knot Dress) and the size I’m interested in. If I find what I’m looking for I like to message the seller with any questions and if it is available. It’s always worth asking (politely!!) if they would consider selling it at a negotiated price or even with free shipping but always be reasonable. I can’t count the times people have asked if I’d sell them dresses that I had listed for £20 for a fiver with free shipping. There’s nothing more irritating. The nicer you are the more responsive they’ll be and want to reply.

I also like to save or like items and come back to them later, as a sort of wish list if I’m browsing. If nothing else the app is always good for getting ideas for future outfits much like a mood board.

In the case anything goes wrong…

Always buy through the Depop app and Paypal! Every once and a while sellers will ask you to pay them through friends and family on Paypal to avoid Depop fees but if you do this you have no way to claim back your money if the item doesn’t arrive. If an item does not arrive to you or someone claims they do not receive yours then this must go through the Paypal dispute system. If your claim is legit then you can easily get your money back so no need to worry and if someone makes the claim against you all you need is your proof of postage (but preferably a tracking number for 100% safety) and you can refute the claim.

With Paypal you’re always protected which is what makes Depop so great to use!

This was a long-winded way of explaining my personal process of Depop and has made it look even more complicated than it really is. Everyone has their own vibe how to Depop so don’t think you have to stick to this.

I love using the app to save money and even when purchasing items like formal dresses that I know I’ll only wear once I can usually find the one I want for a bargain or if I can’t I don’t feel too bad about paying full price because I know I can get some money back for it when I resell it. At least that’s what I tell myself…

Okays, that’s all I have for you today… Happy Depoping!

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ithe99-blog · 4 years

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9 Airline Travel Hacks To Make Your Flight Better

We have a love/hate relationship with aviation. What should be exciting and adventurous—we’re flying!—has become more of a chore than a pleasure. Which may be a shame. The journey should be equally as enjoyable because of the destination. However, here are ten little travel hacks which will make it a less unhappy experience.

Reset your internal clock

If you’re traveling through multiple time zones, spend a couple of days before your trip resetting your internal clock. attend sleep earlier, or keep yourself up later, counting on which direction you’re going; even on a long-haul flight, just shifting toward your destination’s zone will help reduce fatigue and make your arrival less of a slog. Also, remember that longer flights usually synchronize meal schedules not with the departure’s zone, but the destination’s, which can also assist you adjust.

Exercise before boarding

This serves a couple of purposes but it all comes right down to one result: you’ll feel tons better. You don’t need to do an entire workout, but a light-weight jog or some aerobic movement will stretch you, relax you, and tire you out only enough to form it much easier to nod off on the plane. albeit you don’t sleep, power napping becomes far more doable. And for extended flights, if you can’t spring for compression socks, remember to urge up a minimum of once an hour if you'll swing it if only to stretch your legs.

Don’t drink and fly

As tempting because it is, drinking alcohol before a flight is simply not an honest idea on several counts. Alcohol messes together with your hydration levels, and between that and therefore the canned air you’ll desire a bit of parchment the entire time. stick with juice, water, tea, coffee (not carbonated drinks, the atmospheric pressure changes can wreak havoc on the bubbles and bring some uncomfortable and possibly embarrassing mid-flight moments), and wait until you get where you’re going before hitting the bar. Also, you’ll save yourself a fortune from what they charge on the plane.

Take an image of your parking

Let’s face it, albeit you’re taking a brief trip, you’ll never remember where you parked. It takes no time in the least to snap a fast telephone pic of your car and the surrounding area, especially space numbers if there are any, or signs denoting what garage floor you’re on. That way you don’t need to trust your brain to recollect it and better of all, you won’t spend longer within the parking zone trying to find it than you probably did expect your luggage on the carousel.

Stay to the left at the safety gates

Most people are right-handed, which suggests that they tend to gravitate toward the proper side of a checkpoint. this is often true whether it’s customs, the grocery, or the funfair entrance, so this is often an honest hack to stay in your repertoire: once you reach the safety gates, keep left. you'll still have a touch of a delay but it'll be shorter than if you had gone right. then, just confirm you've got your shoes off and items to be scanned ready for the bin before you get to the top of the road.

Food and water are nice to

possess Speaking of security lines, you almost certainly already know you can’t take a bottle of water through, but you'll take an empty bottle and fill it up after you undergo. you would possibly want to take a position during a collapsible bottle if you travel frequently and keep it together with your other travel gear. Likewise, take snacks separately during a bag but don’t forget to require the bag out before you stow the bags. Keep the items you’ll want to access within the front pocket of your carry-on bag for straightforward access because once you attend store it overhead or under the seat ahead of you, you'll quickly take it out and put it within the seat pocket.

A little extra support

Roomy coats are your friend on the wing. Not only are you able to use a coat as a secondary carry-on if its pockets, but you'll also use it if there aren’t because rolling up a coat and putting it behind your back on your seat will offer you some much needed lumbar support that the seat itself can’t do for you. otherwise, you also can use it as a pillow, or a blanket (neither of which you would like to urge from the airline because they’re not always sanitary).

Sick of flying

Some people just don’t fly well. Especially those susceptible to airsickness, or too attuned to turbulence to relax. It’s not enough to settle on the right seat, you've got to require the entire plane under consideration. for instance, if you fly within the morning, there’s less turbulence due to air temperature and pressure equilibrium. Also, there’s less turbulence across the center of the plane, round the wings, than at either end (especially the rear which gets it the worst). Also, albeit they’re not considered ideal seats, sitting toward the middle of the plane can help.

Recharge yourself (and your gear)

Stuck in an airport between legs of the journey, or on a flight delay? Here are some belongings you can do: if you've got an hour or more to attend, attempt to find an empty gate. you'll decompress there (it’s much quieter) and you'll even find an outlet for a charger if you’re lucky. If you set in your headphones, though, be wary: you would possibly miss a crucial announcement about your flight and you are doing not want that to happen. Also, the Wi-Fi signal is perhaps better than during a more crowded area, just like the gate where all the opposite passengers on your flight are waiting.

#travel #airplane #voyage #vacation

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daymakers-moving-storage · 5 years

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11 Quirky Moving Hacks

Being that we’re in the business of moving, we’ve seen it all when it comes to moving tips. Good moving tips, bad moving tips, and tips that are downright weird. But if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that weird isn’t so bad. Check out these 11 quirky moving tips and prepare to have your mind blown by packing hacks you have never heard of.

Use your shoes as storage

Trust us: it’s not as gross as it sounds. Your shoes provide you with an opportunity to stow away small items and miscellaneous knick-knacks. What’s the point of paying for boxes and packing tape for items that are already being packed away on their own? Now, we know what you may be thinking: Ugh, but my shoes smell. If that’s the case, ya know what we have to say? Sounds like a personal problem… that could easily be solved with a little baking soda.

Whip out your socks

Speaking of footwear, you can use your socks to pad glasses and stemware. You’ve got to keep those precious wine glasses safe, after all. And this should go without saying, but make sure those socks are clean.

Plastic bins are your new BFFs

You may be using plastic containers as storage in your home, but you can use them for moving as well. Bonus! Use clear plastic bins to pack the items you need first. Because they’re clear, you can easily see what is inside them and access them immediately after the move.

A picture is worth a thousand words

…Or worth saving a thousand headaches, at least. Take pics of what cords go where when you’re dissembling electronics. It’s always hard to remember exactly what cords each device uses and where exactly they should be plugged in. Having pictures to refer to make that a lot easier.

Ditch the bubble wrap on dishes

Skip the expensive bubble wrap and specialty moving boxes to pack your dishes. Instead, save major money by purchasing Styrofoam plates and alternately stacking your dishes as follows: real plate, then Styrofoam plate, then real plate, and so on.

Use luggage

You may not be flying the friendly skies, but luggage comes in handy for moving as well. Pack heavy stuff like books, canned goods, and cumbersome odd and ends within rolling luggage. This quirky moving hack will make it easier to transport heavy items since you can just wheel them around!

All containers matter

Save big on boxes and tape by using laundry bins, baskets, and suitcases as boxes. Viola! Luggage comes in handy again, and that laundry bin becomes a little less disdainful.

Saran wrap to the rescue

Looking for a way to get rid of those food storage items that are clogging up your cabinets? Look no further. Use Saran Wrap to cover toiletries like fragrances, shampoos, and lotions. This will prevent toiletries from leaking everywhere — and potentially ruining other belongings in the process.

Prepare to Press’n Seal

Kitchen items come to save the day once again. Press’n Seal will become your best friend when it comes to packing your drawers. Most people know about packing your closet into boxes right on the hanger, but many people don’t realize that they can save valuable time and energy when it comes to their drawers as well. Put your clothing in Press’n Seal bags before taping up your drawers. This way, you don’t have to empty your drawers out — and can save tons of time skipping the need to refold everything when it’s time to unpack.

Sandwich bags are for more than sandwiches

If you thought we were done with kitchen items, think again. Sandwich bags are perfect for storing small parts that could be easily lost during the move, like screws for curtain rods, disassembled furniture bolts, and TVs. Place these miscellaneous screws, nuts, and bolts in a sandwich bag, then clearly label what’s in each bag in order to make your life a whole lot easier.

Save the TV for last

It’s so easy to zonk out after a long day of moving, and having the TV on makes it even more tempting. As you’re getting to the end of your unpacking, unpack your TV last. Not only will the distractions be less, it’ll be that much more gratifying when you can finally hit the hay while falling asleep to your favorite TV show.

Number boxes instead of labeling them

No one ever wants to think about what could happen if their boxes were lost or stolen. Here’s where this unique moving hack comes in handy. Instead of labeling boxes with labels like ‘fine China,’ ‘jewelry,’ or ‘video game consoles,’ try numbering your boxes instead. This way, you can jot down the corresponding numbers in a notepad or note on your phone — and nosy/opportunistic people will be none the wiser. Hiring a reputable moving company will also help you feel a sense of peace of mind that your valuable items are protected. Peace of mind is priceless.

Moving doesn’t have to be stressful — and neither does packing. With the help of these quirky tips, preparing to leave your old place behind will become a little bit easier. And if you need a little help moving to your new home, we’re always happy to help. Give us a call at 715.410.4054 to discuss how Daymakers can make your day.

#movinghacks moving move movingcompany movingtips daymakers daymakersmovingcompany

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galacticbugman · 5 years

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Costuming on a budget

Hi everyone Galactic_Bug_Man here now for most of us there is a lot of nerd and geek conventions going on in a lot of areas around this time of year and other parts of the year. So here I am going to give you some of my tips and show you a few of my costumes that I have put together on a budget. Starting with my Star Trek one as you see here.

This costume comes from my Star Trek fan fiction Captain’s character. This was a very cheap one to make for me because most of the stuff I already had but I did go along and buy a lot of the pieces. This was taken outside my old house during the 2016 Dallas Fan Expo before with left the house to go on this day (Above)

Now for this costume I used an old pair of black jeans, my brother’s old orchestra slip on dress shoes, the Phaser I bought online for about ten dollars or so it was very inexpensive, the rank pips on the right side of the shirt are not really official ranks pins at all they're actually rare earth magnets held on to my shirt with my Texas Master Naturalist badge backing. Sometimes you just have to be creative and use what you got not to break your bank. I got the communicator badge for about 20 bucks at my first comic con. The shirt I bought at a clearance rack at Kohl’s for about a few dollars and it is really comfortable. So many of these things you can get for under ten bucks if you know were too look. As you can see I didn’t add the red shirt to do my division color which for this character it is red like TNG or DS9 or Voy. this is shirt is very close to the off duty uniform that Captain Jean Luc Picard would wear sometimes in scenes where he is playing is Rusikan Flute and sometimes he would wear an open jacket on the bridge and underneath he would have this style of shirt. The red shirt is absent in the first shot but in the shot below I have it. I got this shirt at Michael’s for a few bucks on their DIY tee shirt aisle. In the shot below I am wearing a pair of slacks I bought in between events. The belt was found during holiday Christmas clearance at Target for a few bucks. How I made the latch buckle look like a Starfleet belt was I printed off a small Black and White emblem which I made myself on Power Point and printed it off and then used some really good clear tape to put it on there. The one above was colored but the one on the bottom was back and white.

Sometimes it is just knowing where to look. Always check out clearance items or discount stores you get really lucky sometimes. My brother went to an old store once last year to make a costume for our high school pre-graduation party which was called Bahama Bash. I graduated a long time ago but he was just about to graduate and he went as Donkey Kong. They had a jacket that was brown for about three or four bucks, they also had a nice pair of brown pants for a little more I think. The most expensive things we had to buy were the material for his gorilla chest, and the batting for his muscular look. I don’t have pictures of that costume because it is all packed away but just getting setting a budget can really help you if you are a nerd that is tight on money. I prefer using what I have but sometimes you have to try and make it look good. That is why I bought the Combadge at full price but the Magnets I got with coupons. Sometimes coupons to craft stores and things are great and that is what a lot of us cosplayers do. No I am not a sewer but I have made a prop for this costume from some of the leftover fake fur we used for my brother’s DK costume.

I made a Tribble to go along with my costume for a couple of events. We had a halloween event on our campus that I went to. We had a costume contest and I just decided to put this puffball together one night. It was kind of fun to make it and it was a good use of some of the left overs. If you are doing a Star Trek costume and have stuff like this you can easily make it yourself. For tribbles there are tons of templates online and sites that give you instructions. I made this one using another blog site. Instructables also has stuff like this and looks really fun to put together.

So clearance, coupons, using leftovers, sometimes just using what you have are great ways to get started on you cosplay journey. There have only been a couple of costumes that I have had that were fully sewn and that was my first Luke Skywalker Costume when I was younger. My grandmother made the Jedi shirt, belt, and pants for me as well as the shoe covers to make them look like boots. So that was pretty costly to do. I also had to by a lightsaber which didn’t cost me too much it was just one of those hold down and flick out ones it was not one that lit up or made noise even though I did have one of those but I didn’t have one at the time.

For the last few years now my campus has had an Anime Convention and Nerd con of sorts so this year my brother and I are going to check it out. And this year I am going to go as a Starfleet officer again but I am also going to go as one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite cartoons.

Since Animaniacs seems to be coming out with a couple of more seasons in an updated form coming to Hulu in 2020 I decided to make a Yakko Warner Cosplay. It seems to be the road less traveled I don’t see a lot of Animanicas at cons but I have seen a few people cosplay as them so I deiced to try and do my own style while trying not to break my bank fully. Still using coupons and things but I also had a few items that I had in my possession and somethings I bought on the cheap end.

Okay so here we have the red nose, the belt buckle, and the headband with ears. The headband I got at the Dollar store. On it I bought some enlarged pipe cleaners to make the ears and they were on the kid’s craft Aisle at Michaels. I buy a lot of my stuff from either Jo-Ann’s or Michael’s depending on who has the best deals at the time. The red nose I had when I had to have my kidney operated on I got a red nose from one of the volunteers at the children’s hospital when I had my left left kidney operated on after years of scar tissue built up after being born with an enlarged kidney and after years of chronic infection. It is okay I got that taken care but that is where the nose came from so it was free. The belt buckle was made from foam board and I colored it with a yellow sharpie.

Now you might be thinking where is the hair for my costume. It is kind of funny but my hair line is receding just a little bit and when you put the middle part down my hair does what Yakko’s and his siblings does. It is kind of funny but hey that means I can just go with my natural hairline and natural hair. Sometimes you have to go with it and have fun. Me I am one of those that likes to roll with it and laugh at myself. That is all you can do sometimes.

These are my slacks and tail. As you can see I used the pipe clearer to make a tail too. The slacks I got a JC Penny full price because I needed to get some slacks for some function. So I recycled those for this cosplay. I tied on the tail to the back belt loop. I can already tell you this part is going to be tricky so I am hoping that if I have to leave a panel to do something that I don’t shut my tail up in a door. I probably wont but sitting down will have to take some adjusting. Always try to make your cosplay as easy to maneuver as possible. It will help a lot by knowing just what events you will be doing and what it calls for. I am thinking it will not be all that bad but still I just got to make sure that I don’t get it caught in anything. This part of the costume was really fun to put together I was laughing at the end result because of the way it looked. I thought it looked pretty good and silly. I am a pretty fun guy so this cosplay will be really neat to do. I have never gone as a Toon before so this is something I have been wanting to experiment with for a good while now.

Next up the Iconic feet of the Warner Trio. These are nothing more than painters shoe covers with toe marks on them. I got these at the Home Depot for about four bucks. I also bought some heavy duty white duct tape so that way I can make them somewhat wear and tear resistant from being on the concrete all day or the tile or carpet. I am going to wear some tennis shoe with these over them. I can already tell you that with this part you are going to need to tape the part that is not going to be to be the front of the foot down or it will look all funny looking. I have not wore the costume yet but I am already seeing somethings I am gonna have to do to make it look good. So yeah even your local hardware store is a good place to get some stuff for costumes if you have the right idea.

I bought this black long sleeved shirt on clearance at Jo-ann’s they were getting rid of their long sleeve shirts for the season so I was able to get this fairly cheap. So yeah this was a pretty good deal. I am just saying things can look really good. This is one of the easier ones to make. The Star Trek costume took me a while to make. I had to find a combadge that was not sky high in price and where I didn’t have to pay for shipping and handling.

And of course I got the gloves too at Jo-ann’s these were on their winter clearance and they had a whole bin of them and they were only a few cents so we got a few. It is not in here but I also have an all black belt so I have all the pieces finally to this costume.

I love making costumes but sometimes it just have to play it really cheap. When I met Sylvester McCoy from Doctor Who I did a Doctor Degeneration theme where what would he look like if he was dying or something. So I have the scarf from four, the fez from 11, the sonic from nine and ten, I bought a Doctor Who Tee that looked like 12′s suite. and I had a my black jeans so I looked like that. that was actually more expensive than what I had for the other two costumes because I bought all that Doctor Who stuff online. So it just depends on what you want to do. Many of you know this but some of you may be new to cosplay. This is just showing you the way I do it. I am sure we all have our preferred method of doing our cosplay.

I have to tell you that the Animaniacs cosplay is something that I am looking forward to wearing at our Campus Convention. I am very excited to see how it goes. Like I have said I am a huge Animaniacs fan and with this cosplay I am going to do something I don’t do a lot. I have a real knack to doing voice impressions and want to be a voice actor when I get out of college as well as a nature photographer and I can do both Yakko and Wakko impressions so I will be talking like Yakko most of the time at the con just to be silly and play the part. Sometimes if you dress the part you have to play the part. So I think that would be really funny and be worth some laughs. So until next time be safe at your conventions and have fun. I will see you next time on the trail of life.

#cosplay #animaniacs #nerd #nerdculture #geekdom #geek #costumes #yakko warner #star trek #federation #united federation of planets #starfleet #doctor who #donkey kong #science fiction #cartoons #fun #convention

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drlaurynlax · 5 years

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How to Treat & Get Rid of CIRS – 12 Essentials

So you have mold illness or CIRS…now what?!

Sure, Dr. Google and Facebook groups can be helpful, but face it…when it comes to mold illness and mold illness recovery, the information can be completely overwhelming!

Do you have to get rid of all your stuff?

What supplements should you take?

Do you need to move to a dry climate like Arizona or Colorado?

Should you just live in a bubble?!

Although there is NO one-size-fits-all approach to healing and mold illness recovery, there are several commonalities in helpful therapies, lifestyle changes and treatments that can help you kick mold illness to the curb (for good), including:

Top 12 Mold Illness Treatments

Remove yourself from mold exposure

Breathe deeply

Marie Kondo your life

Build a capsule wardrobe

Fog & guard your new environment wisely

Sweat daily

Eat fresh, organic nutrient-dense foods

Love your gut microbiome & liver

Use the right detox binder

Add in anti-fungals (oral and nasal) to treat mold that may have colonized in your body

Purify your air

Surround yourself with positive energy

Check ‘em out.

Remove yourself from mold exposure

First things first, you’ve got to get out of there. Healing cannot fully begin until you’re removed from the environment.

Whether that means going to stay with family, a friend, moving to a mold-free environment, or working remotely, you will not feel the full effects of your treatment protocol until you are free from the space.

Even if you are remediating your home, a short-term hiatus from the mold free environment is essential.

Breathe deeply

Breath has the power to both calm and stimulate the HPA Axis (stress response system).

What happens to your breath when you run fast or get scared OR come into contact with mycotoxins? Your breathing rate increases (hello shortness of breath, panting and gasping for air or common). On the flip-side, what happens to your breath when you’re calm and at peace? It’s steady, deep and calm as well. Many of us are breathing the wrong way, which sets you up for problems with metabolism, blood pH, core function, and how much blood is getting to your brain and muscles, which allows cortisol to stay elevated.

Common signs of dysfunctional breathing include:

Inhaling with your chest. If you notice your chest is the first thing to move when you take a breath, this is a sign you have shallow breath or you’re breathing from the upper chest.

Your rib cage doesn’t expand. Place your hands on the sides of your rib cage and take note. Your hands should move to the side about one to two inches as your rib cage widens.

Breathing with your mouth. Unless you have congestion, ideally you should be breathing through your nose. Breathing through your nose releases nitric oxide that is carried to your lungs and helps maintain homeostasis in the rest of the body.

Tight shoulders and upper neck/chest muscles. Tension in these areas may be a sign of shallow or stressed breathing.

Frequent yawning. Sighing and yawning is a sign your body is not receiving enough oxygen.

High resting breath rate. Count the number of times you breathe in one minute. A normal resting breath rate should be no greater than 10-12 breaths per minute—and sometimes as low as 6 to 8 breaths if you are deep breathing. A resting breath rate over 12 is a sign of quick or shallow breathing.

You are activating your diaphragm when you breathe.

If you experience any of these signs of dysfunctional breathing, it’s imperative to first train your body to simply breathe correctly. Given that CIRS (chronic inflammatory response syndrome) is highly connected to cortisol (stress hormone) imbalances, the art of breathing is your innate “stress response” fire extinguisher.

How to Breathe Deeply

Balloon Breathing

Train yourself how to start breathing correctly. You can do this by blowing up balloons, pursing your lips, taking deep breaths through your nose and out through your mouth while doing planking exercises, contracting your abs as you breathe, sitting upright when you work and decreasing shoulder movement during breathing.

Tempo Breathing (a.k.a “4-7-8 breathing”). Place tip of your tongue against the ridge of tissue behind the upper front teeth. Quietly inhale through your nose then audibly exhale through the mouth, inhale for a count of four, hold your breath for a count of 7, and then exhale through your mouth, making an ocean-wave-like sound for a count of 8. Repeat this cycle three times.

Belly Breathe. Take a deep breath and focus on expanding your belly, rather than your chest. Watch your belly fill up as you breathe in and flatten as you breathe out.

Breath Walk: Synchronize your breathing with walking steps and focused attention.

Box Breathe: Close your mouth and slowly breathe in through your nose for four counts. Hold your breath for four seconds. Then slowly exhale through your mouth for a count of four. Hold the exhale for another four counts. Aim to repeat for four minutes.

Yogi Breathing

This tactic is particularly useful as an “in the moment” tool when HPA Axis symptoms or stress arise.

How to Do It:

Lay on your back, completely flat

Inhale through your right nostril for 10 counts, while closing your left nostril with your finger

Exhale through your left nostril for 10 counts, while closing your right nostril with your finger

Keep your mouth closed, or lips pursed

Repeat for 5-6 cycles

Marie Kondo your life

Get rid of (most) of it. Make Marie Kondo, author of the “Magic Art of Tidying Up” proud.

If it doesn’t “spark joy”, toss it.

And, chances are, if you are truly struggling with mold illness, many of your things will NOT “spark joy.”

Sometimes the best bet for at least the current situation is to “leave it behind.” While it may seem or feel extreme (like a fire happened), to help calm your body and mind for the immediate healing period, a break from not only your environment but also the items that smell like that environment can be a healing part of your process.

In my own experience, I found that the more I kept or tried to hold on to, the more I realized how much those things impacted my symptoms. Starting fresh (see point 4) was difficult to swallow at first, but the more I focused on rebuilding my life slowly, the less overwhelm and attachment I had to my stuff.

Initially, I did a huge closet sweep—throwing most of my clothes into trash sacks and taking them to a local Goodwill and resale shop where individually, the items would not be as strong. I also left my furniture behind and bags—my suitcases, purses, backpack—things that had been living and breathing mycotoxins in my home.

I tried to salvage the little things, however, of the things I did keep, it didn’t take long for me to decide the majority of it, I wanted to give away.

From my leather Kate Spade purse with the tags still on it, to my yoga mat, my makeup and makeup bag, my occupational therapy grad school books, my hair dryer and my Benji (my stuffed dog I had had since I was 4 years old)—all of it smelled like mold and must. Once I was removed from my home, all I wanted was my health and breath back.

Yes, I thought it sounded extreme too, but holding on to old stuff only weighed me down more. I found, as I gradually let even these things go, the more freedom I felt and ability to start new—from the inside out.

Items to Toss or Store (for a long time)

Some of the “top” most-contaminated items include porous or “soft” items to not think too hard about:

Books (especially opened books)

Clothing (primarily items that are dry clean only, and those items that have been hanging in your closet unworn or collecting dust for a long time)—other clothing may be redeemable, however, not optimal

Backpacks, purses, suitcases—things exposed to mycotoxins in the environment (they will most likely smell like the home as you leave)

Opened makeup and makeup bags

Vented items (your hairdryer, fans)

Upholstery (couches, curtains, rugs)

Chairs with cloth or padding

Linens, towels, pillows & blankets

Wood furniture

Papers (if needed: Store them loosely in plastic bins until a decision can be made at a later date)

Appliances (Refrigerators, washers, and dryers harbor dust in their coils and fans and are difficult to clean. Spores and spore fragments easily attach to washing machine parts)

Laptop computers (the fans in the computer can pick up mycotoxins; *if ridding of your this is not easy, look into selling back your machine or trading it in to the store, or using it outside of your new, clean environment to avoid cross-contamination)

Given the fibers in these materials, they have a tendency to “soak up” the mycotoxins in the environment.

Items to Possibly “Save”

Some items can be salvaged—particularly the hard-surfaced items that get a good fogging (point 5), including:

Some clothing (see clothing exceptions below)

Sentimental stuffed animals (if laundered like your clothing)

Leather (furniture, bags, shoes) (Use quaternary cleaners on leather)

Lamps (not the shades)

Kitchenware (non bamboo)—plates, pans, pots, silverware, etc.

Non-porous surfaces (able to clean well)—such as that plastic waste bin or desk

Anything made of ceramic, glass or metal

Your car (yes some folks get rid of their’s; Hybridrasta Mama has a great post https://hybridrastamama.com/how-to-remove-mold-in-cars/ about mold remediation in your car).

“But it sounds so extreme…”

Just breathe. No one is holding a gun to your head to get rid of everything, and little official long term research has been conducted either way revealing whether or not mold contaminated items can make you ill again upon preexposure after healing.

Ultimately, you may have to find out for yourself what you can and cannot tolerate, and perhaps, more than anything, time away from your contaminated items can help you strengthen your body from the inside out—and also realize…it’s all just stuff. Stuff is helpful for doing some things in life, but we come into this world bald, curled up and naked, and leave it bald, curled up and naked…and we take nothing with us. In other words: It can be replaced.

If the idea of tossing everything out is devastating, recruit a cleaning company, family member or friend to box things up for you, or wear protective clothing (here) and a nose and mouth mask to put things into bins, large plastic bags or trash sacks to store away while you remove yourself to heal. This also may mean renting a storage facility for a period or storing your items in a family member’s garage. If you’re going to the trouble of moving away from a toxic environment, don’t apologize for being “extreme.” Do what you need to do to break free, allow for healing to occur and then decide what to keep or toss (chances are, you may realize you can live without it).

Clothing Exceptions

You can clean some things—particularly the machine washable items that have been regular circulators in your clothing rotation (not the items that have been hanging in your closet for a year).

Use EC3 Laundry Additive on these items, and wash through 2 to 3 cycles, dry and also place in the sun (natural ozone helps kill off mycotoxins). Homemade Hack: You can also use a combination of Borax and white vinegar as your “detergent”.

What about other items I may keep…Do I literally have to clean everything in my house (i.e. plastic storage containers, books, toiletries, candles, knickknacks, canned food etc) or just the major things like clothing and furniture?

Yes, everything. I love the whole EC3 line—their concentrate, spray, laundry additive and candles.

Build a capsule wardrobe

Speaking of Marie Kondo, no time like the present to simplify your wardrobe! Out with the old, in with the new. A capsule wardrobe is a “minimalist’s dream”—filled with only the essentials needed to make dressing easy, classy and vogue.

Most minimalist fashionistas advise you build your wardrobe on no more than 30 to 40 “staple” pieces (or less) for every 3 months of the year (seasons)— including clothes, jewelry, accessories and shoes. (This excludes underwear, loungewear, and workout wear).

A capsule wardrobe may entail:

5-7 basic tops

Simple v-neck white tee

Simple black tee

Button up Chambray

5-7 trendy fun tops

5-7 bottoms

1-2 pairs of denim jeans

1 pair white pants

1 pair black pants

1-2 skirts

1-2 dresses

3 Jackets

Classy blazer

Bomber jacket

Hoodie

Shoes (seasonal)

Sneakers

Gold strappy sandals

Flats

Brown boots

Booties

Jewelry & Accessories

Pair stud earrings & hoops

Gold necklace

Bracelet

Sunglasses

Watch

Classic Tote

How to Start Your Capsule Wardrobe

Pare down your closet to no more than 50 items (ideally: 35-40; excluding underwear, workout wear and lounge wear)

Wear only those 35-50 items for three months.

Don’t go shopping during the season until…

During the last two weeks of the season, plan and shop for your next capsule.

The amount you buy for the next capsule is up to you (you can recycle some from the previous capsule).

Remember: less is more.

Fog & guard your new environment wisely

As you transition into your new environment, it’s uber important to prevent cross contamination from your old place.

No, you cannot live in a bubble, but “proper” transition practices can keep your new place (and you) mycotoxin free. This was a huge mistake I made when moving out of my home initially. Although I left most of my things behind, I did trek in my daily use items that I did not think twice about including:

My backpack

Purse

Tenni shoes I wore daily

My pillow

A sweatshirt

Makeup bag

Hairdryer

The “little stuff” can add up if you are super sensitive and it’s best to quarantine most all items from the old place into a separate plastic bin or large trash sacks (closed tightly) and store them in a place like a garage in order to mindfully discard contaminated items.

You can try salvaging some things with an at home fogging machine, as well as use your fogging machine with EC3 solution concentrate in it to spray and disinfect your new place.

I recommend the Longray Basic ULV Fogger with Adjustable Flow & Flex-Hose and EC3 solution. All you have to do is pour the desired amount of EC3 solution + distilled water (see back of the bottle to measure) into the fogger, then turn the fogger on the medium pressure intensity and spray every nook, cranny, and item you have to make them (more) “mold free”.

Sweat daily

Sweat helps detox and push impurities out of the body. Some options include:

Infrared sauna (3-4 times per week for 15 minutes)

Heated yoga

Fresh air & sunshine

Energizing workouts (not chronic cardio; the “just right” challenge for 30-45 minutes, doing something you enjoy)

Eat fresh, organic nutrient-dense foods

Let food be thy medicine. Optimize your detoxification pathways and energy levels by focusing on the foundations, while avoiding foods that leave you (and your gut health) down.

Eat

Organic pastured proteins: chicken, beef, eggs, bison, wild-caught fish

Dark leafy greens

Fungal fighting foods, including:

Prebiotic Fibers: Carrots, Rutabaga, Onions, Garlic, Raidsh

Spices & herbs: Cayenne, Turmeric, Cinnamon, Ginger Root, Clove, Goldenseal, Olive leaf, Tea trea

Lemon & Lime

Manuka raw honey

Coconut oil (caprylic acid)

Papya seeds

Teas: Green tea, dandelion tea, Pau d’Arco

Other colorful, low starch veggies: broccoli, spinach, summer squash, cauliflower, kale, cabbage, arugula, chard, cucumber, bell peppers, tomato (fresh only), leeks, asparagus, artichokes, seaweed

Healthy Fats: Extra virgin olive oil, coconut oil, avocado, coconut milk, ghee, avocado, organic butter, pumpkin seeds, flax

Fermented foods: Sauerkraut, kimchi, kombucha, kefir, coconut kefir/yogurt, fermented pickled veggies (Contrary to popular belief, eating fermented foods regularly can support the immune system and prevent the invasion and spread of yeasts or fungal infection. Consume 1-2 medicinal doses daily if tolerated).

Apple cider vinegar

Bone & meat broth. Bone broth is a rich source of collagen, which supports the integrity of the gut lining.

Pastured organ meats. Liver, heart, tongue, kidney; Or, quality grass-fed supplement (like this one by Ancestral Supplements).

Filtered water

Other beverages: Herbal teas, mineral water, fresh veggie juice, coconut milk

The bottom line: Eat fresh foods as much as possible. (Hint: Buy the freshest fruits, vegetables, meats and foods and buy in smaller quantities vs. having items in your refrigerator for weeks)

Avoid

Molds thrive on sugar and anything that is not fresh or aged. Mold-loving foods including:

Cheese

High mold nuts: peanuts, walnuts, pecans, cashews, brazil nuts

High amounts of high starch vegetables and legumes: sweet corn, potatoes, beans and peas, lentils, sweet potatoes, winter squashes, turnips, parsnips (stick to 1-2 servings per day)

Dried fruits

Alcohol

Instant coffee & non-organic, conventional coffees (i.e. Starbucks, Folgers)

Sugar & artificial sweeteners

Corn

Wheat

Seed oils: cottonseed, grapeseed, canola

Processed and smoked meats: sausages, hot dogs, corned beef, pastrami, smoked fish, ham, bacon.

Packaged & processed foods

Canned beans, soups & ready-made sauces

5+ day old produce

Edible fungi: including all types of mushrooms and truffles (cordyceps & reishi supplements ok)

Leftovers beyond 2-3 days. While some molds you can see (like the fuzzy green mold on breads), others are not so noticeable. A good rule of thumb for leftovers is a two-day rule (one is better).

Love your gut microbiome & liver

Your gut is the gateway to health, and your liver is your body’s “master” detoxifier. If one or both of these two systems are down, then you (and your immune system) are more susceptible to molds and the effects of mycotoxins on your health.

Although many mold sufferers will tell you that 25% of the population has a specific gene (the HLA-DR gene) that makes them more susceptible to mold illness, this is only part of the story.

Genes load the gun, but environment, lifestyle and your gut microbiome pull the trigger. Disease genes cannot be turned on unless these other factors are at play.

Given the fact that mycotoxin exposure can wreak havoc on your total health—particularly your gut health— by eliminating beneficial bacteria, by focusing on optimizing your gut health you will give those mycotoxins a run for their money. Research shows the gut microbiota is capable of eliminating mycotoxin from the host naturally, provided that the host is healthy with a balance gut microbiota (1).

A few essentials for optimizing gut and liver health include:

Perform at-home gut testing (Figure out what’s going on in your gut with a comprehensive gut test)

Take a quality probiotic (like this one) and prebiotic fiber (1 tsp.) (like this one)

Boost stomach acid & digestive enzymes (add 1 tbsp. Apple cider vinegar to 2-4 oz. of water and 1-2 capsules digestive enzymes with meals)

Eat 1-2 fermented foods daily and 1-2 servings of prebiotic fiber in your diet

Working with a practitioner to safely and effectively cleanse your gut with anti-microbial, anti-fungal herbs if you find a gut “issue” present

Use the right anti-fungal and binder for your mold illness

Using anti-fungal herbs and medicines are a common approach for treating a person with mold illness or mold-related issues (like candida) to directly kill molds, candida and yeast in your body. Conventional doctors may prescribe pharmaceuticals like Nystatin or Diflucan, and holistic practitioners may integrate herbs via supplements and foods.

However there are a few of catches:

#1. Anti-fungal treatment must be customized

You must know which molds you have so you can be on the right anti-fungals to treat them—this may entail either prescription medications by a medical doctor or herbal anti-fungals via supplements and foods. It’s important to work with a skilled practitioner who understands mycotoxin illness, CIRS and detoxification in order to implement the right approach for your body.

Natural anti-fungals may include one or a blend of the following:

Lauricidin (monolaurin)

Pau D’Arco Extract (bark)

Cat’s Claw

Caprylic Acid

Uva Ursi

Grapefruit seed extract

Garlic (Allicin)

Tea tree

Oregano

Dill

Cloves

Black walnut

Oregon grape

#2. Anti-fungals are BEST used orally and nasally (sinus spray)

To effectively treat mold illness, you also must treat every single place that mold can be settled in and growing. Since molds grow in moist, warm cavities (think mouth, nose/sinus and gut), using both oral and nasal antifungals yields the best results.

One of my favorite anti-fungals is the CitriDrops by Microbalance. You can also make your own nasal anti-fungal wash at home using garlic cloves and probiotics.

Homemade Nasal Anti-fungal Wash for Mold Illness Recovery

[RHEA: CAN YOU MAKE THIS A TEXT BOX/GRAPHIC IN THE MIDDLE?)

Ingredients & supplies

A neti pot.

Non-iodized sea salt.

Filtered water (not tap water).

A clove of fresh garlic.

A strainer.

2 probiotic capsules

Directions

Get used to the Netipot. Use the neti pot as usual for a few days. (Instructions should come with the pot). Dissolve the correct amount of salt into lukewarm filtered water (not tap water), and then pour the solution through one nostril while tilting your head. When done correctly, the water will flow up into the sinuses, and then down and out the other nostril.

Add in garlic + probiotics. Chop the clove of garlic & place the garlic in a strainer. Make sure that NONE of the garlic pieces can fit through the holes in the strainer (you don’t want bits of garlic in your sinuses). Pour filtered boiling water over the garlic (through the strainer) and into a cup. Let the mix cool until it is lukewarm. Add your 2 probiotic capsules and stir into the water, then pour the lukewarm infusion into your neti pot. Add salt as usual (make sure to use the correct amount), and follow the standard method for using a neti pot. The only difference is that the water has been infused with garlic and probiotics.

#3. Anti-fungals are useless without a binder or bio-film disruptor

When mold starts to die during the treatment, your body needs to eliminate the dead molds, yeast and released toxins. If the amount of toxins released by the dying candida is more than what your body can safely handle, you may experience a healing crisis (also known as a “herx”, “healing” or “die off” reaction). Common symptoms may include GI or other ill-feeling symptoms, such as nausea, fever, joint and muscle aches, skin breakouts and headaches. A “herx” reaction typically means your body’s usual rhythms are being recalibrated, and last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.

For this reason, a quality detoxification binder and biofilm disruptor (along with emphasis on optimizing gut health and liver function in point 8) is recommended to assist in elimination pathways.

Binder 101

A binder is a compound that helps grab the mold and pull it out of your body. Commonly used binders include:

Coconut Charcoal

Benedite Clay

Chlorella

Modified Citrus Pectin

Pyrophyllite clay

Cholestyramine (CSM, a prescription)

Not all binders are created equal, and it’s most beneficial to know the type of mold you have in your body (using a test like the Great Plains Mycotoxin Test) to choose the best binder for you, since certain species are more susceptible to some more than others. Results from the test will also show which binders are most appropriate for you.

If you are not sure of your particular mold species, I find that a broad spectrum binder like GI Detox by Biocidin or Chlorella tablets are gentle but effective (without too much constipation).

Note: If you tend towards constipation, binders—particularly charcoal—can make you feel more constipated. Constipation busting “hacks” include: digestive bitters (like Iberogast), Liposomal Vitamin C and Magnesium Citrate like Natural Calm.

Biofilm Disruptor 101

Biofilm disruptors help ensure both your anti-fungals and binders can work in the first place. Molds often create a glue-like matrix around themselves to protect themselves. Sure, you can take anti-fungals and binders to treat them, but if you can’t “break” into the molds, than you won’t get them out. Biofilm disruptors hack through the goo and allow the anti-fungals to reach the fungi and kill the mold.

Recommendation:

Interfase Plus (2-3, in between meals, 2 times per day) –OR–

Biocidin Drops (2-3, 2 times per day)

Stress (your brain) less

With soooo many steps, therapies and treatments, mold illness recovery can be overwhelming. Not only was living in mold stressful on your health (mentally and physically), but so is recovery!

That said, the name of the game of winning victory over mold illness is actively and intentionally seeking to stress less—physically and mentally. Since inflammatory cytokines are the key drivers of mold illness symptoms, then stress management is essential for recovery including:

Quality sleep (7-9 hours)

Natural fresh air (daily)

Daily movement

Eating a nutrient-dense whole foods diet

Drinking clean filtered water

Minimizing screen and light exposure at night

Rewiring your brain and limbic system

Limbic System 101

There’s a theory in the CIRS and mold illness world that the limbic system—your body’s “stress” system intertwined with memories—is hyper functioning.

After mold illness, your body stores deep rooted memories of smells, environments, circumstances and can easily sound the “alarm” for the body to react in a myriad of ways when any similar or familiar memory is aroused—such as the smell of must in a different environment.

In my own recovery, I personally struggled with sleeping in a bed again—I had “PTSD” like symptoms after my experience of waking up at 2 a.m. feeling like I was having a heart attack due to the chronic mold exposure and the asthma-like symptoms it gave me. I spent the next 3 months without a home, couch surfing from friend’s home to friend’s home, and not feeling comfortable back in a bed—where my previous two years of living in that environment came to a head.

I literally had to tell my body, “It’s ok,” and my body had to tell me back, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Limbic system “retraining” involves actively retraining neural pathways to think, act and believe differently. It is inspired by a woman named Annie Hopper who recovered herself from her own chronic mystery illness, similar to CIRS and mold illness.

Purify your air

Air quality matters—especially in your new environment. Air purifiers with HEPA and charcoal filters can help keep mycotoxins at bay and keep you breathing clean air as you “start over.” Like most things in the health and wellness world, not all air purifiers are created equal.

Don’t waste your money at Target or Bed Bath & Beyond. Most models on their sales floors are not the quality grade you (and your home) need—similar to how that $10 probiotic at Target is not the same as a quality probiotic that actually delivers the ingredients on the label to your gut.

My top recommendations for a quality air filter include:

Austin Air: The Bedroom Machine

Austin Air: Healthmate Junior Plus

Air Doctor

I keep a big guy (like the Bedroom Machine) in the home to filter the whole house, and smaller units—like the Healthmate Junior or Air Doctor—in my bedroom.

In addition, if you want to take things to the next level, an Air Ozone Generator can aid in ozonating your space for cleaner, fresher and disinfected air.

You don’t have to go overboard, but investing in a couple units can help you breathe easier indoors—since we spend the majority of our time (about 22-23 hours daily) inside!

Surround yourself with positive energy

Last, but definitely not least…mold recovery can not only be stressful, but also draining and sometimes, negative.

If you’ve ever found yourself on an endless Facebook group for CIRS or mold illness recovery survivors, you know what I mean.

One thing can lead to another, and before you realize it, you believe you have cancer or you’ll never recover.

No matter what beliefs you have right now about your personal illness and recovery, know this:

When given the right tools, your body innately wants to heal itself.

Repeat: When given the right tools, your body innately wants to heal itself.

You will recover. Speak truth into your body. Lean in. Seek to nourish your mind, body and soul. And believe freedom and healing is possible.

There was a time you were not ill, and there will be a time again.

I believe it, do you? If not, let me help you.

Liew WP, Mohd-Redzwan S. Mycotoxin: Its Impact on Gut Health and Microbiota. Front Cell Infect Microbiol. 2018 Feb 26;8:60. doi: 10.3389/fcimb.2018.00060. PubMed PMID: 29535978; PubMed Central PMCID: PMC5834427.

The post How to Treat & Get Rid of CIRS – 12 Essentials appeared first on Meet Dr. Lauryn.

Source/Repost=> https://drlauryn.com/wellness-knowledge/how-to-treat-get-rid-of-cirs/ ** Dr. Lauryn Lax __Nutrition. Therapy. Functional Medicine ** https://drlauryn.com/

#Holistic #Nutrition #Therapy #Recovery #Functional #Medicine #Dr. Lauryn Lax #Dr.Lauryn

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nookishposts · 5 years

Text

Soul-Full

Thanks to Sandy for naming this one.

A little while ago, I wrote Grace Notes 2 about a group of people sharing vigil as a friend lay dying. Recently, we gathered once more, for a small memorial service in the hospice where it all happened, and then for lunch at a buffet-style restaurant.

Our household has been in a prolonged upheaval as we purge and prune and prepare to put the house on the market. Reducing the volume in each closet by 50% is one of the advisories we followed. As movers were carting out boxes and bins to go into remote storage, it dawned on me I had a memorial to attend, so I grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of dress shoes before they went out the door along with all the other packed up items. Phew.

It was both daunting and comforting to return to hospice. As each of us saw one another upon entry, sad and knowing smiles blossomed back into the comfortably messy bouquet we had made of ourselves during the intimacies of sitting a death vigil. In one another’s eyes, was an abundance of silent reassurance that yes,we would get through this one last ritual together. Including the music therapist with her harp, and the spiritual director who led a simple service, we were 16 women bathed in sunlight filtered through stained glass panels of the tiny in-house chapel. There was nothing at all unexpected in the course of the hour; prayer bells were rung, candles were lighted, remembrances came as easily as the tears set loose by gentle songs played upon the harp. It had been arranged it as per Maureen’s wishes, mostly to give us all a chance to mark the official last chapter of our story. It was simple, sweet, fitting. Roses on the dais came from Maureen’s only grand-daughter, a poised 10 year old, herself less than 2 years beyond the death of her father.

Two of the songs played rang especially poignantly for our Sandy. The deaths of 3 of her brothers in 4 short years connected her to both of those songs, so in some ways, she may well have been weeping for 4 people. I went to sit beside her and she actually apologised for her vulnerability. The only response that made sense to me in the moment was to tell her a story.

Those shoes I mentioned earlier; a favourite pair of soft brown woven leather loafers I have had for ages. They are comfortable, look nice, and go with anything, so I was glad to have retrieved them from the top of the moving box before they went out the door. About midway through the service for Maureen, I looked down and my left shoe looked odd. Upon inspection, I realised that the glue-stitches holding the sole and the upper together were giving way just below my baby toe. “Well, shit.” I thought to myself. I flexed my foot slightly and the gap was suddenly two inches long. Checking the right foot, damned if it also wasn’t letting go. Any movement of my feet seemed to make things worse. I suppose they’d sat in the back of the closet so long, unworn and untreated, they must have just plain dried out. The leather was still buttery, but Time had done a number on engineering. I poked my Beloved and pointed to my shoes. She responded with a notable lack of surprise. Which tells you a great deal about the state of my wardrobe.

I quietly pointed out my problem to Sandy. She giggled, and so did Louise beside her as I had hoped they might. Tears were never the issue. Slowing the avalanche of sadness to something a little less weighted felt appropriate.We’d become comfortable with the laugh/cry balance through Maureen’s palliation. It was familiar, relatively safe ground. I suggested I might be a few minutes late to the restaurant as I needed to make a small side trip for new shoes. They both insisted nobody would notice, but their grins grew wider as they did so. What I didn’t tell them was that just the journey from my row of chairs to theirs had cost me another inch of seam on either foot. Looking down, I appeared to be wearing two sides of a DeLorean on my feet, winged doors sprung wide. This baby needed a new pair of shoes.

It’s tough to walk when you are trying to keep your footwear together. Scrunching my toes only made things worse. I considered walking to the car in my sock feet, except that it’s March. I am too big to ask for a piggy-back. “See y’all at the restaurant!” I waved as I scooted out ahead of the huddle. The car was only 50 yards away but I tripped over a freely flapping sole by the time I clambered into the passenger seat. My Beloved remained unfazed.

In the same plaza as the buffet is a Mark’s Work Warehouse. I roared to the shoe section to discover girly little slip-ons and steel-toed curb-kickers, with very little selection in between. The poor saleslady wanted to be oh-so-helpful but I was in a hurry. She rhymed off sizes and style choices. I pointed at my feet: “Gotta replace these and wear the new ones out of the store, people are waiting for me at lunch.” She pointed silently to the discount rack. I grabbed size 9 Merrills, and ran up to the check-out desk. As she rang them in, I put them on. When I scorned the offer of a bag to carry the old shoes home in, she offered to ditch them for me. The sad mess through which most of my feet finally poked was utterly beyond redemption. I’d loved those shoes, but since they saw fit to abandon me in my hour of need, boom, we were done.

Only a couple of minutes late to the restaurant. Sandy and Louise each found me grazing the buffet tables, balancing lemon meringue pie next to sushi on my loaded plate. Both snickered: “nice shoes”. And they are in fact, nice shoes. At least 500 miles of dog-walking in these rugged beauties. With any luck, they will take me to places I have never been. I am kinda rugged myself, comfortably worn-in, with more than a few miles on me, but lots more left in me. Now that I think about it, I have walked and danced my way through many pairs of shoes. I’ll miss my old soft and supple loafers, but really, the sturdy Merrills are more my speed. I suppose I could dance in them if I need to. Hopefully there are still ‘miles to go before I sleep’. If I’m lucky.

Displaced grief can manifest in such silly ways. Saying an abrupt goodbye to my shoes was in the moment much more do-able than saying a final farewell not just to a dear old friend but also to the team that stepped willingly into the road beside her. A favourite quote attributed to Ram Dass says; “We are all just walking each other home.” Sometimes we do well to remember to “walk a mile” in someone else’s shoes, especially if we have to blindly trust where they might lead us. Barefoot remains my favourite way to walk. But when the ground is hard, when loved ones need us to travel to wherever they are in their journey, just to walk beside them, it never hurts to be wearing a decent pair of shoes.

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