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Squinting: Thanks, I hate squinting
Squinting: Thanks, I hate squinting

Thanks, I hate squinting

Squinting: You were to bring balance to my eye, not leave it squinting
Squinting: You were to bring balance to my eye, not leave it squinting

You were to bring balance to my eye, not leave it squinting

Squinting: Someone is outside squinting
Squinting: Someone is outside squinting

Someone is outside squinting

Squinting: Pequi over here has something slightly wrong with his eyes, so he is almost always completely squinting
Squinting: Pequi over here has something slightly wrong with his eyes, so he is almost always completely squinting

Pequi over here has something slightly wrong with his eyes, so he is almost always completely squinting

Squinting: My contacts have smartshield technology. No more safety glasses, no more squinting.
Squinting: My contacts have smartshield technology. No more safety glasses, no more squinting.

My contacts have smartshield technology. No more safety glasses, no more squinting.

Squinting: Dr. House squinting at my Bitter Lemon-Vodka 馃憖
Squinting: Dr. House squinting at my Bitter Lemon-Vodka 馃憖

Dr. House squinting at my Bitter Lemon-Vodka 馃憖

Squinting: Nymeria squinting for the camera.
Squinting: Nymeria squinting for the camera.

Nymeria squinting for the camera.

Squinting: I'm not crying, I'm squinting.
Squinting: I'm not crying, I'm squinting.

I'm not crying, I'm squinting.

Squinting: I'm not crying, I'm squinting.
Squinting: I'm not crying, I'm squinting.

I'm not crying, I'm squinting.

Squinting: Squinting intensifies
Squinting: Squinting intensifies

Squinting intensifies

Squinting: writing-prompt-s Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up. sadoeuphemist Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in. "Hope you're a harvest god," Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. "It'd be nice, you know." He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. "I know it's not much," he said, his straw hat in his hands. "But- I'll do what I can. It'd be nice to think there's a god looking after me." The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up. "You should go to a temple in the city," the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. "A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I'm no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?" It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. "I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It's cozy enough. The worship's been nice. But you can't honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything." "This is more than I was expecting when I built it," Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. "Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?" "I'm of the fallen leaves," it said. "The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I'm a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it's gone." The god heaved another sigh. "There's no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You're so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me." Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. "I like this sort of worship fine," he said. "So if you don't mind, I think I'l continue." "Do what you willI," said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. "But don't say I never warned you otherwise." Arepo would say a prayer before the morning's work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo's fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together. "Useless work," the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. "There wasn't a thing I could do to spare you this." "We'll be fine," Arepo said. "The storm's blown over. We'll rebuild. Don't have much of an offering for today," he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, "but I think l'll shore up this thing's foundations tomorrow, how about that?" The god rattled around in the temple and sighed. A year passed, and then another. The temple had lay- ered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo's neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo's field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo's ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. There is nothing here for you," said the god, hudding in the dark. "There is nothing I can do. There is noth- ing to be done." It shivered, and spat out its words. "What is this temple but another burden to you?" "We -" Arepo said, and his voice wavered. "So it's a lean year," he said. "We've gone through this before, we'll get through this again. So we're hungry," he said. "We've still got each other, don't we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn't protect them from this. No," he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. "No, I think I like our arrangement fine." "There will come worse," said the god, from the hollows of the stone. "And there will be nothing I can do to save you." The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god. And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War. Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him. "I could not save them," said the god, its voice a low wail. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry." The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. "I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!" "Shush," Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. "Tell me," he mumbled. "Tell me again. What sort of god are you?" "I-" said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo's head, and closed its eyes and spoke. "I'm of the fallen leaves," it said, and conjured up the image of them. "The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth." Arepo's lips parted in a smile. "I am the god of a dozen different nothings," it said. "The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -" Its voice broke, and it wept. "Before it's gone." "Beautiful," Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. "All of them. They were all so beautiful." And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god. ciiriianan Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them. "Oh, poor god," she said, "With no-one to bury your last priest." Then she paused, because she was from far away. "Or is this how the dead are honored here?" The god roused from its contemplation. "His name was Arepo," it said, "He was a sower." Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. "How can I honor him?" She asked. "Bury him," the god said, "Beneath my altar." "All right," Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel. "Wait," the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. "Wait," the god said, "I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful." Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god. "When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it," the god said, "When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came," the god's voice faltered. "When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms." Sora looked down again at the bones. "I think you are the god of something very useful," she said. "What?" the god asked. Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. "You are the god of Arepo." stu-pot Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies-homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow. The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought. He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were. So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god's work on his dying breath. "Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World," called a familiar voice. The squinting corners of the god's eyes wept down onto curled lips. "Arepo," he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism. "I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, uncon- ditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust," Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word. "That's wonderful, Arepo," he responded between tears, "I'm so happy for you-such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You'll be adored by all." "No," Arepo smiled. "Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure." "No, I will not go there, either," Arepo shook his head and chuckled. "Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though," the elder god continued. "Actually," interrupted Arepo, "I'd like to stay here, if you'll have me." The other god was struck speechless. ". Why would you want to live here?" "I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo." corancoranthemagicalman I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I'm crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of. ifunny.co Posting this on here before another tries to repost it on here.
Squinting: writing-prompt-s
 Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a
 farmer builds a small temple to see what kind
 of god turns up.
 sadoeuphemist
 Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some
 stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days
 later a god moved in.
 "Hope you're a harvest god," Arepo said, and set up
 an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. "It'd be nice,
 you know." He looked down at the ash smeared on
 the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and
 scratched his head. "I know it's not much," he said, his
 straw hat in his hands. "But- I'll do what I can. It'd be
 nice to think there's a god looking after me."
 The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that
 he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the
 temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
 "You should go to a temple in the city," the god said.
 Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the
 squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass.
 "A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to
 bless you. I'm no one much myself, but I might be
 able to put in a good word?" It plucked a leaf from
 a tree and sighed. "I mean, not to be rude. I like this
 temple. It's cozy enough. The worship's been nice.
 But you can't honestly believe that any of this is going
 to bring you anything."
 "This is more than I was expecting when I built it,"
 Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering
 himself to the ground. "Tell me, what sort of god
 are you anyway?"
 "I'm of the fallen leaves," it said. "The worms that
 churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and
 of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow
 falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your
 teeth. I'm a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps
 that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in
 the air, and then it's gone."
 The god heaved another sigh. "There's no point in
 worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the
 Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your
 control, good farmer. You're so tiny in the world. So
 vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me."
 Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it
 between his teeth. "I like this sort of worship fine," he
 said. "So if you don't mind, I think I'l continue."
 "Do what you willI," said the god, and withdrew
 deeper into the stones. "But don't say I never
 warned you otherwise."
 Arepo would say a prayer before the morning's work,
 and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence.
 Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm
 rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded
 Arepo's fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote
 his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo
 and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging
 what they could. The little temple had been strewn
 across the field, and so when the work was done
 for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced
 them back together.
 "Useless work," the god whispered, but came
 creeping back inside the temple regardless. "There
 wasn't a thing I could do to spare you this."
 "We'll be fine," Arepo said. "The storm's blown over.
 We'll rebuild. Don't have much of an offering for
 today," he said, and laid down some ruined wheat,
 "but I think l'll shore up this thing's foundations
 tomorrow, how about that?"
 The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
 A year passed, and then another. The temple had lay-
 ered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo's
 neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their
 children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest
 failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo's field
 the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed
 and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled
 their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted
 eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by
 the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled
 nubs, Arepo's ribs showing through his chest, his
 hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
 There is nothing here for you," said the god, hudding
 in the dark. "There is nothing I can do. There is noth-
 ing to be done." It shivered, and spat out its words.
 "What is this temple but another burden to you?"
 "We -" Arepo said, and his voice wavered. "So it's a
 lean year," he said. "We've gone through this before,
 we'll get through this again. So we're hungry," he said.
 "We've still got each other, don't we? And a lot of
 people prayed to other gods, but it didn't protect them
 from this. No," he said, and shook his head, and laid
 down some shriveled weeds on the altar. "No, I think I
 like our arrangement fine."
 "There will come worse," said the god, from the
 hollows of the stone. "And there will be nothing
 I can do to save you."
 The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon
 the temple of stone and some days spent an hour
 there, lost in contemplation with the god.
 And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark
 seas, came War.
 Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand
 pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with
 his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and
 the bones burned black in them. He came crawling
 on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god
 rushed out to meet him.
 "I could not save them," said the god, its voice a low
 wail. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry." The
 leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of
 ash. "I have done nothing! All these years, and I have
 done nothing for you!"
 "Shush," Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his
 vision blurring. He propped himself up against
 the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in
 prayer. "Tell me," he mumbled. "Tell me again. What
 sort of god are you?"
 "I-" said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo's
 head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
 "I'm of the fallen leaves," it said, and conjured up the
 image of them. "The worms that churn beneath the
 earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first
 hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of
 an apple as it yields beneath your teeth." Arepo's
 lips parted in a smile.
 "I am the god of a dozen different nothings," it said.
 "The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary
 glimpses. A change in the air -" Its voice broke, and
 it wept. "Before it's gone."
 "Beautiful," Arepo said, his blood staining the
 stones, seeping into the earth. "All of them. They
 were all so beautiful."
 And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted
 out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and
 bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their
 wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his
 humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and
 returned home to his god.
 ciiriianan
 Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the
 roof falling in upon them.
 "Oh, poor god," she said, "With no-one to bury your
 last priest." Then she paused, because she was from
 far away. "Or is this how the dead are honored here?"
 The god roused from its contemplation.
 "His name was Arepo," it said, "He was a sower."
 Sora startled, a little, because she had never
 before heard the voice of a god. "How can I honor
 him?" She asked.
 "Bury him," the god said, "Beneath my altar."
 "All right," Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
 "Wait," the god said when she got back and began
 collecting the bones from among the broken twigs
 and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of
 undyed wool, the only cloth she had. "Wait," the
 god said, "I cannot do anything for you. I am not a
 god of anything useful."
 Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar
 to listen to the god.
 "When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I
 could not save it," the god said, "When the Harvest
 failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When
 War came," the god's voice faltered. "When War
 came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding
 from the battle to die in my arms." Sora looked
 down again at the bones.
 "I think you are the god of something very
 useful," she said.
 "What?" the god asked.
 Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. "You
 are the god of Arepo."
 stu-pot
 Generations passed. The village recovered from its
 tragedies-homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds
 healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and
 spoke to stone and rubble had long since been
 forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most
 believed it to empty, as the god who resided there
 long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the
 decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though
 mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped
 from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and
 warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare
 and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny
 clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked
 from the surrounding meadow.
 The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out
 at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses,
 and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around
 bustling feet. How long had it been? The world
 had progressed without him, for he knew there
 was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel
 place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if
 farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes
 can burn, he thought.
 He had come to understand that humans are
 senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that
 cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good
 fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring
 offerings with nothing in return. Who would share
 their company and meditate with such a fruitless
 deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for
 profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted
 on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless
 creatures, humans were.
 So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed
 the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the
 boundary between forest and field with blossoms
 and berries, christened the air with a biting cold
 before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp,
 red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen
 other nothings, in memory of the man who once
 praised the god's work on his dying breath.
 "Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,"
 called a familiar voice.
 The squinting corners of the god's eyes wept down
 onto curled lips. "Arepo," he whispered, for his voice
 was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
 "I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of
 unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, uncon-
 ditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,"
 Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
 "That's wonderful, Arepo," he responded between
 tears, "I'm so happy for you-such a powerful
 figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you
 leave to the city to gather more worshippers?
 You'll be adored by all."
 "No," Arepo smiled.
 "Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for
 visiting here before your departure."
 "No, I will not go there, either," Arepo shook his
 head and chuckled.
 "Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have.
 There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed,
 though," the elder god continued.
 "Actually," interrupted Arepo, "I'd like to stay here,
 if you'll have me."
 The other god was struck speechless. ". Why would
 you want to live here?"
 "I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting
 friendships. And you are the god of Arepo."
 corancoranthemagicalman
 I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the
 story has grown and I'm crying. This is gorgeous,
 guys. This is what dreams are made of.
 ifunny.co
Posting this on here before another tries to repost it on here.

Posting this on here before another tries to repost it on here.

Squinting: a pictures you can only see by squinting your eyes
Squinting: a pictures you can only see by squinting your eyes

a pictures you can only see by squinting your eyes

Squinting: Used my dog squinting instead of the cat standing
Squinting: Used my dog squinting instead of the cat standing

Used my dog squinting instead of the cat standing

Squinting: gallusrostromegalus Lok'Tar Ogar (As usual, all the names have been changed to protect people's privacy. LONG POST so press "J" to skip or start scrolling because can't make cuts work for Moblie, sorry.) Back in 2004 I went to a cousin's wedding and my mom got into Fandom. Ruth, my Mom's-college-roommate's -daughter was getting married to a man of mixed reputability in what had been for several months had been the primary sitcom of the family- mushroom vs. champagne draperies, the bride wanted a small ceremony and the mother of the groom wanted to invite every business contact she had, and then there was the problem of the Rabbis- Ruth's rabbi had mostly retired but had promised to marry her in her youth, David's had promised the same and the current Rabbi of Ruth's synagogue wanted in too, so they agreed to be married by all three Rabbis. Furthermore, any Jewish wedding requires a Chuppah- a canopy under which the ceremony takes place. Mom agreed to make one for Ruth and David's wedding, (MUSHROOM-colored of course, not champagne) and escort it there personally as we were attending the ceremonies. Alas, the wedding was in Columbus, a terrible place. Southeast Ohio is generally a rather nice place- on the far northern end of the appalachia it has lovely rolling hills of deep hardwood forests, a spectacular zoo and many other things a scientifically inclined teenager might enjoy but I was not going to those, I was going to a Wedding, where I had been guilted into being a flower girl on account of being the youngest available cousin, along with my sister. I spent most of the drive from Colorado in a state of spectacular teenage misery, which was almost entirely obliterated when we got to the hotel. The guests of the Hotel consisted thusly: 1. My family (4) 2. Asmall herd of fancy-suited businessmen there for some obscure finance meeting (30ish) 3. Ajolly and boisterous horde of Gamers, Cosplayers, Geeks and Freaks present for the World Of Warcraft convention immediately across the street (several hundred) I didn't actually ow a damn thing about WoW, other than it was something my geekier friends in middle school played, and that it had elves with ridiculous eyebrows, but I know how to make friends with the kind of people who wear nothing but bodypaint and prosthetic ears in public and started talking to the gang of Blood Elves at the breakfast bar while the businessmen huddled together at their table like a group of musk oxen forming up against a pack of wolves. Eventually mom wandered over and joined in the conversation- after years of making Halloween costumes, stage props, miscellaneous fabric constructions like the Chuppah and so forth, she'd gained an extensive knowledge of what fiber can be made to do, but wanted to know what marvelous things these people were doing with plastics. She hit it off particularly well with the Troll over his teeth, and they decided to confide in her. "Hey, here's a fun thing to do-" Said the blood elf, before trotting over to the edge of the mezzanine overlooking the lobby. "LOK'TAR OGAR!" she bellowed as loudly as her tiny, corseted frame could manage. "FOR THE HORDE!!" Roared back several dozen Warcrafters, shaking their con-safe weaponry and causing several of the businessmen to duck for cover. "Yeah, if you need anything, just yell that. she nodded, before we parted ways Later that night, Mom slipped in the shower and sprained her ankle, which resulted in a moderately panicked but ultimately boring visit to a clinic get it X-ray'd and acquire a wheelchair. The next morning, however, we had to proceed to the wedding, and discovered that the elevator was out of service A Chuppah, if you're not familiar with one, is roughly the same dimensions and weight as those pop-up tents they use at gentrified outdoor craft fairs, or about 9 feet long and close to 60lbs when folded up. This one was closer to 100 once all the memorial images and sentimental fabrics and special tent poles had been added on. Mom was stuck in the wheelchair, Dad was in a state of near panic at Mom being injured and also having to be somewhere On Time, and my sister and I were liquefying in the summer heat and the bride- mandated mushroom-colored seven goddamn layers of itchy-ass tulle flower girl dresses, barely able to lift the chuppah between us. In short stairs were not happening and three quarters of us were about to riot but Mom is definitely the smart person in the family because she remembered- "LOK'TAR OGAR!!" "FOR THE HORD!!" "I NEED SOME HELP!" Instantly the cosplayers from the night before were there, along with a dozen more. Two beefy trolls carried Mom down the stairs and clean out to the parking garage, someone else got the chuppah, and the Blood elf managed to get concierge to bring our car around to the curb with our destination already programmed into the (VERY PRIMITIVE) gps. I thought my dad was going to cry with relief. "So [Gallus]" Mom asked me on the way to the wedding. "People who like videogames. Do they all have Magic Words?" "Yeah most of them have some kind of phrase like 'may the force be with you' or 'live long and prosper Why?" She just nodded, storing that fact away for later. The wedding turned out to be an event in and of itself- The mother of the bride fainted when they kissed, the rabbis nearly got into a fistfight, the mother of the groom fell off the chair and needed stitches, uncle Larry tore his pants on the dance floor then elected to remove them and keep dancing- and I managed to forget entirely about Mom's question Last year, we were doing theater set-in at the same time the local theater and culture complex was hosting the small city convention. It was July, hotter than satan's own asshole, and the stage pieces were too large for both of our 5'2-and-under asses to move. I came back out from wresting a Magic tree into the complex to find mom squinting calculatingly at a group of Marvel cosplayers. "What are their Magic Words?" "Huh?" "The words you say when you want to summon them- "Use the Force' or something?" I blinked a few times, as my heat stroke-addled brain translated that. "...Avengers Assemble?" "HEY AVENGERS!" Hollered Mom. "ASSEMBLE!!" INSTANTLY, an Iron Man and three Captains America sprinted over "What can we do Ma'am?" asked one of the captains, sticking rigorously to character. "We need help moving these set pieces in and you have muscles." she explained, and without question everyone pitched in to move a magical forest, the front half of a castle and a dragon's cave into the Children's Theater backstage. The Iron Man politely answered questions about painting metallics on Cardboard for her and all three Captains America lines up and saluted her upon emptying the truck. "You're dangerous." I teased her as they returned to Con. "Tell me more Magic Words- I need that tall one in purple to help with the lights." she said, gesturing to a Waluigi that was about to become familiar with the Children's Theater Lighting System. gallusrostromegalus Since people in the notes are asking: -i didn't know what to tell her beyond "that's Waluigi". Props to him tho he did not break character the entire time he was helping with the lights. -Mom got into EVA foam for a wearable art project and a friend recommended looking up cosplay blogs for videos on how to work with it. She follows several cosplay vloggers and refers to Hollywood SFX legend and Mythbusters guy Adam Savage as "the cosplay guy" "I'm going to send him an email." She tells me, last time I was up there. "There's a spider in the background of his videos and I want to know how he did the legs." Super long, but never underestimate the helpfulness of fans and cosplayers
Squinting: gallusrostromegalus
 Lok'Tar Ogar
 (As usual, all the names have been changed to
 protect people's privacy. LONG POST so
 press "J" to skip or start scrolling because
 can't make cuts work for Moblie, sorry.)
 Back in 2004 I went to a cousin's wedding and
 my mom got into Fandom.
 Ruth, my Mom's-college-roommate's -daughter
 was getting married to a man of mixed
 reputability in what had been for several
 months had been the primary sitcom of the
 family- mushroom vs. champagne draperies,
 the bride wanted a small ceremony and the
 mother of the groom wanted to invite every
 business contact she had, and then there was
 the problem of the Rabbis- Ruth's rabbi had
 mostly retired but had promised to marry her in
 her youth, David's had promised the same and
 the current Rabbi of Ruth's synagogue wanted
 in too, so they agreed to be married by all three
 Rabbis. Furthermore, any Jewish wedding
 requires a Chuppah- a canopy under which the
 ceremony takes place. Mom agreed to make
 one for Ruth and David's wedding,
 (MUSHROOM-colored of course, not
 champagne) and escort it there personally as
 we were attending the ceremonies.
 Alas, the wedding was in Columbus, a terrible
 place.
 Southeast Ohio is generally a rather nice place-
 on the far northern end of the appalachia it has
 lovely rolling hills of deep hardwood forests, a
 spectacular zoo and many other things a
 scientifically inclined teenager might enjoy but I
 was not going to those, I was going to a
 Wedding, where I had been guilted into being a
 flower girl on account of being the youngest
 available cousin, along with my sister. I spent
 most of the drive from Colorado in a state of
 spectacular teenage misery, which was almost
 entirely obliterated when we got to the hotel.
 The guests of the Hotel consisted thusly:
 1. My family (4)
 2. Asmall herd of fancy-suited
 businessmen there for some obscure
 finance meeting (30ish)
 3.
 Ajolly and boisterous horde of Gamers,
 Cosplayers, Geeks and Freaks present for
 the World Of Warcraft convention
 immediately across the street (several
 hundred)
 I didn't actually
 ow a damn thing about WoW,
 other than it was something my geekier friends
 in middle school played, and that it had elves
 with ridiculous eyebrows, but I know how to
 make friends with the kind of people who wear
 nothing but bodypaint and prosthetic ears in
 public and started talking to the gang of Blood
 Elves at the breakfast bar while the
 businessmen huddled together at their table
 like a group of musk oxen forming up against a
 pack of wolves.
 Eventually mom wandered over and joined in
 the conversation- after years of making
 Halloween costumes, stage props,
 miscellaneous fabric constructions like the
 Chuppah and so forth, she'd gained an
 extensive knowledge of what fiber can be made
 to do, but wanted to know what marvelous
 things these people were doing with plastics.
 She hit it off particularly well with the Troll over
 his teeth, and they decided to confide in her.
 "Hey, here's a fun thing to do-" Said the blood
 elf, before trotting over to the edge of the
 mezzanine overlooking the lobby.
 "LOK'TAR OGAR!" she bellowed as loudly as
 her tiny, corseted frame could manage.
 "FOR THE HORDE!!" Roared back several
 dozen Warcrafters, shaking their con-safe
 weaponry and causing several of the
 businessmen to duck for cover.
 "Yeah, if you need anything, just yell that. she
 nodded, before we parted ways
 Later that night, Mom slipped in the shower
 and sprained her ankle, which resulted in a
 moderately panicked but ultimately boring visit
 to a clinic
 get it X-ray'd and acquire a
 wheelchair. The next morning, however, we
 had to proceed to the wedding, and discovered
 that the elevator was out of service
 A Chuppah, if you're not familiar with one, is
 roughly the same dimensions and weight as
 those pop-up tents they use at gentrified
 outdoor craft fairs, or about 9 feet long and
 close to 60lbs when folded up. This one was
 closer to 100 once all the memorial images and
 sentimental fabrics and special tent poles had
 been added on.
 Mom was stuck in the
 wheelchair, Dad was in a state of near panic at
 Mom being injured and also having to be
 somewhere On Time, and my sister and I were
 liquefying in the summer heat and the bride-
 mandated mushroom-colored seven goddamn
 layers of itchy-ass tulle flower girl dresses,
 barely able to lift the chuppah between us.
 In short stairs were not happening and three
 quarters of us were about to riot but Mom is
 definitely the smart person in the family
 because she remembered-
 "LOK'TAR OGAR!!"
 "FOR THE HORD!!"
 "I NEED SOME HELP!"
 Instantly the cosplayers from the night before
 were there, along with a dozen more. Two
 beefy trolls carried Mom down the stairs and
 clean out to the parking garage, someone else
 got the chuppah, and the Blood elf managed to
 get concierge to bring our car around to the
 curb with our destination already programmed
 into the (VERY PRIMITIVE) gps. I thought my
 dad was going to cry with relief.
 "So [Gallus]" Mom asked me on the way to the
 wedding. "People who like videogames. Do
 they all have Magic Words?"
 "Yeah most of them have some kind of phrase
 like 'may the force be with you' or 'live long and
 prosper Why?"
 She just nodded, storing that fact away for
 later.
 The wedding turned out to be an event in and
 of itself- The mother of the bride fainted when
 they kissed, the rabbis nearly got into a
 fistfight, the mother of the groom fell off the
 chair and needed stitches, uncle Larry tore his
 pants on the dance floor then elected to
 remove them and keep dancing- and I managed
 to forget entirely about Mom's question
 Last year, we were doing theater set-in at the
 same time the local theater and culture
 complex was hosting the small city convention.
 It was July, hotter than satan's own asshole,
 and the stage pieces were too large for both of
 our 5'2-and-under asses to move.
 I came back out from wresting a Magic tree
 into the complex to find mom squinting
 calculatingly at a group of Marvel cosplayers.
 "What are their Magic Words?"
 "Huh?"
 "The words you say when you want to summon
 them- "Use the Force' or something?"
 I blinked a few times, as my heat stroke-addled
 brain translated that. "...Avengers Assemble?"
 "HEY AVENGERS!" Hollered Mom.
 "ASSEMBLE!!"
 INSTANTLY, an Iron Man and three Captains
 America sprinted over
 "What can we do Ma'am?" asked one of the
 captains, sticking rigorously to character.
 "We need help moving these set pieces in and
 you have muscles." she explained, and without
 question everyone pitched in to move a magical
 forest, the front half of a castle and a dragon's
 cave into the Children's Theater backstage.
 The Iron Man politely answered questions
 about painting metallics on Cardboard for her
 and all three Captains America lines up and
 saluted her upon emptying the truck.
 "You're dangerous." I teased her as they
 returned to Con.
 "Tell me more Magic Words- I need that tall one
 in purple to help with the lights." she said,
 gesturing to a Waluigi that was about to
 become familiar with the Children's Theater
 Lighting System.
 gallusrostromegalus
 Since people in the notes are asking:
 -i didn't know what to tell her beyond "that's
 Waluigi". Props to him tho he did not break
 character the entire time he was helping with
 the lights.
 -Mom got into EVA foam for a wearable art
 project and a friend recommended looking up
 cosplay blogs for videos on how to work with it.
 She follows several cosplay vloggers and refers
 to Hollywood SFX legend and Mythbusters guy
 Adam Savage as "the cosplay guy"
 "I'm going to send him an email." She tells me,
 last time I was up there. "There's a spider in the
 background of his videos and I want to know
 how he did the legs."
Super long, but never underestimate the helpfulness of fans and cosplayers

Super long, but never underestimate the helpfulness of fans and cosplayers

Squinting: A Hopefully both are safely squinting!
Squinting: A
Hopefully both are safely squinting!

Hopefully both are safely squinting!

Squinting: My boy had to get a shave... He's been looking at me with squinting eyes ever since
Squinting: My boy had to get a shave... He's been looking at me with squinting eyes ever since

My boy had to get a shave... He's been looking at me with squinting eyes ever since

Squinting: In the FRIENDS (1995) intro scene Joey is seen squinting his eyes. This is a natural reaction by humans when being splashed with liquids.
Squinting: In the FRIENDS (1995) intro scene Joey is seen squinting his eyes. This is a natural reaction by humans when being splashed with liquids.

In the FRIENDS (1995) intro scene Joey is seen squinting his eyes. This is a natural reaction by humans when being splashed with liquids.

Squinting: Spoopy Squinting Cat
Squinting: Spoopy Squinting Cat

Spoopy Squinting Cat

Squinting: Kit Harrington squinting every time he sees a camera like:
Squinting: Kit Harrington squinting every time he sees a camera like:

Kit Harrington squinting every time he sees a camera like:

Squinting: Squinting Penguin
Squinting: Squinting Penguin

Squinting Penguin