#I know I keep saying I’m not gonna post them daily but unfortunately. fortunately. one of those

[my-rights-are-grian-rights]

you say you’re a stress monster but the only thing stressful ‘bout your diss and your lyrics is that they’re unsuccessful!!!!!

[ambivalentmarvel]

so the story behind this is that @sreppub​ arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat. 

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces. 

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?” 

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?” 

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front. 

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it. 

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going. 

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement. 

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision. 

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

[jeannereames]

Hi i have a follow up question to your latest ask. I tried looking through your asks if you had answered something similar but only found a post about your book which is also good but not exactly what i was looking for haha. Anyway, so I was wondering what sources we have showing or referencing the historical alexanders relationship to achilles? And maybe his mothers too. Is it just in later authors works? Is it based on lost sources from alexanders time? Are there coins or anything? Thanks (:

TL;DR version: we don’t have anything from Alexander’s own day that firmly connects him to Achilles. His coins all show Herakles, and then later himself “Heraklized.”

IF the armor in Tomb II at Vergina is his (e.g., it’s his half-brother Arrhidaios in there, not Philip II), then we may have an artistic reference on the magnificent shield recovered and reconstructed via archaeological magic. The shield’s central boss shows Achilles killing Penthesileia. Is that the “Shield of Achilles” Alexander supposedly picked up at Troy, and then carried in battle like a standard? Maybe. But, either way, it’s a reference to Achilles.

Otherwise, Achilles just doesn’t show up in Macedonian artwork. As he was supposedly from Epiros next door west, that may not be a big surprise, whereas Herakles (who’s all over the place) was believed to be the ancestor of the Argead clan. Alexander’s claim to Achilles came through Mommy, Olympias.

So virtually ALL our references to Alex and Achilles are from literary sources. And those are also ALL later. Which brings us to our source problem….

—————————————

The sources for Alexander are a regular Gordion Knot. We’re gonna get into the weeds here. Stay with me. And you may want to bookmark this for yourself if you need a handy (if saucy) later reference on the Alexander sources.

I’m not sure how much the asker already knows, but let me lay out some basics for everyone, including common terminology. You can probably suss out a lot from context, but just to be clear:

“Primary” evidence means documents and materials from the time period under consideration, and “secondary” evidence means modern authors assembling/editing and writing about those sources. When we look at the ancient world, primary evidence refers to documents (writings, including inscriptions), artwork (vases, sculptures, mosaics, etc.), and material evidence (e.g., “stuff” unearthed by archaeologists).

Obviously, only a fraction of what once existed has survived. Sometimes we know of writings that are no longer “extant.” Extant means a document we still have, or at least have most of. We hear about a lot more via “testamonia” and “fragmenta.” Testamonia are mention of a document (or author) found in another document. And fragmenta are pieces of a lost work (typically) embedded as quotes in somebody else’s work. Unfortunately, ancient authors don’t always admit where they get their information. “Citing” wasn’t a thing, back then.

Now, that out of the way, let’s take a look at Alexander sources in particular.

We have 5 extant histories/biographies for Alexander, more than virtually any other ancient figure. That’s great!

Problem. Not a single one was written by anyone who knew him, saw him, or even lived when he did. Two of them aren’t even in Greek; they’re in Latin. I’ve listed them below from earliest to latest, with approximate dates, and a bit of info about the author. (While I prefer Greek transliterations, I’m using the most common spelling of the names for familiarity.)

Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca Historica, specifically books 16 (Philip), 17 (Alexander), 18-20 (Successors). As “world histories,” they do talk about events in other places, including Syracuse, Athens, Sparta, and Rome. As his name suggests, Diodorus was from Sicily, and died c. 30 BCE, just as the Roman Republic was morphing into Empire. We have only books 1-5 and 11-20 of a total of 40. Books 18-20 are incomplete (fragments).

THIS IS OUR EARLIEST EXTANT SOURCE: a guy who lived in the first century BCE and was born almost 300 years after Philip of Macedon.

Let that sink in a moment.

Curtius Rufus, Historiae Alexandri Magni, is the better known of our two Latin histories. The author is a mystery, which complicates dating it. He lived under the empire, while the Parthians existed. A consul suffectus in late 43 CE (Claudius) has been proposed as him, but speculation abounds he might have used a nom de plume—not unlike a fanfiction author. 😊 The best study of Curtius’s work is by Elizabeth Baynam. He probably belongs to the first century, just a little earlier than Plutarch, and his work bears all the hallmarks of the Latin Silver Age.

Plutarch of Chaironeia wrote a lot, including his collection, Lives of Famous Greeks and Romans, which includes Alexander (as well as some Successors) + a massive number of essays collected under the general title Moralia. These include The Fortune of Alexander the Great, and Sayings of Kings and Commanders. Plutarch was a Dionysian priest from central Greece (Boeotia) who lived in the late first century CE, and died c. 120…that’s when HADRIAN was emperor. He belongs to a group of writers typically called the Second Sophistic.

Arrian of Nicomedia, The Anabasis and Indica, written in two different dialects of Greek (Attic and Ionic); he also wrote some philosophic stuff. We know a decent amount about him. He was an Asian Greek from modern Bithynia (the home province of Hadrian’s boyfriend Antinoos), a military man, a senator, a friend of Hadrian, a consul suffectus, and later, an archon of Athens, but most famously, governor (legate) of Cappadocia under Hadrian. He died in Athens c. 160 CE. He liked to call himself the New Xenophon and naming his work on Alexander the Anabasis (after Xenophon’s famous history) is pointed. Although Greek, he was strongly Romanized.

Justin, wrote an epitome of Pompeius Trogus’s expansive Liber Historiarum Philippicarum, which was a history of the Macedonian kingdom, written when Augustus was Empror. An “epitome” is a digest, or shortened version. Trogus’s work was 44 books. Justin’s is much, much smaller, but it’s not a true digest in that he collected what he considered the more interesting titbits rather than trying to summarize the whole thing. We do not know when he lived, precisely, and dates have been thrown out from shortly after Pompeius Trogus all the way to 390 CE! His Latin matches the second century or perhaps early third. This one doesn’t have a Loeb edition, so get the translation by John Yardley with Waldemar Heckel’s commentary on Justin.

In addition, information and stories about Alexander can be found scattered in other ancient sources, notably:

Athenaeus of Naucratus (Greece), Supper Party (Deipnosophistae), which is a weird collection of stories about famous people and food, told at a fictional dinner banguet. It’s long, and fairly entertaining reading, if you’re interested in Greek (and Roman) dining customs. Athenaeus lived in the late 2nd/early 3rd century CE, so he’s even later than most of our historians. Athenaeus used a lot of now-missing sources.

Polyaenus, Strategems. Military handbook from another late author—2nd century CE—but he’s of special interest as he’s Macedonian, our sole extant ancient source from a Macedonian, but keep in mind 500+ years passed between Alexander’s day and his. The Strategems is broken down by leader, which include Archelaus, Philip, and Alexander, plus some of the Successors, too. Until recently, there wasn’t a really good translation (the last was done in the 1800s), but it was finally updated by Krentz and Wheeler for Ares Press.

In addition, he’s mentioned in passing by sources from Strabo to Pliny the Elder to Aelian.

This gives you a good idea of what we do have, and the nature of our problem. It may also help explain what I (or other historians) mean when we talk about the danger of “Romanizing,” even with Greek authors. By the time any of them were writing, even Diodorus, Rome dominated the Mediterranean, and most of them really knew only the imperial period.

Besides the obvious problem of the distance in time, some also had axes to grind. Plutarch is probably the most obvious, as he admits he’s not writing history, but this new thing (he invented) called “Lives” (e.g., biography). More to the point, he’s writing moral tales. Ergo, his bio of Alex is really a long discourse in the old saw, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Likewise, Curtius had a lesson about the evils of Roman imperial debauchery, especially as influenced by Eastern Ways pulling good men away from Roman discipline and clemency.

So what about our now-missing historians who were used by the guys above, and lived closer to ATG’s time? Some of the more important include:

The Ephemerides, or Royal Journal: a daily account of the king’s activities similar to other Ancient Near Eastern traditions, kept by Eumenes, Alexander’s personal secretary. You’ll see them referred to chiefly when talking about Alexander’s last days, as they (supposedly) give an account of his deterioration and death. But they may (and probably were) “doctored” later. Ed Anson has an article about them: important reading.

Callisthenes, Aristotle’s nephew, the official Royal Historian…at least until he got himself in trouble with the Page’s Conspiracy and ATG had him executed (or caged, accounts differ). His history was noted even in antiquity for being flowery and effusive, despite his personal claims to be a philosopher and pretense of austerity. If Alexander wanted a Homer, it wasn’t Callisthenes. Among his failings, he attempted to write about ATG’s battles…badly (so Polybius). Still, this was the official record up till Baktria, used by all the historians still extant. Don’t confuse it with Pseudo-Callisthenes which is the chief source of the Alexander Romance.

Marsyas: Macedonian literati who went to school with the prince, and not only wrote about his childhood (his Education of Alexander was modeled on Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus) and career, but also wrote a work about Macedonian customs that I’d simply LOVE to have. If I could ask for one work from antiquity to be discovered tomorrow, that would be it.

Ptolemy I, of Egypt: Alexander’s general, the guy who stole his body and stole Egypt too in the Successor wars that followed. He was one of Arrian’s main sources when writing his histories. Despite Arrian’s declaration that Ptolemy could be trusted because it would be bad for a king to lie, we can’t trust him. Among other things, he set out to smear the name of his Successor-era rival Perdikkas, and also, apparently, made himself sound more important than he really was. 😉

Nearchus of Crete/Amphipolis, Alexander’s chief admiral and a player in the later Successor wars, wrote an account of his naval trip from India, et al., used chiefly by Arrian.

Aristobulus of Cassandreia: Arrian’s other chief source, he was an engineer, architect, and friend of the king; his main problem seems to have been a tendency to whitewash or explain away critiques of Alexander. It’s Aristobulus who claims ATG didn’t drink heavily, just sat long over his wine for the conversation (uh…I’m sure Kleitos agrees with that). It’s also from him that we get the alternative story that Alexander didn’t cut the Gordion Knot, just pulled the pin out of the yoke and untied it from inside (he didn’t cheat!). Hmmm.

Chares of Mytilene, Alexander’s chamberlain, wrote a 10-book history of Alexander that focused largely on his personal affairs. Boy, wouldn’t that be a fun read? Arrian uses him sometimes, as does Plutarch, et al. Chares is one of the chief sources on the Proskenysis Affair.

Cleitarchus, History of Alexander. Probably the best-known ancient “pop history” of Alexander, but given the ancient equivalent of 2-stars even by historians of his time. His father was a historian too, but apparently, he got more ambition than ability, and was accused of flat making up shit. He lived at Ptolemy’s court later, we think, and a recent fragment tells us he was a tutor. His date is in dispute as late 4th or middle 3rd, and he probably never actually met Alexander. Kleitarchos’s account was used heavily by Plutarch, Curtius, Diodorus, and Pompeius Trogus (Justin’s source). Even Arrian uses him occasionally.

Onesicritus, a Cynic philosopher who studied under Diogenes and later traveled with Alexander. Despite that, his reputation for honesty was even worse than Kleitarchos; Lysimakhos famously called him out publicly, and Strabo considered him a joke. It’s from Onesicritus we hear about Alexander’s sexual servicing of the Amazon Queen to give her a daughter (that’s what Lysimakhos made fun of him for: “Where was I when that happened?”).

These are the main ancient sources you’ll see mentioned, although parts of Alexander’s life are covered in smaller essays, e.g., On the Death (and Funeral) of Alexander and Hephaistion by Euphippus, which is unashamedly hostile to both men. All our fragments from Euphippos come from Athenaeus’s Supper Party, mentioned above.

We also have the Alexander Romance, but that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish and not my bailiwick. I refer folks to the work by Richard Stoneman.

There you go! Your handy-dandy potted summary of the ancient authors. To learn more about them, please see Lionel Pearson’s The Lost Historians of Alexander the Great, Scholar’s Press, 1983. There have been articles and material about them in other commentaries and sources, but Pearson remains useful, if somewhat dated, simply for collecting it all in one place, including mention of some minor sources I didn’t cover here.

Finally, I’m including a flowchart I’ve made for my ATG class that lists all the known sources (including several not discussed above); it is copyrighted to me, but may be used for educational purposes. Yes, yes, it really is as crazy as this chart makes it look. And keep in mind, some dependencies are speculative rather than internally confirmed. E.g., as I mentioned earlier, not all ancient sources say what/who they consulted because, againg, citing wasn’t a thing, back then.

[polzkadotz]

Asas reread their fics - ftayc - part 4

And we’re back to rereading this fic!!!! last chapter i reread was the 7k monster of chapter 3, and this one... oh. Oh, this is also 7k?

wowie

if you want a spoiler to interest you, here we go lmao

we begin with this author’s note bc I don’t think I ever really talked about it here on my tumblr???

It was sort of my first time being recommended, really. I had noticed that my hit count had gone up substantially and I couldn’t understand it, but it was nice??? and then i found the post on the library and I was like Oh. I See.

Whoever it was that recommended me, thank you. Seriously.

But enough mushy-wushy, let’s tackle this giant.

We begin with this exchange, which...

I was trying to be funny and this still makes me smile so at least I amuse myself lmao

Neil needs to free himself of the plot device I pulled out of nowhere and he taps into his reserves of power that he has hid away for, basically, forever. One thing that I wish I had made more clear, which was basically the vitriol going through my mind as I wrote this fic, was that Neil had been cutting himself of his powers and how powerful he was for a fucking long time because

1) he bought into his mom’s reasoning that his father was simply Not Someone They Could Face and Win

2) he had made himself fit into a mold that would “make him survive” but, by doing so, he basically chained himself to a fraction of the three-dimensional person he used to be, which made meeting Jean and finding out that he had become a pet god for a human even worse because Neil could see all the ways they were similar but Neil had been doing that shit to himself voluntarily.

Originally, when I thought about making Neil a god in this fic, I did think about modeling him out of an existing god but also, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to make him be someone who was struggling with letting himself be what he was with his full-potential. Someone who had been cutting himself back for so long he had basically lost whatever sense of personhood he used to have. Someone who had started to get tired of cutting parts of himself and forgetting what he used to be so he would survive for--

What? Survive for what? Neil eventually realized he hadn’t been a person for too long and as long as his father was alive, he would never feel safe to be.

Now that I think about it, Neil was very much me working through my own shit about trying to live as myself at the same time that I had different versions of past me struggling with the person I was becoming. The person I wanted to be.

Anyway, back to the story.

There’s a throwaway paragraph where I sort of tease that Andrew’s dragon is becoming "hungry” and it was basically me trying very hard to foreshadow that the priest thing was going to happen lmao

After battling for two paragraphs against the thought of creating a new priest, Neil gets them back on track to go as far away as its possible for both dragons flying.

Nicky tries to get Neil to talk about the god thing, and I like how I made it clear that even being reminded that he had been a god was something conflicting to Neil.

And then we get to the part where Neil suddenly remembers that he has a lot more money than what he had previously said in the first few chapters, but who cares about plot consistency, am I right? Does it show that this fic was edited hastily? Because I can guarantee that it was :3

They stop in Mumbai, I think (the place is not important for past Asas and honestly... can’t say that’s changed lol). Nicky tries to get Neil to talk more about being immortal and stuff. Neil gives a bit of backstory, as a treat, and Kevin reveals what he knows, as a threat I guess lmao

I kind of imply that Neil only had one priest, which... I remember is not what I put in the sequel.............. so I do recommend you reread your fics before writing a new piece, wink-wink

OH MY GOD I MADE NICKY ASK WHY NEIL’S ENGLISH “WASN’T WEIRD” AND THEN I REPLIED WITH A SENTENCE THAT WAS BASICALLY STRUCTURED WITH PORTUGUESE GRAMMAR AND SOUNDS VERY WRONG IN ENGLISH

Asas... my god, Asas.

Anyway, after a lot of questioning, they eventually go to sleep and, when Neil wakes up from a nightmare, he has his daily fairy tale dose from Andrew, who’s also awake. I gotta be honest, I don’t even remember that fairy tale but it explains the Aaron, Andrew and Tilda.

After everybody wakes up from their naps, they go to their last destination: Tokyo.

Wait lemme check:

when did they leave Mumbai in my story?

when did they reach Tokyo?

yeah, that math totally checks out.

Whatever. As they arrive in Tokyo, Neil splurges even more money on a hotel for the whole crew, even though they had been pretty not nice to him as a whole lmao. But! The boy believed he was going to die, so what was he going to do with all that money?

Nothing, so he programmed an email to be sent to Andrew with the info for some of his bank accounts and fucked off to try and find what his mother had stolen.

Neil gets on a ferry that will take six hours to reach the island where is the volcano that his mother had made him hide his father’s immortality. Neil got nekkid because he wanted to have clothes when he got out of the volcano, you know?

(Also, yes, I’m gonna ignore the other time inconsistency from his travel inside Japan, I was very much pressured by the whole “got recommended on the library” okay, you can judge me through those lenses)

Unfortunately, for him, he wasn’t alone when he finally climbed out of the volcano.

Fortunately for him, this Ichirou Moriyama doesn’t want his father, who is very much interested in becoming immortal, to actually become immortal. Neil explains the whole immortality thingy (I found some typos and honestly? I shan’t fix them. It adds character) and Ichirou subtly kicks Neil’s clothes closer to him, which... I get it, my guy. It’s kind of difficult to have an intimidating conversation when someone’s bits are out and about.

As they are trying to hash out their problem -- as in, Neil’s father told them that Neil’s immortality would be viable to cure Kengo --, Andrew appears blowing his ball of flames onto both of them, and Neil uses his powers to create a pocket that repels the fire, so it doesn’t touch him or Ichirou.

(Why didn’t he use those powers on his clothes, as well? Dunno, don’t poke at my plot too much or it will definitely crumble right into your face, you’re gonna inhale too much dust and die from fandom toxicity, AND THAT’S NO WAY TO REACH A GOOD DEATH)

btw:

Neil, my dude. The dragon thought you were in danger? Chill out???

Neil rages for a few seconds but quickly turns that into a situation to ask Moriyama for his protection against his father, since Neil just technically saved his life.

Oh, and if you think “Uhhh, why would Neil even believe that Ichirou would keep his word?”

Don’t worry, I gotchu:

Ichirou agrees with the deal, for plot reasons. Since he got a deal out of it kind of easily, Neil thinks, “Wait a minute. If I give my father’s immortality to this Moriyama, literally passing the hot potato around, then the Moriyamas won’t be after me for an immortality, my father probably won’t be immortal and come after me as the death machine he used to be and I might be able to use it to free a certain god????”

So Neil uses his father’s immortality to bargain for Jean’s freedom, and he doesn’t wait for Moriyama’s response for that one. He simply hops onto dragon!Andrew’s back and they fly away into the... sunset? Sunrise? Don’t ask me, I clearly can’t keep track of the time passage in my fics.

And this is the end of the chapter!

Let me say something that I hope will be quick: this chapter felt much better written to me then the other three. It’s shaky in places, definitely, and it could’ve gone through a more severe round of editing, but I can certainly feel the positive outcomes of the pressure I felt after my work got a shout-out. This fic had been pretty much geared towards myself, so writing about the world-building wasn’t my focus at all in the other three chapters. In this one, I try to at least explain some concepts I came up with which???? Go me??????

I still wish I had taken the time to work on this entire fic to make it as close to what I had in my head, but in a comprehensive form for the attention that it got, you know? I mean, from the ashes you crawl is still my most everything -- most kudos, hits, comments, bookmarks...  It deserved so much better but also... I like that it feels rough? I like that it can clearly help to contrast the growth of my style or whatever?

It was written after a long, long writer’s block, and it only got edited and posted because I decided to participate in an event for a different fandom and it got me excited about writing again.

Anyway, I’ve talked too much. Here’s to hoping I can contain myself in the next posts lmao

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

[inxcs]

       kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  oh  !  yes  !   the last time i saw him  ,  i heard he wanted to be called siwon  .  people around say they are so endearing  &&  inquisitive sometimes i wonder how they can be selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  (  popped bubblegum  ,  glowing under the sun  ,  purple-pink skylines  ,  patterned blouses   ) 

heyo  !  i’m deni  ,  she/her pronouns in the gmt+9 section of the world  .  i can’t keep an aesthetic and i use too many em dashes  .  below is one of the characters i’m bringing  ,  SIWON  ,  my favorite problem sunflowers  .  i have some info and verse-specific information beneath  ,  but i have a habit of updating  ,  adding and changing as i go  .  apologies in advance for how messy all tis is  .  looking forward to writing with you  <3  !

☀  𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 .

➤  full name.  siwon ryu ➤  date of birth.  january 29th ➤  hometown.  toronto  ,  canada ➤  gender.  cis male ➤  sexual attraction.  pansexual ➤  romantic attraction.  pansexual ➤  wants.  family  ,  power ➤  fears.  imprisonment  ,  humiliation

      universal facts.  hustles at arcade halls  ,  scarfs down burritos like they’re gonna disappear  ,  looks as comfortable in a dark  ,  dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon districts  .  pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips  .  likes cheap beer and cigarettes  ,  fast talking and smooth smiles  .  gets up when the sun goes down  .  who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep  ,  but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere  .  seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee  ,  feels the rain on his skin  ,  plays with matches  .   spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls  .  can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy  .  can barely stand to sit still  ,  always moving except when there’s a computer screen or an aquarium in front of him  .  gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary  —  people  ,  food  ,  liquor  ,  feelings  .  craves that intimacy  ,  craves that closeness  .  has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong  .  catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease  .  fucking loves nature dude  ---  takes care of plants and reptiles in his home  .  would die for snakes and lets them drape over him  ,  claims they give the best hugs  .  vegetarian  .  would be a vegan but too lazy  .

       personality.  loud  ,  noisy  .  could talk to a brick wall  .  holds himself with all the confidence of the sun and his smile burns just as bright  .  there’s this lazy intensity to everything he does  .  like  ,  pretends he super cares but also doesn’t  ?  or pretends he cares so much but in reality couldn’t give a shit  .  affable  ,  easy to get along with on a surface level  ,  and he’s curious enough to keep any conversation going with questions and enthusiastic energy  .  mood changes on a dime  ,  goes from grinning like a maniac to eerily calm in a snap of your fingers  .  intuitive and instinctive  ,  listens to and follows his gut  .  trusts the energy in the air more than anyone’s word  .  comes off as thoughtless but it actually very cautious  .  impulsive doesn’t mean brainless  .  sniffs out bad situation fast and decides on a dime if he needs to run or face it  .  go with the flow kind of attitude  .  doesn’t take things personally  .  nice  but trusting him’s an iffy situation  .  greedy  ---  wants everything and anything  .

       appearance.   stands around 5′11  .  broad shoulders  ,  slim hips  .  floppy  ,  messy hair and glowing skin  .  half legs and a lot of eyelashes  .  wears no less than five charms on a daily basis and keeps his tarot cards with him at all times  .  rings  ,  bracelets  ,  necklaces  ,  earrings  ,  crystals  ,  talismans .  wears a small lip ring and has several runes tattooed on his body  .  dresses anywhere between a washed up rockstar  ,  your college weed dealer  ,  and your grandpa in the ‘40s  .  his closet’s a chaotic mix of anything he could thrift or patch together  .  most of the time  ,  he’s sporting loose pants  ,  a vintage blouse  ,  a jacket or blazer and comfortable loafers  .  kind of swims in his clothing because most of its’ two or three sizes too big  .  only wears skinny jeans when he wants something  .  unironically wears cargo shorts in the summer  .  keeps all that hair back with a bandana or a headband  ,  hairties on his wrist  .  nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal ——or simply just a steal  .  sometimes he’s jimi hendrix and other times he’s versace  .    

☀  𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  oh !  yes  ! the last time i saw him  ,  i heard he wanted to be called siwon  .  i hear they are a podcast host  ╱  “psychic”  .  people around town say they are so endearing  &&  generous sometimes i wonder how they can be selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  ( beaded curtains  ,  purple skies ,  tousled hair  )  

      about.   wrongly labeled a troublemaker after a little incident with some candles  ,  pentagrams and a slightly burned down warehouse  ,  siwon’s been on the road and seeing te road ever since  .  makes a few quick bucks tapping into that aura of his that somehow magically nudges his brain about who’s got what on their minds and what might happen to those what’s  ,  but no one really seems to believe him when he says it’s all real  .  starting a podcast straight outta the back of a busted-up RV  ,  siwon’s crossed the country and broke down in this little town  .  and  ,  so  . . .  maybe some stuff he was involved with in the past wasn’t totally legal butthat’sokayokayhedoesn’tdothatanymore  .  ANYWAY---  this town  .  figures he’ll call it home  .  it’s groovy enough  ,  he supposes  ,  and after a few attempts to get out of town that just failed  ,  siwon figures this is the universe telling him to settle down for a bit  .  so okay  .  his few listeners don’t mind  ,  siwon still does some readings and random lectures on whatever’s on his brain  .  for extra cash  ,  he does a few side gigs  ---  fixing up websites  ,  selling crystals and rocks he finds  ,  jobs around town that don’t require him to fork over any semi-serious documentation  .  takes scenic pictures for his instagram and documents the road-trip across this Great Wide Country he and his pets are seeing  .  let’s  . . .  let’s just see how this goes  . 

☀  𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him  ,   toxokinesis   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  or was it poison  ?  it’s hard to tell  ,  really  ,  all i saw was the commotion  ,  someone being saved  .  you know  ,  i heard siwon is an app developer  .  i also heard they are a saint  ,  really  ,  so affable  &&  generous  ,  none of that mercurial  &&  selfish  nature people talk about  .  (  blackened veins  ,  wild eyes  ,  living for the applause  )

       about.  after his parents volunteered him for  “ quirk ”  studies at a leading research institute  ,  siwon’s been semiworking for the man  .  but it’s fine  .  it’s fine  .  totally fine  .  spending most of his early life in a tank waiting to be let out  ,  siwon kept himself busy with plant pals  ,  reptiles  ,  and of course a computer screen  ---  everyone’s favorite parents  .  he’s developed websites and applications for the hero organization to help them locate and identify trouble around the city  ,  a bridge between 911 services and the heroes themselves  .  at twenty-two  ,  siwon created a popular app cataloging heroes and villains  ,  a place for fans to post their own pictures of fights and fallouts  ,  gossiping about which heroes were secretly in love and speculating about new faces behind the masks  ,  then a megapopular game where people could play as their favorite heroes or villains to save  (  or destroy  )  a city  .  as poison  ,  he wears no cape --- and in fact hasn’t even been seen since the site skyrocketed in popularity years ago  .  instead  ,  siwon helps in the development of weapons using his poison and sends little  ,  touching notes to baddies all over the world when he isn’t shuttling around on mercenary expeditions  .  he’ll ignore the mortal coil for now as long as they fly him first class  ...  he thinks  .  just hopes the organization doesn’t find his stash of supervillain fanfics  .  ikes  .

☀  𝟏𝟖𝟓𝟑 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu over there  ?  talk around town is that they are a witch  ,  but i don’t believe any of that  ,  no  .  they are just a con artist  ,  endearing  &&  generous  .  those are all just humors  .  like the people saying they were selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  (  frayed tarot cards  ,  three-piece suits  ,  sticky fingers and a smile  )

      about.  look who got himself invited into a magnate’s manor  :  a nobody who made a pretty penny from the opium trade ----- and who’s definitely not human  .  siwon’s bounced from city to city on his own  ,  brewing and selling antidotes to unfortunate come-downs from the drugs that’s rotting them all from the inside out  ,  but that’s only to sell more of that shit once the high’s gone  .  it’s enough to keep the rich happy enough  .  popular at parties  ,  he performs as a spiritualist and fortune teller  ,  snakes into conversations he shouldn’t be privy to and trades the information later  .  he’s a busy man  ,  what can he say  ?  for someone who wants to be free from all of this  ,  he enjoys parts of the lifestyle far too much  .  but maybe he should start making friends soon  .  attracting a lot of attention lately  ,  and with rumors of animals around  ,  even the “fake” witches like himself might find themselves in more trouble with the law  .  and now there’s the other trouble he’s found himself in  .  unfortunately caught swindling a vampire  ,  siwon was forced into dealing with a group of witches and their opium trade for protection  .  now his clients are their’s  .  his product and profits  ,  partly their’s  .   siwon’s in a whole other side of the criminal underground on the cusp of the victorian age  ---  and he doesn’t know what the fuck’s gonna happen  .

☀  𝟐𝟐𝟖𝟎 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------  hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu over there  ?  yes  ,  oh my  !  haven’t you heard  ?  it seems they have moved to level seven  .  makes sense  ,  considering they’re a techie  .  rumor has it they are so affable  &&  inquisitive but i know at heart they are just impulsive  &&  mercurial  .  (  busted old radios  ,  buzzing neons  ,  sticky situations  )   

      about.  tba  !

[anagentinwriting]

To Catch a Thief - Part 1

Summary:  Being an FBI field agent was your dream job but having been stuck behind a desk for most of your career you’ve almost given up. Fortunately, a series of robberies with minimal evidence forces you to assist a team in the field to help solve the case. But when the only thing left behind is a series of song lyrics, will you be able to find the perp? Or will the number of obstacles and lack of evidence keep you from solving the case?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 2,533

To Catch a Thief Masterlist / Main Masterlist

A/N: This is my first story I decided to post so hopefully, you'll stick with me till the end. Let me know what you think! Look forward to your comments!

You jolted awake hearing loud moans coming from the thin walls separating you and your neighbor's apartment. “You’re fucking kidding me.”  Sitting up you glance at your alarm clock reading 2 AM. Does this guy ever take a night off? Better yet, doesn’t he ever get exhausted? You swear new strays come out of his apartment on a daily basis.

“Yes, Peter, yes!” A woman screamed from behind the wall.

Okay, that’s it, you couldn’t take it anymore.  You tie on your robe and slip on your bunny slippers and march into the hallway to your neighbor's door.  You start pounding on it, but no one answers.

“I know you’re in there, open up,” you shouted, pounding on the door again.  Still, no answer! Are you fucking serious? You stood outside the door for a couple more minutes and continued pounding on his door.

“Open this fucking door, right now!”

You held your fist to the door once more when someone finally pulled the door open.  Standing in the doorway was a muscular dude wearing only boxer briefs causing your eyes to linger.

“What seems to be the problem, miss?”  

You lost your train of thought for a second, but then remembered what you were doing. You cleared your throat, “yes, I live on the other side of your bedroom wall. I wanted to check and see if you’re finished with your shenanigans because these walls aren’t exactly 'soundproof'?”

“Well,” he smirked down at his underwear, stepping further out of his doorway. “Yeah, we’re done. At least for the time being.” He crossed his arms, making his biceps seem larger than they appeared.

“Perfect!” you grumbled, turning around and marching to your door. You kept your lingering eyes focused in front of you, not wanted to give him the satisfaction of a second look.

“Hold on a second, I never caught your name?”

“I didn't throw it, Peter?”

“Wait, how did--” you shot a hard glare in his direction, “-- oh right,” he chuckled, nodding his head. “Have a good rest of morning, neighbor.”

You rolled your eyes closing the door.  This was your first encounter with your womanizer neighbor and it probably wouldn’t be your last.

Walking into work at FBI New York City Field Office wearing your usual business suit with your gun holstered to your hip.  It was going to be another day behind a desk. Every day, you hoped by some sheer miracle Special Agent-in-charge, Yondu Udonta, would notice your hard work and put you out in the field. You qualified as a field agent, but you wanted to work in the best division, which was Yondus. Unfortunately, his division only had openings for an analysts job, so you took it. You knew if you worked your ass off and showed Yondu what you could do, he would promote you. It's been about 3 years now and you were beginning to feel like he never would.

“What’s up hot shot? I have a story you are going to love,” Luis greeted as you walked up to the front desk.

Everyone knew Luis, both criminals, and law enforcement agents, and he knew everything going on with everybody.  Everyone seemed to trust him because he had one of those faces. In fact, he went undercover to take down the Hydra drug cartel with two agents from upstate, Rogers and Barnes.  Hydra made him steal ridiculous crap including smoothie machines; actually, it was two smoothie machines.  Luis decided after bringing them down, he wanted a simple life of working behind the scenes and they let him.

“What is it? You and your girlfriend make up?” You asked with a grin spreading across your face.

“Nah chica, she’s moved out instead. But anyways, I stayed late last night, right. And I was in the break room cleaning out the coffee maker because you know I don't like it when the filter gets moldy, or when people use the same coffee grounds multiple times it tends to lose the caffeine value, right."

“Come on Luis, get to the point.”

“Sorry sorry...ah...so I started talking with Vis, who is kind of sorta dating that really stupid fine Sokovian girl that works the front desk upstate, right. He told me that she heard Special Agent Stark talking to Yondu, right, and here comes the best part. Stark says, ‘Yo so Gamora is working this big thieving case right.’  Remember that super badass chick that worked here when you first started.” You nodded. “So anyways Stark goes, ‘She’s working this big case, you know, and she's comin' back to the city and you should offer up some space to her.’  And then Yondu said, ‘Yeah you’re right, and maybe, I should pick out an agent here to help her out.’ Of course, I got to thinking right, so I asked Vis if his really stupid fine Sokovian girl told him to tell me to tell you that Yondu is considering picking you for the spot…”

“What did he say?”

“He said yes,” Luis grinned.

“LN, my office now,” Yondu yelled, standing in the doorway to his office. You nodded turning back to Luis with a slight grin on your face as you headed over to Special Agent Udonta office.

You took a seat on the opposite side of Yondu observing all the trinket and gadgets covering his desk. There were troll dolls, glass figurines, a bobblehead dog, and even a mickey mouse statue. You didn’t know he was a fan of Disney.

“Good morning, Agent LN.  Did you hear anything about Gamora being back in town and how she is working this thieving case?"  Yondu asked, putting his feet on his desk and reclining in his chair.

“Yes sir, I may have heard something.”

“Well, it just so happens I am picking one person from this division to assist her and I’m considering you.  Would you be interested in an opportunity like this?”

“What does this case all entail?” You inquired, wanting to say yes right away, but didn’t want to come off too eager.

“You will be assisting Gamora and her partner, Kraglin, in finding out who is behind these thefts.  I don’t know much about this investigation, but I do know it involves six rare and valuable necklaces. The thieves have stolen two while the other four still remain unaccounted for. And if you do well on this case, I may consider promoting you to a fulltime field agent.”

“I’m in. When do I start?” You nodded as excitement shot through you. You bit your cheek to hold back a smile. On the outside, you kept your emotions professional, but on the inside, you felt like a child on Christmas morning.

“You start immediately.”

You smiled walking out of Yondu’s office and up to the 3rd-floor conference room C. You pause outside the door wondering if you should knock or walk right in. You cracked the door open poking your head inside. “Hi, um, I’m Agent YN LN, Yondu sent me up here to assist on the case.”

“Perfect,” acknowledged the magenta ombre colored hair women. “I’m Gamora and he's Kraglin.” She pointed to the man working behind the computer.

“Hello,” he waved, staring up from his computer.

“So, what do I need to know?” You glanced over the documents, pictures, and books lying on the tables. There was a significant amount of information you needed to catch up on, but you were ready. This was what you always wanted to do, and now, it was your chance to prove yourself.

“We are trying to find the person or persons stealing the Infinity Stone Necklace Collection. As of right now, two of the six necklaces are missing with the latest occurring early this morning.  It happened at Dr. Stephen Strange's residence on the upper east side of New York. We still don’t know how they pulled it off. There was no forced entry, no alarms triggered, and everything was as Strange left it before he went to work.

From an eyewitness at the scene, she believed the suspect to be a male in his late 20s or early 30s. She never saw his face, but he seemed athletic and strong since he was jumping over the backyard fences. We believe he has people helping him, since all we seem to have on him are these two sheets of paper with lyrics on them," Gamora informed you. She held up the two evidence bags containing the lyrics before handing them over.

#1: O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier

     O-o-h child, things'll get brighter

                     Sorry, SL

#2: Don't stop thinking about tomorrow

     Don't stop, it'll soon be here

     It'll be here better than before

     Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

                Sorry, SL

“Well, this first one is O-o-h Child by Five Stairsteps and the second one is Don’t Stop by Fleetwood. But, why is he apologizing for stealing these necklaces?”

“Wait, just from the lyrics you knew who the song and artists was. Nice work,” Gamora smirked in your direction. “We don’t know why he’s apologizing, but we suspect he’s either stealing these for a big payout or he’s toying with us.”

“Okay, but why sign SL? Are those his initials?”

“We thought so, but it was a dead end.  The only name we came across with any connection to the necklaces was a guy named Stan Lee.  Turns out he was an avid collector who admired them but never had the balls to actually steal them. Mr. Lee was in his late 80s to early 90s, so we ruled him out as a suspect. He did share a lot of information with us about these stones and it’s all here in these files. You will need to read through these to get a better understand of what we are looking for."

“Of course, but back to these song lyrics, are they special to him or linked to the necklaces somehow? It could tell us what necklace he’s going after next?” You queried, staring at the lyrics.

“See we thought the same, but there's no correlation between the songs and the necklaces,” Kraglin replied. “We thought it linked to SL’s personality, but he could've picked them at random, too. There are still many unanswered questions, but here is what we have on him so far." He walked over handing you a file.

“Male. Late 20s to early 30s. Likes classic rock and pop music,” you read. “Are you serious? This is it?”

“It’s hard to find someone when the only clues are song lyrics. Besides, profiling isn’t really my strong point,” Kraglin added with a sigh, walking back over to his computer.

“What about the first theft that happened at Caesars Palace in  Las Vegas, did we get anything there?” You asked, pointing at the bulletin board. There were five pictures of the necklaces and a blank white piece of paper with a question mark. Underneath the pictures were their last known location; Above the pictures were strange names including Space, Power, Aether, Time, Mind, and Soul.

“We didn't get anything besides the lyrics, but the necklace did get inspected once a week at the same time on the same day. We suspect our thief knew this because he knocked out the guard who usually takes care of the inspection.  Unfortunately, he didn’t see anything and didn't even know what happened. We’re still going through security tapes, but so far nothing to show the necklace being monitored. But the thief did replace the necklace with a hologram similar to it, so we know he has some great tech.  Right now, it’s a slow process with only two of us, which is why we are happy to have you on our team,” Gamora chimed in and you nodded.

“Do we know where the other four in the collection are?”

“Much like everything else around here, it’s a work in progress. We have a list of possible owners, but they all deny owning one. We assume with the necklaces being so rare and valuable the owners don’t want to risk people finding out and stealing them. Even the museums exhibiting the necklaces refrain from saying who owns them.”

“Someone is figuring it out and stealing them anyways,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Here’s everything you need to know, so head home and study.” Gamora hands you an evidence box.  “There are books and files in here, so when you come back tomorrow we want to hear some new theories.”

“Wait...you want me to leave, but Yondu said--”

“Yondu isn’t in charge of you anymore so go home, study, and come back tomorrow. The more you learn about these necklaces the better because it will give you a bigger picture of what we are looking for. Besides, you have to prove your worth by putting in the work and we want to see if your worth bringing on this case.”

“Guess I’ll get to it.” You nodded, lifting the evidence box and grunting at how heavy it was.  This was going to be a long trip back to your apartment.

Stepping through the doors to your apartment lobby struggling with the box, you see the doors to the elevator closing.  “Hold the door please!” A hand stopped the door and inside was the man from last night. “Thanks,” you mumbled, and Peter nodded with a smile.

“You dress like your important,” Peter asserted with a lopsided smile.

“And you dress like a horny teenager,” you commented, rolling your eyes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s not like we have to talk because we are in an elevator together.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, YN.”

“Impressive, so you learned my name.” You set the box down on the floor in front of you to give your arms a short rest. For real, what did Gamora put in the box?

“I did. It’s on your mailbox and I have to say it suits you.” You shrugged, wishing he would stop talking to you. “What’s in the box?”

“A severed head,” you smirked, seeing him raise his eyebrows out of the corner of your eye. “But it’s mostly books. Something your girlfriend wouldn’t know anything about.”

“Oh, I don't have a girlfriend,” he smirked. “I prefer to not get attached to my lady friends.”

“Huh..that doesn't surprise me.”

The elevator doors opened and you picked up your box only to notice Peter holding the doors open for you. He may be a womanizing player, but it was nice to know he had some gentleman type traits. You nodded walking past him to your apartment. You set your box down to unlocked the door and glanced in Peter’s direction.  He was standing by his door with his eyes wandering over you biting his lip.

“Did you want to be one of my lady friends... I mean since we're neighbors it could be convenient,” he winked, shooting you a smile.

“Uck. I would rather sleep with myself.” You stepped into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“So is that a firm no then,” Peter shouted from the hallway. “Well, I’ll still be here if you ever change your mind.”

[onychaos]

End to a ranting saga

So, it has been a long time coming. A end to this rant saga of the speedrunning community. It has been a year, and I want to get this off of my chest. I know what I want to say, and I have a lot to say. This will be my viewpoint, and how I feel towards the community now, as well as other things. This is my experience with the sonic speedrunning community

I should warn you that this is a serious post. as I plan to end this saga, with a bang.

Warning: While reading this post, do take this post with a grain of salt, I will throw shade and I do have my reasons for that. With that being said, let’s start the post.

Editor note: This is me ranting about things, since I really don’t like to use friends as a outlet. If this rant offends you, I’m sorry but It’s a rant. They are never nice, and do take this with a grain of salt. - May 10th

Speedrunning

I guess this is it, huh. To think, I saw my self ranting about this community but things change. As you all know, I made a few rants and talked about how I feel towards speedrunning. Most, if not all was mostly negative, but for good reason.

Speedrunning, I feel that speedrunning used to be a special thing. Back then, before it became a normal daily event. it was a simple hobby meant to see how well could you play a game as fast or beat the game within a time frame. Hell, it was something everyone or friends could for fun. You could speedrun, make new friends, learn how a game works.

Back then in 2013. Speedrunning was a special thing. Something I felt was going to get better… Past me was wrong. While drama was normally not in the speedrun circle I was in, I didn’t really start to see how shit things were, because, I was new to speedrunning, and I just went along with what others did. Pretty much, not having a opinion, following orders.

Not all speedrun communities are like this.

But, it was whatever, the community was “friendly”, if you followed along and I noticed that I became a white knight but it was making my ride in the community somewhat ok. I shallowed my pride and went with it. By doing this, I was both fortunately and unfortunately to meet new people within the Sonic speedrunning community and, on Twitch..

It was not till 2015 - 2016 where I saw a new wave of Sonic “Speedrunners” who are super competitive in speedrunning. This is where I started to see these new toxic runners and this made me slowly resent speedrunning and this feeling of resentment would slowly grow over the next 2 years.. This is, of course, the point where I started to have my own opinions of Sonic runners and their actions.

And, at the same time, this was when I sent after by that person’s white knight lackeys because you know… “Opinions are bad” but anywho, I think around mid 2016, I started to not care about speedrunning but then, I saw “friends” speedrunning and, somehow that sparked a weak flame to speedrun run again. But really didn’t enjoy it as much as I used to.

It’s really sad, I had many plans to speedrun with friends and others. I would love to had the chance to speedrun with friends and others. I mean, I could do that but there really is no longer a point to do these speedruns together. I get speedrunners want to get a good time or get a better time. That’s fine

But when, it’s for fun, the mood just dies. Maybe I am too optimistic, I may as well try to catch lighting in a bottle, it’s not gonna happen, unless hell freezes over then, I can keep dreaming, I suppose… Of a day, where we could just race a game for fun. (Sonic 4 all emeralds, while that was not the race I had in mind. It is close to my idea, at the very least. There may be some hope)

White knights and opinions in speedrunning

We all know what white knights are? Right? Ok to make this quick and simple. A white knight is a user that will rush to someone being attacked, this means that said white knight will rush to the aid of someone being attacked, chances are, they did something to earn this but the white knight will defend all their actions to win their favor. That was anything but quick and simple…

Well, you get a idea. I will be mentioning the Sonic Speedrunning Community, as it does house a number of white knights.

So, as I have said before “the Sonic speedrunning community was "friendly”, if you followed along" this is true from what I seen. Two streamers I watch, I noticed a habit and the effect it has.

Test Subject 1. - He seems to follow along with his fellow Sonic speedrunners and does whiteknight them from harm. Funny thing is… I think he knows that some of the shit they do is fucked up. And if, that is the case, it makes this issue much worse than I thought.

When 1 follows along like a puppet or a pawn with no opinions of other runners, the effect is that, more Sonic speedrunners come to him and, it’s awful cause this just gives the Idea. “if you are my friend, then you can do as you please. if, it does not effect me, go ahead.”  Normally, I don’t care but I feel this just gives the impression that shit is ok.

And I noticed that the other streamer is not a white knight. Having a opinion of other runners or the community, and not following along seems to be disliked among the Sonic Speedrun community, I know I am talking about the Sonic Speedrun community, but this is a be all, end all rant.

Speedrunning has lost it’s value to me. But, this is just a me thing. I have to say this because, I know people will read this and go “Speedrunning has not lost all value. You are wrong for saying this” Sometimes, people don’t like to read, so I will be sure to make my comment in Bold :V

*RANT INCOMING*

// I want to get this off of my chest \

Before someone says “Don’t open old cuts” I want you to stop right there. This has been on my chest and GOD DAMN, I’m getting this off of my chest

I would like to mention one thing. So, when I had drama with a streamer who threw me under the bus. I went to said friend and made some jokes. But of course, when I made a “Fox season” joke. (Duck Season, Rabbit Season) Somehow, this joke was “inciting” a witch hunt…I swallowed my pride. But I feel that is total Bullshit. This was a simple joke. And the fact that you saw it as “inciting” A witch hunt, is BS.

“Fox Season” Mind you, this is a fucking thing. If you need, no, have to REACH to make a joke. Or what I said, sound like a attack on your friend, that’s pretty sad

I don’t even think it was the joke. Rather, you zero on me, because I made a post of your friend, and you assume I would Incite a Witch Hunt after your friend.

Look, there is protecting a friend, and then, there is being a white knight for someone. This is borderline white Knighting to me, so, it’s fine for them to fuck me over or throw me under the bus, send their lackeys after me, but because they are your friend, and you are in their circle, that makes it fine to do so?  2017. I took a lot of bullshit to the face. Dealt with a lot of Bull Shit and drama and getting fucked over.

There is a lot of shit I will take. Being called a asshole, I can speak my mind and my opinions may be hurtful, But don’t you GODDAMN tell me that I’m trying to incite a witch hunt, let alone assume anything negative about me. I draw the fucking line there when you start assuming negative about me.

That’s a fucking insult to me, and that is made worse to hear someone that you know for a few years, assume the worst of you, cause of a damn “joke” that had no ill will. But, whatever. I thank you. Because of mid to late 2017, I now know where I stand in this community or rather, I know where I stand with you and your “friends” So, this does help.

Look, let’s get your GODDAMN facts right. I don’t do “Witch Hunts” And do not Incite Witch Hunts. I tell my experience, so that someone else doesn’t have to suffer the same fate as me. Don’t you fucking confuse the two. Talking about a experience (Good or bad) vs. inciting a witch hunt. Are two fucking complete things.

So, before you white knight your friends from the “Big Bad Guy” again. Get your fucking facts straight before you assume shit about me.

No, i’m not ending any friendships over this shit. Because while this did hurt more than it should, Someone I looked up to, supported. It really does hurt to have them assume some about you after they known you for a while. It won’t end anything, but I will be keeping a distance from this person, but it makes sense, he knows them longer, by default, he will believe them and any facts or proof about them doing shady things. He turns a blind eye to it.

It’s funny. I wanted to believe that something was not true, but such a stupid Idea of mine. Something like that. Ha, it’s a silly for me to believe. It’s life, nothing will work out as you have planned. it’s whatever. You live and learn. Friends end up being a disappointment to you, one way or another.

I won’t mention who I am talking about. But I will say this, You have never made me mad. I never had a reason to be so mad at you.. I held you at such a high regard, knowing you wouldn’t disappoint me in the future… And I guess really, I’m not mad at him, just a bit disappointed, is all. That’s it, really. just disappointed, to be honest.

I said what I wanted to say that I didn’t say before. This is a rant.

*Rant done*

Speedrunning, friends, and livestreaming

I am a “speedrunner” I’m not good at it. And I don’t plan on it. and I know this will or may piss off some friends.

a. Livestreaming

Livestreaming is fun and having people to chat with is more fun. Streaming on twitch.tv and being “In” the speedrunning community before I disliked it. I made a lot of “friends” most of them are speedrunners, Nothing wrong with that. we are a small group of streamers / speedrunners. I notice habits that they have shown. Some I noticed tend to show support to speedrunners. I won’t say who.

Again, that’s fine. You like what you like. I won’t stop you. I am grateful that I have speedrunners as friends. And they do support me when I livestream speedruns… I know I can’t rely on speedrun friends because they want to do their own thing. They don’t want to watch a playthrough on Twitch.tv, they want to see speedruns

I guess, in a way. I really don’t ask friends for help. In a way. I envy these people who get support from their friends but at the same time… I don’t envy them at all. I’m weird.

I guess, in a way. I have a back up plan when I do quit speedruns. Look, I know people say that you can’t quit speedrunning, it doesn’t happen, It’s true to some point. But people say a lot of shit. Doesn’t make it true. People speedrun, because they want to.

Getting off topic… I will save this for later when I quit streaming in the future, but that won’t happen for a while. :P Or become a lone wolf in the future I guess. c:

Things I am not fond of in the Sonic Speedrun Community

I should say this, right now

Sonic Runners and/ or sonic members trying to silent opinions of others

People going behind others back to send their lackeys friends after them

Really do dislike people having this hive mindset

Really don’t like having to go along with the Sonic community to have them be friendly towards me.

I hate this mindset “If you are not friends with my friends, then we can’t be friends anymore”

Sonic runners who turning a blind eye or let some of this shit slide because that person is their friend :v

Sonic runners who are your friends but don’t have your back

But having friends who are speedrunners is good and bad.

You have a new point of view or a new outlook on things by knowing them. You can understand new things, rather that’s good or bad, is up to you.

By having friends as speedrunners, I saw a new outlook on life and things. I had laughs, good times

But on the other side of coin. I seen drama from friends that made me keep my distance

I seen how they can be, made me question, if I made a right choice or not.

But for this, the good outweigh the bad, just by a bit. :P

The end of a saga…

So, I guess, this is where I tell you how I really feel about speedrunning. I still resent speedrunning, is what, I would have said. As I wrote this I started to have different thoughts… It dawned on me. I didn’t resent speedrunning but rather, I have resentment towards the Sonic Speedrun Community.

It used to be my home, If I had no opinion and followed along, it would be a friendly place for me to stay but I choose to not follow along, I choose to have opinions of others, I choose to not be some sheep.  But this was the main reason why “Sonikmage” or “Soniksama” is gone, This is the reason why all my ties have been cut with the Sonic Speedrun Community members.

I guess in someway, this was bound to happen. While, I am disappointed on how things turned out. I did learn a few things. I guess, to end on this note. I did have “good times” when I was apart of this community. Made some questionable fake acquaintances, made some good friends, lost some “friends” when I changed from “Sonik” to “OnyChaos”. I feel losing those friends, I’m better off without them.

My final note on speedrunning

Speedrunning of late has changed, for the worst, It used to be about going to see how fast you can go in a game and improving one’s time while having fun with friends, and even with strangers.

The environment was friendly and welcoming, you can or could have fun speedrunning, but now, the speedrun environment has become a toxic and unwelcoming environment, in my eyes. all the In-fighting or all this backstabbing in the community or ton of drama that spreads about useless shit, people getting offended over things and shit, friendships coming and going before they can fucking start.

Oh, I hear you now. “Well, you don’t need to be in a community” I don’t, but then, what would the point be than? Being a part of a community is suppose to feel like a home away from home. A place where you could escape life for a bit and talk with your friends and escape bullshit and drama. A area where you could relax from life, even if it is a short haven.

No one seems to try to have fun in the Sonic speedrun community, I can’t blame them, it’s a toxic environment that rewards those who are super competitive and only want to be number one. I used to be like them but i saw what was speedrunning doing to me. Speedrunning can be fun, if you speedrun with friends.

I will not deny that, the Sonic Community, and speedrunning Community has done a lot. They have done some good. I want to get this out the way cause I know someone will read this and get offended. :v

I guess the real take away from this is… Speedrunning is fun to do. It can be a blast. Just don’t put all your time into one community or it will blow up in your face. And don’t be shocked if some acquaintances cut ties with you in the future. I still like speedrunning. But the way I view speedrunning, is in a negative light.. Is that fair? No.

End of the Saga to Sonic speedrunning community ranting…

It’s now over… A community I was in, supported through thick and thin by whatever means, and cheered on, when it was the underdog. The Sonic Community, a place I did see as my home away from home, when I was “Apart” of it. Now, the Sonic speedrun community, a community, I now resent. How things have changed. Something I used to love and cared for, now I resent it with a passion…

Hey… If you somehow made it to the end of this long ass rant and did not get offended / mad or disappointed at this rant. Well done. You get a Sonic 4 Any% race. it’s May. Everything I have bottled up from 2016 - 2017 and up to now, was dumped into this massive rant.

As I write this. I feel like giving the Sonic Community one last chance. But I doubt my impressions towards them will be changed. hey, anything can happen, I suppose… Not gonna unblock them though :x

I am still grateful for the friends i have made and still have now. And while I don’t always agree with them on some matters or choices, I do respect them and still grateful of them sticking with me, during my rants.

if this rant somehow is the one to break the camel’s back to end the friendship with me, I guess it will show me where I stand with them, I suppose, it was meant to end. :v

Ony~

P.S You know who you are. I would not do it, if I were you. >_>

[diaryofasithchick]

Saturated in Star Wars  (You say it like it’s a bad thing...is it?)

REALLY, EMPRESS, IS IT TOO MUCH?

I posted this Hallmark ad on the Sith Support Group on FB, and within a few moments and comments, it led to a 😑  response from her.

https://www.facebook.com/HallmarkStores/videos/10104204997593081/

Hallmark has gone beyond peddling Star Wars ornaments and is in full-on money-grab, Star Wars-bandwagoning mode. I hesitated to agree with Krystee because Star Wars merchandise is a functional part of my daily life. 

But, yes, when is it too much? 

Does my Roomba need to look like R2D2 (I’m feeling, yes. I need the R2D2 Roomba skin I see advertised. It’s the closest thing I have to a real droid in my home.)? However, I feel that Hallmark dishonors Boba Fett, featuring him on an apron with the cheesy attempt at a pun, “Does this apron make me look Fett?” Ugh! So where does one draw the line? I thought that there was no need to, but I am feeling...I hate to say it, fatigued by the saturation of Star Wars merchandise, particularly the front-loading of merchandise of a film we’ve yet to see. What pushed me more to see her side was this Star Wars matching pajamas ad.  

No fucking way would I subject my family to wearing matching outfits of any kind (although my family is just me and my kid). This was too much. I admit, though, I would get PJs for myself, and I would buy some of those Hallmark products (I already own the pizza cutter). For me, I usually don’t buy collectibles, anymore; I buy Star Wars products that are usable because I’m not sure that I want to collect and display things that I just have to find space for and remember to dust. Of course, I sacrifice quality as some of the Star Wars functional products look cool, but they are often poorly made.

NOT FEELING THE FORCE...FRIDAY

On Force Friday there were social media sites asking people to post their hauls. I felt such inadequacy as a fan because I only made one purchase (oh, glob, is he adorable!)

While at work that day, a friend sent me a text while she was at Kohl’s, and I told her that I just couldn’t look! I wanted to look. But, more, I wanted to look away. Force Friday has come and gone, and I don’t want to know anymore about what I missed.  

RESISTING THE RESISTANCE IS A GOOD THING, RIGHT?

I’m just not sure about buying merchandise for characters I haven’t even met, yet. Although I fear that I will be filled with immense regret if I didn’t grab a Porg and find out that I love them, when the movie comes out. I feel like all this pre-release merchandise is kinda killing the excitement. I want to love the Porgs, but how if they turn out to be irritating as fuck in the film? I’m not gonna get all into them without meeting them first.

I really hate to and hesitate to admit this (and perhaps I’m just grouchy in my old age), but I am starting to get a little irritated by one particular character from The Last Jedi that I don’t even know about, yet. So, just as bad as people loving on characters they haven’t seen, I am starting to dislike a character I haven’t seen. And I don’t want to feel this way! But the Rose Tico character is starting to really annoy me solely because people keep posting stuff about how much we should/will dote on this character. At least this one asks if we’re looking forward to her.  

How can I possibly not like this character without knowing anything about her? I’m also mixed race -- 1/2 Asian -- so I’m so thrilled to see more diversity in the films, but I’m tired of the excitement about a character I don’t know, yet. Why am I having such the opposite reaction as many other people as described in this article? http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/last-jedi-action-figure-photos-leaked_us_597d5e6ee4b02a8434b6e1c4 and in the reactions to the above tweet.

I felt a bit comforted by the two who were less than positive, but I really don’t want to dislike her without even knowing what her character will do or be like in the film. I am begging for the film to show me the error of my preconceptions. Perhaps I have a dislike because I know that she is Resistance scum. 

My sister and I received the Boba Fett action figure for Christmas before The Empire Strikes Back came out, so I have had merchandise of a character before I met that character -- but it worked out. We soon realized how lucky we were to get an action figure of a bad-ass character before we even knew how bad ass he was.  

But of course that just smacks of nostalgia and some “Nya-Nya-I-was-there-for-the-original-release-of-the-films” smugness on my part. Star Wars will never feel like it did when I was a kid, and it was new to the world, and I shouldn’t expect it to, and I don’t want to expect it to. 

A GALAXY NOT SO FAR AWAY, IT’S JUST AS FAR AS THE SUPERMARKET

Some say it doesn’t feel as special to see Star Wars characters on your snacks or paper towel packaging. 

But I have the same reaction as this:

or that the dark side is diminished when our Lord Vader is on a tube of toothpaste or Kylo Ren is on sunblock (although my pasty, pale cupcake could certainly convince people that he uses a very effective sunblock). I am not happy that the merchandising is indiscriminate -- like there is no love and care given to Star Wars merchandise as evidenced by the action figures with the misplaced eyes or the unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your intended use) shaped Star Wars pool toys.

And, as much as I love to see Star Wars, it seems that, no matter where I turn, I do feel saturated. I feel like I have to dodge any clues from the loads of merchandise and straight-out spoilers in the news and social media about the upcoming film because I want it to be all new to me when I see it in December.

I DON’T UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER  

But if I could speak to myself, the 6-year-old girl, in 1977, who fell in love with Star Wars, and I told her that one day Star Wars stuff would be just about everywhere on everything, I have a feeling she would feel hopeful and vindicated. She would see the worthiness of standing up for herself against kids that teased her because they thought she was weird for liking Star Wars, taunting her that Star Wars was some stupid movie that no one will remember, trying to convince her of its insignificance. Okay, this still happens to me now....

I don’t need to make a conscious effort to block out potential clues or spoilers because I am just flat-out desensitized to news about The Last Jedi. I have my 😑  moments. I skip over Star Wars: The Last Jedi news like I skip news about sports (other than baseball) -- and that saddens me and frightens me, and this is, perhaps, my cry for help, as I fear that I might be becoming numb, at least temporarily, to the news about my favorite galaxy far, far away.

#thelastjedi #forcefriday #starwars #youvelostthatlovingfeeling

[chubsonthemoon]

two idiots, one confession

summary: Hinata is not known for his brains. Then again, neither is Kageyama. (Or: In which Hinata tells Kageyama how he feels).

pairing: hinata/kageyama

words: 2473

also on ao3

Hinata is a little bit of an idiot.

It’s not like he isn’t aware of the fact—on the contrary, he’s reminded of it everyday, usually around 6 am sharp, with his schoolbag banging against his knees and his breath coming out of him in short puffs. “Hinata, you dumbass! Don’t try to get ahead of me.” The insults are natural, of course, because Kageyama is trying his damn hardest to outrun him.

So, it comes as a little shock to him when he realizes it first. The thing that’s been going on for a few weeks, the thing that makes Noya and Tanaka snicker, the thing that makes Daichi exchange knowing glances with Suga, and occasionally warrants a disgusted scoff out of Tsukkishima.

The thing is, he may have a little bit of a crush on Kageyama.

Which is great, really. It really is. (Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself). It makes Hinata’s heart do all kind of bangs and guaahs and swooshes, and generally really happy and light inside whenever they have volleyball practice.

In fact, Kageyama might even like him a little bit, too. He sees little hints here and there, especially after they’ve done another perfect quick, or when they race to pick up the most volleyballs after practice, or when they split meat buns with the rest of the team. It’s nice. 

Unfortunately for the both of them, Kageyama is also an idiot.  

Because once Hinata puts two and two together—like all the little lingering touches here and there (in his hair, on his wrist, the small of his back) and not-so-annoyed huffs of dumbass and stupid (they’ve become terms of endearment at this point, really), he can’t stop thinking about it. How much he would like to hold Kageyama’s stupid hand, or touch his stupid cheek, or maybe even kiss his stupid face.

Hinata is stupid, yes, but Kageyama is even stupider. (Hinata comforts himself with at least this).

“Oi, Hinata. Your receive is off, again. Do it right, for God’s sake.”

For the umpteenth time that week, he wonders why he even likes this guy.

“It’s not my fault, Bakageyama. You’re distracting me,” he shoots back. He doesn’t miss the little double take that runs through Kageyama, or the faint blush that runs high on his cheeks.

Huh. Maybe Hinata is smarter than people give him credit for.  

“Wha-what the hell’s that mean? Is there something wrong with my face?” Kageyama says.

Hinata peers over the rim of his water bottle to take a good look at him. Blue eyes, jutted jaw, narrowed eyebrows. It’s unfair, really, how pretty he is. He almost wants to say so, knowing there’s a chance Kageyama might not actually kill him.

But instead, Hinata walks up right into his personal space, gets on his tiptoes. He lifts a hand, watches in fascination as Kageyama’s eyes widen and dart to his own, sees how he flushes even darker under that mop of infuriatingly pretty black hair.

Nah, he’s still an idiot.

He sticks a finger in his mouth and shoves it in Kageyama’s ear, instead. “Wet willy.”

“HINATA, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”

He laughs and runs away as quick as his feet can carry him, pretending that the redness in his ears is from the heat of the gym in the summer.

~

Armed with this newfound knowledge, he decides to consult Suga.

Suga is smart and nice, unlike Tsukkishima. He also seems like he might know a lot about this…thing Hinata is feeling, so before practice one day, Hinata tiptoes up to him and whispers, not-so-softly, “Can we talk?”

Suga looks a little worried, but he gives Hinata a smile, the one that makes the beauty mark next to his eye wiggle (and, for some reason, never fails to make Daichi-san trip over nothing). “Of course.”

Hinata gives a quick, furtive glance around the clubroom to ensure that no one else is around (not that there would be—everyone has already made their way to the gym), and says conspiratorially, “I think I like Kageyama. And—I think, maybe, that he likes me, too.”

To Hinata’s surprise, Suga is not surprised at all. “I see.” He practically beams, and Hinata becomes even more confused. Had he not hid his feelings well enough?

“I guess it was pretty obvious, huh?” he asks, a little dejected. If someone who wasn’t Kageyama had figured it out, then why couldn’t Kageyama himself do it? Bakageyama.

Suga is quick to catch on, fortunately. “It’s not bad at all!” he says with that encouraging smile of his. “I think it’s great that you’re always so open with yourself and others. But you know—” He bends down a little so that he’s on eye-level with Hinata, so Hinata leans in, too. “I also think that, even though Kageyama is a genius on the court and everything, he may not be as quick when it comes to feelings, you know? Maybe you should just tell him how you feel.”

Hinata nods eagerly. “Ok!”

He pauses. “Wait, just like that? Like—hey, Kageyama! I really like you and your tosses! Want to go out on a date? Like that?”

“Yep.” Suga stands back up and ruffles Hinata’s hair affectionately. “Just like that.”

Hinata wonders if Suga is actually an angel in disguise. He’s spared from asking by the banging open of the clubroom door and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees none other than Kageyama himself, his face livid. “Hey, dumbass, what the hell is taking you so long?”

Crap. Had he heard? But, nope. There is nothing on the setter’s face but annoyance, reserved specifically for Hinata. When he spots Suga he quickly says, “Not you, Sugawara-san! I apologize,” and inclines his head respectfully.

Suga simply laughs. He picks up his team jacket and heads for the door, pausing only to give Hinata a wink and mouth “good luck” when Kageyama’s not looking.

Hinata flashes him a thumbs up and quickly follows, making sure to duck whenever Kageyama tries to take a swing at his hair from the doorway.

With the odds he’s facing, he could use a little luck.

~

He decides that the best time to do it is just before they part ways to leave for home. This way, if everything goes south, he can easily get on his bike and pedal away as fast as possible.

As for what he’ll say to Kageyama the next day if this is the case, then. Well. He hasn’t thought that far yet.

He’s a little fidgety all throughout practice, nervous about how this is gonna go. It gets to the point that even Kageyama notices (as dense to emotions as he is). “Oi, Hinata. You’re still not keeping your arms together when you block. Get it together, dumbass.”

He responds by aiming a kick at Kageyama’s shins, making sure to stay alert as Asahi serves from the other side of the net. (Wouldn’t want another incident). “I know that, idiot. You don’t have to tell me every five seconds.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t fuck up every five seconds I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

“Listen, Bakageyama, I’m working on it—”

“You two! Quit yapping and focus.” Daichi is as strict as ever, not tolerating any nonsense during practice.

He sends Kageyama a warning glare that he hopes is more intimidating than terrified, and skips over to Nishinoya so he can practice receiving a little more. (If Noya knows that Hinata’s so interested because he really likes it when Kageyama gruffly tells him ‘good work’ after he picks up a hard-to-reach ball, he doesn’t say anything).

When Coach Ukai blows the whistle to announce that practice is over, Hinata is nowhere near ready, emotionally or physically. He drags his feet as the rest of the team lowers the net, groans throughout their cool-down stretches, and generally ignores the usual post-practice hustle and bustle. When Kageyama shoots him a weird look after he half-heartedly accepts their daily competition of who can pick up the most volleyballs, he doesn’t notice.

“Good work today, team!” says Takeda-sensei. “You can all go home now. Don’t forget—the training camp is coming up soon, so make sure you have all your assignments in order.” He looks directly at the usual four suspects, but this, too, Hinata does not notice.

Before he knows it, they’re already changing in the clubroom, Tanaka yelling excitedly about how Kiyoko-san looked at him again (“Twice in one day, Ryu? Arrggh, you lucky bastard”) and Yamaguchi asking Tsukkishima if he wants to get meat buns at Coach Ukai’s store.

“Um!” Hinata says loudly, then blanches when the rest of the team turns to look at him. “Does anyone want to stay behind and practice some more?” He definitely does not want to do this confession thing whenever Tsukkishima is around.

“Sounds fun,” chirps Suga, and Hinata feels a funny whoosh in his stomach at the sly grin that’s sent his way. “Why don’t you practice with Kageyama? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Hinata chances a look at the person in question. Kageyama just shrugs. “Sure.”

Alright! Suga-san, you’re the best!

He and Kageyama race to the gym, as usual. Unfortunately, Kageyama wins again, leaving them at 42-40 wins, 30-28 losses.

“I win!” Kageyama says triumphantly. He leans against the doors, breathing slightly heavier than normal. When he doesn’t hear a response, he turns around, face scrunched up in mild annoyance. “Oi, did you hear me, idiot? That leaves us at—”

“KageyamaIreallylikeyoupleasegooutwithme!”

Silence. Hinata’s head is bowed slightly, orange hair no doubt a mess after tripping and falling halfway to their destination (which is also why he lost, he would later point out). He’s too afraid to look up.

“What?”

He looks up anyway, and tries not to flinch.

He’s been acquainted with all the various faces that the King of the Court can make. (There aren’t many of them, after all. It’s usually limited to constipated, angry, angry and constipated, or angry and constipated but not as much because he’s looking at a volleyball). Unfortunately, Hinata is not quite sure what to classify this expression as.

Kageyama looks kind of like he got hit in the face with a volleyball, Hinata thinks distantly. If that volleyball had been served by both the Great King and Asahi and perhaps Ushiwaka, all at the same time.

Never one to give up easily, however, he plows on.

“I’m saying, you absolute doofus, that I like you! Um, a lot!” He stretches his arms out for emphasis. “And I would really like it if we went out sometime…”

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

“Kageyama?”

Now, with his best friend starting to look like Bokuto-san’s serve has been added to the metaphorical mix, he’s starting to get a little worried.

Shit, I think I broke him.

“Hey! Kageyama!” He leans a little forward and waves a hand in front of unblinking eyes. When Kageyama doesn’t respond for another few seconds, he falls back flat-footed, face hurt. “Fine. Since the idea of dating me is too much for your…your stupid brain, I’ll just—”

“You…you like me?” Kageyama finally says, though it comes out more as a whisper-wheeze, as if it takes all of his willpower.

Hinata can feel his face turning approximately the same shade as his hair, partly from embarrassment, partly from frustration and hopelessness and endearment because…well, it’s Kageyama. “I don’t hate you. I…I guess I like you. Kind of. But I like volleyball more, just saying!”

Kageyama looks as if he’s slowly regaining control of his senses, thankfully.

“You like me,” he repeats, his eyes sharpening slightly. Then, they widen, bright blue darting to Hinata’s face. “You like me. You like me.”

“Jeeze. You always call me a dumbass, look who’s dumb now!” Hinata scoffs. “Yes, I’ve said it about four times now. I like you.”

That stupid mouth, the one that Hinata has half a mind to either punch or kiss, opens slowly, then closes. “I…”

“Aghhh, you know what? Just forget I said anything. Alright?” Hinata starts backing away. “C’mon, I actually want get meat buns with everyone else, so we can practice together later. Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Wait!”

Hinata turns around with another retort on his lips. “Listen, you don’t have to say anything—”

Kageyama suddenly turns a very alarming shade of red and mumbles something. It kinda sounds like “mmhffshmm.”

“What the hell are you saying?”

Kageyama looks a little over Hinata’s shoulder and mutters the same thing, only slightly louder.

Hinata puts his hands on his hips in irritation. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He’s about to make a run for it, preferably towards his bicycle, (so he can get a head start, because there’s no way he’s sticking around and making the situation even worse), when—

“I’m saying I like you too, you fucking dumbass,” Kageyama nearly spits, voice climbing higher with each syllable.

Hinata stops, then blinks.

Blinks again.

A wide smile stretches across his face, and, to his utter delight, Kageyama blushes even deeper. “Really? I knew it!” He mimes a little fist pump and jumps as high as he can, triumph incarnate.

“Shut up,” Kageyama hisses. “I’m not saying it again.” He takes two strides towards Hinata—damn him and his long legs—and glares at him. “Yes, I’ll go on….on a whatever with you.”

“A date, Kageyama. It’s called a date,” Hinata beams.

“Shut up,” says Kageyama.

For a moment, they just stand there, looking at each other in mild—but admittedly comfortable—confusion. Hinata takes a moment to appreciate a couple things (like how Kageyama’s bangs fall into his eyes just so, and how, when he’s not looking constipated or angry, he’s actually quite handsome) before breaking the silence.

“Can we go right now?” he asks, just as Kageyama says, “Wait, what the hell do you mean you ‘knew it’?”

“Let’s go get meat buns! The rest of the team might still be there, and we can tell them the good news!” Hinata starts skipping away, singing about convenience stores and dates with stupidly pretty setters at the top of his lungs. Kageyama nearly trips over himself trying to catch up.

“Oi, Hinata! Don’t ignore me! What do you mean, you already knew that I li—don’t hate you? I just figured it out myself!”

To this, Hinata skids to a stop, does a half twirl to face his boyfriend (it makes him feel unbelievably giddy when he hears in it his head), and grins from ear to ear, the wind rustling from his flaming hair to his jacket collar.

“Maybe I’m just smarter than you think, Bakageyama,” he says, hand stretched to touch the sky.

(At the sight, Kageyama looks a little dazed, but Hinata does not notice).

Beautiful.

“Dumbass.” 

[goddamnedamericanjedi]

Classic Rock Magazine Interview With Sebastian Bach

SEBASTIAN BACH          © Dave Ling - December 2002       

  It wasn’t the greeting that worried me. During the 13 years that I’ve been interviewing Sebastian Bach, there have been a variety of headlocks and bear hugs. Fortunately, today it’s just a super-firm handshake. Although in the past he’s spat huge globules of phlegm across the room to express disgust at certain subjects, and once even called to talk on a mobile phone whilst taking a piss, neither was I overly concerned about the former Skid Row frontman’s behavior during our encounter.

My biggest reservation was how this particular conversation might conclude. Last time we spoke face-to-face, during a press tour for Skid Row’s 1995 album ‘Subhuman Race’, matters concluded prematurely after I stated the journalistic consensus that the album was considerably below par. “We’ll see who’s still doing this in ten years time,” raged Seb with a face like thunder, before booting the back of my chair, storming from the room and cancelling the rest of his interviews for the day.

That decade he referred to isn’t yet up, but thankfully we’re both still here. “What you said back then hurt so much because I considered a writer like you, who’d written a lot of our early press, to represent the British media,” confides Bach while preparing for Classic Rock’s photo session. “It was hard to take, dude.”

The Canadian had joined Skid Row after being spotted jamming at the wedding of photographer Mark Weiss, and a support spot on Bon Jovi’s ‘New Jersey’ tour gave the fledgling quintet their breakthrough.

Unfortunately, Bach’s dark side was soon revealed and he claimed to have “punched the shit out of Jon, decked him on his fat little ass” when a dispute about a contract Skid Row had signed with Bon Jovi’s Underground publishing company was leaked to the press.

Seb’s wild man credentials were further emphasized by a string of antics, some amusing and some irresponsible. He wiped his derriere on a copy of the Daily Star at Docklands Arena (his tackle flying free in the process) and incurred a lifetime ban at Wembley through playing the song ‘Get The Fuck Out’ when warned not to. Even more regrettably, however, he also wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘Aids Kills Faggots’, and in front of MTV’s cameras threw a glass bottle back into a Massachusetts crowd after it had hit him on the head. A female 14-year-old required 125 stitches.

Finally, Skid Row’s patience snapped, and the relative failure of ‘Subhuman Race’ enabled them to dismiss Bach at the end of 1996. The last time he spoke to Classic Rock, in Issue 13, Sebastian claimed to have no idea why he’d been ‘let go’, adding ruefully: “I’ll never understand why we dropped the ball.” Now a solo artist, his 1999 album ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ has just been reissued, and Bach has a variety of projects on the go.

DL. You’re here for an appearance on the Never Mind The Buzzcocks, the BBC1 game show. Do you know much about British pop music?            SB. Ha ha… no. Well, Iron Maiden had a No 1 record, so that’s pop music, right?

DL. So how will you act when they inevitably take the piss, as they did to Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine and Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maiden?            SB. I’ve been on that show twice in America, but the American version flopped - hopefully that wasn’t my fault. I don’t know how a host on British game show could go after me… they’re the retarded ones for paying me $1,800 to come over for 45 minutes work. Dude, everyone says he’s gonna be horrible, but I’ll show him fuckin’ horrible! I can rewrite the fuckin’ level of horrible. I’ll give him a taste of horror.

DL. You recently posted an extremely touching tribute to your father, David Bierk, at your website. Which characteristics good or bad did you inherit from your parents?            SB. My dad was a painter who had shows all over the biggest galleries in New York. Elton John, Bon Jovi, Axl Rose and Gene Simmons all bought his paintings. He just let me know that nothing was impossible. My intensity, the way I talk, he made me realize that singing wasn’t a vocational choice, it was a life choice.            My only regret is that I’ve been on the road from the age of 13 to now, aged 34, and I missed out on so much family life. I never just got a bowl of popcorn, sat down with my dad and watched the TV. He told me on his deathbed, ‘Everybody in this world is too busy’. I’d say to readers of this magazine, if you’ve got somebody - whether it’s your brother, your mom or sister - just enjoy life with them for just a fuckin’ second, because I look back and God… [trails off].

DL. Since being kicked out of Skid Row in 1996 you’ve spread your wings into TV presenting and appearing in the Broadway versions of Jekyll & Hyde and The Rocky Horror Show.            SB. One of my idols, Geoff Tate [of Queensrÿche], keeps calling and asking how I got onto Broadway. The honest truth is that Broadway came to me. I never in a million years thought I’d have the braincells left to memorise the Jekyll & Hyde script. I shit you not, it’s like War And Peace. How it happened was that Jason Flom at Atlantic signed Skid Row in 1987, and Atlantic also has a theatre division. Jason called and said I had the meanest voice and the personality to do it, and believe me when I was Edward Hyde I became Edward Hyde. It was cool music, I swear, some of it’s like ‘Sad Wings Of Destiny’ [the 1976 Judas Priest album].

DL. When a woman in the first row handed you a rose, you bit the head off. Why did you do that?            SB. It was my way of saying, ‘I’m on Broadway, but I’m still Sebastian Bach’.

DL. By the time this article is printed, you will be on a year-long US tour playing the lead character in Jesus Christ Superstar.            SB. Andrew Lloyd Webber requested a stack of Skid Row CDs, and all my pictures, I swear to God. And he came back and said, ‘Hello, is Jesus Christ there?’, so he made the decision.

DL. Some might say that this is a role you’ve spent your life rehearsing for.            SB. [Sounding slightly hurt]: I must be a fucking moron. I never thought you would’ve said that, dude. Sometimes I’m so confused by other people’s perception of me.

DL. Well, they say that you’re an egomaniac.            SB. Dude, you have to be on of those to go on stage. What do you want to see, some fucking guy singing [in nerdy, apologetic voice]: ‘We are the youth gone wild’? If I didn’t have my ego I wouldn’t be doing it. I don’t think it’s misplaced though, I hope not. I wake up every day and hope I’m gonna have a great day, be the nicest guy ever. But if someone’s a dick to me, I’m gonna be a fuckin’ dick back to them.

DL. You’re an ass-kicking rock dude from the 80s that’s now playing Jesus. Could you imagine Axl or Vince Neil doing the same thing?            SB. Absolutely not, and that’s not a slight against them, Axl has already proved he can’t be on time. I love Axl Rose, but let me get this through everybody’s head: we’re talking eight shows a week for 42 weeks. That’s tough work.

DL. Would you someday like to follow your old rival Jon Bon Jovi into the movies?            SB. I don’t differentiate ‘movies’ or ‘Broadway’, what I care about is presenting my fans with something that entertains. And if I’m entertained by it my fans will be, too. So if I got a great film role, yeah, cool.

DL. What do you think of Jon’s acting abilities? And would he work you him in an acting role if the part demanded it?            SB. I’ve never seen him really act. There was one movie where he was a pot dealer, and I saw a little bit of that, but he’s a very good actor because he doesn’t smoke pot! I did have acrimony towards Jon for years, but on my Forever Wild TV show I interviewed Tico Torres [Bon Jovi drummer], we played ‘Lay Your Hands On Me’, had a brew at the bar and talked about the old days. All I was ever mad at Jon for was to let me have my own life. That was it. Please, I don’t need someone to hold my fucking hand.

DL. We didn’t get to see your VH1 rock show Forever Wild before it was cancelled back in April. Care to tell us about it?            SB. It was kinda obscure, I got to go through the VH1 vaults and pick the videos. We had ‘You Really Got Me’ by Van Halen on the first show, and W.A.S.P.’s ‘I Wanna Be Somebody’… but it was my show!

DL. That explains why it ran for just five months.            SB. Yeah, but it was fun. I got to go to Ted Nugent’s 200-acre farm and shoot wild boar, and eat it, of course. I went car racing with Vince Neil and golfing with Tommy Lee. I was in the studio with Rob Halford while he was recording the song ‘Crucible’… waaaaaah! It was 16 episodes, which was twice as long as the [first series of] The Osbournes. Maybe a fifth of the people watched it, but it was a midnight rock show.            They offered me another show, at four in the afternoon, but they would be picking the videos and it was cheesy things like Quiet Riot, stuff to laugh at. I will not make fun of heavy metal, or patronize people.

DL. You then resurfaced on - of all things - the Learning Channel’s The New Sideshow, which was described as “a not-for-the-weak-of-heart documentary on today’s more outrageous carnival acts” that included human pincushion The Impaler. Do you do these unusual things to keep you in the public eye, or because you enjoy them?            Of course because I enjoy them… doh! Let me offer this piece of advice, I’ve not changed my home phone number since 1989. Never make yourself too inaccessible, it’s good for business when people know where you are. I wake up, press play and it’s, ‘Hey Sebastian, do you want to do this?”… next message, ‘Hey Sebastian, how about this?’            You just have to play the cards that are dealt you, it’s a very different world than it was. I’m in this to sing, so if I can get my voice heard in whatever fashion then that’s what I’ll do. Ozzy is the most famous he’s ever been, not because of his music but because of a fucking TV show. I’m not being flown over to England to sing, I’m being flown over to go on a gameshow. That is fucked. What you also have to consider is that the venues I’ll be playing Jesus Christ in are the same ones that Skid Row headlined for ‘Slave To The Grind’ tour… the Paramount in Seattle, the Fox in Atlanta. But instead of doing one show, I’m now doing eight shows in the same venue. So I’ve finally topped what I did in the past.

DL. C’mon, you must admit you’d rather be coming here to play rock music?            SB. I’ve just saw in your magazine that Alex Lifeson says no British promoter wants Rush. Hey, I’ve been asking British promoters since 1996 to come over and they just laugh! I’ve done two full American tours, 104 shows on the first tour, 90 shows on the second, a sold-out tour of Japan. I’m dying to play here, man, but the offers they give me are like… restaurants! Don’t you have to suck first? I’ve never played England and flopped - not fucking once! Thank God for the USA.

DL. You just mentioned The Osbournes. Can you imagine the footage MTV would have got if they’d followed you around in 1992?            SB. Ha ha ha, there wouldn’t have been a TV show made out of it. You couldn’t air it. But there seems to be a perception that as soon as we woke up and did drugs and drank, and that’s not true. I never did a show drunk - ever.

DL. Am I right in thinking you’ve cut out most of those antics?            SB. I hate that shit, I’ve not done a line [of coke] since 1993. I have no desire to. A part of me still has that personality when I get too sad, when my dad died I was drinking way too much, but just beer. Back in those days everybody was fucking doing it, you were the weirdo if you weren’t.

DL. You were recently involved in what was dramatically reported as “making terroristic threats” to a New Jersey bartender who refused to let you take your drink outside his club, then for having marijuana and rolling papers on you when you were arrested.            SB. I’d been shooting an episode of Forever Wild with Vince Neil, who’s always a bad influence on me; they talk about the bad boys of rock, I’m like Queen Elizabeth compared to Vince. But there’s a side of me that can get down and dirty. I was with Vince for a week down on south beach in Miami, waking up each morning and just getting ripped. When I got back to New Jersey, my chick was giving me shit on the phone because she wanted to party with Mötley Crüe. And I was like, ‘Babe, it’s my job, I get paid to party with the Crüe. This is how I feed our kids, so let me party with the Crüe, you stay home and everything’ll be fine’. And she was like, ‘Grrrrrrrrr’. So I go, ‘Fuck you, I’m not coming home’ and tell the limo driver to turn around because we’re going to Broadway.            I get a hotel suite and get VH1 to pay for it, order up fucking booze and some other things, and all my friends come over to party. I stayed there for like two days, until she called and was nice to me. It’s a two hour limo drive home and by then I’m so fuckin’ drunk, my chick gives me a little bit of shit. So I take a bunch of Molsons [beers] and walk to this bar, I never drive while drunk. I’ve been going to this bar for 12 years and all these chicks, dudes and businessmen are excited to see me, so then I’m holding court. This guy suggests we go outside and bust a joint, but the bartender says he’s gonna call the police if I take my beer - I told him to go ahead. He fucking rails me, punches me right in the fucking head and I freaked out, so I tackled him around the waist brought him into the one wall, stood on his neck and said, ‘I’ll fucking kill you, mutherfucker’. The whole bar was freaked out, but he threw the first punch. I had a couple of joints in my pocket, so I got busted for marijuana. And the next day’s headline was, ‘Sebastian Bach Busted For Drugs And Terroristic Threats’. Dionne Warwick was arrested for having seven marijuana cigarettes, and I had a joint… someday maybe I can be as wild as Dionne fuckin’ Warwick. What fuckin’ bullshit.

DL. If Skid Row came back to you - and I stress those four words - would you someday agree to rejoin them?            SB. It’d all depend on the music, that’s the only reason I joined them in the first place. But Rachel [Bolan, bass] and Snake [guitar] were the best fucking songwriters I ever fuckin’ met, and they just don’t do it anymore. Anyone can go on the internet and find out what happened between me and the guys, just download the Ozone Monday record [make with singer Sawn McCabe]. That was supposed to be the fourth Skid Row record. The reason I’m not singing on it is that it fucking sucks! I mean, Andrew Lloyd Webber or Ozone Monday? Well [chuckles maliciously]…

“Kids think that music is free. My 14-year-old son downloads Arch Enemy and Cradle of Filth songs and I’m the asshole dad who says, ‘Bands worked really hard on those’”

DL. Do you even have any interest in hearing ‘Thick Is The Skin’, the album they’ve made with your replacement, Johnny Sollinger?            SB. No. But what fucking year will it come out. Those guys have been saying, ‘We got a whole album done’. Well, let’s fuckin’ hear it. I’m giving you two fucking albums, I’m giving you three fucking musicals, five tours. I’ve got nothing to hide, dude. You may not even like ‘…Bach Alive’, but at least I’m delivering product.

DL. Why do you feel that the band made such a phenomenal early impact, from the Marquee to Hammersmith Odeon in a matter of months?  SB. Just the songs and the way we attacked our music. Revolver magazine recently said Skid Row was one of the best metal albums of all time because they played a song like ‘Youth Gone Wild’ like they were playing ‘Angel Of Death’ by Slayer.            Would they be so successful now? In the year 2002 kids think that music is free. My 14-year-old son spends all day downloading Arch Enemy and Cradle of Filth and I’m the asshole dad who has to say, ‘You shouldn’t be making those CDs, those bands worked really hard on those’. He looks at me like, ‘What the fuck is your problem?’            I get like emails that say, ‘Sebastian, I went to five shops looking for ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ and couldn’t find it, but I downloaded it and it fucking rocks, dude’. One the one hand I wanna go, ‘Thanks man’, and on the other hand I wanna hold my head in my hands, but everybody’s in that same situation.

DL. So you were in agreement with Lars Ulrich on the Napster issue?            SB. Oh, definitely. I even did this CD called ‘Bach To Basics’ because somebody told me to go onto Napster and when I saw what Sebastian Bach stuff was available I almost fuckin’ committed suicide. The whole The Last Hard Men CD was there, before I even fuckin’ played it for my friends. So I ripped my own CD off Napster and now I sell it on the web.

DL. The last time we were in a room together you lost your temper in a row over ‘Subhuman Race’. Can you now stand back a bit and understand why fans felt it wasn’t as good as the first two?            SB. Yeah, but how can a writer say what a record should sound like when they’re not even in the band? What I find humorous is that nobody liked that record, but 12 years later we’re still talking about that fucking record. When I hear ‘Subhuman Race’ now I hear more Bob Rock [producer], because he did the same thing as he did on Metallica’s ‘Load’. He changed things. I remember him saying, ‘Everybody knows you can scream, Sebastian’, and suggesting I sing like Scott Weiland [of Stone Temple Pilots]. Why don’t you just take a thoroughbred racehorse and hit him on the fuckin’ kneecap with a baseball bat? I do like that album, but it’s not a fun record. ‘Youth Gone Wild’ was fun.

DL. Let’s imagine you can go back in time and change three events in your life. If you don’t mind, I’d like to guess that they would be: a) signing away such a large percentage of your royalties to Jon Bon Jovi, b) the bottle-throwing incident and c), not having hit Jon harder. Am I right?            SB. Awww, I have more good memories of Bon Jovi than bad ones now. I’ve bashed Jon relentlessly in the past, but I don’t feel that way any more. When I think of those times when I was touring with Bon Jovi and living at his house for two weeks… okay, maybe the deal we signed wasn’t the most equitable of all time, but it’s possible that if we hadn’t, you might never have heard of me. And I respect his tenacity in an industry that devours its young and old alike.            So to answer your question… I did wear a really ridiculous T-shirt, and I can’t believe I’m bringing it up again, but it was really rotten, really stupid. And the bottle throwing thing, yeah, I’d change that. Then again, if somebody cracks you in the head with a bottle, what do you do? You ain’t thinking rationally. If somebody hit me with a bottle in the head again I’d probably knock the fuck right out of them.

DL. You even turned down Playgirl?            SB. Twice. I already get known for things other than my voice, like my hair or going to jail or whatever, and I want to be known as a singer. That means more to me than anything.

Apart from your Broadway activities, what’s the delay in following up ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’?            Atlantic Records signed me in 1987 and they still have first right of refusal [on my work]. ‘Bring ‘Em Bach Alive’ has the Atlantic logo and the Spitfire logo because Atlantic technically owns Sebastian Bach, and they license to certain territories where Atlantic didn’t put it out - including Britain, because Mary Hooton, my great friend, fucking rejected the fucking record.The next record will be done when it’s done. I want to deliver a product that’ll get the proper exposure; I don’t want it coming out three years later in one country than another. I’m doing it, but the fans have to realise how the internet has taken the wind out of the sails of the music industry. There’s always trepidation and anticipation about delivering a CD in this climate.

DL. How do you think you’ll feel aged 65 with 'Youth Gone Wild' tattooed on your arm? SB. I’ll just get “I was the” tattooed on my bicep. Right up here, dude. I got that space reserved.

 P.S. Dave says...          

Larger than life and twice as unpredictable, Sebastian Bach has now been out of Skid Row since 23rd December, 1996, the day that co-founding guitarist Dave ‘Snake’ Sabo sacked him after receiving a torrent of hate in answerphone form. The parting of ways between singer and the New Jersey band had been a long time coming. Notorious for short-fuse temper as for chiseled cheekbones and multi-octave voice, Bach drove the group’s instrumentalists mental but was accommodated by the rest of Skid Row for as long as their patience would stand. Post-Skids, Bach hasn’t exactly stuck to the traditional route. He acted in the musical versions of Jekyll & Hyde and Jesus Christ Superstar and went on to appear in various TV shows, though age and luvviedom have failed to mellow him. Sebastian recently completed a whirlwind tour of the UK and a new album – his first set of all-new solo material – is due next year. (17th December, 2004)

[jaidandumphy91]

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[wordsonpagespress]

Venus, by Sara Flemington

fiction by Sara Flemington | third-place winner of the 2016 Blodwyn Memorial Prize in fiction, sponsored by Book*Hug

We were suddenly on a lucky streak. Following a very long, very unlucky streak. For example, the movies. Four bad movies in a row. And you being the type of person who could tell right away if a movie was going to suck or not, and me being the type who was clairvoyant enough to start panicking as early as the concession if it seemed like I’d taken someone out to a sucky movie, it was an all around uncomfortable series of unfortunately campy and “ha-ha” date nights. Then, there was X. Popping up everywhere: drugstore aisles, bars, the post office. And you being nice enough to always say hi, and me being nice enough to not comment on how her smile made her look like she was teething, or ask the reason as to why she was regularly done-up as if about to hit Prom ’85, we always had to stop and have a quaint little chit-chat about her newest accomplishments — arts-grants-wise — or about the tragic passing of Dear Aunt Beatrice, who was nothing if not her biggest source of moral support and guidance, as the lesbian of the family, and therefore, the only other dissenter. And on top of all that, the cactuses died. For no reason, as if by suicide to get away from the doomed home they had recently been moved into. And so I was pretty certain that, Mercury retrograde aside, I had become a jinx for you and our love would never be allowed its proper chance to sprout, let alone effloresce, (remember that homemade haircut I tried to give you ultimately resulting in a entire shaving of the head?) and in very little time you would, in turn, begin to despise me and wish we had never met and hope that somehow, in some life, you might find your way back to the inflatable tube man arms of X.

And then, Christmas came. But not in the It’s a Wonderful Life sense of the holiday, where we both would learn the power of a positive outlook; more like, in the holiday-packs-of-scratch-tickets sense. Because we were sitting beside each other at the very back of the very last bus of the night, heading home from drinking far too much acrid red wine at a disappointing poetry reading held at the “recently renovated” i.e. recently primer-painted community art gallery, and the heat was cranked far too high for our winter jackets and toques and scarves so we were both uncomfortably sweating through the crevices of our armpits and nostrils, and the reddish + greenish hue our skin had adopted from the alcohol + overhead bus lighting was making us appear even more dismal than we already naturally did. And that’s when I spotted them, jammed between the two seats directly across from us: the shimmering, unopened stack of lottery cards. Of course, it took a while for one of us to get up and “just take them,” being overly anxious over-thinkers plus regular sufferers of mental inertia, but finally, seconds from our stop, I threw my arms up as high as they could go in a puffy winter jacket + two more layers of sweaters and declared, “It’s not like they’re gonna be winners anyway,” and tucked them into purse. Then we stepped off the bus into the refreshingly frozen night.

But I was wrong. Ten dollars. That’s what we won. And Jupiter was about to make its move through Cancer.

“Can you believe it?” I said to you — sincerely, actually. “Can you believe we just happened upon these tickets? And now we have enough to buy like, four more bus rides? That’s like, two bus rides each.”

And you with your ever-salient shrug replied, “Happened upon? Really?”

Regardless, that was just the start. Because then, along came the cat.

“How is the cat good luck?” you argued. “He’s disgusting and annoying and he gets litter everywhere. And I’m pretty sure he’s slow. Like slow slow. Watch his eyes.”

“But, re-examine the point,” I begged. “So I was just walking along, like normal, like I always am, and right there in the window, there’s this little guy! Fresh off the streets, all shaking and on-sale and with a weird squinty eye. Look, it looks like he’s winking. Which is just like how you described your beloved childhood cat that only just two nights ago you had come across an old picture of and went on and on about how much you missed so much, which led right into a conversation about adopting our own little kitten –”

“Maybe adopting our own little kitten.”

“Maybe adopting our own little kitten. But anyway, here he is, and it was clearly meant to be.” And even though, granted, this particular kitty was a bit off somehow, he did serve to prove my point that good, possibly even great things, were now on the horizon for us. You still didn’t believe me at this point, but you had, at least, learned to love to humour me, and also learned to love the oddly vacant cat, while I was taking a daily inventory of signs from the universe divining our good fortune:

Your favourite hat — lost two months prior — resurfaced, magically, while I was cleaning out the refrigerator.

The day every single item written down on our grocery list was on sale at the grocery store.

The cookie thing (when the second cookie got stuck to the one we bought to share, but the lady behind the counter didn’t notice, so basically we just got a free cookie, which was mostly good for you because then I wouldn’t eat two thirds of the first one after claiming I only wanted a single chocolate chip and leaving you with basically nothing).

The second chance you gave me at giving you a haircut, and it turned out to be a pretty spot-on attempt modelled after a picture of Ryan Gosling.

The discovery that we had, at one point, attended the same film screening in Toronto, on the same day, years before ever meeting in real life.

The discovery that we had ALSO been at the same concert for one of our mutually favourite bands, in Toronto, on the same night, ALSO before ever meeting in real life.

The lucid dream I swear we shared.

“Maybe you’re right, like, maybe we’re soul mates or something,” you said one day, petting the winking feline and, joking or not, I continued to discover more coincidences to add to the inventory; a rare 1979 Boba Fett Loose Action Figure with Original Back Blaster for pennies in a bin of kids books at Goodwill; the big power outage and thus free popsicles from the convenience store the same night I found some old weed in the bookcase; the twenty bucks in the building’s dryer. Even kitty seemed to be getting a little bit smarter, not batting his turds out of the litter box so often. And with the new moon beginning to wax, everything in both of our entire lives began to feel like it was not only coming together to complete a circle in which we would inevitably end up in the centre of — deeply happy and entirely X-less — but a sphere. Like we existed in some sphere type thing, like a planet, like our own planet following its own orbital path. Or fate. Or something.

“You’re losing your mind,” you said to me, combing your fingers through my hair one night as we lay across the couch watching yet another good movie. Maybe, baby, maybe. But maybe, I wasn’t, actually. Because then, as it often happens when things are going well, I started to wonder when it all might start to go wrong again; you know, when karma would decide it was time to balance things out. It was turning into spring, and while everyone around us was getting cheerier and everything around us was getting colourful and good-smelling, I was becoming paranoid that at any moment you’d be calling me at work in the throes of a severe allergy attack, or the hospital would be calling me with news of your newly broken legs due to a bicycle accident (knock on wood), and I continued to I waver consistently between calm and vomit-mode. But these grand fears never materialized. What did end up materializing was the bagel you burned one sunny morning resulting in the whole apartment smelling like singed sesame seeds.

“That’s a thing,” I said.

“It’s not a thing if I don’t even care,” you replied.

And I guess I kind of liked the smell.

So while I was out, walking along again, like I always did, I decided to take a chance and step inside the floral boutique I usually passed by but of course, never went inside of anymore. I meekly approached the thin young florist with a swoopy haircut and very well-ripped jeans who was tying white ribbons around lilac bouquets, and asked:

“Excuse me, I was just wondering, which plant would be relatively easy to maintain and, maybe doesn’t require much extra care and maybe, you know, could be left alone for an extended period of time or even accidentally forgotten about and still be okay afterward?”

And whose shrill snort should I hear pipe up right behind me, followed by her sudden eagerness to show off all of the green-thumb knowledge she had apparently accumulated over her many years of being perfect at everything, but X. Our lovely lanky phantom X.

“A cactus?” she laughed, and began in on how she used to raise orchids, nurse Venus flytraps, shape bamboo stalks into elaborate spirals and hearts and I could feel the acid reflux pushing up my trachea and clogging my nasal cavity. Sensing my panic, the florist stepped out from behind the counter, linked his arm through mine like a best girlfriend, and directed us safely away from X and towards the corner of the room, where the moderate moisture-loving shade-dwellers were kept.

“I think you’ll do just fine with one of these,” he said. I pocketed the laminated fertilization instructions.

And that was the day I brought home the spider plant. I set it down in the middle of the kitchen table with a dramatic thud, and I stood there and looked you in the eye and I made a promise. I promised that I would keep the damn thing pretty and green as long as I lived in this damn apartment with you, so help me dammit, and I may never be able to cultivate a banana plant or whatever, and even if we wake up one day to a flood or a fire or full body rashes or something, or Mars and Saturn and Pluto all simultaneously backspin right through both of our signs at the same time, I will still be here, keeping everything pretty and green and alive, for you, and for that weird cat over there, and for this plant, and that was about the point when I started to run out of breath, and kind of doubled over a bit, and realized how comforting it felt to know that while I was there, one hand on my chest and one hand stroking the long pointy leaves of our newest addition, you were looking at me with that composed smile.

“Okay, love. Sounds good.”

[ormlacom]

Why the Top of Your Funnel is Almost Always More Profitable than the Bottom

Something every woman should know - WHY MEN LIE!

Yes. AdWords converts better than most other channels. Anywhere, ever.

But. That doesn’t mean it’s the only option. Or even the best option.

Two reasons why:

First, your cost per lead tends to be higher than other inbound channels. Chiefly because…

Second, AdWords doesn’t scale as well as other options. So you hit a point of diminishing returns. ‘Cause only 3.4% of search queries results in an AdWords click.

That ain’t a lot. ‘Specially on your ~5-10 niche keywords that actually convert.

The trick is to turn your attention from the bottom of the funnel back to the top.

Here’s why the top of your funnel is almost always more profitable than the bottom.

Closing and scaling BOFU deals isn’t sustainable

AdWords has intent. People search, click, and opt-in or buy.

It’s literally trained people to give you money.

It’s the ‘last touch’ so often that it becomes “easy to track ROI.” So like any self-fulfilling prophecy, the more attention it gets, the more “it works.” The more budget and labor and buy-in.

The problem is scale.

Especially when you’re paying $25 to $50+ per click. (Or more — I see you insurance and law.)

Conversions might be good on AdWords. But in many cases there’s (1) not enough to grow your business past six figures. Or (2) there’s not enough margin to reinvest in other areas.

Bottom-of-the-funnel advertising like this works well because you can throw down a few bucks and see a few more bucks come in not long afterward.

But here’s where more problems crop up.

High-end CPCs dramatically push up your Cost Per Leads. That, in turn, pushes up your minimum monthly ad budget. So it’s not uncommon to see ~$30k/month budgets in competitive niches on the low end (I’ve worked on a few myself).

You need so many leads to turn into customers. So you need to cast the net wide enough to convert a few measly percentage points.

Here’s the additional wrinkle, though.

According to a Salesforce B2B benchmark report, it takes an average of 84 days for a lead to become an opportunity:

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And that’s not even a final sale.

84 long, hard days to transition from a lead to an opportunity, and 18 more days to close the deal.

Now. What are your payment terms? Net 30 or worse?

You’re now looking at not recouping a single dollar from that $30k/month budget until the next quarter (at the earliest).

So in reality, you need like four or five times that budget to sustain you. It’s like working capital in finance. You need enough to keep the lights open until the money, eventually, flows back into your bottom line.

Fortunately, all hope isn’t lost.

There’s a powerful antidote to a sluggish, budget-sabotaging funnel. It goes by the name of: Brand Awareness.

The stuff that big, mega enterprises have invested in for years. But most SMBs and tech geeks shy away because it “doesn’t convert.”

Generating brand awareness is a cheap investment

Brand awareness is typically the goal of any top-of-the-funnel campaign.

You want to start positioning your brand favorably within the minds and hearts of consumers.

Unfortunately, it’s often overlooked. It’s the Great Brand vs. Performance Marketing debate.

On the one hand, ‘branding’ is like a clichéd buzzword that’s lost all meaning. And on the other, it’s only seen as viable for large companies with massive budgets. It’s a “nice to have,” not a “must have.”

To make matters worse, it’s nearly impossible to draw a direct line from brand building activities to sales. So it gets dismissed by all hardcore data geeks (even when data itself lies).

But here’s the thing.

When done correctly, brand building is an investment in future sales.

Take a look at Facebook ad expert Jon Loomer’s current ad campaigns:

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What do you notice?

First off, it’s all divided by a typical marketing/sales funnel.

Traffic/reach – TOFU Lead generation – MOFU Conversions – BOFU

Now take a look at the daily budgets for each. This is where it gets interesting.

He dedicates the majority of his budget to-top-of-the-funnel marketing activities.

Around $1,500 per month goes to top-of-the-funnel campaigns, and he only sets $300 aside for MOFU and BOFU tactics.

That’s a massive difference.

Why?

Why on earth would he invest $1,500 a month into campaigns that have zero chance of converting?

Why not dump that money into MOFU and BOFU campaigns with sale-based offers?

Because he’s making a future investment. You can’t convert sales when there isn’t enough built-in demand in the first place.

Let me explain with some data.

Nielsen conducted a massive study on understanding what drives sales, and they found that 59% of people buy products and services from brands that they recognize.

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Familiar faces are more likely to get the final deal.

But that’s not all.

SurveyMonkey and Search Engine Land found that 70% of consumers look for a known retailer when deciding which search result to click:

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That’s not surprising at all, really.

Think about it:

When you searched for “inbound marketing” recently, did you click on HubSpot or joeschmoe.net?

I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it wasn’t the latter.

Even if joeschmoe.net were ranking #1, you’d probably still click HubSpot at #5.

Cuz: Brand awareness = trust.

Brand recognition is a powerful way to drive sales.

And once you develop a brand reputation within your own space, you end up being able to drive traffic without having to take the normal funnel stage route.

Meaning you don’t have to pay to drive traffic anymore.

You don’t have to pay for ads and lead magnets.

You just have to focus on closing. You reduce your costs dramatically.

It’s time for some good news:

Building brand awareness is cheap.

I’m talking dirt freaking cheap. Pennies to the dollar cheap.

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According to Moz, Facebook Ads have the cheapest CPM (cost per 1,000 impressions) of any advertising platform ever.

Except they “don’t work,” right?

Maybe, maybe not. But try comparing that cost to the freaking newspaper, magazine, and radio CPMs then:

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And guess what?

You only have to spend $1 per day on Facebook as the minimum daily budget. That means you can reach 4,000 more people a day with ads based on brand awareness for a single measly dollar.

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Using expert-level mathematician skills, that’s 120,000 brand impressions each month for only $30.

That’s just about the cheapest brand exposure you’ll ever get. Like, ever.

That’s 120,000 more people seeing your brand than last month.

Here’s how to implement cheap branding on Facebook to keep your top of the funnel profitable and growing like never before.

Create a self-sustaining TOFU campaign on Facebook

Self-sustaining campaigns run and run and run.

It only takes three easy steps that you can complete in just minutes today.

Create a new, medium-sized saved audience based on your target market. Create a remarketing audience based on those engaged users. Create a new lookalike audience based on leads.

With this, you’ll only be spending a few bucks a day while simultaneously creating a campaign that maintains itself.

You just rinse and repeat each time the cycle completes to replenish your audience.

This way, you’re generating thousands of new visits and impressions to build brand awareness every single month.

More brand awareness = more recognition/trust = more sales in fewer funnel stages = less money out of your pocket.

To get started, fire up the Facebook Business Manager and head to the audiences section:

From here, select the option to create a new saved audience:

The saved audience is a great starting point to generate a big enough list for brand awareness campaigns.

Start by entering the basic demographic data associated with your target customers:

Next, it’s time to narrow it down a bit.

You can’t target 200,000,000 people with brand awareness ads. Unfortunately, there aren’t that many people who care about your company.

Start adding various interests related to your company. For example, if you sell SEO services, add that as an interest:

Are your services B2B? Narrow it down further:

Lastly, finish it off with some exclusions to avoid targeting users who typically don’t respond well to your products or services:

Next, hit save and name your audience so that you can recognize it later.

Now, head to the Ads Manager and create a new campaign based on the brand awareness objective:

Then, scroll down to the audience section and choose the saved audience you just created:

Next, set your budget to just a single dollar per day (or more if you have a larger budget):

Now it’s time for the creative.

For brand awareness ads, you don’t want to focus on converting someone to sales. Offers like that won’t resonate with users who have no clue who you are.

Give them value associated with your brand without asking for anything in return.

For example, take your latest blog post and use that as your creative.

Image Source

You’re done with the first step. Next up, it’s time to set up a remarketing audience based on visits to your brand awareness blog post.

First things first, you need to get your Facebook Pixel setup if you haven’t already. Head to the Events Manager and select the Pixels option.

Click to create your Pixel and give it a recognizable name for your site:

Next, install your Pixel code by selecting any of the listed options:

From there, simply follow the directions for each based on your choice to get your code installed.

Now, go back to the audience section and create a new custom audience based on website traffic:

Make sure that you select “People who visited specific web pages” as your criteria, and then enter the blog post you drive traffic to for your brand awareness ads:

If you want to get even more specific, narrow down the traffic by refining the frequency to two or more visits:

Still with me?

Next, hit save, and you’ve generated your second audience.

With this audience, you can bring back users and narrow your list down even further to the most brand-aware visitors.

Lastly, you’ll want to take that new custom audience and turn it into a lookalike audience.

That will allow Facebook to wrangle up more users for you to target who have similar interests and tendencies as your best performers in these campaigns.

Genius, right?

Head to the audiences section and create a new lookalike audience. Select the second remarketing audience you just saved as the “Source:”

Next, be sure to choose the 1% audience size to keep it targeted and dirt cheap (See: this study).

Hit save, and you’ve just created a self-sustaining top-of-the-funnel campaign to generate tons of brand awareness.

Phew. You made it.

Now it’s time to sit back and reap the rewards of a well-sown crop.

Conclusion

Yes. You should invest in AdWords.

But invest all you’ve got?

No. Probably not.

Not when you’re looking at ~four * $30k/month to start getting your first few customers. Not unless you’ve got a rich uncle hiding somewhere. Or a private equity firm cutting the checks.

Instead of following the typical playbook, flip the script. Invest in the stuff that’s going to make future sales easier and less expensive.

Invest in branding activities, that you have no way of tracking today, in pursuit of an easier tomorrow.

Brand awareness has the power to drive faster, funnel-skipping sales, at scale. And when done correctly, it can even be a cheap investment that will pay off dividends for years to come.

About the Author: Brad Smith is the founder of Codeless, a B2B content creation company. Frequent contributor to Kissmetrics, Unbounce, WordStream, AdEspresso, Search Engine Journal, Autopilot, and more.

Reverse Phone - People Search - Email Search - Public Records - Criminal Records. Best Data, Conversions, And Customer Suppor

[deadmantalking117]

HURTS SO GOOD!

With all due respect to Johnny Cougar. I'm not really familiar with this sensation. Love the song Mr. Mellencamp.. but my hurts are pretty damned bad. This is a tough one to write. It's hard to describe pain to someone else. You have your own pain. You know how bad you hurt. But how can I possibly understand what you're feeling? As empathetic as I think I am. I can't feel what you feel. You certainly don't want to feel what I feel. But it's so important that when you have to go to a doctor or hospital, you can adequately convey what's happening to you. Whenever people ask me about Crohns disease, I try to make it relatable for them. Remember the worst case of stomach flu or food poisoning you've ever had? You're on the toilet non stop. The diarrhea, the vomiting, how SICK you feel all over? I call that "Tuesday " That's an average day for me... then some days is goes right off the rails. Crohns attacks, like most bad news, usually comes in the middle of the night. No idea why. It starts with waking up from a dead sleep. When I went to bed.. I was fine (ish). Now its 3am and the show's about to start. First I usually have to go.. right now. It goes from 0 to 60 in seconds. I was unconscious 10 seconds ago.. now I have 10 seconds to get on the toilet or else... clean up on aisle 5 ! But usually I make it just fine. Gonna need to clean the toilet AGAIN. But I made it. Except that there are actually 2 directions your stomach empties from. And it wants to be empty.. really badly. So the vomiting starts. I have several different meds to help with vomiting.. but once the show starts.. it's too late. I take a pill.. it comes right back up. My guts are pissed off. Somethings gone wrong down here and we're abandoning ship! Unfortunately your stomach or gallbladder don't care about that.. They're doing their jobs cranking out acid and digestive juices, and they are now going in to overdrive doing so.. it's a party! In very quick order I've gone from being blissfully asleep to a nightmare that I cannot wake up from. The vomiting is relentless. Even when not much comes up. Its crippling, every muscle in your abdomen is dedicated to getting those few drops of whatever OUT! Kat rolls over. "Are we going?" My beautiful wife has been through this hundreds of times over the years. She's sound asleep. Gotta get up for work at 6am. But instead its 3am and there a circus performing in our bedroom. I promise I'll tell you more about this amazing woman as we go. But thats a different story for another time. She gets up, gets dressed.. gathers some things. I'm in my sweats and tee shirt. Soaked. But no time to clean up. Thing are unraveling fast now! She loads me into the car. I have my emesis bag. My puke bag. Its half full already. By the time we get to the E.R. it's mostly full. She pulls up to the front door and I get out and stagger to the front desk.. she goes and parks. I can barely walk. I'm doubled over. I cannot stand straight.. it's not physically possible. The nurse at the desk grabs a wheel chair and in we go. First.. new bag. This ones kinda full. Next- Intake. Information.. vitals.. paperwork. All while I'm slumped over in a chair puking into a bag . Fortunately, being a frequent flyer means that once I give them my name and birthday.. they slap on an I D bracelet and wheel me back to a bed. Usually in short order I'm in a gown. In a bed and another nurse is sticking in an IV. Most times, within an hour. They've started to get me under control. When I first go in.. I'm making lots of noise. I physically cannot stop it. The puking, the moaning, I'm feeling like Mike Tyson is working over my guts. I can't stop from gasping after each punch. Have someone punch you in the stomach unexpectedly.. hear that grunt? Thats happening over and over. I can't steel myself against it no matter how hard I try. The hits just keep coming. A quick aside. Linda Hamilton is the voice in my head! When I get this bad.. I don't wanna go to the ER.. I don't wanna get up.. dont wanna walk or move or get to the hospital. Everything is a blur of agony. But I have no choice. Its only getting worse. Then I hear her clear as a bell.. Sarah Conner in the first Terminator movie. And she's screaming at me.. "ON YOUR FEET SOLDIER! MOVE IT!" and I focus every last bit of will, and get up.. somehow. I live in terror of the day thats coming when I won't be able to do that. It's been an hour or so now.. the IV drugs are working.. mostly.. but there's still a pretty decent amount of pain.. thank God I'm mostly done vomiting.. mostly. Sometimes the doctor wants xrays.. or CAT scans. Sometimes they just get me under control and ship me home to rest. I don't need to spend much time describing my pain to the doctors. We've been here so often.. they got the idea. But YOU do need to be able to give them an idea of what level of pain you're in, and what that feels like. So I'm going to try here to give you some helpful reference points. WHAT'S YOUR PAIN LEVEL LIKE? Thats a hell of a question! IT HURTS! ok.. but is it bad? Really bad? Really really bad? Is it stabbing pain? Burning? Cramping? Short bursts? Or long continued pains? In ERs they have this handy little chart with Emojis showing different facial expressions based on pain levels.. its cute. It starts with a smiley face thats a 0. Then it works its way through 10 with increasing frowny faces.. finally at pain level 10. There's tears. Where's the screaming face emoji? I'd be pointing at that one. But you've got to somehow convey what you're feeling. And how bad it is. Maybe I can help. 10- Kidney stones.. giving birth.. sever abscess in your tooth. Second and third degree sunburns or any burns to large areas. Being gut shot or stabbed. Migraine headaches. (Usually). broken bones. Getting burned over more than 5 percent of anywhere on your body. Post surgery for some things.. open heart, bowel resections. The chest burster alien from that movie. These things are all usually considered top drawer pain. Its next to impossible to think about anything else. 8- Things like sinus headaches. Bad sprains. Being punched in the face. Bad cuts. Injuries to smaller areas of your body.. post surgery for smaller things. Appendicitis. Tonsils. Etc. this stuff hurts bad.. but you can still mostly function. The pain is bad.. but you follow along with the t.v. show you're watching.. you can be distracted for a few minutes. 6- The daily bump and grind of just being alive. All the regular cuts, bumps, burns, and bruises. I think most of us have level 6 pains all the time off and on. Cracked your knee on the table? Damn that hurts.. but you aren't going to seek medical attention for it. Pulled muscles. Twisted ankle. Headache. Stomach bugs. Toothache. Things that happen all the time. It sucks.. but you'll live. 4 and below. Being over 30... getting older hurts. Most things that you cover with a bandaid.. or BenGay. Stuff that hurt when it happened.. now its the leftover pain. Being alive most days for most people is level 4 pain. The problem with my helpful little references are this. No one feels pain like you do. Pain is completely different for everyone. Whats a 10 for you is a 6 for me. What's impossible for me to bear is a mere nuisance for you. Pain management clinics deal with these issues everyday.. and they're usually lousy at doing it. What works for you.. does not even touch my pain levels. Does nothing. Why are you doing so well? And I'm in agony? There are many doctors working on these questions all the time. But there are so many factors involved. It's an impossible task. But here's my best advice if you find yourself in real pain. Dont ever let any doctor tell you that you don't hurt.. honestly some will. They can't feel what you feel. If Dr. A can't help you.. or won't. Look for Dr. B. or C or D or Q. Never give up.. let the pain motivate you. I have wonderful, caring doctors. But sometimes when I say the word "pain" they get this look.. like "forget it champ.. you have enough drugs" I didn't even ask for more.. but it's the go-to response for some doctors.. especially now days. (More on this subject later). I've spoken with so many people who are in this boat. They just can't get any help from any doctor. I feel for them all.. I'm right there with you. Some pain will never go away. No matter how many drugs you take.. warm cloth on your neck.. cool rag over your eyes. Heating pads. Neck braces. VapoRub. Wrist wraps. Pepto Bismol. Hot showers. There are not only whole sections of stores dedicated to pain relief.. there are entire stores for it. Pain is a multibillion dollar industry.. and business is good! Maybe THAT'S what he's singing about !?