#I'd order this at subway if it existed

[redchaosscrungle]

I just had the most amazing idea I'm peeved doesn't exist: Everything sub sandwich bread, seasoned like an everything bagel but can hold as much as a sub sandwich.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Lily is making throwaways to talk to herself now cause she's too afraid to turn anons back on.

[Lily's post]

There are so many golden nuggets in here. Since these are both most likely Lily lets look at a few!

Lily's media takes are beyond just bad, she asserts that the creators of children's cartoons are dangerous extremists for perceived bad messaging in their works that Lily just makes up.

Even without that Lily's takes on symbolism, metaphor, and just basic narrative structure are worth examining because they are some of the most bizarre and ignorant many of us have ever encountered.

But no one "orients their life around you", Lily. It just feels that way because you sit in your subsidized apartment on the internet all day ordering Door Dash from a Subway you could easily walk to. I'd say get some sun but you'd probably turn to ash like a vampire.

As for me? I do something you're incapable of: putting on a show.

No one cares you're trans, Lily. Get over it. Plenty of trans people exist in online nerd culture. You can't hide from the consequences of your own words and actions by using your demographic as shield.

Pfft. They could try. Go ahead. Make videos about me. Hell, Lily, unlike you I don't even hold or delete comments. The little anklebiters who like to lecture me in my comment section don't seem to realize I'm the one allowing them to be there expressing their stupid ignorant opinions because that aligns with my principles.

Lily doesn't make a video about me because she knows I'd just react to and laugh at it. And with any luck YouTube has taken her ability to copyright strike away because she's used it maliciously 9 times.

Also retard. Just say retard, Lily. Not "tradigrade" not "child left behind" not "fetal alcohol syndrome". Just say retard.

You clearly want to. And are bitter you can't because of the insular audience you've cultivated.

This is how I know it's you because only Lily Orchard could be upset I criticized the bland Antarctica anime for being a bland Antarctica anime the sole focus of which is to get 4 teenage moeblobs on a big technical ship. Which is written by a middle aged man who does nothing but moeblob shows and directed by a woman who does nothing but moeblob shows. They both worked on No Game No Life, Lily. You know. This:

The one with the 11 year old loli in love with her step brother. Actually Lily it sounds right up your alley. You should watch it next.

Antarctica show is so full of so many plot contrivances. Why does Shirase just carry her wad of Antarctica cash everywhere and dropped it so carelessly? It's sure convenient that her and Kimari just happen to go to the same school and Kimari happens to hear her loudly wailing about the money in the bathroom. How does Hinata, a 16 year old high school drop out who works in a convenience store think she can even hope to afford this trip? Where are her parents in this anyway? We never see them.

The girls only get on the trip in the first place because another girl who is a child star vlogger just happens to be also going and just happens to contact them wanting them to go in her stead. And after making friends with them she tells her mother that she won't go without the other 3 girls but... the rest of the expedition that adamantly refused to let them on before just suddenly agrees to take them? Because this one minor celebrity and her manager mom who isn't even going said so? Takako only wanted to go to Antarctica because it just sounded neat, she's not an artic researcher, or engineer, or anything that would justify her being out there (a woman in STEM? Perish the thought says 50 year old Jukki Hanada I guess) and she died out in a blizzard trying to get a laptop to email her daughter who she has now left motherless for no good reason. And this is only ever treated as heartwarming and not idiotic.

Face it Lily. The entire show exists just to get 4 teenage girls on a big ship so otaku men can enjoy both brainless moeblobs and technical ship porn. The show sure likes to emphasize over and over how the girls are joshi kosei too. Why couldn't the show have been about the trip of the adult women (who incidentally also act like brainless teenage girls in the show)?

Yeah you guys aren't winning against me on Utena lol. Here, have my post where I have the video walking people through the episode itself. If you want to ignore the actual text of the series in order to appear morally forthright that's your own problem:

And everyone on the bus clapped, and that Asian woman's name? Albert Einstein. What does this have to do with anything except poisoning the well by linking this unsourced incident in peoples' minds to Ant and I?

Also it's Twitter. So Twitter is bad and unreasonable here, but they're not bad and unreasonable when they're squawking at me over a classic anime they've never even watched. Or squawking at Ant cause "L-L-Lily is totes a Native trans woman?? So you can't criticize any of the batshittery that spews constantly from her face hole??"

Ah now we're on to Lily's response to herself.

Oh look out Ant, Lily's got damning screenshots she just can't show anybody right now.

Probably similar to when she happily accepted a screenshot from Poppy of Poppy being creepy to Courtney and tried to blame Courtney for it.

Lily you attract attention when people talk about you because the wider nerdy internet knows your takes are insanely bad. And they know your takes are all tangled up in your personal dramas and heinous actions. They can tell. You're not as subtle as you think you are.

I cut together my response to your bad Utena takes in your 2023 Steven Universe video on a whim and slapped it on my completely unestablished personal YouTube account. It got 5k views in a few days. That's how disliked you are.

Nobody knows who I am but you sure copyright struck 4 of my livestream VODs trying to take my channel down. The 4 VODs where I most talk about your blatantly obvious incest fetish at that. Nobody knows who I am but I've gained 10k subs in 6 months primarily from dunking on you. Because I'm better at YouTube than you are.

And people do bitch at me for saying retard constantly. And you know why I keep doing it? Because the ones who most often tell me not to are some of the most annoying, entitled, self-righteous, puritanical control freaks and it's an easy way to weed them out.

By the way have fun trying to find a lawyer within 10 days who will tell you "Why yes, Lily, you can absolutely copyright these videos of yours full of footage that belong to Viacom, Netflix, Amazon, Toei Animation, Dreamworks, Activision-Blizzard, and many more!"

[animeziska]

In July, it was announced that one of my favorite manhwa is getting an anime adaptation — I'm talking about Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, also known simply as Omniscient Reader. I'm really hyped for the anime version and can't wait for it to come out. While there's no release date yet, I thought I'd help shorten the wait by introducing you to the webtoon. I hope I can get you excited about the story! Maybe after this, you'll want to check out the manhwa on Webtoon, or you'll be just as eager for the anime as I am.

Omniscient Reader originally began as a South Korean web novel written by Sing Shong, which concluded in 2020. The manhwa adaptation by UMI and Sleepy-C started the same year. The story is also being adapted into five live-action movies, set to be released in 2025.

Now, what is this webtoon about?

It starts with Dokja, a contract office worker whose hobby is reading web novels. He’s particularly fond of a novel called Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse (TWSA for short). However, the novel is far from popular — an understatement, really. It’s so long-running that every reader except Dokja has lost interest in it; he’s the only one still reading and following it. With 3,149 episodes, it's insanely long for a web novel — Dokja needed 10 years to reach the final episode.

Now, while sitting in the subway, Dokja finally finishes the epilogue of his favorite web novel. Flustered by the ending, he’s staring at his phone when a colleague from work, Sangah, the most popular girl in the office, strikes up a friendly conversation with him. As they chat, Dokja reflects on his life and how it hasn’t been going particularly well.

Since TWSA accompanied him through many tough times, starting from 8th grade, Dokja feels compelled to thank the author now that the novel is finished. He decides to leave a comment, and to his surprise, the author responds. The author informs him that the novel will become paid content at 7 p.m. that day and sends Dokja a copy of the entire novel as a token of appreciation for his loyalty.

It's almost 7 p.m., and Dokja is still on the subway when something unexpected happens. The subway makes an emergency stop, the lights go out, and a strange fluffy creature with two small horns appears! Dokja can’t believe his eyes — it’s a Dokkaebi, just like in the novel TWSA!

In that moment, the genre of Dokja’s life shifted to fiction, and he was the only one who knew what would happen in the following scenarios.

The novel had become reality. Not only did the Dokkaebis appear, but also the characters from the novel, along with monsters, constellations, and scenarios. It was all intertwined with the real world. At first, no one knew what had happened or what to do, but people had to learn quickly and accept the new reality if they wanted to survive.

The setting of TWSA is a world where so-called constellations exist. These beings have been immortalized in human history, ranging from mythic heroes and great sages to mythological creatures, spirits, and ancient gods. They typically don’t interact directly with humans. Instead, they find enjoyment in watching humans struggle through scenarios. These scenarios are challenges that act as obstacles to be overcome in order to progress toward the end of all scenarios, often posing deadly risks and costing many lives.

The Dokkaebi oversee the scenarios, acting as moderators and channel owners of the so-called Star Stream. On this stream, the constellations can watch humans compete in the scenarios. They also have the option to donate coins, send short messages to the contestants, and sponsor participants. A participant can have only one sponsor, gaining some of their sponsor's stigma. For example, the protagonist of TWSA, Yoo Joonghyuk, has the ability to regress: when he’s killed, he's sent back in time and starts over from the beginning of the scenarios. Kind of a cheat ability if you ask me.

The story unfolds into a thrilling fictional action-adventure where Dokja’s life is constantly on the line. He will meet people from both the real world and the novel whom he’ll come to call friends. Together, they challenge the scenarios and strive to reach the end.

Throughout it all, the question looms: How did the novel become reality? Is Dokja a part of it now, or is he still just a reader? His skill, Fourth Wall, suggests he’s a reader, but what happens when this wall begins to shake? If you want to find out, check out Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint yourself!

[commiegoth]

Interview with nonbinary trans author Kate Bornstein, promoting her book Gender Outlaw (Mondo 2000 #13, 1995)

Full text under cut

I‘m walking down 16th Street minding my own business. This good looking woman is coming toward me. She's got on baggy unbuttoned overalls and an orange tank top. Her arms look good, her shoulders look good, and what I can see of her stomach looks good. Two guys are standing on the sidewalk. As she passes them, one says to the other, “I'd like to take that one home.” The other guy agrees. The woman keeps walking. Now it's my turn to pass 'em. “I'd like to take that one home and knock A her around a little bit,” the first guy says. I keep walking. The other guy answers. “That's a her?”

But enough about me. This is supposed to be about Kate Bornstein who wants you to read her new book Gender Outlaw. Bornstein used to be a man; now she’s not. Bornstein used to be a heterosexual; now she isn't. Bornstein used to have a dick; now she doesn’t.

She’s a “used-to-be-a-man, three husbands, father, first mate on an ocean-going yacht, minister, high-powered IBM sales type, Pierre Cardin three-piece suitor, bar-mitzvah’d, circumcised yuppie from the East Coast… a used-to-be politically correct, wanna-be butch, dyke phone sex hostess, smooth talking, telemarketing, love slave, art slut, pagan Tarot reader, maybe soon a grandmother, crystal palming, incense burning, not man, not always a woman, fast becoming a Marxist.”

All that’s not what makes her an outlaw. What makes her an outlaw is she sees a time when folks will look at the binary gender system and throw back their heads and laugh— ha ha ha. Males and females and that’s it? Ha ha ha. Get the fuck outta here.

Bornstein’s looking forward to us all living in what author Marjorie Garber (Vested Interests, Routledge) calls the Third Space. “This whole concept of three is so beautiful,” Kate says, “because it includes the first two. I don’t say there’s a third space that exists between men and women. I say there’s a third space outside of the Binary which leaves the Binary as this construct off to the side, very fragile and apt to fall apart.”

If I were a man, everything about me that brings me grief in the world—the way | walk, the way I talk, the way I think, the way | stand, the way I sit, the way I dress, the way | cut my hair, how much I weigh, how much weight I lift—would not only be acceptable, it would be revered. If we lived in the Third Space, it wouldn't even matter.

Bornstein had to learn a lot of rules in order to fit in. Like when a man walks down the street he looks people in the eye; when a woman walks down the street she looks at the ground. And women talk different. They have higher, breathier voices and their speech is more modulated. In mixed conversations, it’s the woman's job to laugh at the bad jokes and fill in the awkward silences. They smile constantly while they’re talking and use tag questions to qualify sentences, like “you know what I mean?”

“All of these customs are forms of self-deprecation,” says Bornstein, “like learning how to keep my knees together and not putting my arm across the back of my seat in the subway train. A lot of that was not so much to be a woman as to pass as a woman, so that I wouldn't call attention to myself.”

If we lived in the Third Space, she wouldn't have had to worry. In fact, if we lived in the Third Space, she might not even have had penile conversion surgery.

“I don’t do well with might-have-beens,” she says. “I resent that I was manipulated into that surgery by every signpost in the culture. I was not aware of other possibilities at the time. I was a total subscriber to the Binary and to the genitals by which it stands.

“I knew I wasn’t BOY, I knew I wasn’t MAN. Neither of those categories fit for me. It didn’t feel right, I have no idea why. I tried for thirty some odd years and it didn’t work. The only other option I saw in the culture was GIRL, or WOMAN. Nowhere did I see that it was okay to be a “real woman”—which I believed in—with a penis! So the next step was get rid of the penis. This insistence on the Binary and the genital imperative that signals the Binary coerced me into that. If I knew everything that I know now, would I do it again? Yes. Absolutely yes, because sex is so much more fun now.”

Back to this idea of the Third Space, how do we get there?

“Cyberspace would be a doorway into the Third Space,” according to Bornstein. “Cyberspace frees us up from the restrictions placed on identity by our bodies. It allows us to explore more kinds of relationships.

“I can go online as anything. I go online as various kinds of women. I've gone online as a guy a couple of times; I’m playing a stable boy in a vampire scenario now. I’ve gone online as different monsters. I’ve gone online as Mr. Spock in a ‘Star Trek’ scenario.

“Cross-gender identity surfing online is so telling: Men slum and women step into the trappings of power as men. You talk to a man after he’s been a woman online and he'll usually laugh and describe some kind of sex he had, usually lesbian sex. But you talk to a woman who's been surfing as a man, there’s this spark there. There’s this wonder. There's this—'They really do have this power!’ As soon as men cop to the idea that women are learning this, they’re gonna be more frightened.”

Bingo.

In Gender Outlaw, Bornstein asks: “If wealth and power are important, and if in this world wealth and power belong to men, then why did I cease being a man and give up that wealth and power?"

Some male-to-female transsexuals argue—often in response to being excluded from women-born-women only clubs—that they didn’t have a real male experience because they were never real males. Bornstein’s not buying it. “I had a bona fide male experience—of course I did. I’ve been bar-mitzvah’d. I hated it. Being male and hating it sets up a fugue experience. It’s definitely a form of madness. | think one way of dealing with the madness is to say it never really happened. That’s a legitimate way of dealing with it, but the fact of the matter is, I spent over thirty years of my life as a man or boy. I did not like it. I hated it. I drank a lot. I did a lot of drugs. I played a lot of arcade games.”

Once you've altered your gender, it’s gotta seem like anything’s possible. The whole world must open up. Does that mean that transgender stuff is the final frontier? Bornstein doesn’t think so.

She believes that once people get a grip on the idea of the Third Space, and transgender stuff becomes passé, we're probably gonna have to look at other binary divisions. “What are the differences between animals and humans? What are the differences between plants and animals? What about artificial intelligence, androids like Data from “Star Trek?” They're gonna be around. | think the gender binary is the one most firmly entrenched in our culture simply because it’s the one that capitalism trades on the most, other than class. We haven't confronted class. A minor communist uprising in Eastern Europe is not dealing with class. Certainly, the United States has never dealt with class. I think the fact that my book actually got published by a respectable publisher is an indicator that the culture is ready to chew on gender, whereas I don’t think the American culture is as ready to chew on class.

“I'd say gender is the last apparent frontier. It’s the frontier that’s just become illuminated. It’s titillating. In public relations terms it’s sexy. In sex terms it’s sexy. It’s a movement, a real live movement—ready or not, here we come!”

Meanwhile, back on 16th Street.

I take a few more steps, then my brain turns over and I say to myself, “Fuck this shit.”

I stop, turn around, walk back, and stand in front of the first guy. “You say something to me?”

He’s shocked. He starts stuttering and shaking his head.

“Uh…uh…no…I was just…I mean…he was just…I mean…he wanted to know—"

I interrupt him.

“Something about knocking somebody around?”

He starts stuttering again.

“Uh…no…uh, I was just… I mean, he just… I mean, I was just saying—"

I interrupt him again.

“You know what it sounded like you said? It sounded like you said you wanted to suck my dick.”

“Uh…uh… your dick?” He looks at my crotch to see if I have one.

(I do, but it’s back at my apartment.)

“Yeah,” I say, “that’s what it sounded like you said. I think you want to suck my dick, don't you?”

He looks at my crotch again, then he looks back at my face. He grins, still stuttering.

Uh...well...I, I, I... I wouldn't mind.”

“That's what I thought,” I say, and walk away.

For an almost complete collection of Bornsteiniana, start with Gender Outlaw (Routledge), go directly to The Last Sex, Arthur and Mary-Louise Kroker (St. Martins Press), and keep an eye out for performances of Hidden: A Gender and Virtually Yours. The unsatisfied can obsessively watch for guest appearances on Geraldo.

[phantomrose96]

I’d love to hear about your fucked up subway, as best as you can express. Love love love hearing about weird dreams!

In exchange I’ll tell you about my recurring Bad Mall— I’m not on any meds my brain is just like this— usually I’m at the mall looking for someone. Usually it’s a friend, sometimes it’s All Might (??? Also haven’t seen BNHA in years why he there), and in one notable instance, it was a blue sock puppet who everyone loved.

I don’t know why I hate this mall so much. If I could I would never have another mall dream again. It is, technically, a very nice mall. The employees are nice. Usually I have a friend there. The shops are interesting and fairly priced. But something about the atmosphere is just… *grey*. Sapped. It’s a big loop of a building, sized such that there should be a courtyard in the middle— there is not.

The main entrance borders a clothing store that also sell luxury nail polish (like… made of velvet) and a decadent chocolate shop that gives out really nice free samples. Across the way there’s a couple jewellery stores I’ve never been in, and then you make a sharp left and you’re into the mall proper. To your right, the food court. I’ve only stopped there maybe ever twice, and the food is really good. The second time I accidentally put someone else’s fried chicken order into an incinerator so we got married about it.

On the other side, there is GameStop. This store is the bane of my being. It always has the *coolest* stuff but if I dare set foot inside the dream will start looping around it— genuinely, one time I tried to escape by running to the other side of the mall, and I ended up in a secret passageway that led me right back to GameStop. The worst part is that it’s all dream stuff. I don’t get to take any purchases home.

Past that, on the right there’s kind of a weird store that sells vintage stuff, old video games, and tshirts. On the left is a shop that sells gnomes. Directly ahead is a Walmart, and, in the middle of the like. Mall hallway. a free floating hot drink store that also sells wooden cutouts of deer, and kickass hot chocolate. Turn left.

I haven’t been in any of these shops. The only one I recall clearly is a big, outdoorsy-themed sportswear shop to the left. It has a full sized pool in it. I’ve never been inside, only pressed my face to the glass. It also seems to have some sort of scavenger hunt happening with bits of shredded paper. Usually I hurry through the rest of the hallway, not sure why. Turn left.

On the corner to your left, there’s the shop where one of my friends works. The only thing I remember about it is a wind-chime made of dvds. To your right is a large store that takes up the entire stretch of building— it’s one of those, like, VR experience places. Past that, on the left, there is a cinema. Turn left.

You’re back where you started, now. You can go outside. The parking lot is huge, and there’s a MASSIVE textiles store you can only access from out here. Don’t go to the stuffing area, bad vibes. There’s also a handful of gacha machines. One is easily lockpicked, and has cool Pokémon stuff inside. Another has little historical artifact recreations that are all slightly wrong. The Mona Lisa but her hair is blue. The Statue of Liberty, but the torch is a bundle of snakes.

There’s another bundle of disconnected shops. One of them sells pizza? And also it always wakes me up instantly so I don’t know what the pizza is like. The mall doesn’t always spit me out into the parking lot, either. That’s just part of the mall experience I guess one second you’re walking away with your shopping the next you’re running for your life in a dream video game c’est la vie

Hey anon I fucking LOVE your nightmare fucked-up dream mall. If this was the setting of a 16-year-old forum post creepypasta that only exists in reposts and screenshots I'd read the hell out of it.

To your right, the food court. I’ve only stopped there maybe ever twice, and the food is really good. The second time I accidentally put someone else’s fried chicken order into an incinerator so we got married about it.

^Highlighting this because it's doing a lot for me.

My fucked-up subway does not have nearly as much lore as your fucked up mall, and most of my feelings about the fucked-up subway are rooted in the heightened emotional ether of dreams where everything is slightly wrong, but I'll take a shot at capturing the vibes.

The first hallmark of fucked-up subway stations is that they are deep and they are vast--and by vast I mean there's often endless dead-space fanning out from the platform. The stairs descending to the platform are often unrailed and give you a wide view of the endless black-void expanse that stretches beyond the platforms.

The structure of the tracks and the trains is a lot more like a rollercoaster than a real subway. The tracks are bare and exposed and peter off into the dead-space distance. The cars are small and often roofless. They're often some combination of cold and wet and exposed. When there's no roof, there's usually the latent understanding that if you fall out you'll fall far.

The fucked-up subway trains run very infrequently. Usually when you get to the fucked-up station, the train in your desired direction is just about to depart, and if you miss this one, the next one will not be for a long time.

The fucked-up subway trains go to stations that do not exist. They're always modeled off the subway routes in my home city, which I've lived in for close to 5 years now and whose subway system I know like the back of my hand. This means you'll always know where you're trying to go, and be confident in how you're getting there, until you realize the subway is headed to the stations that do not exist.

The stations that do not exist often have transfers with other subway lines, which you can take in an attempt to get back on track. These transfers follow the same rules as the infrequent trains--the train and direction you need will always be just arriving when you are, and if you miss it you'll be stuck waiting a long time. Usually to transfer you have to descend to a deeper level, which brings you to more of these vast and dark and precarious platforms hanging over the abyss, with exposed traintracks running on either side. Sometimes you'll accidentally descend the wrong side--inbound instead of outbound, or vice versa, and need to hastily backpedal (or come up with some way to get across to the other side of the chasm).

One dream with the fucked up subway system had the deep, deep subway system. This station goes all the way down. No clue at all how deep but I'll call it 30 floors, at least, into this dead and lifeless, lightless trough at the bottom. The very bottom has no train, it's just the very bottom of everything. It's a bit like being at the bottom of the ocean, or the bottom of an almost pitch-black cellar--if that cellar's walls were hundreds and hundreds of feet above your head. There is a shop down here! It sells frozen meats that are kept very well preserved down here due to the cold and lifeless nature of the trench's pit.

It's not really a shop, per se. There's no staff or anything. It's more like you've discovered the abandoned contents of this cellar. Things are just stacked around, and very very hard to find with so little light. I don't remember how paying works.

Sometimes, you'll go to a station that exists, but it'll be wrong. You're at the correct station but nothing about it or its surroundings is correct. Nothing looks right. You recognize nothing. But it is the correct station. Sometimes this is nice. One time it let me out into this very pretty street with a nice red brick church whose yard and stone wall were surrounded by beautiful flowers. I met a friend here and she disappeared.

The fucked-up bus lines exist, and they go south. I've only ever ridden them at night and in the pitch black, and they run to places that aren't safe. This is a problem because they run infrequently, and you have to wait for them outside in the dark. I took the fucked-up bus line to a church way south of the city, where I was helping a nice couple set things up in the church. They were never there while I was. The church was always dark.

On the way back taking the fucked-up bus, there was a stop in the middle for the driver to rest. I talked with the other riders while we waited. The bus driver had a medical episode and drove the bus over the side of a nearby cliff. I don't remember what happened when we tried to get help.

[gardenerian]

tag game thursday? my bad 🤷🏻‍♀️ tagged by some darlings 🍅 ty @deedala @kiennilove @mybrainismelted @badassfetish @spookygingerr ily ty for thinkin of me!

Name:  mel

Age: wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? ☔️ jk i'm 32

Are you in school, do you work full-time, or other?  i work full time in an academic department so it's the worst of both worlds asdkjfh but i am attempting to go to school again 🤞🏻 apparently i have learned nothing from my own existence 🕺🏼

Tell me about your morning routine on a school/work day: hit snooze a few times on the alarm, lay in bed for a minutes and talk myself into getting up, stare jealously at my husband who gets to sleep so late, get dressed and ready, kiss my kitty cat goodbye a thousand times, suffer on the subway for a bit, settle in at the office and procrastinate for as loooooong as possible

What do you usually have for breakfast? i am terrible at breakfast!! usually it's tea until my first snack time, and then i snack literally all day 🤡

How many breaks do you take during the day?  ugh. two? there's always so much happening 😭 people never leave me alone 😭 stop it 😭 why are you asking me to do my job at work 😭

Do you go straight home when you are done?  mostly! sometimes i stop for groceries or to run errands, but usually i am bookin it home.

Do you like to go out in the evening?  it depends? i have to do it for my job quite a lot, which is hit or miss. i do love a fun dinner with pals 🥳 but more often than not, i want to be at home in soft clothes as soon as possible, thanks!

Do you cook dinner or order in?  "cooking" is a strong word for what we do bc we're both so very bad at it and also we hate it. we order in a couple of times per week i'd say. tonight is a strong possibility 🥡

How do you entertain yourself in the evenings? chatting with pals, scrolling various apps n things, reading a book and/or fic, maybe watching a show or movie, snugglin the husband and kitty cat, sometimes writing or giffing when the brain lets me (this is rare these days *crine*)

And finally, tell me about your bedtime routine: bubbly bath if possible 😇 other hygiene things, goodnight smooches for my nocturnal husband, more scrollin and readin, lay in bed and Think until i pass out askdfh

late late late to this - tagging anyone that wants to give it a go ❤️ hope everyone is treating themselves with lots of care and love. here's a hug 🫂

[kiaroscuro]

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

Warning:

· · ─────── =^.^= ─────── · ·

"What do you miss the most about before?" Ren asks, a few days later. They've tested out the hot spring bath for the first time, a quick affair with Arsene standing guard while Ren hurried and bathed -- nonetheless, the warm water had felt wonderful on his skin, making it flush pink, and he might have used up a whole bottle of fancy shampoo from the hotel kiosk. Ren was smelling like sweet roses, but also his hair was as soft as it's never been before. They've settled into a routine that has them do a perimeter sweep each day after breakfast before they choose a direction and map it out more thoroughly whenever they're not staying at the hotel, though Arsene has been hinting that he wants to check out the library, so that was on their itinerary for the next day. They were snuggled close in bed right now, Ren on his back and Arsene resting on his stomach, head on his crossed arms while he watches Ren trail a finger over the outline of his broken horn.

Arsene hums, warmth suffusing them both. Our heists do not count?

"No, that would be cheating," Ren says, softly. Sometimes he wonders if the Metaverse even still existed or if it was completely gone, turned inside-out with the shadows. The persona ponders over the question, adjusting his wings until one is folded loosely against his back and the other draped over Ren's legs.

I think... music. Is what Arsene settles on, softly. He's abandoned working on the radio in favor of their new surroundings for now. I miss going to the theater, or to performances; the noises of an alive city, I guess. Et toi?

"Honestly, music's a good point. I can't help but think about movies, though -- that new chick flick that Ann wanted to watch was supposed to release this month, but with everything..." Ren sighs, the pads of his fingers trailing lower, over the edges of Arsene's mask. They've not had sex yet, something Ren really wants to remedy one of these days, but any memory of intimacy brings Takuto to the forefront of his mind, and he keeps recoiling from his own thoughts. Seeing Arsene like this, all soft and pliant to Ren's touch, makes him want to push against the seams of the persona's masks, makes Ren want to open his mouth and figure out if Arsene has a tongue or not. Ren wants to do things, but also not really, and it confuses him. But Arsene is here, and in the end that is all that matters.

Mhm. Leblanc's coffee. I miss how comfortable it was, listening to thee grind the beans and prepare the drinks under the Hierophant's gaze.

Ren closes his eyes. "...or going to the subway mall with Ann and Haru, or eating ramen with the guys. I even miss Makoto nagging about our exams and Futaba bugging the attic. Do you think... they're okay?"

"We have to believe so," Arsene answers, softly. Qu'est-ce qui te manque d'autre? He asks.

"School, if you'd believe me. Huh, never thought I'd say that. Hmm... being able to just order food. Having a phone connection."

Having internet, I presume? That too, yes, but not necessarily for the reasons Arsene was thinking; having internet meant that Ren was always one text away from his friends, and it made it so much easier to research things. How often had they run into situations where only trial and error had saved them, instead of a quick web search later? Ren sighs, feels the wing shift before Arsene cradles his hand close with his own, dark claws so much bigger than Ren's hand. He brings the back of it to the seam of his mouth, puffing out a little flame in imitation of a kiss, and Ren flushes before shifting himself, tugging at Arsene until the persona willingly follows. Ren kisses the seam, fire licking against his lips, and he can feel it part minimally under his touch until -- something wet licks over his lips.

It disappeared too quickly for Ren to really see, and he's staring in bewilderment at the persona. Arsene is grinning, flames curling around his horns in amusement, and Ren touches a finger-pad to his own lips in wonder. "Did you-- did you just--" He stammers, embarrassingly red all of a sudden.

Arsene's mouth parts open, slower this time, the inside painted an orange-red. He sticks out the tip of his tongue, cheekily, before the seam closes again and the fire reappears. You forget that I can hear your thoughts as if on broadband, dear.

Ren flushes crimson to the tip of his ears. "You-- you-- you-- ugh-!" He wails. It's mostly for show, because both of them can feel how the heat is pooling low in Ren's stomach, and it would be easy for Arsene to just continue and Ren wouldn't even really want to stop him--

only the persona retreats again, like back in the shrine, still close to Ren but without any intent of continuing. He's shuffled so that his mask is digging into Ren's stomach, draped halfway over the human, melodramatic as he likes to be, though there's an undercurrent of notyet-soon-notready that Ren acknowledges with a hum.

--

The library's just as imposing on the inside as from the outside, Ren notes, standing in the doorway and admiring the arching dome. It looks like something out of a wizard's lair, and the musk of books is heavy; it seemed that on the day of the outbreak the library had been closed, because nothing is touched or even disrupted inside, and so they proceed onwards. Arsene wants to pick up a book on building and repairing electronic devices to help in his quest with the radio, and Ren is interested in anything about wilderness survival he can get his hands on, so they part ways for an hour or two, each one perusing their own aisles. Ren keeps receiving feedback from Arsene's emotions every-so-often, little tidbits while they browse, until he comes across a rental space for household appliances and stops, staring at it. Oh, right, that's a thing. The little electric stove or the rice and water-cookers weren't exactly useful in their situation, but there were 'leisure items' as well, which included battery-powered gameboys, something called an Etch-a-Sketch, and various other electronic games. Ren grabs one of the consoles and all of the games for it, grabs the weird sketchpad-thing, and finds a music disc player. He stares at it, notes that it's battery-powered, and absolutely grabs it as well, already turning into the aisle with rentable music CD.

(Inserting the first CD he finds, labelled Best of Japanese Folk Songs, he immediately notices that the audio output is missing. Thankfully Ren knows some about music players -- Yusuke owned an old mp3-player he would occasionally use -- and that led him back to the electronics rental section in search for both a little sound amplifier and headphones. He finds both, and setting the music on the lowest volume has the chime of a flute echo in the silent library.

Ren gets goosebumps and then hurries over to Arsene to show him.)

Arsene's ecstatic, and they spend a good hour just goofing off and trying out different CDs until they have a sizeable stack before something occurs to the persona: Think we can find a record store? He thinks-asks, and Ren tilts his head to the side.

"Probably, yeah. Why?"

Arsene flushes. "Phonographes do not require any sort of electricity." He says, abashed, as if it was ridiculous that he'd forget something that was common during his not-lifetime. Ren stares at him.

"Then let's find one! Oh-- and an analog camera as well, and-- hm..." he trails off, uncertain if such a thing as an analog television that didn't need cable existed. He brushes his lips against the edge of Arsene's mask in good measure before they put their haul into backpacks and leave the library, re-closing all of the doors to keep it intact for future visits. After depositing their new belongings in their room, they continue onwards in search of either a music store or an office for a city map, before Ren glances up at the softly-snowing sky. "Think we can find Christmas decorations somewhere?" He asks, and Arsene steps closer until their sides brush against each other.

"How come?" The persona asks, voice soft.

"...a little bit of hope never hurt anyone, did it?" Ren asks, softly, and Arsene agrees a moment later.

(They find a record store the same day and ornaments two days later in an already-ransacked mall, and by the end of their tenth day there's an almost obnoxious amount of Christmas decoration spread across their home. Ren even found some oversize sweaters that could fit on Arsene's broader frame after he doctored the back for the persona's wings, cutting stripes into the lower back and sewing on clasps underneath so that the sweaters could sit snugly on Arsene's hips, and it was so absurd to see the battle-ready persona dressed in anything that wasn't formalwear that Ren had to laugh the first time.)

First << >> Next

[barthel]

Where Do You Get Your Ideas b/w What Are Your Songs About

By the time I'd been in bands for a few years, I could play the songs more or less automatically. I'd pick up the guitar and stand in front of the mic, and start the song, largely without thinking about it—like I was giving in to a potentiality that was already there, like following your normal walking path to school or the subway—and then, a few minutes later, I'd have played the song. I could think about other things when playing the song; I could be high or drunk and still play the song well.

There's something mechanical about this, like riding a bike: you give your body a broad request ("make this bike go forward", "play this song") and it accomplishes the task without attending to the thousands of micro-tasks like remembering the lyrics or the chord changes, or shifting position on the guitar, or where to breathe.

But there's something undeniably magic about it, too, because you're not riding a bike, are you? You're not even performing some other muscle-memory task like hitting a ball or sewing a stitch. I could feel the potential of the song there before it existed, and so could my bandmates, but no one else could. That potential was purely in our minds. When you play music, you are bringing something new into existence and then letting it vanish, note by note. And if you've got a band, you're creating this sound together, reaching back into your shared memories to bring them back into the world, all without making any conscious plan.

That experience isn't there in writing, at least not for me. As much as I enjoy the act of putting words on a page, and can get into a flow, at the end of the day, I'm taking sentences that appear in my consciousness and typing them into a computer. Sure, there's something ineffable about where the ideas—and even words—come from, but that's largely invisible in the finished product. (Though not so much that "Where do you get your ideas from?" isn't a perpetual question of authors. From the unknowable confluence of my accumulated life experiences and the random chance of the day’s shape, my dude!) When we experience writing, as readers, it's not like a concert. We're not watching someone tell an extemporaneous story, even one they've told a hundred times before. We're reading a heavily-edited record of such a performance, many drafts ago.

That's one of the things that makes writing about music so hard: the absolute need to honor that magic of a musical performance, coupled with the absolute inability of writing to convey it in any direct way. I think—and this drives musicians absolutely nuts, I know—the only way to convey that magic is by talking about meaning, even the personal aspects of meaning. By saying what the song makes you, as a listener, think about. This song is about the way country music radio treats women or This song reminds me of riding in a car with my mother or just This song sounds like a cricket stuck in an air vent you can never find. It’s like you’re reverse-engineering those scores that are just instructions, like "Play these sequences in any order, but stop every once and a while and listen"—but instead of taking a text prompt and making music from it, you’re taking a musical prompt and trying to follow its instructions to create a text. It’s an act of translation.

That’s frustrating, because we want texts to be definitive, want them to be the truth. We want to know what the song is about. But all translations are inexact, are based on what the translator brings to it. Sure, it’s constrained by what’s there in the source. But then the rest is all you. What is the song about? Every song is about the same thing: the experience of being inside the song, for as long as it lasts - and what it’s like to be the person who went through that experience. Who heard the notes come into being and then vanish.

[imsailorpluto]

Summer Strike, ep 1; thoughts & spoilers

Wow, I entered a dream and got completely lost in this one. How to explain it, where to begin... There are those days when only one negative thought holds immense power over us, and then there are those days that are just so well that even though nothing special happens, every ounce of negativity simply bounces off of us as if it doesn't even exist. Well, I'd compare exactly that with the first episode of Summer Strike. Despite the main character Yeo-reum putting up with mobbing for a long time, she finally decides to quit all the pointless never-ending rush. By finishing this ep, all sense of frustration one might've felt along with our protagonist simply disappears.

The first episode depicts how people constantly chase after something beyond their reach and it even haunts them in their sleep. In that endless chase, forgetting to stay close to those who matter the most comes naturally. One day we're having a phone call with our dear ones, just like Yeo-reum, and the other we pick up that one call no one ever wishes to receive. A moment to say goodbye suddenly is long gone, and no matter how hard we try denying certain life events, it's still there in the end, inevitably waiting.

“Mom. I'll do everything for you. I'll make a lot of money, so I can take you out to look at flowers, and take you to the beach too. I'll do everything for you. So don't age too quickly.”

In that crazy rush, Yeo-reum lost her senses along with the perception of herself, and since those things seldom go unnoticed, her co-workers just pick on what's left of her, like some vultures. One step at a time, without even realising it, the ground beneath her feet keeps moving, escaping. Slowly vanishing. It doesn't crumble, nor does it make a sudden noise. It slowly fades away, like the colours of clothes exposed to the sun a little too long on a hot summer day.

“Every day, the exact same sun goes down and comes up. The world hasn't changed at all.”

In all its predictability people take on well defined roles. Everybody adapts to new situations, many prey on the “weaker” as if that's all to life there is for them. And the weak ones aren't really weak, they just can't understand where the ground is nor how to find it. Allowing others to define their core is as good as walking blindfolded, expecting not to stumble and fall eventually. The hand which helps Yeo-reum put the blindfold on every day also feeds her, or gives her a false sense of dependency, no wonder having any clear perception is completely out of the equation. What kind of person would ever agree to that, right? The world doesn't change. The rush doesn't change either and the route to work is always the same. Except when something happens out of the blue. Rocks us to our core. And the invisible floor is suddenly full of cherry blossom petals, scattered and carried by the wind. The floor becomes visible again, she's breathing the air with her own lungs and she's standing tall on her two feet.

“The subway car moving away from Seoul on a weekday morning was so quiet and peaceful that I almost felt as though I had been transported to another world. Perhaps, life isn't any different. If you go in the opposite direction of everyone else, you may be able to find a quiet, peaceful path that isn't as crowded.”

“I've lived my life in a daze. In order not to fall behind and not to be criticized, I held out with all my might. But looking back now, I realise that I always criticized myself more harshly than anybody else ever did.”

Yeo-reum realising she's her own worst enemy is where this whole escape journey begins. It made me rewatch the episode again and again and again... The feeling of liberation as she leaves her city life behind is extremely palpable. As a girl who has moved a lot, there is certain relatability in Yeo-reum carrying her whole life in a large rucksack, styling her hair in a single braid, wind messing up her hairdo, that silly oversized rhcp hoodie, trains moving, bus traveling into the unknown, the rejoice new beginnings offer, ...

Focus isn't on leaving a life behind, but on giving yourself a chance where it seems like there are no chances left at all, it's about seeing what is in front and going for it, even if it means stepping into the unknown.

Her hopefulness as nature offers the greatest gifts of fairytale-like scenery, reaching the seaside, dropping everything just to jump into the sea immediately after stepping out of the bus, and floating on the calm mirror-like surface... There's something liberating in those scenes, I can't count the times I did exactly the same in the late spring. Sea offers and takes away so much, including all the heavy weight, every overwhelming feeling, every pain in every corner of one's being. It dissolves everything.

There's nothing like surrendering yourself to it.

Here we are again, at the end of another chaotic little mess. Great job reaching the final destination! ♡

This 1st episode works perfectly as a stand alone. For those who don't have much time left on their plate and getting into the entire story isn't an option - it's totally fine, first episode is a piece of art, do watch it. (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

This has nothing to do with the fact that I'm starting a club for all Yeo-reum supporters, called "I did the same thing as Yeo-reum". Only requirement is mentioned in the paragraph above (◠⁠‿⁠◕)

I'm only 4 episodes in, and can't even express how enjoyable they are, but updates on that a bit later. I'll continue watching and rewatching this little series it seems. As always, feel free to leave a comment and share your opinion.

xx

Pluto

[greatwyrmgold]

Finished watching Lycoris Recoil, and there's one thing that bugs me about the ending. (I mean, beyond the fact that the yuri-baiting is yuri-baiting, but that's kinda standard.) That one thing is about the ending, and hence spoilery, so...

Having been officially warned, let's get started.

So, for those who don't care about spoilers, Lycoris Recoil is an anime about schoolgirl assassins known as Lycoris. Lycoris work for an organization called Direct Attack (DA for short), which uses the Lycoris to secretly enforce a vision of peace and safety over Japan, to the point of erasing all evidence that violent crimes take place (including witnesses). Part of how they cover things up is Radiata, a computer...something which helps Lycoris censor the media, preventing leaks and getting cover stories out quickly and such.

The main villain of Lycoris Recoil is Majima, a terrorist who wants to restore "balance" to Japan, through a mixture of terrorist attacks and revealing DA to the public. Now, we can all agree that shooting up subways and blowing up radio towers and stuff is bad, Majima is obviously a villain, but...the DA is bad too, right? Surely even people who think Chisato should just shoot the bad guys with normal bullets and murder 'em all can agree that hiding the a secret organization that secretly murders people is bad, whatever their stated objectives, right?

In the last few episodes, Majima succeeds, through a complex plot involving hacking, guns, live footage of Lycoris shooting his goons, and the fact that Lycoris all wear identical uniforms (and are a bit too trigger-happy for their own good). Oh no! Lycoris's secrecy is shot (pun intended), and the DA is about to be terminated! But then, Kurumi brings Radiata back on, and the day Lycoris is saved. But why?

The DA is not a good thing, and the series know this. Chisato has chafed against their murderous methods since long before episode 1, and while Takina starts the series desperate to return, by the end her participation in DA is contingent on that seeming like the best way to save Chisato (long story). Its leader is framed as an asshole who cares about nothing except enforcing that facade of peace (and protecting the organization she runs). To say nothing of the fact that DA wants to kill Kurumi over her hacking Radiata towards the start of the series. Why did she step in to save the Lycoris's public image?

On one hand, the short-sighted answer is obvious. LilyBell are shooting at Takina and Chisato and the other Lycoris, and saving Radiata means they stop. Who's LulyBell, you ask? They're a group of schoolboy soldiers who exist to keep the Lycoris in line, specifically during their introduction and this bit of the finale. I don't think they're brought up between those two points; I'd forgotten they existed until they were ordered to start executing Lycoris. But this just kicks the can down to "Why were the LilyBell written into the story?" They don't do anything else; they're not even a satisfactory answer to "who watches the watchmen?", because they're another group of unwatched watchmen, and worries about LilyBell don't pop up when Chisato/Takina/etc violate orders or anything. As far as I can tell, LilyBell basically exists so there's someone shooting at the Lycoris who can only be stopped by hiding the DA.

And it's not a status quo sort of thing, either. None of the main characters are working with the DA by the end of the series; in practical terms, they severed ties before Radiata is restored. The Hawaii epilogue bit suggests the LycoReco girls are doing an A-Team impression, which for the record I think is a great place to leave them. But it means the DA staying secret isn't structurally significant to anything except the DA's facade.

If Majima hadn't successfully revealed the Lycoris's existence, I wouldn't have thought twice about their continued secrecy. But he did! Without Kurumi's quick hacking, the Lycoris would be public knowledge, and the secret assassinations and stuff would stop being secret. Why didn't they?

It feels like the DA's continued secrecy is framed as a "part of a balanced happy ending" sort of thing, where it needs to be written that way for the ending to be satisfying. It's certainly not framed as "This is a continuing problem that needs to be solved"! But that's absurd. The DA is bad, and the anime knows this. Why organize things so they get to stick around??

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I don't know. If I were working at a Subway, I'd probably just take their orders and make them their damn sandwiches and hope that they take them and LEAVE, QUICKLY. If they took to harassing or preaching to me, other employees or customers and causing a disturbance, out on their asses. Then again, if they are local, there is the parable about not letting your bar become a Nazi-bar... I mean, it's a Subway. They don't really pay you enough for this shit. I think these guys were "persecution fishing." They wanna be spanked so bad. It's like, dudes, if they were following the Bible (even read the thing?) they'd know to expect persecution and to humbly accept it / endure under it (hopefully for the actual Gospel and not for this bull). ... Speaking as a CHRISTIAN. Well, a heretical one, a Progressive one, and one with a healthy agnostic streak... I mean... these being Christian-message T-shirts save for that "Repent or Burn" one (for certain theologies that not all of us share)...um... No? A Christian T-shirt would be something like "John 3:16" or "Jesus is the Light of the World." These things could be worn by homophobic atheists (they exist) for all we know. If actual persecution of Christians comes to the West, I for one will accept it humbly, knowing that people like these ruined it for everybody. I'll go down as long as I can take them down with me.

[kcwagenseller]

Tuscany's Italian Restaurant: A Friday Night Out

I was thinking about what to eat on this Friday night, and I suddenly got the urge to go to dinner at Tuscany's. It's a nice Italian restaurant in town, and I heard they recently got their beer and wine license.

First, I tried to punch "Tuscany's" into Uber and there was no luck. It didn't exist. It sits next to a Subway, so I punched that in instead. Luckily, it said the right address but took us to the wrong location. I made the kerfuffle known to the Uber driver once I hopped in the vehicle. He said in his non-American accent, "It's no problem. I get you where you are going." To which I said, "Thanks."

I guided him to the Italian restaurant and I made it safely. That's when the fun began. I entered the restaurant and they invited me to take a seat anywhere. I picked a lone table and sat down facing the door. A young man approached me, "Hello, can I get you started with anything to drink?" I said, "I definitely want a water and I'd like to talk about the wine." He said, "Well, I'm only 16. I don't know anything about the wine." I said, "You aren't old enough to serve me anyway. Get me someone who knows about the wine and can serve me."

A different gentleman approached. i later found out that he was the owner. He said, "What do you like." I said, "I'm really partial to Cabernets from California, but I was wanting to try an Italian wine." He said, "I have the Bulletin. I can let you taste." I agreed. I looked at the menu and found an Italian cabernet.

He returned with the wine in a small plastic ramekin. I tasted it. "It tastes excellent." He said it was one of his favorites. I asked about the Italian cabernet and he said he was out, but that the Bulletin was comparable. I ordered the bottle.

Turns out, it was an Australian cabernet. That's ok, it was delicious. I started with the stuffed mushrooms and a salad with blue cheese. The salad came out fast, and I ate it quickly. The stuffed mushrooms came out quickly after that. I enjoyed all five mushrooms and the marinara and cheese that came with it, mopping it up with my complimentary rolls that they had served just before the wine.

Finally, the main course. I ordered veal parmesan and requested that the cute server, who happened to be named Kasey, also get a plate. I was upset to find out later that the charge was not on my bill. The veal parmesan was hot and delicious. It paired really well with the cab. I ate the whole dish.

"What do you like for dessert?" Kasey asked. I asked, "What do you have?" She pointed me to the menu that also displayed the wine. The desserts were on the back. I found the most expensive dessert and asked about it. Apparently, it was a chocolate mousse with cheesecake in the middle. I had to have it. "I want it." I said. "Right away" Kasey said, and sure enough, it came out about a minute later.

It was divine, especially with the red wine. I couldn't get enough and it was over long before it should have been. They brought the check. I ordered one more glass of the Australian cabernet while I waited for my Uber. I read part of Fairy Tale from Stephen King while I waited the 20 minutes for my ride to arrive, after I had tipped $40 on an $80 bill.

My ride arrived. "Uber?" I said as I opened the door. "Yes." It became quickly apparent to me that he didn't speak English, but Spanish. Luckily, I know quite a bit of Spanish. I'll spare you the exact dialogue, but I guided him home in Spanish and initiated some small talk, mostly to practice. He complimented me and dropped me off in front of my driveway.

It was a pleasant evening. I am glad I went out tonight. It's quite possible I will be doing it again in the near future, with another blog to follow.

[i-told-u-its-skittles]

When I was five I thought I had the greatest memory in the world.

I could picture anything I had seen,

Rattle off a list of facts like an answering machine.

I took pride in it so much for something so small.

I was so good. I was so smart.

My memory seems to get worse every year.

I forget things as soon as I hear them.

Faces and names pass through my mind like water.

It's not really pictures. I'm not sure it ever was, to be honest.

(If my honesty is worth anything, when I cannot remember the truth.)

I don't remember firsts. I don't remember dates. Or to-do's.

Flashes and concepts, a bit. But mostly, it's words.

Facts and numbers and rants and music and everything that would spill from my mouth in a tangled twisted mess of slurred sounds and restarts as I try and try and try to dissect the noise in my head the constant mass of songs and sounds and words always firing from A to B to D to M to K to T to Z to

A subway map of a train of thought, and the city never sleeps.

It was, perhaps, probably, always this way.

A five year old is not expected to remember everything. It is impressive, when they remember the order of planets from the sun, even if they forget their brother's birthday.

As I get older the gaps grow wider, along with the net.

I still know the order of the planets, and every ancient god of their namesakes. I only have the month of his birthday.

What the world seems to miss is that it's all connections. Like the webs of string I'd draw across rooms as a child;

Mars is third because Earth is fourth right after it, and Jupiter is the roman equivalent to Zeus like how Juno is Hera, and is also a satellite sent to Titan searching for life, for any spark down in the deep blue sea anything left under the ice anything moving beyond static readings of facts and numbers and words—

It all comes back in cascade.

What is a birthday? A date? In relation to what?

Everything is connected, except when it isn't.

Nothing exists to me without one thing to lead to another. Names are just sole, isolated sounds. Dates are just a string of numbers, a concept of time. Lost in the void between train tracks.

I'm sorry, I can't remember your name. I swear it isn't personal, I just have a horrible memory. Sorry.

Sorry.

[aurelene]

Having worked in fast food, there is absolutely nothing bad or weird about going to a place regularly and getting the same thing. The only thing that matters is whether or not you're polite.

I worked at Subway as a teen and there were maybe 10 customers that I could have their sandwich basically made, toppings and all, by the time they got to the counter. We'd chat a little bit and I'd look forward to those interactions because it was way easier prepping a sandwich from memory and having a little chat and quickly getting them on their way than to painstakingly ask 30 questions to someone who is on their phone and barely paying attention to me.

Meanwhile, we had this regular at Wendy's who we called The Fry Lady because she always ordered her junior fries without salt (which means even if new and fresh fries were available, you had to make news ones, which took 3 mins, which was longer than we were supposed to have cars in the drive thru). The problem was that 1. She would always order them last, which would delay us starting them and mess with our times, 2. She refused to pull up after she paid, meaning it would mess with our times, 3. She would always be super rude, complain about the wait, and complain about being asked to pull up by new staff that didn't know how unpleasant she was, and 4. The beginning of her order was often different, so we didn't have any way to predict it was her until she asked for her fries at the end. Everyone hated her and as soon as she said "junior fry, no salt" someone would do a full body eye roll and run to the back to put the fries in.

The #1 rule of any service you are receiving is just be kind, polite, and understanding. The #2 rule is pay attention and try not to waste people's time unnecessarily (unnecessary meaning don't fuck around on your phone when people are talking to you, not unnecessary as in existing or asking for help). As someone who used to have anxiety about things like asking for more ketchup at the counter or asking for mistakes on my order to be corrected (I just wouldn't do those things because I was too nervous), the best cure for that anxiety was working in fast food myself. The only people that me and my coworkers talked about behind their backs were jerks, not overly polite 16 year olds asking for more ranch dressing. For nice people, I would gladly throw in extra food or make things better quality or take time out of my day to go above and beyond, because you learn to appreciate politeness dealing with 100s of people a day.

Starving to death this morning because ive been to the new local cafe twice this week already and if i go a third time ill look desperate.

[boobachu]

What I expect of Side Order (release date Dec 31st 2024)

Zombie apocalypse, like the bleached coral is some kind of undead bullshit that this person goes much better into (Warning incects being eaten alive by fungus basically)

and... I guess that'd sorta be like a mixture of santiization and fuzzy ooze but like

Okay so you know how cloning exists, and this game has shown mamals if mutated can get inkling powers?

Well, I think Lil Judd will use Grizz's research and try and make mutant clones that can function in the modern world.

Like the fucking original Splatoon bunnies

...I'd say that if the DLC was coming out this year, but it's coming almost in 2025 well after the year of the black water rabbit...

Sooooo I doubt 3rd playable race: bunny is going to happen cuz literally the only other reason is "They put way too much effort designing them" which like, not everything gets to be Mighty the Armadillo.

The other thing I expect is Marina going "golf rules" and the loser of the final fest is what shaped Splatoon 3 and the villain of the DLC is Pearl similar to what happened to Callie.

Tho personally I think Pearl would be way more likely to just decide to be a villain, like I dunno how much push there'd have to be to make her evil.

I just want to see a boss fight against her cheapo dualey ass... see princess cannon 5.1 or something that'd be awesome.

Some people are saying that the white world is a replication cuz there's no subway or anything and I hope not cuz that'd be so freaking lame. If Chaos won I want at least people to suffer dangit.

Agent 4 might also be a villain, honestly it'd be really cool if all the major players on Team Chaos were villains

Tho I'd honestly love a boss rush where you fight all seven idols... but honestly I'd also like to fight Crusty Sean...

I just hope there's way more boss fights and it's not just reused stuff like in Spla2n...

If you think I'm wrong well, there's literally nothing of substance handed to us! We're all speculating in this fandom WOOOOO

Also bring back Squid Girl and Korokoro roller and the gamepad like squit jumping is so worthless in-battle just "hey come and shoot me while I try and highlight a jump point" like thanks LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

[cjsinkythoughts]

The Night Shift

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,189

Warnings: a few bad language words (sorry Stevie), fluff, I think that’s all

Summary: Your bad day turns worse when you're given the night shift at work. But you find it has more perks than you original thought. 

A/N: Here it is! My first ever posted/published work! This is a bit new for me for quite a few reasons. 1. I usually write OCs. 2. I'm used to writing 3rd POV and past tense. 3. I like writing series and longer fics. 4k is actually pretty mild for me. Also, I'm planning on doing more first date fics with the Avengers, but we'll see if I keep up with that. Thank you and enjoy!

(Pictures not mine but collage is)

Today is not your favorite day. You woke up late, your laundry isn’t done because the machines were all being used when you tried, your roommate didn’t do the dishes so you had to do them before you left, your car broke down - meaning you had to take the Subway - and now you’re working an extra shift because your stupid coworker didn’t show up.

Who even comes in to get coffee at 9 at night? The sky is dark, the stars are out, and everyone should be getting ready for bed - including you. God. You love New York, but sometimes you wish the damn city would just go to sleep for once in it’s goddamn existence.

You’re practically asleep on your feet, getting ready to close in fifteen minutes, when the door opens, the little bell ringing in response. You rub your eyes and turn from where you’re wiping down the back counters to speak to the wackjob who wants coffee at this cursed hour.

You freeze, your eyes meeting stunning azures framed by dark lashes. Thick, soft, chocolate locks fall down past his ears and into those alluring eyes. Lips, perfectly pink and very tempting, pull up in a delicious smile. He’s got a jawline sharp as a knife, only accentuated by the dark scruff covering it. Jesus Christ this man is attractive. He’s also vaguely familiar…

He strolls up to the counter, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans that pulled taunt around his thick thighs. His shirt is pulled tightly across his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath the fabric, threatening to tear the material with every movement.

“Hello.” You thank whatever deity that might be out there that your voice doesn’t shake as you greet the gorgeous god of a man.

“Hi there, doll. Cody’s off today, huh?” Even his voice is breathtaking.

“Yeah. He didn’t show up. Is he a friend of yours?”

The man tilts his head in confusion, before his eyes light up realization. “Oh, no. No. I just come here a lot.”

“At nine at night?”

He shrugs, a small blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s the only time I get to myself really.” It clicks in your head who this man is when he raises his hand to rub the back of his neck. Black metal gleams in place of tanned skin.

“You’re Bucky Barnes!” You blink at him in disbelief. His hand quickly finds its way back to his pocket while he chuckles awkwardly. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. You’re one of my favorite Avengers! After Black Widow, obviously, but-” You stop rambling, feeling heat rise to your face. “God, I’m tired. Uh, what can I get you?” You punch in the order that he gives you and look up shyly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

He smirks and leans on the counter. “How about a name, darlin'? Yours, specifically.”

You roll your eyes, unable to contain the snort you give. “I’ll be right back with your order, sir.” You start making his drink, avoiding his eyes that you feel watching your every move. Usually you had another worker helping to make drinks, but since there’s only ten minutes until closing, you’re alone to close up the shop tonight.

You also usually only write on the cup when there’s more than one person, but you find yourself writing down your own name on his cup. It is part of his order, after all.

“Here you go.” You repeat his order, handing his cup to him.

He raises an amused eyebrow. “You forgot-” You interrupt him by clicking your tongue and turning the cup in his hands. He looks down at it curiously, before grinning and reading the ink out loud. The way your name falls off his lips has you holding in a shiver. “Thanks, sugar.” You watch him leave the shop, whistling a nameless tune, and wonder if Cody would mind switching shifts more.

Turns out, Cody had been arrested, so your boss had to hire a new kid who, because of school, couldn’t do the night shifts. Which meant your shifts changed. Not that you mind all that much; it gives you more chances to see Bucky.

When he said he comes in often, he wasn’t lying. Occasionally he stays while you clean and lock up and the two of you get lost in conversation under the city lights outside the shop. He usually orders and leaves with a witty comment and a wink, probably off to save the world from aliens or Nazis. He always orders the same thing, but he always asks for a little something extra, different every night.

“The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anything else?”

“Your phone number would be great.”

~

“I’ll get right on your drink, Buck.”

“Awesome. Can you add your favorite flowers to that, too? Thanks, sugar.”

~

“I’m gonna change it up today, dollface.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll have the usual, but on the side I want to know what your favorite dessert is.”

He’s such a charmer. You aren’t sure if he’s just flirting or if he actually likes you. You think maybe he does that with every girl - waitresses, cashiers, secretaries - and he’s just being friendly. You’re sure after being stuck as a brainwashed assassin for nearly a century, flirting and cracking jokes with people makes him feel more normal. Still, you can’t help but wish that maybe the relationship you have now would become…more.

It’s not until he shows up a few weeks after your first meeting that you finally get an answer to whether or not he really likes you.

The bell rings, signifying a customer coming into the shop. You know it’s Bucky by the watch on your wrist; in the past few weeks of working the night shift, only one other person came in at nine o’clock.

“Good evening, beautiful.” A smile lifts the corners of your mouth at the familiar smooth voice that you could listen to all day. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

You straighten up and look over the counter. “It’s called inventory. How’s your day been, Buckaroo?”

“Better now that I get to see your pretty face.”

You roll your eyes, face heating up and a small smile gracing your features. “Give me a minute and I’ll have your drink done. Anything extra?”

“This is a bit riskier than normal, but I’ve been wanting to try it for a while. Can I get your schedule?”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion as he smirks confidently. “My schedule?”

“Yeah. I just need to know something.”

“What would that be?”

“You free on Saturday, doll?”

* * * * * * * *

Saturday comes much too slowly for your liking, especially considering he asked you out only two days prior. He didn't tell you what you'd be doing today, so you decide on a casual sundress that you can play off as fancy if you need it to be. The color and style compliments you and your beautiful features perfectly and you can only hope he agrees. Your roommate assured you you looked gorgeous before going out with some of their other friends this morning.

You're just putting the finishing touches on your outfit for the day when a knock on your door sounds throughout your apartment. You check your watch: 10:30 on the dot. Just like he said. You get up too quickly, causing you to trip on your own feet and stumble - but luckily you catch yourself before you fall. Feeling simultaneously embarrassed and relieved he didn't see your clumsy actions, you head to open the door.

A bouquet of your favorite flowers appeared once you open the door, bright cerulean eyes shining at you from behind them. He grins, said eyes scanning your figure. "You look pretty as a picture, doll."

You duck your head bashfully, taking the flowers from him. "Thank you." You not so subtly check him out as you put the flowers in a vase. Like always, Bucky is absolutely stunning: his brown locks frame his face, falling into those mesmerizing blues, which are even more so due to the dark blue t-shirt under the light bIue jean jacket hugging his muscled torso. Dark jeans pull taunt across those thighs, his large hands in his pockets casually. You find yourself frowning when you notice his left hand is covered by a black glove. You want to say something, but decide against it, too anxious to ruin the date with this god of a man.

He clears his throat, which brings your gaze back to his face. You feel yourself heat up at the smirk on his perfectly pink lips. "Uh, I, um, so...what are we doing today?"

"I thought we could have some fun today, since all you ever seem to do is work."

"I don't always work." You quickly defend. He raises a disbelieving eyebrow, making you drop your head again. "Okay. Maybe I don't get out much."

He chuckles. "Good thing. That way I get you to myself." There's that smug smirk again. "As for what we're doing, that's for me to know and you to find out. I'd wear walking shoes if I were you, though."

You give him a curious look, moving over to grab your keys, phone, and wallet, before slipping on your sneakers. "I don't get a hint or anything?"

"And ruin the surprise? Where's the fun in that?" You giggle a bit as the two of you head out your door and down the hall. "I didn't know if you mind motorcycles, so I just borrowed Steve's car." He tells you in the elevator.

You talk about motorcycles and your opinion of them as you walk out your building and into the bright Spring sun. Your eyes widen at the nice Camaro parked in the street that he leads you to. "Wow."

"Yeah." Bucky nods in agreement. "Tony had it custom made for Steve for their anniversary a few months ago."

"And he's allowing you to use it?"

Bucky chuckles, running a hand through his hair as a pink tint dusts his cheeks. "'Allow' is a strong word."

You laugh as he opens the passenger door for you. You thank him, sliding onto the nice brown leather seat. "Does he even know you have it?"

He shrugs, shutting the door and leaning into the open window. "He'll find out soon, I'm sure."

Another laugh escapes you, a smile adorning his lips at the sound. He walks around the car, doing a hood slide to make you chortle again. While you two start driving, you try to convince him to give you a hint, but he's stubborn, denying you answers with that annoyingly charming smirk of his.

You recognize the direction you're going after a while and bounce in your seat as you arrive. "Coney Island?"

"I haven't been here since before the War and I've been meaning to come see how it's changed." He told you with a grin. "Who better to come check it out with than the pretty dame who serves me coffee at nine o'clock without complaining?"

Rolling your eyes to cover how much comments affect you, you smile teasingly in return. "Have you always been such a charmer, Barnes?"

He parks the car before shooting you a wink. "Only to angels, darlin', and you're the first one I've met so far."

You inwardly curse, hating how easily flustered you get around him. He gets out of the car and you're about to follow when he opens your door for you and offers his hand to you like the gentleman he is. You take it, enjoying the feeling of your smaller one against his rough calluses, and he helps you out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

"You ready to have the time of your life, dolIface?"

"As long as you get me a treat." You joke, linking your arm with the one he offers.

"Like I wasn't going to?" He scoffs back. "Who do you think l am, sugar? Now c'mon. Fun's awaitin'."

You laugh, letting him drag you around, loving the child-like wonder in his pretty eyes. Whether or not you enjoy roller coasters, you have a blast: playing carnival games, eating food you both know is terrible for you, but tastes oh so good, and people watching the interesting crowds, all while teasing and playing around with each other. There's nothing better you can think of to do with your free day than goof off with Bucky, no stress or worries plaguing your mind like usual. He even wins you multiple adorable plushies! Being a super soldier wasn't just good for saving the world, evidently.

It was while you're eating lunch that you ask Bucky why he's wearing a glove. "I've already seen your arm. I don't mind."

He hesitates, opening his mouth before licking his lips nervously. "It's not...I know you don't. I just don't...I dunno. I don't wanna freak anyone out."

You frown and put down your food, leaning forwards on your elbows. "First off, I think you're an amazing person. Just throwing that out there. Second, I don't think anyone will mind. You're a hero. An Avenger. Basically a celebrity with a badass arm. And, finally, if anyone does say anything, I'll tell them off. Easy peasy."

He snorts at that, before looking at his gloved hand warily. You reach across the table to give both his hands a squeeze. He meets your eyes and you grin reassuringly back. "If you're not comfortable, that's okay. Just know that other people should never be the reason to hide yourself. Trust me."

"I do." He says genuinely. You give him a questioning look, playing with the tips of his gloved fingers. At his nod, you slowly start taking his glove off, giving him time to say no. He doesn't, letting you tug it all the way off. He blushes when you lift the smooth metal to your lips.

"So, what's next? Wanna win me one of those monkeys with the velcro hands?" He chuckles at your question, telling you he'd win you all of them if you asked. You giggle, tightening your hold on his hand and, after finishing the last bite of food, pulling him to the booth with the monkey prizes.

When it starts getting dark, Bucky convinces you to go on the Ferris Wheel with him, promising to hold your hand the whole time if you're scared of heights (even though you haven't let go of his hand or arm since lunch). It's one of the most stunning scenes you've ever seen. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, a few stars dotting the darkened sky, a rare sight living in New York City. The aforementioned city's lights were turning on, causing the skyline to glow brightly. It's hard to think of anything bad about NYC when she looks like that.

"Wow. " You breath, enchanted by the city you've grown to love as home. "There's something almost...magical about it, don't you think?" You turn to Bucky, still captivated by the view, expecting him to be the same. After all, New York has been his home for over a century and so much has changed. Instead, you find him intently watching you, a small, adoring smile etched on his features. You smile shyly, unable to keep his gaze while he's looking at you like that - like you're the most enthralling thing he's seen, bewitching his heart and soul, even with the magnificent picture before you.

"Yeah...there is." He agrees, grabbing your chin between his left thumb and pointer finger gently, making your eyes meet. His right arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into his warm chest, heating you up from the chill the night is bringing.

Your heart drums hard against your ribs when he glances at your lips and you're sure he could hear it, even without his enhanced hearing. Your eyes lock onto his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them. You're suddenly so much closer, his right hand holding the back of your neck delicately while his left cups the side of your jaw. Your hands are gripping his jacket, noses brushing.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice comes out low and raspy.

"If you didn't, I'd probably smack you."

You feel his deep chuckle reverberate through his chest, which you just notice is pressed solidly against yours. Before you can process anything, his lips are slanted over yours. They're softer than you originally thought and they move expertly against yours. It surprises you, before you remember he's technically over a century old, so of course he has experience.

The kiss is over before you want it to be, but the need for oxygen gets too much and your lungs start to sting, so you pull back reluctantly, your hands now in his hair while he's holding your face tenderly.

"Speaking of magic."

You laugh, rolling your eyes as the Ferris Wheel starts turning again. "Who knew Bucky Barnes is such a sap?"

He smirks, leaning forwards to peck your Iips a couple times. "I prefer the term 'romantic'."

Once you get off, you hold onto his elbow, leaning against his shoulder. "Thank you for bringing me, Buck. I really enjoyed today."

"Well that's good considering we're not done."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, what?"

Bucky scoffs in amusement. "You didn't think that was all, didya, doll? The day's not over; the night's still young!" His right arm slings around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing your head.

"Okay. What's next?" You ask curiously. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on those delicious lips. "Another surprise?"

"Hope you're hungry, sweetheart."

"Dinner?"

Giving you a charming grin, he leads you back to the car. "Guess you'll have to wait 'n see, darlin’."

* * * * * * * *

"Buck.” You groan, toeing the ground nervously. The blindfold covering your eyes was keeping you from seeing anything and, to your embarrassment, you've already tripped more times than you care to admit. “Where are we? l feel like we've been walking forever. Can I take this stupid thing off yet?”

Bucky chuckles softly in your ear, holding you steady as you walk on the uneven surface beneath your feet. “We’re almost there, doll. I promise."

Letting out a huff, you let him lead you further along. Finally, after what feels like hours, though you know you're being dramatic and haven't been walking that long, he stops. "Stay right here," he mumbles, his hands that were on your shoulders leaving, along with his warmth behind you, with a kiss to your cheek.

"Haha. You're so funny."

A couple snickers leave his lips and you can just imagine the smile no doubt gracing his features - the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes adorably. You feel wind nip at your bare skin and shiver slightly, wondering where the hell you are.

"Okay. C'mere." His hands are on you again, the contrast of the two adding to the goosebumps the breeze was giving you. "Right here." You can practically feel his excitement and nerves as he positions you. "Alright. Ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be, I suppose."

His nimble fingers are suddenly at the edge of cloth covering your eyes, which he makes quick work of, tugging it off gently. "You can open your eyes, sugar." He chuckles, seeing your eyes tightly clenched shut. You do as he says and blink them open. The sight that meets you takes your breath away.

He brought you to a beach, which you had kind of already guessed due to the sad slipping through your shoes. In front of you, a blanket is spread out, being held at the corners by lanterns, which are connected by a string of fairy lights outlining the blanket. Pillows are scattered on the blanket, a picnic basket to the side while a single red rose is in a small vase in the center with rose petals surrounding the setup. He really is a romantic.

"Bucky. It's beautiful. When did you set this up?"

He rubs the back of his neck, turning red. You smile, enjoying the fact that you can make him just as flustered as he makes you. “Actually, the team helped me out a bit. It was originally just Natasha and Steve. But, uh, then Tony and Wanda found out and then...Sam."

You giggle, knowing his and Sam's brotherly relationship from previous conversation. "I bet he teased the shit out of you when he found out."

"Please," Bucky scoffs. "I'll be the butt of his jokes for at least a month. At least, this part of me will."

"Well, I love this side of you if that's worth anything."

He grins dashingly at you. "Then let the birdbrain tease, because that’s worth everything. Here." Taking your hand, he leads you over to the blanket and sits you down. "All those questions at the coffee shop and I never asked your favorite drink so I brought red, white, beer, Coke, Pepsi, root beer, and," he pulls out the last bottle he brought with a boyish smile. "Apple juice. There's water in 'ere too. And, o' course, the meal and the dessert, which I did ask about because I'm not a complete idiot."

Laughing, you can't help but pull him in for a kiss. "You're so cute."

He clears his throat, his face heating up while he rubs the back of his neck, tying his hair back in a knot. He hands out compliments like candy on Halloween but he can't take them to save his life. How adorable can one man be?

You two eat and talk about everything from hilarious childhood stories to what keeps you up at night. You love listening to his fascinating tales of playing through the 20s, scraping through the 30s, and fighting through the 40s. You especially love the way his face lights up when talking about his family, the Howling Commandos, and America's Golden Boy, both twink and tank stories.

After a couple hours, you find yourself wrapped in his warm jacket - which smelled amazing - leaning against him as he tells you about his new family. You sip on your preferred drink, your eyes fluttering shut, content to simply listen to his soothing voice talking about Clint and Scott's latest prank on Pietro.

"You tired, doll?" You hear him whisper tenderly, his arms around your waist while his thumbs run small circles on your sides.

You hum and look back at him over your shoulder. "Just feeling the moment." He smiles adoringly at you, kissing your temple.

"It's getting late anyways. We should get you home. Don't want your roommate worrying."

You scoff, but agree. You help him clean up and carry things to the car, despite his protests. You nearly fall asleep on the ride back, his big, warm hand resting comfortably on your thigh the whole way. He squeezes gently when you pull up to your building, murmuring lightly to wake you up.

Ever the gentleman, he walks you inside and helps you bring the armful of prizes he got you to your door. Once there, you unlock the door and lean against the frame, facing him.

"Thank you, James. As far as first dates go, this is by far the best one I've had."

He shoots you a smug grin. "Glad to hear that, beautiful. Does that mean if I asked for a second date you'd say yes?"

You give him a smirk back. "I'd say your chances are very good."

"And if asked for a goodnight kiss from the most gorgeous girl I've ever been blessed to be in the presence of?"

You giggle, ducking your head shyly. His hands grip your jaw, pulling your gaze back to him. He nudges your nose with his, whispering against your lips, "is that a yes?" AII you can think to do is nod. He smirks at your reaction, before he's pulling your lips against his. It's more passionate, less hesitant and experimental, than the few previous kisses you shared. He's angling your face to deepen the kiss, his hands tangle in your hair and his tongue prods your lips open, swallowing the little whimper you let out.

When you pull back, you're breathless, panting against his open month. "You workin' tomorrow, darlin'?" He rasps out.

"No." You try to collect yourself enough to answer, although it's hard with all your nerves on fire, his scent fogging up your brain. You manage to move your heavy tongue enough to say, "I have the weekend off."

A broad grin lights up his pretty face. "Great. I'll be over at nine. Have a nice night, sweetheart."

You nod, an airy "goodnight" leaving your lips. You watch him walk off, a pep in his step and his lips turned up. You lean back against your door, hugging all your new plushies to your chest, still wrapped up in his jacket, and let out a sigh.

You'll have to go visit Cody and thank him. After all, that dreadful night shift gave you the best day of your Iife.