#IT HAD 140 DOLLARS IN IT MAN

[fallingtheseus]

i keep money in envelopes around my room like a serial killer and i just went looking for one and it’s fucking GONE i’m gonna hold a hostage situation in my house WHO TOOK IT

[lumalalu]

i rlly wanna buy a . thrifted “wedding” dress to fuck around with but i have so many other projects i havent even STARTED lol.

[66sharkteeth]

OH MAN LET'S GET BACK INTO WEEKLY THOUGHTS, SHALL WE? I got told I gotta up my social media game for work so gonna be attempting to breathe some more life into these places.

Anyway... Weekly thoughts, ep 198!

Hey have you guys realized yet that my favorite genre of horror is body horror? I especially love body horror that manages to be unsettling or disturbing without being gory. And yeah, I'm sure this isn't that bad to a lot of people since there's absolutely no blood or guts, but I'm delighted that I see a handful of people saying it kind of fucked them up to see Jericho in this condition.

Also appreciating people acknowledging that while this backstory doesn't justify everything he did, it definitely explains it. I've talked about this a bit in the CoB discord server, but I think everything that happened at home with his brother did traumatize him and dude definitely needs therapy for it, but the lab is what broke him and made him a villain.

Now as for Claude... My precious stupid bird whom I love writing. Hm. I think one thing I do wanna clarify is like... when Jericho told him to become a blank, it wasn't an order like a lot of people seem to think it was. I think it's important to remember that the line before that (in a previous episode) was "What can I do to make you trust me?" so when Jericho said "become a blank" it was more like... "lol idk become a blank ig" with the expectation that it'd never happen. Kinda like telling someone "idk, give me a million dollars" when they ask "how can I help?" Jericho definitely didn't realize the power he had over Claude at that point (nor how unwell Claude was mentally).

Another thing I'd like to point out that I don't think anyone picked up on is the difference between an earlier Claude backstory ep and this one.

Ep 140:

Vs. Now:

He finally found the ONE person he cares about and he can't return it as long as he's human. Given that, everything he did wasn't a very hard decision for him.

[flojocabron]

08/24/24: Saturday yard sale bonanza! I can't believe all these nice things I got this morning! A guy on Facebook posted his yard sale and he put up a pic saying most games $5 bucks. So of course my curiosity got me! And when I made it there, I saw a big table full of multiple games from different consoles. Quite a few commons that I had already. So I grabbed a few I didn't have. And as I kept searching, my stack got bigger. Japanese games were popping out too! I also found some nes and snes carts but the man wanted $10 each for those. And I bit on a few og nintendo carts. So I finally had to stop. I think I got enough. Five JPN psp games, five jpn DS games, one wii game, two ps3 games, two xbone and 1 ps4 game. Two ps1 games. And ps1 Dragon Quest VII jpn! Total for everything there was $135 dollars! And just to make it an even $140, I grabbed Pit-fighter SNES. And the guy was cool with it. I'm excited to add these to my ever growing collection!

[enriquemzn262]

Repairs are complete!

So, these were the things I got done on my pickup:

>Removal and disassembly of the alternator

>Inspection and testing of the alternator’s regulator, which was broken

>Buying and installing a new regulator, which was put back in the alternator, and then back in the pickup, done twice because the first time it began making a weird sound (needed better fitting)

>Inspection and testing of the AC, which found the filters were clogged and the control panel fried (only turned on when in full force), requiring removal and clean up of the filters and the evaporator (since they come off as an unit)

>Buying and installing a new set of “resistances” (that’s how we call them here) so the controls could work again properly

>Installing the new windscreen wipers water pump, which I already had on hand from a while back but failed to install because I bought one with a different connection, the technician doing a sort of bridge so it could work

All in all, it costed me 560.000 pesos, the equivalent of 140 dollars, or half my current monthly salary, higher than I thought in the morning because of the damage in the AC system.

So, once again I’m asking for help, I did have all that at hand, but it left me broke for the remainder of the month, so please, if you can help a unlucky man out, please do so at my PayPal via

Anything will be of great help, so at the very least I can reach the end of the month with something left.

[topazadine]

#I'm really annoyed by ppl in the comments acting like french police was less violent than the US 💀#it's giving 'imma find excuses' energy

I love when people choose to simply ignore statistics.

I went and crunched the numbers on your behalf. You literally have a 353.59% higher chance of being killed by police in the United States than in France.

The police literally use a bullshit medical diagnosis, "excited delirium," to excuse deaths in police custody. They can essentially magic away their culpability for your death if they say you were being too combative. Even more, it's been proven that cops will inject arrested people with sedatives without knowing their medical history, something which has killed at least 94 people. Again, that's more people killed than will die due to police brutality in all of France in one year.

French police are, by a huge margin, less violent than US police. The numbers do not lie.

And it's not even just the police, either.

In several states, it is legal to run over protestors with your car, including Oklahoma, Iowa, and Florida. Several other states are considering similar legislation. Again, giving motorists the right to kill people with their cars when they are inconvenienced.

When protestors were accidentally hit by a car in France, all three suspects in the car were immediately arrested.

In Oklahoma, defacing a dam, such as spraypainting it, can get you a fine of $100,000. Right now, Oregon (which is a highly liberal state) is debating a bill that would allow you to be expelled from school for protesting.

My own state is seeking to give people felony convictions for protesting with their face covered, punishable by up to 18 months in jail and a $5,000 fine. A man who was at a banned protest in France was given a $140 fine. And again, that protest had been explicitly banned.

In some states, a felony conviction for protesting means you lose voting rights forever. In France, you can only lose your voting rights if a court order demands it.

This has clear consequences. In 2020, 19 people died during the George Floyd protests (which were protesting police brutality). That was in 14 weeks.

How many people died in the first phase of the Yellow Vest protests, which lasted over a year? 11 people.

Oh, and let's not forget about the time that the City of Philadelphia dropped a bomb on the home of an activist group, killing 11 people. They shot over 100,000 bullets into the property. Five children died and 61 homes were destroyed.

These are not excuses. They are verified facts. Even though widespread protests are less frequent in the United States, they are more likely to result in fatalities for participants, and for those who survive, felony convictions, school expulsion, and thousands of dollars in fines.

Our entire society is built to stymie protest: ridiculous work hours, health insurance tied to employment so we can't afford to get arrested, housing insecurity, and police brutality. But yes, sure, the exhausted, impoverished, and brutalized American people are simply making excuses for why we don't have the life we want. We're just too lazy to get out there and be shot to death for exercising the rights that we were given by our Constitution.

Meanwhile in France:

[davidleejones]

Book Excerpt/Chapter Twelve/Zombie Walk

            July 23rd, 2021: Eight years after retirement from police work –

            Just before midnight, I was screaming to work on my CBR650F sportbike, rocketing north on I-75 toward Lexington, Kentucky at positively insane speeds, deep into triple digits, jinking in and out of traffic like a fighter pilot dodging chaff down MIG Alley, blurring past normies, my engine a shrieking apocalypse between my knees, buzzing furiously against my belly, balls and bones. Knees and elbows wrapped snugly against the metal and plastic of my beautiful machine as hurricane-force winds howled over my silver-helmeted head.

            My GoPro Hero cameras captured the ride.

            130 mph … 135 mph … 140 mph … ever climbing, smoothly downshifting to build up even more RPMs; 145mph … 147 mph …

            My armor was, and is, black and silver – a leather jacket incorporating plate and woven titanium over D3O armor panels designed to put the force of an inopportune impact to work by causing the molecules to stiffen, knitted together within a leather carrier: Isle of Man Tourist Trophy - grade racing gear.

            … 150 mph … 152 mph …

            Underneath my Icon TiMax ® jacket, I wore an Icon Striker Vest ® of CE and additional D3O armor, the back and chest like Roman lorica segmentata, thick panels protecting my spine, ribs, and sternum.

            … 155 mph … 157 mph …

            Jarred motorists on the road that night experienced me as a meteoric flash of light and a Doppler-shifted engine-shriek raging past them; a single red tail light disappearing into the distance: YYEEEEEOWWwwwww!... I saw them swerve around my elbows in my rearview mirrors, a tenth or two of a mile beyond them before their nerve synapses could even register my passing.

            [My love of speed and lack of hypocrisy was why my old police supervisors virtually had to hold me at gunpoint to write a speeding ticket – assuming that, ahem, my radar wasn’t broken again.]

            …158 mph … c'mon, babe: Honda says you'll do 161 mph … pushing it, pushing it –

            Downshifting; upshifting; delicately feathering my way along the fine edges of the engine's redline like Chuck Yeager seeking to precipitate that very first sonic boom –

            I felt aerodynamic lift across the curve of my red medic's backpack, Bernoulli's principle kicking in–

            And somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled troublesome statistics:

            Motorcyclists are twenty-seven times more likely to have a fatal crash than automobile drivers –

            And that was during daylight hours, riding at legal speeds.

            Pfft! I somehow felt protected, invincible beyond my armor. Or maybe it was just normalcy bias: The Bad Thing would never happen to me.

            And if it did, oh well … OLAS: Our Lives Are Shit.

            From the waist down, I wore specially crafted jeans made of Kevlar and Aramid fibers – a hot, sweaty garment to clump around in but, at these extreme velocities, cool as ice as night air poured around the bike's fairings, hitting my thighs. Internal pockets within the jeans held even more panels of molecular armor.

            Beneath all that, I wore Force Field ® shorts, composed of overlapping sheets of molecular and CE armor protecting my hips, thighs and coccyx. My knees and lower legs were protected by articulated molecular and CE armor, and my ankles and feet by knee-high Icon Overlord boots that incorporated the same fabulous tech.

            It amounted to bit more than three thousand dollars of racing armor, a considerable fraction of the cost of the bike itself. All of it was designed to give riders a fighting chance in a crash at 200 mph.

            … 158 mph … 159 mph … 159 mph …

            The rev limiter was kicking in, preventing me from damaging the engine by going any faster. I cursed bitterly.

            Tucking tighter against the bike, fusing with it, the chin of my helmet pressing hard against the gas cap, a high-frequency buzz transferring to my sinuses and eyeballs now as I tightly pulled in my arms and knees to reduce the drag across my leather, titanium and red ballistic nylon –

            … 159 mph … 159 mph … 159 mph …

            Circuit breakers in, here comes throttle -

            Stick yanked back, teeth clenched: C'mon, Glamorous Glennis -

            Frustrated, I finally yelled, "Damned factory down-tuned 650cc engine!" into my chin mike adaptor, a bit of tech borrowed, appropriately enough, from the aerospace industry. I imagined exotic mods to the fuel system, the airbox, the exhaust, and the bike's onboard computer system –

            – Or maybe just a much bigger bike.

            Kinetic reality rudely intruded into my mechanical and mathematical reveries.

            Glancing back up from the instrument cluster, I counter-leaned sharply around what would be a gentle Interstate curve at reasonable velocities.

            Scant seconds ahead, two slow-moving eighteen-wheelers were running parallel to one another in the center and right lanes. The cherry on top was a hillbilly in a black Chevy Silverado running alongside those two lumbering boxes in the supposedly "fast" lane, forming a rolling 65 mph roadblock.

            Automatically I registered that the Chevy was drifting back and forth between lane dividers – a textbook symptom of drunk driving as I reverted to Cop Mode in a millisecond.

            No matter: Threat acquired, taking evasive action –

            I had no missiles onboard.

            I was the missile.

            I imagined the Chevy trucker slurringly singing along to some awful corporate country tune on Lexington's 98.1 The Bull – slo-mo, nose-yodeling about cheatin' in some Mississippi honky-tonk as he balanced a long-neck Bud Light on his lap, waving madly at the eighteen-wheelers that he hovered alongside of.

            "Hey, bruhs, Ha-ha-ha," I imagined him braying as he bobbed his bulbous head to a bovine beat. "I got me a truck too!"

            I envisioned the semi-drivers laughing at this idiot before glancing into their rearview mirrors at my blazing, fast-approaching headlight, chattering excitedly back and forth on their CB radios: "What the hell is that thing?"

            My iPhone-driven earbuds blasted harsh metal as I hurtled toward the trucks at more than twice their speed.

            "Feeling some bow shock and turbulence now," I shouted into the mic, over the wind-scream. "Looks like I got maybe three or four feet of clearance on either side if I pass on the right side of the pickup. Bonsai!"

            Erratic winds from these three blocky vehicles shivered me timbers as I closed with them in a flash.

            I wanted to screw with this drunken asshole in his shiny new, jacked-up, over-chromed Silverado that looked like an apartment building on wheels. I grinned like Death Hisself as I imagined him spilling his beer into his lap.

            Then the Silverado and the eighteen-wheelers lurched magically to either side, out of my path, giving me more like eight or ten feet of clearance at each elbow.

            Spearing down the lane divider, I slipped through, automatically downshifting, upshifting, catching a torque wheelie.

            "Hoo-yah" I hooted." 

            There had been no turbulence, only pristine air as smooth as silk … which honestly didn't seem sane or logical. The aerodynamic forces should have been violent, especially with me on just one wheel. But there was … nothing, just a glassy glide down a dreamy, windless chute.

            I was 61 years old: certainly old enough to know better. But a chorus of ancient and persistent voices in my head chanted: do you really wanna live forever?

            The next morning, I plugged my helmet, camera still attached, into the media player attached to the large-screen TV in the living room and reviewed this dire footage with my wife, Angie.

            She watched with a thousand-yard stare. I could guess her thoughts: One of these days you won't come home and I'll wake up a widow, glum Kentucky State Troopers knocking at the door: “Hello, are you Missus Jones? Well, there's been something of an accident…”

            Re-watching the trucks part as I blasted between them, I saw their parting had been far more dramatic than I'd realized.

            A moment after I burst from between these massive vehicles, Angie snapped back into the present and said, "Did you see that?"

            "See what?"

            "Hit pause," she said. "Scrub back. Just as you went between them, I think one of them took a picture of you. What if they got your license number?"

            "What?"

            "There's a blue flash. Go back, back … ok, now press play."

            There was a scintillating blue light, just for an instant, between the trucks.

            "I don't think that's a photo flash," I said, backing up again.

            I advanced frame-by-frame. My GoPro was set to record at a rate of 30 frames per second (FFS). The odd blue light lasted for exactly twenty-three frames, .76 seconds before I swept below it.

            "See," I said, "it's not a photo flash. Whatever it is, it's small – about the size of, I don't know, a football maybe? It seems positioned outside the trucks entirely."

            "You don't think one of those assholes tried shining a laser into your eyes or something?" she said, watching the hazy blue light evolving and changing shape frame-by-frame as I rewound and replayed; rewound and replayed.

            "Naw," I said. "Lasers are red or green, not blue like that. Maybe it's just static discharge like I used to see on helo rotors when I flew at night, NODs up (night optical/observation devices). When metal encounters dust at high speed, friction can generate effects like that."

            Except that static from Huey or Blackhawk rotors was only visible with NODS. Or maybe my GoPro was sensitive to such things. I studied the spooky blue light: it had a structure that conjured Rorschach blots in my mind. It was weird that I didn't remember seeing the blue light with my own eyes in realtime. Then again, at that extreme speed, operating on raw reflexes –

            "Probably just a lens flare," I finally shrugged dismissively. "Don't worry; I was moving way too fast for them to get my plate number; I mean, I was just a blur to them at that point -"

            The following night, to my eternal regret, I over-wrote this data on my GoPro with fresh footage.           

            Arriving at work the night I'd filmed the odd light, I started to remove my armor outside the one non-camera-covered storage room where I changed.

            A second-shift supervisor studied me poisonously, glaring from between a flanking set of sycophants.

            "So," he sneered, "How are things on the moon?"

            "Cold, dry, and dusty," I snapped back, peeling off layers of what could certainly pass for a space suit, except for the hachimaki headband tied around my forehead. "Just like your old lady."

            My bon mot would have provoked raucous laughter back in my Army or police days. But here, the reaction was that of a maiden aunt suddenly exposed to a porn video.

            Me? I laughed hard enough into that musty, tomb-like space to resurrect every damn mummy in Egypt. I felt half-dead myself, though, despite the exhilaration of the ride and the resulting quarts of adrenaline, cortisol, and testosterone sloshing around in my system.

            Jaysus, I just wanted to fight someone, like back in the Good Ol' Days.

[jim-fetter-illustrations]

If you think it,.... it can be so,... we know that now.

Our mindset matters.

In every facet of our lives.

Let me elaborate.........

Studies have shown people in hospitals that have undergone procedures that were known to cause them pain after the anesthesia wore off suffered less pain if they were given a shot of morphine by the doctor "in front of them", other patients that had the same morphine in a pre-programed pump drip IV didn't feel relief from the morphine as much.

Why is that?

Logic would tell us that both patients would suffer less pain when on morphine, but the patient who got a shot by the doctor in front of them suffered less pain.

This phenomenon is true for treatments of anxiety, treatments for parkinson's disease, hypertension, and the list goes on.

Treatments for pain worked best if the the pain reliever was administered in front of the patient.

Knowing and awareness (Consciousness) was the key to achieving ones inner goal, no matter what that goal was,.....

Medical science calls it the Placebo Effect, something which cannot be attributed to an outcome, but works to solve the outcome and therefore must be due to the person's belief that "this is going to work because I'm seeing it happen right before me" even if there is no medical reason it could happen.

The Placebo Effect is how Consciousness works,.... You will yourself to obtain the desired effect because you're telling yourself to make it happen subconsciously,.... the state of being awake and aware of our surroundings to perceive reality as we want it to be, as we Will it to be.

Now isn't that what religion does,........ uses the placebo effect of God to tap into the consciousness of its followers, and they believe because they think it's reality.... even if God is entirely made up.

Ya see the placebo effect is the ability of our mindsets to tap into Consciousness, and our abilities to do for ourselves kicks in to achieve a God-like ability to heal ourselves, and achieve anything we desire, to recruit the 'Will' you already have within your body,....because we literally 'WILL' it to be, just like our Gods do,.......... because we are the Gods we seek in reality, not the man made gods whom attract supporters for their sought after reality of profiteering.

Are you achieving your goals because of the time and energy your putting into achieving your goals, or are you achieving your goals because you believe that you would?

Our health and well-being are according to our consciousness 'WILL', we now know this is true unless there is some other neurological problem at hand,.... and for most people that is not the problem,.......... Desire is, and they replace desire with somethng much easier to their mindset, which is dreaming, hoping and wishing.

I think we all know how those emotions turn out,.......... THEY DON'T!

So is there a direct and immediate connection between our mindsets and our physical bodies?

YES, this was found out by scientists advertising a free milkshake to all participants who signed up for the study, and a $75 dollar check when the ten day study was done.

The study was to measure the "Ghrelin" levels in the body as the milkshake was drank by means of being hooked up to an IV.

Ghrelin is a peptide secreted by the gut, medical experts call it The Hunger Hormone. So when you haven't eaten in a while your Ghrelin levels start to rise, signaling to the brain, "It's time to seek out food,"

The first milkshake given to the partisients was called "Sensi-Shake" told to the participants as a guilt-free-satisfaction shake with 0 fat, 0 sugars and only 140 calories.

In response to this first milkshake ghrelin levels dropped only slightly as the participants brains were saying it was good but not enough calories to sustain them nutritionally.

A week later the same people came back to consume another milkshake called "Indulgence, Decadence you Deserve" smooth, rich and delicious!

620 calories, 30 grams of fat and 56 grams of sugar and 18 grams of protein, as they were told!

After consuming this milk shake ghrelin levels dropped significantly steeper, about 3 times lower than the "Sensi-Shake". Now this makes sense to any metabolic nutritionist who knows the drop in ghrelin is proportional to the amount of calories consumed.

Problem was both milk shakes were the same exact shake, not different in any way, only ONE milkshake was made for the entire study.

So how did the participants ghrelin levels act so different with the same milkshake?

Because they WILLED them according to what they thought reality was.

This is how medical science knows we human beings can WILL ourselves to heal without any medical help, it's the way we evolved form the billions of years old stardust we come from, much older than this earth we live on today, ..... as we are just passing by this stage in our reality,.....humanity,.... and have billions of years to go from here,......... just like the billions of years we have already lived in one reality after another.

Now you can believe that, or believe the man-made gods story they give you, but the reality is WE ARE THE GODS, and we are proving it every day!

Some people just don't want to know the truth because they won't let go of the generations of faith teachings they have received, and to admit everything they have believed was a hoax is just to much for them to bear on a Pride factor, and no one wants to admit they have been used, especially for centuries!

The key is meditation to achieve greatness, whatever you want your greatness to be, you can achieve it given the level of consciousness you WILL upon yourself.

Just an observation........

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[edwardantes]

I have a beautiful stitched canvas of Aloy I bought at the last Con that came to town. Priced at a dollar a stitch (242).

I passed it three times before I had to have it.

He gave me the price, I went to the door to get enough reception to check my account.

Due to bills and having bought presents during the first three hours I was there...I had 140.

I came back to him, looked him dead in the eye, and told him what I had, and I refused to pay a measly 140 for his handiwork, as it was nothing short of an insult to his skill.

He informed me that, as I had recognized her, and it was the last day, he would gladly accept 120.

Which broke my heart. But I still paid the man. I still wish I could have given him the full price.

it’s never too early to teach children about the devaluation of labor!

(from an American Girls book)

[chubbycaucasianchristiancloseted]

The mostly peaceful protests of 2020 “erupted” in 140 cities, multiple officers were shot and

The mostly peaceful protests of 2020 “erupted” in 140 cities, multiple officers were shot and wounded and several in NY were hit by a car. At the time of this article 6 people had been killed in connection with the mostly peaceful protest. Will any Democrats denounce this behavior?  Or do the 2Billion dollars in property damage, police officers injured and at least 6 dead justify the end results?

Direct Quotes:

At least six people have been killed in violence connected to the protests that started after Mr. Floyd died in police custody.

In cities across the United States, tens of thousands of people have swarmed the streets to express their outrage and sorrow during the day. That has descended into nights of unrest, with reports of shootings, looting and vandalism in some cities.

Since the death of Mr. Floyd, protests have erupted in at least 140 cities across the United States, and the National Guard has been activated in at least 21 states.

In St. Louis and Las Vegas, officers were shot and wounded, and in New York City and Buffalo, N.Y., they were injured after being struck by cars.

That night, hundreds of protesters flooded into the Minneapolis streets. Some demonstrators vandalized police vehicles with graffiti and targeted the precinct house where the four officers had been assigned

Some businesses, including restaurants and an auto- parts store, were set on fire.

In St. Louis, a man was killed after protesters blocked Interstate 44, set fires and tried to loot a FedEx truck. In Chicago, six people were shot and one was killed that night.

President Trump delivered an ultimatum to Minneapolis protesters on May 29 and suggested that the military could use armed force to suppress riots. On Twitter, Mr. Trump called the protesters “thugs” and said, “When the looting starts, the shooting starts.”

In Detroit, a 21-year-old man was fatally shot as he sat in a car when protesters took to the streets. And in Kentucky, Gov. Andy Beshear instructed the State Police to investigate the death of a man who was shot and killed after gunfire broke out around midnight.

MAY 30 - Minneapolis Mayor says peaceful protests have turned to ʻdomestic terrorism.ʼ

He told the crowd that gathered around him that he was troubled by what he had seen in recent days.

“If I’m not over here wilding out, if I’m not over here blowing up stuff, if I’m not over here messing up my community, then what are y’all doing? What are y’all doing?” he said. “Do this peacefully, please.”

The office also said that Mr. Floyd suffered from heart disease, was high on fentanyl and had recently used methamphetamines.

[sbnkalny]

thingswillbeloudnow: (75 dollars buys 140 orbs)

thingswillbeloudnow: Is he a tool? is he an allen wrench? is HIS name is “Ryszard Kapuscinski” And he looks like He buys his clothes were and coarsely as He spoke, he Had none of the appearance of a man is real not made of steel

thingswillbeloudnow: Apparently his name is “Ryszard Kapuscinski” and he looks good in everything he wears

thingswillbeloudnow: And His name is “Ryszard Kapuscinski” And he looks astonishing

thingswillbeloudnow: Apparently his name is “Ryszard Kapuscinski” and he looks astonishing

[polyklok]

Next up on my list in all of our favorite Swedish fish-

Skwisgarr Skwigelf, physique/appearance headcanons

Nathan

Pickles

Toki

Murderface

It took me like four tries to spell his name wtf

26 years old. Why? Idk, he just has those vibes. 26 year old vibes.

6’7, though he usually wears boots that puts him at, like, 6’10. It’s absolutely ridiculous how tall this guy is. Insulting, even.

We all know the line ‘Skwisgarr Skwigelf, taller than a tree.’ Right?

More like a beanstalk cause this motherfucker is like 140 lbs. That’s not too low, but it is when you’re nearly 7 feet tall!

Growing up, he was gangly as hell, and had some seriously clumsy habits. But he grew out of it, and is now very graceful. It’s one of the ways he’s very attractive, even his simplest movements seem sort of like a dance.

I added pointy ears because him with lil elf ears is just so funny to me. Let’s just say he hides them in his hair or something.

Speaking of his hair- FUCKING GORGEOUS

Seriously, he’s got long, straight locks that might very be made out of gold. He has an extensive hair routine using only the most high-quality of products. Usually, he spends an hour a day on his hair alone.

That being said, he will not hesitate to smack anyone who tries to touch it. Strangers or otherwise.

He also takes pretty good care of the rest of himself as well. He’s the only member of the band without any obvious wrinkles, only paper-cutting cheekbones.

His pale skin is actually fairly scarred. Some are from fights, some are from mentioned childhood clumsiness, most are from sexual endeavors that got too out of hand.

Piercing blue eyes that could probably kill a man. He has many different glares. You know in Zoolander where they talk about, like, facial expressions? The Dethklok fans do that with Skwisgarr’s many different glares.

He does the old school trick of putting Vaseline on his eyelids so they shine more. Also wears mascara. He wouldn’t tell a soul, though.

Dummy thicc lips. I said what I said.

At some point during his early twenties, he began dying his eyebrows cause he was sick of people not being to tell he was pissed at them.

How do I say this…uhh, absolutely no ass. His hips naturally thirst foreword when he’s in a relaxed position to compensate for his supreme lack of ass. Long back.

Always moving. Usually, it’s picking at his guitar. But if he doesn’t have access for whatever reason, he’s pacing or fidgeting, or grinding his teeth even. He can’t ever not be moving, it frustrates him.

His hands alone are worth millions of dollars, so he takes extra precaution to make sure their in top shape. Trims his nails regularly, applies hand sanitizer and lotion at least 10 times a day, won’t paint his nails or even wear rings just in case.

But he does like jewelry. Actually, he mostly likes collecting expensive pieces and not ever wearing them. He just wears whatever hot topic sends him for free.

He doesn’t really like wearing what he wears at all. He prefers form-fitting, plain, white clothing. But that doesn’t match the band’s aesthetic, so he settles.

All his clothes are still perfectly tailored, though. Never too loose, never too tight.

Despite not completely wearing his preferred style, he’s still aware that he looks good in pretty much everything and anything, so he wears it with enough confidence to make it seem couture.

Similar to Nathan (not exactly), he also shaves himself, the whole body. Except he hardly grows any body or facial hair. But as soon as one does show up, it’s gone.

He smells…clean. Obsessively clean. Like hand sanitizer, mint, and maybe pine or citrus, depending on his cologne. It’s a little off-putting but certainly not unpalatable.

Overall, definitely puts the most into his appearance and hygiene than the other boys. And it’s worth it, clearly.

[judarud]

Lula saud he admired Hitler once, among the many... shall we say unloving thungs in the past.

This is comming from the man that campaigned as "The candidate of live!".

Fun fact, this statement by him resulted in over 140 senators calling for his impeachment. The last President to be impeached had 120 requests.

He then met the Presidents of congress and the Senat to talk and gave them a 30 million reais(about 6 million dollars) budget for their cabinets.

Coincidentaly they decided to ignore the calls for impeachment. No relation im sure.

[metalbuckaroo]

Don't Worry About It

Summary: When your mom asks you to relieve the babysitter; you weren't expecting it to be a different one than usual.

Warnings: cursing

AU: Babysitter!Bucky x Reader

AN: To clarify, both are of age, I'm thinking mid 20s. Requests and asks always open! Feedback and reblogs are appreciated.

MASTERLIST

Gif not mine

"Can you please just-" Your mom took a deep breath from the other end of the phone. "Go to the house and relieve the babysitter, please? I'll be home in an hour at the most."

"Yes, I'm locking up now. Don't worry about it." You said as you pulled the glass door of your work closed. "Thank you, I will pay you back when I get home."

When you walked into your mom's house it was quiet, meaning your kid brother Toby had already went to bed.

Making your way to the kitchen, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway; not looking up from your phone as you texted your mom.

"I'm sorry it's so late. My mom got stuck at the office and I just g-" You stopped when you saw a pair of boots instead of the flats the usual baby sitter wore.

Looking up, you're eyes were met with bright blue ones, a timid smile playing on the brunette's lips as he stuffed his left hand in the pocket of his jeans. "It's fine. He fell asleep early."

"You're... not Mallory." You noted, the much taller man pressing his lips together and shaking his head lightly. "I'm, uh, Bucky." He reached his right hand out to shake yours gently.

You gave him a light smile before clearing your throat and tearing away from his gaze. "Anyways, Bucky, sorry for making you stay so late. Last minute change to my mom's schedule." You said breathing a laugh, digging in your wallet.

"I'm guessing it's 140?" You asked, glancing up at him. He gave a quiet 'yeah' and nodded as you continued to dig in your wallet for his payment.

"Shit- I only have 120 on me." You cursed, grabbing your bag to search for any loose change. "That's fine." Bucky shrugged, shoving his other hand in his pocket.

You shook your head. "No, no it isn't. I don't like owing people money." You exhaled, scraping up another three dollars. "I can go to the ATM?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat lightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he contemplated what he was going to say. "Just, uh- let me take you out for coffee and we'll call it even."

You narrowed your eyes at him, footsteps padding down the hall. "You're not leaving already, are you?" Toby said from the doorway, rubbing his eye. "Toby, its already 11pm. I'm sure he wants to get home." You sighed, leaning to look behind Bucky as Toby walked to stand beside him.

"Did he show you his cool arm?" He beamed, a wide smile nearly hiding the tired look in his eyes. Bucky's cheeks tinted red at your brothers question. "No, he didn't. Now, go back to bed."

Toby tugged at Bucky's left elbow, making him chuckle nervously at the young boy. "You gotta show her, Bucky. It's so cool, she'll love it and you can take her on a date. Then you can come over all the ti-"

"Toby, bed. Now."

His lips turned down in a frown, Bucky's cheeks burning red from being put on the spot. "Sorry about him, and for being late." You started searching through your purse again. "And also being short on the mon- fuck."

You jerked your hand out of the bag when your finger scratched across a paper clip. "You ok?" Bucky stepped forward, reaching his hands out towards yours.

Your eyes caught the gleam of his left hand for just a second, before he tucked it out of sight behind his back. "Yeah, just never listened to my mom about leaving paper clips in my bag." You said breathing a laugh.

"Here." He reached his right hand toward the stack of napkins on the counter and grabbed one, holding it to your finger. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it." He kept his eyes on your finger, not wanting to look directly at you in hopes you hadn't noticed him trying so hard to hide his hand.

"Saturday good with you?"

Bucky's eyes went wide as he looked at you. "What?" He said, shocked. "The date. To call it even."

Another tint of pink washed over his cheeks and he nodded with a light smile. "Yeah, perfect."

"Great." You smiled. "Well, it's just a scratch, and I'm sure you're very ready to go home. Ten hours of Toby can be exhausting."

He breathed a laugh and shrugged as he followed you to the front door. "He definitely has a lot of energy. It was fun though."

"Has an imagination for days." You pulled the door open and Bucky walked out onto the porch, turning to look at you once he was at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm filling in for Mallory for her two week vacation, so... See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

[turtle-steverogers]

I posted 3,360 times in 2022

921 posts created (27%)

2,439 posts reblogged (73%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@somanywords

@youhavenoideahowmuchihatethis

@whotheheckitheheck

@alpineandbucky

I tagged 1,962 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#steve rogers - 646 posts

#mikey answers - 576 posts

#stucky - 435 posts

#bucky barnes - 411 posts

#soup tag - 154 posts

#mikey screams into the void - 138 posts

#mutuals <333 - 89 posts

#🏖🏀 - 60 posts

#convos - 57 posts

#mikey screams and cries and yells - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i prefer coffee but sometimes i’ll make tea and it’s the best shit i’ve ever had like i have tea object permanence i forget tea is just that

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

steve has the worst bedhead known to man. that is a fact. 

506 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#4

love those fics where steve is doing Not Well™️, but since the avengers have no frame of reference for what’s a healthy stevie and what’s not, they don’t really suspect that steve’s doing as poorly as he is.

cue bucky coming in from the cold and taking one look at steve and going, “how long have you been hurting so bad?”

570 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

#3

Read a story online earlier about someone who buys two cups of tea and sits and pretends that their father has just gone to the bathroom when he's been gone for several years, and I couldn't help thinking, what if this was Steve? What if just after waking up from the ice he goes for a walk and finds that the diner he and Bucky spent every afternoon in just sitting and enjoying the others presence, Bucky reading the new Si-Fi novel he got from the library and Steve sketching the other diners, both of them getting something to drink for free becase they help out the owner whenever they could, is still there. So he goes in one afternoon, and the booth they'd always sit at is still there, yes the seats and table top is diffrent, and so is the decor, but the booth is still there, and he orders two drinks, soda maybe, or water, and pushes one across from him and sets a Si-Fi book he bought earlier that day next to it, because as much as he said he didn't like them, they still remind him of Bucky and decides that maybe, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much, to pretend, just for a little while, that Bucky is just in the bathroom, or mabe taking up a girl at another table, and he'll be back soon. He'll come back and pick up his book and he'll tell a joke, and they'll both laugh and all of a sudden everything is right again, just for a few minutes, just while he pretends.

oh my god. here's a fic.

-

“Can I get you anything else, hon?”

The man looks up from where he’s idly sketching the soda machine, a glass of chocolate milk half finished next to him. Across the table, there’s another glass of chocolate milk-- this one full-- and a sci-fi pulp that looks like something Lucy would find in her grandmother’s library placed neatly next to each other. 

Smiling, the man shakes his head. “No, thank you,” he says, before ducking his head to return to his sketch. A clear invitation to leave him alone.

Lucy flashes him a grin and nods. “No problem, hon. You just let me know if you change your mind.”

The man nods and mumbles another, ‘thank you’, but doesn’t look up from his sketchbook again. It’s not unusual for people to come into Jan’s Kitchen to idle, but Lucy feels a tug at her heartstrings; the poor guy looks like he’s been stood up for a date. He’s been sitting in the booth for some time now with two drinks, the other a clear placeholder for someone, and every so often Lucky will catch him staring around the restaurant expectantly. Still, it’s none of her business, and she’s not there to judge any which way. So she leaves the man alone and tries not to feel too worried for him when an hour later, he closes his sketchbook and plucks up the other book, leaving one empty and one full glass of chocolate milk on the table, along with a ten dollar bill. There’s a note written on the corner of a sketchbook page when Lucy goes to clear the glasses. 

Keep the change.

-

The next time Lucy sees the man, it’s during a Saturday lunch rush. He comes in with his sketchbook and the same pulp novel tucked underneath his arm, and specifically requests the booth in the back-- the same one where he’d sat the previous time. Harried, Lucy tells him that it’s not available.

“Oh,” the man says, and for a moment, Lucy could have sworn she knew him from somewhere. Maybe a low scale movie? Some odd TV show? All corners of New York yielded itself to some amount of famous people. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been in something before. “That’s okay. I’ll come back.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says, mostly because she hated feeling like she’d disappointed a customer. 

The man smiles, waving a hand, and even though his eyes hold a certain sadness-- a weight-- he looks genuine. 

“No, it’s really no problem. Thank you for your help.”

He strolls out of the restaurant then, and Lucy watches him go. He dresses sort of oddly, too. In straight khakis and an old looking button down. His hair-- while short-- is neatly parted. Huh. odd. Shaking her head, Lucy turns to greet the next patrons. 

-

When Lucy shows up for her shift at Jan’s on Tuesday night, the man is already sitting in the booth in the back, sketchbook open and two cokes sitting on the table. Like the last time she’d seen him, one was still full and pushed to the other side where the sci-fi pulp was neatly placed. It’s thankfully quite sparse in the restaurant, and Lucy takes her time tying her apron around her waist, watching the man’s hand guide the pencil smoothly across the page. He looks exhausted, eyes heavy with dark, pronounced bags underneath them. His skin is pale and there’s a fine tremor to his hands as he sketches. 

“He’s come the last three nights,” one of the other waiters, Harvey, says, leaning over the counter by her side. “Sat in that same booth, ordered--”

“Two drinks? Yeah, he was here one other time I was working, then came in a couple days later asking for that seat. Had to turn him down, ‘cause it was a rush, but…”

“Yeah, I dunno,” Harvey says. “First I thought he was being stood up.”

“Me too,” Lucy says, crossing her arms. The man’s shoulders are tense, nearly drawn up to his ears. “But I’m thinking that’s… not the case.”

“Yeah.” They watch as the man erases something forcefully, then looks out the window. His hand is clenched so tightly around his pencil that Lucy thinks it might break. “What do you think his deal is?”

“I dunno,” Lucy says. “But he looks kinda familiar, doesn’t he?”

Harvey cocks his head. “You know, kinda? He’s definitely military. I mean, look at the way he’s sitting.”

And now that he mentions it, Lucy can see it. The way he’s choosing to sit on the side that faces the entirety of the diner-- a vantage point. Eyes darting around every few seconds, clearly clocking everyone coming in and out, even when he’s distracted. 

“Shit, you’re probably right,” she says. 

“I just hope he’s okay,” Harvey says. “Like, either way, he looks damn lonely. I hope he’s got someone at home, or something.”

Lucy shrugs, but she can’t help the way her chest aches. The man seems sweet, if anything. She sure hopes he’s not all alone. No one deserves that sort of hell.

The door jingles as someone comes in and the man jumps, clearly torn from some sort of reverie. Yeah. Definitely a vet. Or something like that.

See the full post

573 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

#2

the fact that steve probably wouldn’t be able to be put under for medical procedures and pain meds don’t work on him kills me. like maybe after he’s been out of the ice for a while, they’d be able to figure out his situation, but can you imagine how scary that is??

having to be awake for surgeries for injuries from missions, already out of sorts from whatever hurt him and terrified because of all the medical trauma he definitely has from his childhood??

i’m just picturing him delirious and hurt, and nothing really makes sense and he can’t figure out where he is or why, but he knows the distinct smell of a hospital like the back of his hand.

and when nat pops in to check on him he just manages to choke out, “i want my ma”

617 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

sad yeehaw for the way steve is consistently reduced to his last 10 minutes of screen time and criticized constantly based solely on that last chunk rather than celebrated for the entire rest of the time he was featured

649 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[wordtowords]

Slime vs. Literacy

slime - noun - glop made from glue, baking soda, and contact solution (picture Silly Putty or Play Dough on a grander scale) that is currently trending among elementary school children.

Early on Sunday, I decided to be brave and take an unprecedented risk. Finding myself in my attic, I hauled out several boxes of books–titles (mainly for children) I had written and published years ago– carried them to my car and drove a few miles to become one of about fifty vendors at a local street fair, a.k.a. swap meet or flea market. The cost was $140 to camp out for seven hours on a segment of the pavement measuring twelve by six feet on Union Avenue in downtown Cranford, New Jersey. Quaint, compact Cranford has been used as a location for a few films and cable TV series, notably HBO's The Plot Against America based on Phillip Roth's timely, 2004 novel of the same name set during World War II. The innocuous, suburban hamlet fits the bill as the setting since it is complete with a stone railroad station built in the mid-1930s and Victorian hotel at its center, but I digress. As I was going to sell my paperbacks for $5 and $6, I didn't think I would break even no less garner a profit; but because my main man in L.A. told me he would make up the difference in long-stemmed roses, I figured I had nothing to lose.

The organizers of the event placed me, my card table, chair, simple signage and boxes of books in front of the food trucks and between a primitive fine artist sans a right eye and a entrepreneur of slime, i.e. a mother of a teenage daughter who at the age of nine was into making and marketing her own–slime, that is. As the girl grew into adolescence, the manufacture and distribution of slime grew banal, so her mother usurped her business, invested more time and money in the making and packaging of the glop, and became a regular at street fairs throughout the state, jumping on the bandwagon of a trend that is on the ridiculous side. (But aren't all childhood attractions?) I figured that the monocular artist wasn't competition, but the purveyor of slime? I had no idea how popular homemade putty could be. Scores of children dragging their parents lined up under the vendor's tent to press their fingers into soft, colorful samples of pure slime and to whine and plead for anywhere from eight to twenty dollars to buy what they can probably create at home for much less. Very few parents even noticed that I was selling books, selling literacy, for so much less. I have to admit that I was glad the kids were pumped up to experience something digital (tactile) as opposed to digital (technological), but I was disappointed that the parents were so quick to dismiss the idea of buying their kids signed books that took many years to write, illustrate, and publish. At the end of the day, ironically, the bearer of slime made hundreds while I walked away with $53. (My boyfriend owes me $87 worth of red roses :). And I will hold him to an arrangement stipulated in the arrangement.)

As I wheeled my collapsible red wagon filled with unwanted, once well-received/reviewed books up Union Avenue toward my car lodged in a parking garage blocks away, I couldn't help but think that there might be something a bit off kilter with parents who don't value the idea of literacy. In today's world, it seems that there are more writers than readers as it has become so easy to self-publish a book on-line as an e-book. If parents don't promote reading then who will read the massive amount of techno tomes? Teachers already have too much on their plates. And besides, there is a national deficient of individuals willing to toe the line and go into teaching as a career.  If parents are forced to homeschool as a result, will there be a sufficient amount of emphasis on the core subjects like reading, or will the science of slime and the like be at the center of it all? Okay, maybe I'm being a bit cynical here, but when it comes to education, I'm kinda of worried about the future. How about you?