#It may sound silly and perhaps it is but i think it's only fair on my end to do so

[wachi-delectrico]

Thinking about how I hate the people who don't respect the animals they consume

[faeryarchives]

to my beloved (octavinelle x gn!s/o)

requested by anon: Hello! Welcome back from your hiatus! Hope you’re doing alright and relaxing. For request, may I request headcanons of Azul, Floyd, and Jade please? Pre-established relationship and their gn!s/o who likes to give gifts as a love language? Like handmade gifts or found trinkets/baubles the boys might enjoy. Thank you for your consideration! note: anon u are so sweet 🤍 hihi gift giving love language with octatrio sounds so interesting + SO i got into debate last night with my friends on what pre established means if it has no label yet or just having a crush so i decided to write it at the stat of their relationship recent works: i'm not jealous !! (savanaclaw x gn!reader) & octavinelle with a fischl like female reader! & let me kiss you

💌 azul ashengrotto

"oh, a gift for me? do perhaps need my help?" "oh silly azul! i knitted that octopus keychain for you! don't you want to have a little companion while you work?"

this was new to azul - both being in relationship with you and receiving such gifts because as someone wary of apparent gestures of goodwill and believing that “all contracts come with a price” he isn't use to receiving gifts just because it reminds you of him

is it for real? he tried asking you for the fifth time to confirm only to receive the same answer over and over again

he never met someone as generous as him 😭

"azul! azul! look! i got us matching bracelet, this one actually matches your eyes." "o-oh my word, matching bracelets?! aren't we too young for that?!" "...'zul we just kissed earlie-"

having to receive gifts from you just makes his heart so full especially when you also give him coins! + adds it to his collection

expect to see him putting some of your gifts on a special shelf in his office while your other gifts especially plushies are safely tucked in his bed (he sleeps hugging them)

as much as he loves receiving gifts from you, azul wants to give you with the same thought as you have - giving you the things that reminds him of you

"please my love, accept my gift. you've showered me so much love. it would be just fair if i also shower you the same"

💌 jade leech

at first jade was confused - why are you avoiding his eyes and hiding something behind your back?

"love, what are you hiding behind your back" "jade! funny thing, so the ghosts at the ramshackle dorm got me into knitting and so i was thinking maybe a scarf would be nice so-" "so this is a scarf you made for... me? i love it." "really?!"

giving you a little push was his best decision because before jade knew it - his room is covered with gifts from you

receiving something from you as well as seeing you smiling and happy is the best thing he could ever get as a gift

always show your gift to floyd every time to the point that the other eel start to whine to you about jade bragging

"jade cried?!" "yeah! he was wiping his tears after opening one of your letters with "open when you are happy"!" "he can cry...?"

he couldn't help it you know - receiving small trinkets to small envelops with letters from you? can a person could even love him more than this?

in return, jade would try to give you more practical gifts like the things that needs to be repaired back at your dorm, he would replace it with a functioning one! feeling cold and alone at night even when you are with grim - this eel will give you the most comfortable pillows and blankets and even gift grim a new bed!

"jade, i don't think i deserve it?" "nonsense, you deserve everything in this world has to offer."

💌 floyd leech

"floyd, do you have a moment?" "what's up shrimpy- oh, a shrimp brooch?" "i found it while going on shopping with grim earlier at sam's shop, i just thought you might like it."

like it? floyd loves it! you will never catch him not having that brooch on him every day + wears it like a medal

but there was so much more he didn't expect like you to have more under your sleeves!

"an explosion box for me? shrimpy, i thought you were busy this whole week?" "i did! but i will be never busy in creating and giving you something while i am away."

floyd is more like a physical touch giver but seeing you putting so much effort in your gifts - giving him from small to big valuable things it would be unfair if he doesn't give anything back (or so he thought)

this eel tried asking what you want only to receive vague answers

"what do you want shrimpy?" "i don't really need anything in return you know? i gave you gifts because i love to shower you with it." "so it's okay to also give you anything?"

and by mean of anything - you were in for a ride because you two meant things differently 😭

floyd is the type to always let you borrow his clothes from time to time and sometimes gifts you the same jacket for you to guys match + seeing an eel plushie? bought and giving it to you for you to hug your child every night (he said its your child now)

it doesn't take too long for both of you showering each other with gifts 😭 he never knew it would be this fun to think something for you

"you were looking at that necklace when we were walking around town, so i thought it would be a perfect fit for you. do you love it, shrimpy?"

[prata-isms]

11pm dinner with a spy?

Rook Hunt x GN! reader!! (although no one is ever really specified!!)

A/N: oldie but goodie! I saw this thing on tt over my sis’s shoulder and it was kinda funny!! rook’s stalker tendencies help the French government out lol. so here! (@x011011x this is for u babes)

“Ugh…”

You tiredly ascend the stairs to your flat, the promise of a restful sleep in the comfort of your bed the only thing stopping you from just dropping dead and clocking out there.

“good god…working for the government is so stressful….”

You were a small-time record keeper, working as a liaison between your city and the Federal government. A thankless job, really, one that most people don’t even know that much about.

“uuuuuuugh.” you groan, a small spark of releif brot forth at the sight of your apartment’s door. “finally, I can slee-”

The door was open.

A fraction, granted, one that no one would notice unless they were touching the door. But still. One of the habits you learn to pick up as a member of the Government is to double-triple-quadruple check your doors and windows. you may seem small to the people, but to other nations, you could be the gateway to a nation’s decline.

What was once exhaustion turned into a sense of alertness. you quickly took off your shoes, taking immense care not to make a sound as you padded into the apartment.

you quickly slip into your bedroom, and after some panicked rummaging, pull out the closest thing to a weapon that you owned : a bat.

Slowly slinking into the kitchen, you catch the sight of blonde hair, and soon the full form of a person, their back turned to you, greeted you.

getting into position, you took a step forward, your bat poised and at the ready.

another step… and another….

“ah, hello hello! you are finally home!”

the person turns, purple eyes gazing into yours before closing, accompanied with a toothy smile.

“w-what are you doing in my flat???”

“well..” the man stirs something in the pot that you only just noticed. “you weren’t home, and I felt a bit bored. so I thought I would make myself , and perhaps my target, some food.”

“you….how is that even….target?” you fumble through your words, struggling through which question to ask first.

The man laughs. “you are part of the government, no? You must have your fair share of… ah, well…spies.”

He looks at you again, and with another wide smile, he gestures for you to sit down.

“now now! no need for hostilities! as you can see I have not brought any weapons-”

You point at the kitchen knives, too dangerously close to his hands to your liking.

He follows your finger, and he lets out a playful “tsk”.

“Ah,” he chuckles, “I lied. I meant I don’t have any weapons on my person-”

Another hand shoots up, and this time you point at the fork he was stirring with.

He looks at it, as if considering stabbing you, and for a moment you wished you weren’t so brash with this seemingly easy-going spy or assassin or whatever.

“ah yes, I lied again. You seem to have calculated everything!”

He puts down the utensil, and begins rummaging for plates.

“Mon Dieu, you really have one of everything?”

“I’m one person…? government workers aren’t supposed to invite people over anyway..”

“Ah well, I can settle with a cup and spoon.” He sets up the table, and takes his place across from you, straw-blonde hair grazing his chin. He takes off his hat, setting it on the polished wood surface before eating.

“what do you want?” You huff, annoyed.

“nn? Ah, well..It is my first time in the Queendom.” He chuckles. “You probably think it crazy. Me, an international spy, never before setting foot in the Queendom? And having dinner with the target too?” he laughs to himself, shaking his head as he goes back to (attempting to) eating with a spoon, out of a mug.

“your lucky none of the agents never caught you.” you mutter, fork poking at the fairly aromatic dish.

“Pffffffft! Those silly bodygaurds of yours? apprehending moi?” he is full blown laughing now, almost choking on the food he had made.

“aha, you are one silly little filou. I like you.”

[mercurygray]

Hiya Merc, could I please request 42. "A ticking wristwatch" and/or 47. "Singing badly as loud as you can" for Phyl, if it vibes? Thank you <3 — @shoshiwrites

Thanks for the prompt, Sho!

Phyl McCray was one of my Blind Dates from 2021 and while she somehow manages to migrate to the Ramsbury airfield later in 1943, I think this may do as a tiny bit of backstory for her.

She really wasn’t here for the beer.

Phyl stared at the glass currently sitting on the table in front of her, bubbles slowly rising through the amber, and the now stumpy cigarette wisping smoke from the ashtray. She wasn’t really a smoker herself - lighting it had given her something to do with her hands, and there was something about the smell that felt vaguely comforting, just as having the glass of beer in front of her was vaguely comforting, too. A group of Irish laborers on the other side of the bar were talking very loudly about some point of contention from the worksite today, wrapped up in their own world while a group of farmers, regulars here since time immemorial, glanced at them suspiciously over their beers and quietly discussed the weather and the state of this year’s herd. The barmaid, Lil, was working her way around the room with a rag, picking up empty glasses and coasters and wiping down tables as she went, her occasional laughter adding a small bit of sparkle to the scene.

Better than being able to hear my watch, anyway.

She knew she had a shift tomorrow, early, and probably should have been in bed getting some sleep, but that had been elusive, the last few weeks, and silence did not seem particularly restorative. Noise, that was what she wanted now, more than anything. Sound and fury, signifying nothing.

There was a flash of RAF blue, out of the corner of her eye, and a voice that was definitely not from Norfolk offering, in a rather polished tenor - “Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone, feeding her flock near to the mountainside.”

Phyl looked up and tried not to look too annoyed with the singer. Posh bastard - I’m sure he’s been trying to use that for ages. “Hello, Bryan. Doug not with you today?”

“Had a spot of bother at the base and sent me on ahead to get some seats,” the officer said, a mug of beer in each hand. “The Americans were due in today and they turned up late. Rather on form.”

“We have taken down the street signs, Bryan. Perhaps they got lost.”

He smiled.“If that’s the case, they’ll have a hard time finding Germany to bomb it. No streetsigns in the sky.” Obviously he thought the joke was funny - Phyl was having a hard time laughing. “Are you here alone?”

Do you think I’d admit to it if I was?

“Only asking if I could perhaps borrow your table,” Bryan went on. “I can offer an introduction, as an inducement. They have brought with them their colonel, one of their executive officers, and a young lady who looks to be your opposite number - a lot of very canny questions about the tower. A lieutenant, if I read her right.”

“You are welcome to it,” Phyl gestured to the empty seats across and gathering up her handbag, knowing it would be silly to try and say no. Bryan gratefully put down his beers and went back to the bar for another round, a stunning show of largesse if ever there was one.

There was a noise at the door, and a crowd shuffled in - the Group Commander, and Doug Creighton with him, along with a couple of Americans - a peaky fellow who seemed to be a colonel, judging by the eagle on his collar, a young woman about her age, and the tallest American Phyl thought she’d ever seen in her life, sporting a smile that could only have originated on the other side of the Atlantic and a mustache that would not have been out of place in a Hollywood film.

“...whom you’ll want to know, of course, always good to be on good terms. Flight Lieutenant Anstead’s just gone on ahead to get us a table and some drinks. Oh, this is - hello, Sergeant, fancy seeing you.” Phyl rose sharply, snapping into a salute before the Group Commander could question her form. “Sergeant McCray is one of our control officers.”

“I was just leaving - helping Lieutenant Anstead save the table,” Phyl offered, rising from her seat and offering it to the other woman, who smiled gratefully and sat down.

“This place have a radio, or something? Music?” The tall one asked, looking around with the unencumbered attitude of an inquisitive giraffe in a china shop.

“The English are partial to singing, on occasion,” the Group Commander said with a benevolent smile. “Norfolk has a great folk tradition in that regard. Do you sing, Major?”

“Loudly and often,” the tall one said with a grin, a sentiment that did not seem to endear him to either of the officers with him.

Well, now I definitely know where to go if I want noise, Phyllis thought to herself.

[eternalflashh]

thoughts slash word vomit about sparkle // hsr 2.2 spoilers

i do overthink, but i genuinely keep wondering there's more to sparkle's role in the penacony arc (cf. her character, although there being more to her role would have to correlate to there being more to her character/personal motivations).

in all fairness i am all for her simply being a menace and looking for chaos, as aha themself seems to operate, and having no other ulterior motive; though it would be unconventional, it would be very true to her character were she to simply be "meaningless" in her role in this arc, aka a red herring—there only to incite suspicion when there was no harm, only fun, to begin with. it would be in line with her beliefs; it would be like sampo in belobog, not worth much with respect to the story and motives not so clear to the end. and i could get by that reality, because it does reflect her identity as a masked fool.

maybe it's really just because i'm used to conventional narratives that i find it hard to believe she has no other role than to be a little silly. "no useless characters", and whatnot.

to be fair, it's not like i think she might have a secret motive because "she's secretly kind and just wants everyone to be happy". she's terrible and immoral and that is what makes her a good villain (to me, if to no one else); she doesn't show sympathy towards "death" (although, maybe she's always known the truth? wouldn't be out of the question), nor is she hesitant in mocking people for their grievances, even race.

that doesn't mean she doesn't have a philosophy, though, and it's that philosophy that begets actions. thus far, too, it's clear she does have reason and ambition—she is far from the "meaningless" masked fools are often described in. we know she's passionate about acting and amusement. she also talks about working "behind the scenes", even mentions that her reason for being there has to be aligned with aha's reasons for sending her. laughter and amusement is not nihilism. as for what she'd do to get that Laughter?

data bank and SU index say that the elation would do anything, often invoking chaos or massive change, to bring joy and laughter to the world. in which case, the actions she is doing must revolve around making a huge change. yet she has done so little—of what we can see, anyway; she pushes us into the real dreamscape, yes, and she's been suggesting things to aventurine. was this her simple role, to be the imperceptible catalyst to change and destruction? then why does she keep appearing, still, with these mutually assured destruction buttons, when we hardly see them used either? or are they used, but we just did not see them? is her role in this arc, too, going to be something purely behind-the-scenes, something we'd never come to witness?

and then, on the deeper note: is the amusement watching the dream collapse, or is it something more inherent than that, more "noble", per se—like, say, spreading true elation? this may sound quite ironic considering people seem to be happy in the dreamscape, yet sparkle's going about revealing unhappy truths hidden in the dreamscape. but perhaps, does she believe true joy can only be obtained beyond the confines of a dream—in life?

it's a reach, i admit. but something else has been mildly bothering me that has led me to entertain this idea: sparkle's powers emanate from the Harmony. first i only thought it mildly interesting because penacony is governed by the family, and it was a nice coincidence. but in the 2.2 mission we got a new path for our trailblazer, after confronting sunday's ideals and being glanced upon by none other than xipe themselves. the power of paths said to be based on recognition, so it would imply that xipe recognized sparkle's beliefs— that it resonated with harmony. which i initially thought ironic, because followers of the elation typically are characterized by chaos.

but whereas chaos is the antithesis of order, it is not so the antithesis of harmony per se; in fact, you could interpret harmony as peaceful coexistence of differences (whereas, like sunday's ideals, order seems to be concerned with everyone believing in one structure, following Laws, rather than freedom amongst difference.) i'd think sparkle, too, respects that people live varying different lives (a thousand faces, etc); that she wouldn't want humanity's free will to be taken away, because it is against true Elation as she defines it. again, all conjecture, little evidence, just food for thought.

tl;dr: it bothers me— what she's really been doing (if she's doing anything substantial for the plot), the why's, what she really believes in... why she knows so much, says less than she can, why she keeps appearing (especially in this patch) with seemingly little reason.

and also: in the cutscene with a bunch of them, sparkle was lying down on the ground. WHY

i also wonder what the answer is if you'd chosen the fact about sparkle when we're unveiling that the first "ending" was a dream. whether it would tell you that's the flaw. because i chose the misha one and it immediately said that's the flaw. so i can't tell if there's only one right option or all of them would be correct. i'll search it up eventually! i'm Too Curious!

can't believe now i have to wait six weeks for another update that mAY NOT ANSWER MY QUESTIONS i genuinely hate this game.

[birdwatching-goesbothways]

Home

Obligatory gobblepot soulmate Au

“I’ve found my soulmate.”

The horrible words tumbling from his beautiful lovers lips reach Oswald’s ears, crawling inside and breaking his heart into a million little pieces.

Sharp, cutting him from the inside.

Yet he forces a smile. They had both known this day would come eventually.

The symbols on their wrists do not match.

It was always clear this shared happiness could only ever be temporary.

A little something to pass the time until they met their true soulmates.

“Oh Jim, that is so wonderful! I am truly happy for you.”

He isn’t. He hates them. Wants to cut them open from head to toe and gut them like a fish, punish them for the love they have always been destined to steal from him.

“How are they? I’m so terribly curious.”

“She is is beautiful. Her hair is like silk, her eyes are warm and her smile brightens every room she is in. All soft touch and kind words.”

Nothing like him then. His eyes are winter ice, while he is all sharp edges and sharper tongue.

And while Jim had certainly pretended to enjoy that, it is clear that he deserves better. Deserves her.

“She sounds wonderful. I thank you for the time we have shared. May you find your happiness with her.”

He turns around then, to walk away. Jim should not see his tears.

It would not do to taint his joy with guilt.

So what! He is alone again. That’s hardly anything new.

Warm hands stop his flight, pull him back into a firm embrace.

And isn’t that just like Jim? To try and comfort little old Oswald, instead of running off to frolic with his gorgeous paramour, his other half.

A lesser man would not have come at all. Might not even have sent a message. Would have discarded this illusion in an instant in favour of the real thing, not even deigning to say goodbye.

But not Jim, of course not. Jim is always kind and selfless, always does the right thing.

That doesn’t make it hurt less. Perhaps if Jim had been cruel about it, he would be easier to forget.

But now he is holding Oswald as he starts shaking silently, letting the tears fall.

Mustering him wide eyed in confusion.

“No Oswald, you must have misunderstood. I merely told you because I thought it fair that you should know.”

“I get that, very noble.”

Something he will never be, Oswald thinks grimly. He is selfish by nature. Wants to find that woman and destroy her very being, so that his love might come home to him.

But no, Jim is so kind. He can be too, for him. Can allow him to find happiness, even if it is not with him that he finds it.

“Os. I’m not leaving you. I chose you, remember? We both agreed that we would choose each other, choose this love, no matter what happened.”

He can’t help but laugh bitterly.

“That was when we both still thought we would never find our soulmate. The chances are slim, nowadays. But you did. And I’d never dream of binding you with such a silly promise.”

Except he does dream of it, every day. Wishes nothing more than for the stupid marks on their skin to change, to match so that they might truly be together.

But no. Such things only happen in fairytales. Hope gets you hurt.

Jim has removed his arms now, but before he can miss the touch, he has already been turned around, Jim cradling his face. Reverently, as if he was the most precious of things. Holding his gaze, pleading with him to understand.

“Then know that I am not bound by that promise as I say this. I choose you Oswald. I choose you over her, and I will choose you every day for the rest of my life if you let me. In spite of the gods, in spite of fate.”

The tears are falling once again, but he has abandoned his attempts to stop them completely now.

“You can’t. I can’t let you. She is your home.”

The determination in those warm blue eyes, the pure love melts the ice in his heart, helping hope bloom anew.

“You are my home Oswald, you alone. That is the only truth I know. ”

[rustbeltjessie]

from Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Bill Morgan & David Stanford)

Allen Ginsberg [n.p., New York, New York?]

to Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]

after May 18, 1948

Monday Night : 1:30

Dear Jack:

I got your letter Sat. evening—I had been in Paterson for a few days. I will be in this weekend (in N.Y.).

You seemed overly proud that it was “ancient material.” What I was saying   in part (lesser part) was that it was not recognizable (to me in your prose) but but but. This is not the same old maturity that I (as [Bill] Gilmore) have been talking about before. This is something I wouldn’t have the slightest idea if Gilmore would understand and don’t care much. But you are right, perhaps it’s under my nose in you. This is a kick I don’t want to continue.

School is over and I have been reading Dante, which I have found very inspiring. I finished the Divine Comedy during the term, and am reading books including The Vita Nuova (New Life) [by Dante Alighieri]. I dreamed up an enormous tentative plan tonight, which I will tell you about. My interest in reading is the profit by other men’s experience. I sometimes find (only “lately) authors talking directly to me, from the bottom of their minds. I think I am going to write a sonnet sequence. I want to read Petrarch and Shakespeare, Spencer and Sidney, etc. and learn about sonnets from beginning to end, and write a series on love, perfectly, newly conceived. I conceived the whole idea all at once seeing the first word in a title embedded in a page of the Vita Nuova: my poems have always been prophesied by their titles. That is, a poem often has a single “transcendent, personal, and serious idea” behind it, as a novel—a single image. I want to celebrate my “lovers” in all various manners, intellectually, wittily, passionately, raptly, nostalgically, pensively, beautifully, realistically, “soberly,” enthusiastically, etc., every possible perception fitted out in inwrought, clear, complex stanzas—including the one as yet undefined or un-stated mood, or better, knowledge, that I have and that at times you are aware that I have, no matter how silly I get. The title of this is: “The Fantasy of the Fair.” Just repeat it aloud, it carries the whole idea in it. One of the major ideas is the dynamic sense of “Lucien’s “Face” which you once propounded to me and which I half understood at the time. I want to formulate it poetically, if possible as the end of the poem, but without any private or subjective, or N.Y. idea of L.I. [Long Island] use the name to bridge at the moment. I am talking about humanity, and beginning to try to write in eternity.

I have been enduring a series of troublesome dreams lately about Neal [Cassady]. Your notice comes at about the crisis of them, though it is not a passional crisis and is accompanied by no tempests of intellect. I wonder what he is doing in his eternity. I feel so far away from people, without loneliness, that I am rather happy now. [ . . . ]

I’m not worried about the theory of writing, I am only just vering the practice. The Doldrums are antiquated. For that reason I am sending poetry out for the first time. I got my first rejection slip from Kenyon; a note from J.C. Ransom, editor and poet: “I like very much this slow, iterative, organized and reflective poem. At times it’s like a sestina. Thank you for sending it. But still I think it’s not “for us exactly. I guess we need a more compacted thing.”

I had sent them “Denver D. [Doldrums]” but, as luck would have it, I have some compacted things around that he will get next week.

Your season sounds beautiful. I particularly wish I had seen Lucien so drunk. Make what you want out of that.

No, it sounded like you. (Some one is singing a ditty “So please pass a little piece of pizza”) and it makes me wish I were alive, that’s why I can’t say any more.

Everybody’s fine, but it’s sweet, beautiful, but not so dumb, this world. Lucien means dumb because we don’t know what we know. I mean, won’t admit how much we know.

White said that Scribner’s rejected you, too, just like the goil. Can I see the novel [The Town and the City]? But don’t worry, it really don’t mean a thing. That’s my opinion.

Grebsnig

[hvadfandendotjpeg]

So What's This All About?

This is a blog in and about the Danish language.

With many English-speaking aquaintances and more time spent on the computer, I've begun to feel my grasp on my mothertongue get worse over the last few years. And hearing people substitute words with English in passing makes me think I might not be the only one? It doesn't help that Danish has a reputation for not sounding very good. It's not suave. It's a bit of a silly one. But it's mine, and I like it.

This blog is dedicated, most of all, to saying silly things in Danish. Sure, there is a core of wanting to reconnect with my native language, and perhaps an undertone of old-man-yells-at-cloud in my soul, but the main point is that translation is a fun puzzle, language is interesting, and sometimes, memes sound great when you translate them to Danish.

And sometimes not. I'm willing to take the L.

Now I know this might attract an unfortunate crowd so I feel the need to disclaim: DO NOT BE FUCKING RACIST. Dansk Folkeparti do NOT fucking interact.

This blog welcomes trans women, queer people of all kinds, weird kinksters, illegal immigrants, and all other aspects of our beautiful human diversity, as long as you support each other's human rights.

Even you, Sweden.

This means to TERFs, no queerphobes, no racists, no people who want to gatekeep pride, no ableists, the works. I know you're here anyway, but now you know that I am using my mind to pierce you with several oversized forks through your most vulnerable nerve endings! I would say that's only fair :)

Tags:

More may be added with time

Nu På Dansk - humorous translations of memes and such things

Fra Det Lille Hjem - Anecdotes, things we've said in Danish in my household, anything of the sort

Kom Lad Os Brokke Os - for whenever I tap into my inner cranky old man

Direct Translation - me having a little guffaw about what it is we call things when you really look at what makes up all those compound words

Den Røde Ordbog - translations of words I sometimes struggle to translate myself, words I often see substituted with English words, or just words that I rediscover or remember and find delightful (or cursed) enough to share

Diverse - miscellaneous

[xlii-60]

Song of the Week #1 - Weezer's One More Hit

Before you ask me if I'm joking: No! This song is great! I've been listening to it on loop lately. I have a lot of feelings about it and the way that people process music that gets across a message in a "weird" or "silly" way. My main point is essentially that, yes, the chorus is a repeated refrain of "pump it up into me, please, daddy," but that I think a lot of people get caught up in what the lyrics are and not necessarily why they may have been written that way. So it's the song of the week, because I think it deserves a more fair chance than being a meme because of the chorus. It's a pretty intense rock track, with what I understand to be some metal influence, a sound I'm not super familiar with but really enjoy. A bit more of my feelings and review beneath the cut!

The song is from the perspective of someone experiencing drug withdrawals, a violating, full-body experience, and begging a dealer to give them, as the title says, one more hit. In my opinion, the strange and pleadingly sexual chorus is intentionally meant to make the listener a bit uncomfortable, as well as provide more visceral mental imagery of the kind of unbalanced and unhealthy relationships that can form between a drug dealer and an addict who buys from them.

Admittedly, I don't know much Weezer. I know Buddy Holly and Island In The Sun, but that's about it. I've heard bits and pieces of other Weezer tracks, and Rob Cantor's cover of Why Bother, which I enjoy. This track, as far as I understand, seems to really be a departure from the "classic" Weezer sound, but I think it's executed in a way that not only makes a lot of sense for the subject matter, but also results in an extremely catchy track. The bridge is also notable, with it's sudden change in tempo that catches your attention as the pleading from the song's narrator turns into description of the type of hit they're looking for.

The track's instrumentation is strong and churning, the guitar the sort of scratchy tone you'd expect from an 80s band, perhaps Van Halen, whom the album was dedicated to and named after. It stays pretty forceful throughout the song, with a few sharp cries from the guitar here and there. The drums are the sort of style that my dad would probably liken to a motorcycle engine- sharp and punchy. The melody and style of Rivers Cuomo's vocals is really interesting in contrast- they feel a bit lost, pleading, desperate, especially as the end of the song nears and the lyrics are delivered with more intensity. Cuomo's voice in general is a bit smoother and almost more poppy than I'd typically associate with this style of song, but I personally don't feel that it detracts from the song at all! The melody itself is extremely catchy, and once I listen to the track i find myself singing it (especially "you really shouldn't go cold turkey, cold turkey") at various points throughout the day.

Overall, I just really enjoy this track and think it deserves a much more fair shake than it's been given up to now, so that's why it's song of the week! I hope you listen and enjoy it!

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 297,

Morning thought: I don’t think I’ve set foot outside the library in two days.  Maybe I’ll take a walk after the kids leave today.

*******

The day’s rain was done by the time school finished so I got to take that walk.  It had been a hard rain so there were a great many puddles and rather few people.  Perhaps that particular combination is what fed my urge to indulge in a childish whimsy to make a game out of walking as close as I could to any puddle I came across without stepping into them enough to splash.  I had no particular destination in mind so I was free to go wherever the collected rainwater might lead me; dancing along the edge of one tiny pool and then stretching my gait into a single long stride to the border of another wherein I’d step along until it was time to leap to yet another still.  Up one street, around a corner, and down an alleyway.  So on and so forth my feet did gimble while my arms did gyre in time with a half-remembered melody that only I could hear.

That all makes me sound significantly more graceful than I actually was.  While it may have felt like that in the moment, my soaked boots attest otherwise and I imagine I must have looked like I was having some manner of fit to the few people who were outside to see me.  Or the ones who saw me from their windows.  There’s a part of me that knows I ought to be embarrassed but there’s a certain freedom that comes with already having a reputation for strangeness.  If everyone already thinks you odd, then what’s the harm in indulging in yet more oddity?

Ultimately though, the whimsy was brought to an end by slipping on a rain-slicked cobblestone and falling.  Fortunately I managed to catch myself by instinctively stabbing the closed umbrella toward the ground like a walking stick.  I don’t know what Melaina did to make it so sturdy, but while I felt the shaft bend there was nary a crack to be found upon examination.  Still, it was a close enough call to get me thinking about what might have happened if I’d gone down at a slightly different angle and cracked my head against the unforgiving street.  In retrospect, I’m surprised that I went as long as I did without taking a tumble.  I suppose I’ll save future stormy-eyed dances for soft grasses and sands.

The sun had not yet begun to set by that point and my nerves were in need of settling after that abrupt end to whimsy, so my walk continued.  As it happened my celebration of puddles left me not far off from the tower near the docks where the outsider known Devi once lived.  I’d been meaning for some time now to check the place out and see if anyone still lived there but had never gotten around to it.  Now seemed as good a time as any to amend that.

As it turned out, the place had been left abandoned for whatever reason.  There was no answer to my knock at the door at the base, nor to my calling out to ask if anyone was home.  A little silly now that I think about it, what with the lodging being up at the top of the tower.  The fit of whimsy returning and mixing with curiosity, I tried opening the door.  It was unlocked - which indicated little around here - but was fair swollen shut.  There’s a difference in feel between pulling on a locked door and one that is stuck.  A locked door might rattle or thump but this one groaned and squeaked with the sound of rusted hinges mixing with wood pressing on wood.  Thus reassured that I wasn’t about to walk in on someone preparing their evening meal, I kept pulling until the door came open with a low popping sound.

Once inside, even the small amount of light from the open door and shuttered windows above was enough to make out the layer of dust covering the floor.  To my right was the start of a square spiraling staircase leading upwards.  To my left was another door into what appeared to be a sort of building-inside-a-building whose roof hugged the underside of the staircase on that wall.  The ground level appeared to be otherwise bare.  Leaving the door behind me cracked open for light (and because I was struggling to close it all the way) I stepped further in and began my exploration with the room on my left.

It turned out to be a bathroom, and not a particularly exciting one at that.  Windowless.  Crystal stand empty.  All towels and personal effects long since removed.  I tried the faucet on the sink but nothing came out.  I thought I heard a faint gurgling but that may well have been my imagination.  Whatever pipes once fed it were long clogged.

Back out and up the stairs it was then.  Once this place would have been well lit.  Every corner landing featured an empty wall-mounted crystal holder.  The windows I came across were stuck faster than the entry door and I refrained from forcing them open for fear of breaking them so I could not reach the outer shutters to unlatch them, but I imagine they would provide no small amount of light as well.  The stairs themselves shuddered and creaked as I climbed them, but overall seemed remarkably stable for a place that hadn’t been maintained for half a century, even if a board here and there had begun to warp.

Eventually those stairs went through a gap in the apparent ceiling and terminated at another door.  The second floor, so to speak, must have been a good three or four stories above the ground.  If this isn’t the tallest building in the Village, it must come close.  Once more, this door was unlocked and it opened significantly easier than the one on the ground.

Here on the other side of that door is a bedroom, stripped bare like the bathroom.  All that remains are a bed without sheets or pillows, a desk by the southern-facing of the four windows, and the plain wooden chair in front of that desk in which I now sit as I write upon the desk by the last rays of the evening sun.  These windows are without shutters, and the view is incredible.  From this high vantage the labyrinthine streets below begin to look less chaotic and more intricate.  Complex, not random.  Artful curves and angles ever finding new ways to loop around and back in on themselves.  I can get a more clear view of the even higher towers of the old castle across the way from here, and beyond them the sea shimmers red under the setting sun.  A magical sight grown mundane made wondrous once more by a new perspective.

Oh, and one other thing in here.  Perhaps two depending on one’s point of view.  The window in front of this desk has a crack in it.  A small hole really.  Just enough to allow a vine to creep through and begin growing along the windowsill.  It has small buds growing on it that I suspect will open into flowers at some point.  Entangled in the vine is an old dagger in its scabbard, the one bit of personality left behind.  Well, perhaps “knife” is more accurate, but somehow “dagger” just feels more appropriate.  Or at least more dramatically fitting for an abandoned blade in an abandoned home.

Or, at least, I assume it has a blade.  I tried sliding it out the best I could while still leaving the scabbard in place so as not to disturb the vine but it appears to be rusted shut.  I can’t help but wonder, if everything else was stripped clean and abandoned (presumably) since Devi’s death, why leave this?  Is it a memorial of some sort?  Did it belong to her?  There’s a temptation to take it with me when I leave, but it feels too much like disturbing a grave to go through with it.

Speaking of leaving, I should do that soon if I’m to have any light at all during my descent.  It wouldn’t do to avoid one fall today only to take a worse one.

Oh, and I almost forgot in my description since it’s not exactly in the room: there’s what looks like a trapdoor in the ceiling.  What’s above I cannot say for I am simply not tall enough to open it, even with standing on this chair.  It looks like it had a drawstring or something at one point but that appears to be missing.  Whether that was accidentally broken, rotted away with time, or intentionally removed, I can’t say.  I just know that I can barely touch the flat surface and can find no purchase on which to grip and pull down.

A mystery for another evening.

<==Previous          Next==>

[clarklovescarole]

September 1938: Carole's Taxes

September 1, 1938 – Morning Post

Carole Lombard is selecting hip boots, leather coat and other knick knacks for a weekend hunting trip. She leaves with Andy Devines, Clark Gable and Norris Goff for the opening of duck season. 

September 2, 1938 – Lancaster New Era

“I Think That’s Fine”

Miss Carole Lombard, of the movies, recently delivered some remarkable observations on taxes. The government took something over 85 percent of her $465,000 income and she announced that it was perfectly lovely. “I’m pretty happy with the whole thing,” she averred. “I have no kicks at all – I think it’s fine.” 

The government, she continued, spent most of it “for me, on generational improvements on the country, and I really think I got my money’s worth.”

Very idealistic, though there are those who believe that as Miss Lombard recently took a two-week flyer working as a press agent, this may have had something to do with it all, but they are just horrid cynics.

September 3, 1938 – Stockton Daily Evening Record

It’s true what they say about Carole Lombard: that she’s a riot to work with. We saw that when on the David O. Selznick set, where Carole and thin Jimmy Stewart are making “Made For Each Other.” The story, by Rose Francken, appeared in Red Book as “Of Great Riches.” 

Carole’s stand-in was doing her stuff when we heard a lot of giggling and a slim, blonde girl in a good-looking brown sport felt hat and a lighter-toned sport coat appeared.

“That’s Carole,” someone said as the blonde burst into a peal of laughter.

Still hatted, coated and giggling, she climbed on the bed minus its headboard, footboard and posts, and Jimmie Stewart, also hatted and coated, followed her. More giggling as Carole burst out with: “Isn’t this silly?” By that time everybody was smiling or giggling, the slim little script girl in slacks and the sound mixer who wears a headphone as he sits at what looks to be a switchboard.

September 4, 1938 – The Knoxville Journal

The week in Hollywood – Carole Lombard scoots around the Selznick lot on a motor scooter, gift of Clark Gable.

September 6, 1938 – The Spokesman Review

Clark Gable accompanied Carole Lombard to her first day’s shooting on “Made For Each Other,” and then had to watch her make love to Jimmy Stewart…

September 6, 1938 – San Francisco Examiner

When Carole Lombard and Clark Gable play tennis together, she usually wins…

September 7, 1938 – Wilkes Barre Times Leader

Clark Gable finally sold his flashy $3,000 roadster because every time he took Carole Lombard out driving people recognized them…

September 9, 1938 – Buffalo Evening News

A newsreel photographer wanted to take pictures of Carole Lombard on a scooter she received from Clark Gable, but Carole quipped, “Only way I’m going to be photographed is from the front – never in a retreating position.” Which reminds me of a story told by Donald Crisp about the handsome Mr. Gable. “It was when I was a director in the old De Mille studios. Gable came to see me and was so nervous that I offered him a drink. ‘I don’t want a drink,’ he stammered. ‘I want a job.’” Those days must not seem very distant to Clark.

September 10, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

On blue days Carole Lombard invites her friends to tea and tells them the story of her life. 

September 16, 1938 – Star Tribune

Carole Lombard prefers the set cleared when she does those love scenes with Jimmie Stewart in “Made For Each Other.” 

September 17, 1938 – San Francisco Examiner

If any of the movie stars are AWOL in the next two weeks, you might try paging them at the Pomona County Fair. … Last year Clark Gable and Carole Lombard went with us and we never had so much fun in our lives.

September 18, 1938 – St Louis Globe Democrat

Cupid’s Arrows Fill Hollywood

Perhaps the news that attorneys for the Clark Gables are busy working out a financial settlement of their affairs is the most interesting romance item. Carole Lombard is house hunting in Brentwood, and the tip is that it has a direct relation to Clark’s impending freedom by way of Reno.

September 18, 1938 – St Louis Globe Democrat

Carole Lombard may earn $400,000 a year but she still lives in a rented house, drives a 2-year-old Ford and has never had a chauffeur.

September 20, 1938 – The Evening News

Clark Gable Signs For Role

Louis B. Mayer is shown signing contract permitting Clark Gable to play the role of Rhett Butler in “Gone with the Wind.” David O. Selznick, standing, will produce it and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer will release it.

September 20, 1938 – The Record

September 22, 1938 – The Province

Carole Lombard’s newest publicity pictures are all very dignified – no more harum-scarum poses – for a little while anyway. Incidentally, Mr. Gable has added another accomplishment to his ever-growing list – he has initiated Carole into the mysteries of skeet shooting.

September 23, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

Jimmie Fidler – Passing By

All the Hollywood news I know at this time is that Carole Lombard complained bitterly to Clark Gable about the smell of the stuff he uses on his hair.

September 24, 1938 – Buffalo Evening News

Sheilah Graham

Carole Lombard-William Powell, Clark Gable-Rhea Gable – how do the members of this quartet regard and treat each other in the narrow confines of Hollywood? 

Lombard and Powell are perhaps greater friends now than when they were husband and wife. When they first started making “My Man Godfrey,” their dressing rooms were at the opposite ends of the set. Halfway through the picture they were halfway nearer each other. By the time “My Man Godfrey” was in a “canned” condition, their two rooms were side by side! And the ex-Mr. and Mrs. dined together at least five times a week, and it looked as though Bill had nosed out Mr. Gable for first place in Carole’s heart.

Chilling – These Gables

Clark has never resented this reappearance of Powell in Carole’s life and recently listed Bill among the ten men he likes best in Hollywood.

Gable’s relationship with estranged wife rhea is something else again. Shortly after their separation, I remember seeing them at a New Year’s Eve party in Sam Goldwyn’s house. But Clark was careful to remain in one room and Rhea was just as anxious to stay in another. I saw them pass each other once. Their faces wore a strained smile. Nowadays, hostesses take good care to invite them separately, as Clark is very embittered anent the huge settlement he is paying his second wife. 

September 25, 1938 – Detroit Free Press

Carole Lombard may be a glamour girl on the screen, but off it she is becoming more of a hillbilly with each passing day. Of course, Clark Gable has had a lot to do with Carole’s back-to-earth trek. No girl who just pretended to like the great outdoors and limped through meadows in high heels would ever pass with Clark. Also there’s nothing halfway about Carole. On a recent dove hunting expedition with Clark, Andy Devine and several others, she was the first to shoot the limit.

“Carole will go anywhere a man will,” Andy told me. “We started out from a lodge beyond Bakersfield at 5 o’clock in the morning. She was up even earlier, cooking ham and eggs for the whole crowd. She tucked her trousers into her hip boots and waded through slush so deep she had to carry her gun over her shoulder to keep it dry. She cleaned her own doves, digging the shot out of them as efficiently as any of us guys.” 

So it looks as though the modern girl is dispelling the billing-and-cooling technic of the last century with a blast of bird shot through the heart of the dove.

September 26, 1938 – Chicago Tribune

There is a tremendous national interest in Hollywood and its performers, absolutely no interest in Hollywood executives. To my surprise, there is no resentment toward picture performers because of the high salaries they receive. “They pay most of it back in taxes,” the fans tell you philosophically. The pair about whom you are asked the most questions are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard. To the people these two seem to be the most typical of movie stars, exciting and glamorous.

September 30, 1938 – Wilkes Barre Times Leader

Clark Gable almost fell off the observation platform kissing Carole Lombard good-by when his train left for the East…

September 30, 1938 – Minneapolis Star

(Cedric Adams on Clark’s visit to Canada for a hunting expedition)

He made a daily call to Carole Lombard and frequently they talked for 10 minutes. They wired each other daily and exchanged a daily letter. Carole’s a crack shot and much of the telephone conversation concerned Clark’s hunting. Last year Lombard and Gable hunted together for three days and the two of them shot one teal. She killed it. Carole’s going to join him into the Canadian spot next year.

… Over the telephone and in telegrams, Gable calls Lombard Ma and she refers to him as Pa.

[ghostofnibelheim]

azure-steel​:

He stands there for a moment longer, relishing in this simple embrace and hoping to stem the silly tears leaking from his eyes so’s not to embarrass himself in front of this boy. The last thing Cloud wanted was for his new friend, so soft and gentle and kind, to think he was a cry baby.

Cloud was no cry baby!

After that moment, however, and the confirming little nod he could feel upon his crown, the small blond suddenly burst free of the embrace, dabbing at a single eye with the heel of his hand, a beaming smile tugging at each corner of his mouth.

“Hide and seek? I always wanted to play hide and seek but I never got to, you wanna play?” Cloud is asking these questions and still he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s so quickly moving onto the next one. So used to just rambling on his own it may come apparent to anyone on the outside looking in that the youngster was not used to such social interactions and with all the energy fizzing in his belly he was actually struggling to contain it all. There was so much to take in and he wanted it all at the same time.

“Lots of places to hide here, yeah? You wanna be it? You can be it! Cover your eyes and count to ten!” He didn’t even wait for a reaction before he’s already trundling down the stairs like a tiny tornado and diving behind the ugly statue situated there.

“I’m ready!! Come find me!”

His brows furrowed a little upward and inward as the blond all but slipped out of his gentle hold. That warmth was addictive. His hands remained open in the way they’d been pushed apart for a bit, still with the lingering feeling of that touch in his palms.

“Hide and Seek…” Though he’d never heard of it before, S didn’t exactly question it either. The name sounded self-explanatory, like a test. Was Cloud also familiar with tests like the ones the Doctors gave him? S had yet to find home, the place they wanted him to guide them to. But it was fair to say that ‘seeking’ was something he’d been trained to do all his life.

Finally letting his arms go down his sides, he tilted his head a little, watching the small blond practically bounce around like a ball of pure energy, green eyes moving to one side and the other in attempt to keep up with his movements. It wasn’t exactly hard to do in its most simple sense: S had sharp reflexes and could catch very quick movements with ease. But this boy was so new, so special and full of aspects he’d never seen save glimpses here and there of kids scampering past the mansion’s gate, the mind of S was practically attempt to take in every small detail of everything Cloud said and did at once. It was like trying to observe something from every possible angle at the same time, absolutely overwhelming to the senses.

So overwhelming, he didn’t exactly get the instructions either. What exactly was it? And how was he meant to be it? What did Cloud want to hide from?

Once more he found himself trying to speak only to be interrupted by his new friend before any sound could come out. Covering his eyes and counting to ten. Those were simple instructions he could do.

Moving one hand on his face to cover both of his eyes, his count wasn’t exactly as slow as the other perhaps intended. His mind was fast, and he was good at math. There were only ten ciphers to go through and they all succeeded one another in his head in less than three seconds.

But he didn’t know what to do now; S remained still, his hand still over his eyes, waiting to receive further instructions on what came next. In his own silence, he could hear the other’s steps moving away from him and down the stairs, making about as much noise as one could possibly achieve. He listened and knew exactly where those feet stopped, downstairs by the statue at the bottom of the staircase.

The wave of relief he felt in realizing Cloud wasn’t just running away and disappearing forever was further reinforced by his request to go and find him. Pushing past that brief moment of anxiousness that had started to creep up in his chest, S turned around and headed downstairs with a quick pace.

Still keeping that hand over his eyes, of course.

His movements didn’t stumble or hesitate in the slightest as he so casually reached the bottom and turned around the statue, stopping beside Cloud like a good pet who’d just been summoned by its master.

He didn’t really need to, being perfectly aware of where Cloud stood. And still, S found himself compelled to reach out with his free hand and touch the other’s head, just in case Cloud had also covered his eyes and couldn’t hear him approach. S didn’t wish to startle him.

“I’ve found you, Cloud. What is an it?” He asked, still blind and peacefully curious.

[youryanderedaddy]

I had a dream just now that might make a good story. So, I had a virus on my laptop which allowed a hacker to see everything I did on my computer and use my webcam. The hacker ends up falling in love with me after stalking me for a few months and pays for someone on the dark web to kidnap me. It works, and then I wake up tied up in the hacker's arm as he caresses and kisses me. That's pretty much it, good night! 🌙

Yo this is my kink 😳

Also I couldn't not write this for Saeran, ok.

Title: Stranger danger

Tw: nsfw - ish, female reader, masturbation, cyber stalking, hacking, mentions of dark web, very irresponsible online behavior, obsessive behavior, implied kidnapping

You knew that this was a stupid idea. Lurking on the dark web with almost no protection other than the Tor browser and some free anti-virus program wasn't your best decision, but fuck it if it wasn't entertaining. You had always been drawn to the darker, scarier part of the human mind and this side of the internet proved quite interesting. Your friends always warned you about the dangers that came with looking up shady online searches and sites but everything had been quite peaceful so far. There weren't hackers or murderers on the dark web, the worst you had seen were people selling drugs and weapons for unreasonable prices, along with some questionable fetish porn and the typical popping ads.

Your favorite thing to do while online was chatting. Two weeks ago you had stumbled upon an unusual forum called "Scream buddies" where upon entering you were automatically connected to another random profile. The whole theme of the forum was discussing horror and mondo movies, shockumentaries and overall creepy stuff, your forte. The person you met on there shared a similar fascination with all things dark and gory which soon made talking to them the only thing you were looking forward upon opening the site.

You didn't know much about the guy behind the profile yet, except that he was a young man. His icon showed an eye so green it emited with the neon pigment and his username was just as mysterious - BlueRose7. You enjoyed chatting with him about your hobby but the thing you liked the most was undressing him little by little, metaphorically so, by getting pieces of information about his life. It started small - his favorite food, favorite book, favorite game, but the moment you tried digging deeper and asked whether he had siblings or not, the man simply disappeared for the next few days. You quickly realized just what type of topics you needed to avoid to keep your new friend from leaving. Family, childhood memories and work matters were out of the picture.

The stranger wasn't fair, not really. He didn't show you vulnerability and kept his secrecy while demanding to know everything there was to know about you. For the longest time you didn't want to answer just to stay on a equal footing, just to show him how frustrating it was, but there was something about the man that drew you in. He was magnetic, clever and witty, if a bit pessimistic and dark at times. You couldn't help telling him everything he wanted to hear - what your job was, whether you were single or not, all that jazz. In your defense, BlueRose7 actually listened to your stories, took your problems seriously and provided solutions, which despite being too extreme and overprotective at times (upon hearing that your bestfriend talked behind your back he offered to "take care" of her), were comforting. It was nice to have someone caring around even if you met him on a sketchy website.

Meanwhile your personal life wasn't going too great. You had to balance between attending college, working long shifts as a waitress and meeting your friends from time to time which was draining. On top of all there was a weird virus on your computer which resulted in the camera turning on and off and the most random times of the day - while you were studying, watching TV, or in some cases, fully naked and ready to take a bath. You didn't think much of it though, with all the illegal movies and games you downloaded along with the dark web lurking it was more than expected for your laptop to behave weirdly. You didn't even mention it to your friend from the IT major because you knew that he'd force you to delete Tor and put an end to your internet adventures.

One time you were particularly bored after several long lectures and you were laying in bed, the camera turned on once again. It was a hot afternoon and you were wearing boyshorts and a loose T- shirt with nothing underneath it, you were home alone so there was no need. The bright red spot was twinking like a recorder, the light reflecting in your eyes, when a silly little idea came to your mind. You slid your hand under your blouse and lifted the fabric up, exposing your breasts to the laptop, your nipples hardening due to the sudden coldness, becoming pink and stiff in seconds. You played with for a few minutes, pinching and pulling the buds gently, moaning softly into the pleasant sensation. Soon you could feel yourself getting wet, and slowly, teasingly, removed your shorts and panties. You smiled at the camera, biting your lip provocatively, imagining you were a camgirl performing for her desperate little fanboys and fangirls. The thought alone was enough to make you spread your legs wide and slip two fingers into your throbbing cunt, using the wetness to push deeper. You used your other hand to stroke your clit and whimpered wantonly, your face red, your neck sweaty and your heart pumping fast from the adrenaline. You were quickly reaching your orgasm and your mind wondered to the boy you were talking to in the forum. You wondered how he looked like, how his body was built, whether he was a sweet sensual lover or a rough mean one. Fucked up as it was, you pictured the man as one of your most loyal viewers, watching all of your streams with a fist around his thick vock and an excited grin on his face. He would comment things like "you look so beautiful like this" or perhaps even "pretty little slut" after tipping you enough to last you a week. Soon all the mental stimulation sent you over the edge and you came with a loud cry full of pleasure. Well, this felt good.

After your "performance" was over the camera was magically turned off, which may have caused some concerns if you weren't too busy feeling embarrassed and dirty about the unhinged fantasy you had just had, and with a person you knew nothing about. You managed to calm down though - it wasn't nothing more than a fun pastime, a naughty thought that would never become the reality. You would never actually meet BlueRose7, right? There was nothing to worry about, so you just went on with your day.

You had some dinner afterwards and decided to have an early night as you already felt full and tired. You put on your favoruite pajamas and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling until you fell into deep dreamless sleep.

You woke up due to a weird noise. You could hear someone's heavy breathing right next to your ear, someone's grabby hands were wrapped tightly against your body, trapping you between the wall and their hard chest. You had only a few seconds to scream before the intruder's palm covered your mouth.

"Shhh." The man whispered softly and stroked your hair like you were a doll he was playing with. "Don't scream or I'll be forced to hurt you, flower. I have a gun." His voice sounded deep and rough but this didn't stop you from thrashing and turning on your side until you came face to face with the man. It was dark in the room and you couldn't exactly see all his features but his enchanting green eyes would forever be burned into your memory - they seemed dashing, hypnotizing. You couldn't utter a word.

"It's me, the person you've been talking to all these months. I came to take you home" He spoke out suddenly, the line of his mouth twisting into a smile or a smirk, you couldn't quite tell. You shook your head no, tears threatening to spill all over your cheeks from the fear. It couldn't be him, the man would never do that to you. Or would he? With what little information you knew, you couldn't really tell. His hold finally loosen, seeing you quiet like that.

"Let me go, please." You begged, pushing at his shoulders weakly since you were still sleepy, groggy and tired. "I don't know you." You said, hoping this would remind the stranger you weren't friends, lovers or anything that gave him the right to be so close to you, to touch you so intimately. Unfortunately, this only seemed to amuse him and he chucked darkly as he pulled your hair away to place a small chaste kiss on your neck.

"But I know you, flower." Your supposed online friend replied shortly after, his eyes full of malice. "And your little show today makes me think you want to know me too." He added in a low tone, licking his lips before smashing them on yours, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth just to hear your whines and protests. Then it hit you. The camera, the virus, the questions. He had watched you, he knew where you worked, where you lived and studied, everything. You had told him after all.

The hacker thought you looked so adorable right now, figuring things out, helpless, confused, regretful and most of all, weak. You were so weak and careless, and he loved you for it. It reminded him of himself before life screwed him over.

You wouldn't be in this position, underneath him, if you had just told someone about your laptop virus and the bad guy you had encountered online. But Saeran couldn't say he wasn't glad your self-preservation instincts were so very broken and dysfunctional. He wouldn't meet you otherwise. "I need you, princess. That's why I'll take you to Paradise." These were the final words you heard before you felt lightheaded and sleepy again, your last memory a pair of green mint eyes.

You really shouldn't have trusted strangers on the internet.

[theartoflovingthomashunt]

Restless

[All Thomas Hunt x Alex Spencer Masterlists] [Red Carpet Diaries]

Pairing: Thomas Hunt x Alex Spencer (F!OC) Book: Red Carpet Diaries Word Count/Rating: &lt;;550 Prompts: @choicesaugustchallenge: coffee; @choicesmonthlychallenge fav LI

Synopsis: Alex is having trouble falling asleep... for some reason....

The bed barely shifted as Alex tossed and turned with careful movements, trying not to wake Thomas. She tapped her phone, gazing at the time on the now illuminated screen. An exasperated sigh slipped from her lips as she flopped back down on her pillow, only three minutes since she last checked.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to give counting imaginary sheep a try. It only took about five sheep for her to wonder where the idea for counting sheep originated. By twelve, Alex was back on her phone, searching for the answer to her query. "Huh," she hummed, reading the information presented to her. "Who knew? Well, obviously this person—," she mumbled quietly to herself before replacing her phone on the night table beside the bed. 

Her thumbs twiddled over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling focusing on her breathing in an attempt to put herself in a more relaxed state and finally find sleep. The twiddling turned to fingers tapping and then drumming. Her attention shifted to Thomas, still enjoying blissful slumber despite her growing percussional orchestra. She rolled on her side, her gaze tracing his outline in the dark of their room. 

Minutes passed like hours, one grain of sand drifting aimlessly through a tenuous hourglass at a frustratingly sluggish pace at a time.

"Thomas?" She whispered quietly, hoping he may be awake. "Thomas?" Her voice grew louder, still finding no response.

"Are you awake?" She shifted closer to him, resting her head on him. Alex chewed her lip, not wanting to wake him but becoming more and more restless by the moment. She tapped her finger on his shoulder, gently at first and then more persistently, ending with a boop on his nose.

"Alex?" He responded drowsily.    

"Oh, good!" She smiled, eyes still wide open. "You're awake!"

"I am now. Although, I presume that was the goal?" 

"No." 

"Alex."

"Okay, maybeee..." 

He rubbed his sleepy eyes, stifling a yawn. "Can't sleep?"

"Nope."

He guided her into his arms, keeping her close.

Alex let her eyes close as she nestled into him, focusing on the tender caress of his hand moving soothingly over her back. 

"You might consider avoiding coffee so late at night."

"It wasn't that late," she protested.

"Alex, it was around 10:00 when I found you brewing a fresh pot. From which, I might add, you drank at least two cups."

"Why didn't you stop me?!"

"I endeavored to do so, but you were quite insistent." He drew soft patterns on her back with his fingertips. "I believe your response to my concerns about this exact outcome was along the lines of 'Coffee is a cup of hope in a world full of chaos and Mondays'. I informed you it was, in fact, Thursday. You insisted it was never too early to start preparing for Monday." 

Her face scrunched in consideration as she attempted to conceal her growing chuckle. "That does sound like me."

"Perhaps next time, you will heed my suggestions, and we can avoid a repeat."

"That doesn't sound like me." She nuzzled her face into his chest

His fingers threaded gingerly through her hair. "I would expect nothing less, my love."

"Will you stay awake with me for a while?"

"You need not even ask." He pressed a kiss on top of her head, holding her safely in his arms.

I hope you enjoyed this pointless silly drabble... I think I might need a Thomas in my life to tell me to stop drinking coffee at midnight... whoops! (Though to be fair @the-soot-sprite has attempted this in the past, much like Alex, I continued drinking coffee 🤷‍♀️ )

Thanks for making it this far. I appreciate your support. Tags in a reblog! 💖

[yinyangofnevermore]

“Childish”

I want to address something that I have heard many people who haven’t watched RWBY say is one of their reasons for not wanting to watch it. They say it looks more “childish.” And I have to say, that’s not accurate AT ALL.

So for all of y’all that haven’t watched RWBY cuz you think it’s “childish” this post is for you. 

(And anyone else who would like to read it. There are no big spoilers in this post.)

I mean, all you really have to do to realize that’s inaccurate is listen to the album version of I Burn, amongst others, but I digress.

I feel like folks get this vibe because they’ve seen RWBY Chibi stuff and don’t recognize that it’s a completely separate show. AND/OR because the only stuff they’ve really seen is from Volumes 1-3. Often because the people trying to get them into the show are attempting to avoid spoilers. Which is quite difficult in a show that has 8 volumes out (at the time of the writing of this post). Especially when the show has changed SO MUCH since its early days. And has just continually gotten better as the show has progressed. Both in animation quality as well as story and character development.

Which, to be fair, Volumes 1-3 (at least through the first half of V3) ARE more silly and innocent and almost childish in nature. So to really see what a lot of us in the fandom are talking about, folks have to watch beyond the first 3 volumes. Which, I understand can be a big ask for some people. 

But, the whole point of those early volumes was innocence. Not necessarily naïveté as some ppl may think. Perhaps to some extent, yes. But more innocence. The innocence experienced before one sees how the big problems of the world can butt in and destroy lives. Literally. That’s one of the ways in which this show is brilliant. You watch as the characters grow so much as they begin to understand and yet still hope that things can be better. Not that they don’t still all deal with their own individual issues in the early volumes. Like Ruby dealing with loss, Weiss dealing with neglect, Blake dealing with abuse and gaslighting, and Yang dealing with abandonment. But they go through SO MUCH MORE TRAUMA at the tail end of V3 and later as they begin to learn more about what’s really been going on.

They begin to lose that innocence, so to speak, and the show really starts to get dark in some places as they all deal with very real, very traumatizing things. PTSD, death, torture, alcoholism, abuse, gaslighting, greed, betrayal, dictatorships, etc. And what you thought the show was in the first 2.5 volumes completely turns on its hinges. 

Now, that’s not to say that the show is like SUPER dark and depressing later on either. It is still very much a hope punk show. And, even in later, darker volumes, it still brings in those silly, lighthearted moments. But it deals with so much more. 

The show starts off in much the same way as other, similar types of shows. And you begin to think that the course of it will be much the same, with good triumphing over evil. Especially when a lot of the characters in RWBY are based on fairy tales and similar types of stories. But it’s not that simple. Life ISN’T a fairy tale. RWBY ISN’T a fairy tale. Despite what it may seem like early on.

You can see that clearly enough with Cinder’s character as the show goes on. Cinder is, essentially, CRWBY saying, “What would have happened if Cinderella took so much abuse she SNAPPED.” 

Doesn’t sound so childish, does it? 

[write-for-my-own-entertainment]

Summer with the Striders [1]

Chapter One: Bro Strider? What a weird name

A Multi-Chapter Series

Description:

It’s silly of you to think you could possibly be spending this summer like any other, spending time with friends or perhaps participating in one of many summer activities. Unfortunately for you, your parents had something else planned and shipped you off to spend the summer with a family friend and his kids? Now you’re spending the summer with these fuckers. Shenanigans ensue.

 | Chapter 2>>

Pairings:  

Platonic! Striders / Gender-neutral! Reader

Chapter Synopsis:

In which you’re picked up outside the airport by a man you only know as Bro and are whisked away not without a pitstop for pizza first though.

Chapter warnings:

Food Mentions

==> Be the heat exhausted teen

This was not at all what you expected your summer vacation to be like, you were planning to spend the responsibility-free time gallivanting around with your friends enjoying your fleeting years of childhood, doing crimes or I don’t know ending the world by meteor storm or something? Who knows, surely not you as you are now melting your ass off standing outside an airport in the Texas heat waiting for some family friend that was only ever cryptically referred to as Bro. That’s not even a name. What frat boy wanna-be were you about to meet?

Speak of the devil and he may appear. A car with tinted windows and a strange paint job came to a screeching halt before you. The tinted window rolled down and you were met with a blonde man with strange pointy sunglasses, “Are you [Name]?”

You give a hesitant nod, you have no idea who this man is. Is he Bro? His popped collared shirt really does scream frat boy to you so it's possible.

“Great. Get in the car.” His voice left no room for argument but you couldn’t stop your gaze from darting around you in hopes there was at least someone there to witness you possibly getting kidnapped.

“Wait- who even are you?”

“I’m Bro, the guy who’s taking care of you for the next 3 months. Now get the car, we have places to be.” With no room to complain you put your bag into the back seat and climbed in, almost immediately the car was moving before you could even buckle your seatbelt. 

The car was silent as you zoomed along the highway, the infamous Bro Strider your parents often talked about when they reminisce on past days. He sat beside you now and you weren’t quite sure how to feel, you hadn’t been with him long enough to gauge if he lived up to the stories or not. You admit to yourself this is in no way how you expected this meeting to go, you anticipated fan fair and maybe fireworks but you suppose this would have to do.

You directed your eyes to him after a few minutes, his gaze was seemingly on the road though you couldn’t quite tell, damn shades, and his mouth was turned into a frown like his mind was elsewhere. 

“So.” Your eyes narrowed at the man, you weren’t sure if he heard you until one of his eyebrows peaked over the top of his glasses.

“So?” even in the short time since you had last heard his voice you had almost forgotten what it sounded like. Though the way he spoke now seemed different, far more hesitant than the first.

“My parents told me you have kids?” Man, that was an awkward question to break the ice with but you couldn’t help it. Some little part of you in the back of your head needed the reassurance that you wouldn’t be living with just this grown man for the next 3 months.

The car swerved slightly and you made solid contact with the car door, “No I don’t have kids,” he paused, and you internally began to panic, “I do have two younger brothers your age but let's get it straight now, they are not my kids. I did not birth them.” Weird thing to specify but alright.

“Sorry, My parents made it seem like you were a father or some shit.”

“You’re fine, I have no idea the kind of stories your parents must have told you about me, can’t blame you for being confused.” he cleared his throat after he trailed off, “but yea I have two younger brothers that I look after, dirk’s the older of the two and Dave’s, Dave. They’re both pretty independent. They don't really need me to be around to take care of them anymore but I appreciate the two of them sticking around as much as they do.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he continued. “Dirk’s not always the best with people, he gets that from me unfortunately but he’s good at creating things and he’s smart already out of high school. Dave’s nothing to sneeze at either. I don't see him often, he usually closes himself in his room so he can have calls with his friends without me ‘embarrassing’ him but he’s a good kid, creative. I hope you end up getting along with them.” The car drifted back into a now comfortable silence as Bro took an exit off the highway, you couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually, the car came to a sharp stop before a pizza place, the fragrance of the place was so strong you could immediately smell it. Bro glanced at you before hopping out of the car, “Hold down the fort” was all he said before the door slammed and he made his way into the restaurant. Moments later he walked back out carrying a solid 6-7 pizzas, you made a move to open the driver’s side door for him. He sets them down for a moment before maneuvering them into the backseat with your bags, he finally plops himself back into the driver's seat.

“That’s a lot of pizza.” you couldn’t help your gaze from flickering between him and the pile in the backseat as the car began to move again.

Bro didn’t even glance at you as his gaze was once again locked on the road, “I didn’t know what you like so I grabbed a bunch.” He said it so nonchalantly that you almost didn’t believe him. You kept these thoughts to yourself as the vehicle continued on.

It was half an hour later when you arrived at an apartment building, it didn’t seem like you had traveled that far but traffic seemed to be at its height at the moment.

The apartment building itself was plain, a tall building covered in various windows. It may have once been colorful but now the unrelenting sun had made it void of any.

You barely noticed that the car had stopped until you felt the air conditioning stopped, taking the one thing that was preventing your insides from cooking away. Bro had already exited the vehicle, pulling your bags from the backseat, and motioned for you to grab the pizzas. This was it, the true beginning of what this summer had planned for you.

Headcanons come free with your reading of this story:  Bro makes everyone call him Bro because his actual name is really stupid and doesn’t want anyone knowing it. It’s Brouregard like Beauregard but worse.