#Memorial Benches for Sale

[classicmemorialbenches]

Where can you find a memorial bench?

Classic Benches are handcrafted to order in our workshop in the Lancashire village of Lathom.

A memorial bench should be strong, perfectly proportioned, and built to last. We've created a beautiful collection of benches that have been designed to complement and enhance their surroundings for decades.

[zipcushions]

 Don't settle for ordinary seating options – elevate your comfort with ZIP Cushions with our unbeatable Memorial Day Sale offer. Shop now at ZIP Cushions and seize the offer!

[sahkuna]

SUMMER FLING — TOJI FUSHIGURO

a request from @loves4ge for my summer fling event! tysm for sending it in!

Stepping out of your assigned fitting room, you leave the door wide open and give a whole 360° to the man who’s been waiting a good 10 minutes on the other side for you as you tried on clothes.

“So…” you drawl, smoothing your hands down your sides when you face him again, “What d’you think of this one?”

Sitting on one of the complimentary benches in a particularly vacant retail store, Toji stares (more like glares) long and hard at you.

“What do I think?” he asks, repeating your question, to which you give him a simple nod in response.

Tired eyes slowly skim down your figure.

When you twirl around so you may look at yourself in the mirror, Toji uses this as an opportunity to greedily drink in the sight of how the floral printed sundress cinches at your waist, hugging you juuust right and flows down the rest of your body, only stopping a couple of inches before your bare knees.

Ah, so it was that kind of dress.

When it comes to women’s fashion, Toji could give less of a damn about it altogether.

But one thing about sundresses, especially the kind that were mid-thigh was that he loved the easy access they brought. Loved not being troubled with consistently having to lift the fabric of your clothing so that he could get at you and what’s hidden underneath all those layers of clothes.

All it took was one flick of the material and a simple tug at your underwear and he would slip inside of you no problem.

Simply put, Toji’s a big fan of what you’re wearing right now.

You seem to notice this because before Toji can commit any more of your ass to memory, you swiftly turn on your heel and snap your fingers in front of his face, yanking him from his daze. “Hey!”

Snapping his eyes away from the lower half of your body with reluctance, Toji meets your unimpressed gaze.

“What? ’m suddenly not allowed to look at you?”

His feigned oblivious act isn’t gonna get him anywhere, especially when you raise a questioning brow at the man.

“You can look,” you start, “But don’t be—” You wave your hand aimlessly in the air as you try to find the right words to say. “Don’t get so worked up over it! We’re in public.”

Rising to his feet Toji walks up to you, to which you find yourself backing up a little. It’s only when he nudges the door shut with his foot behind, that you realized what he’s trying to do.

“Can’t help it if seeing you in something like that gets me going,” he says, ignoring your yelp for him to keep his voice down.

Once Toji’s crowded you into a corner you find yourself instinctively raising your hands to press them against his chest. “It’s just a dress,” you say.

Yeah, just a dress. A dress that had him wondering what it would look like bunched up around your hips, or slipping off your shoulders by his hand.

If you were trying to keep Toji at bay, to push him out and away from your vicinity, you were doing a pisspoor job at it.

“C’mon, one or two minutes with me here won’t hurt you,” his voice rasps into your ear. “Right?”

And maybe he is right, but you really can’t think straight with the way his hands keep sliding up and down the expanse of your thighs.

As the palms of Toji’s hands bunch around the flowy material of your sundress, three hesitant knocks rap against your changing room door.

“E-excuse me, sir?!” A frantic voice calls out from the other side of the door.

To say you’re mortified would be an understatement. You recognize it as one of the sales associate that helped you into the rooms.

You’re sure they must be nothing short of horrified, thinking two customers are getting down and dirty in their establishment.

“I’m afraid we only limit the change rooms to one customer at a time! So, if you could please…”

“Yeah, sir,” you tease under your breath, shoving the grumbling man off you and out of the fitting room.

Before you close the door on him, you poke your head out one last time and give him a provoking once-over. “Show some restraint.”

The harsh click of the door slamming shut is what has Toji standing still.

It’s only when he spots the employee from the corner of his peripheral that prompts Toji to breathe an irritated sigh, slumping back onto the bench disappointed with the turn of events. It sends them scrambling back into the store.

That sundress is most definitely coming home with you two.

there are still slots open to send a req. for the summer fling event!

[stereax]

is there a reason why Carolina is losing all their affiliates???

Other than being assholes to Erik Haula?

Okay, but in all seriousness, there's a short answer and a long one.

The short answer is two words long: Pyotr Kochetkov.

The long answer? Meet me under the cut.

Alright, hi there. So to answer this question fully, we need to talk about the AHL in depth. The AHL, or American Hockey League, is the second-highest league of North American pro hockey, under the NHL. Most people tend to believe it's just "where prospects play before they hit the NHL". This is... only a part of the story.

There are 32 teams in the AHL to match 32 NHL teams. The idea there is that every NHL team would have an AHL affiliate - the most recent expansion, for example, the Coachella Valley Firebirds, is the AHL affiliate for the newest NHL team, the Seattle Kraken. Many of these teams are owned by the same group as owns the NHL team - Harris Blitzer, for example, owns both the New Jersey Devils and the Utica Comets. Others don't - the AHL's Charlotte Checkers, for instance, are owned by Michael Kahn, whereas their NHL affiliate, the Florida Panthers, is owned by Sunrise Sports (aka Vincent Viola).

Why is this important? Well, if you're an NHL team that owns your AHL team, you can let that AHL team leak money. You're turning a good profit on the NHL team, so you don't have to make your AHL team economically viable on its own - you just put it in as a massive tax write-off and go on with your day. Thus, you can put all of your AHL team's resources into developing your AHL players to get ready to play at the NHL level. Of course you sign some vets and such of your own, maybe get a few undrafted guys for the AHL team too, but generally, an NHL-owned AHL team's sole purpose is to develop NHL players. Winning the Calder Cup (the AHL equivalent to the Stanley Cup, not to be confused with the Calder Memorial Trophy given to the best NHL rookie) is just gravy on top.

Contrast this to independently-owned AHL teams, where this is not the case. For these teams, making money is paramount. How do you make money? When you win. Fun fact - the Chicago Wolves, incidentally, used to be televised on main channels partially as a fuck you to Bill Wirtz, who didn't let the Chicago Blackhawks' home games be televised, presumably to drive ticket sales. The Wolves saw that and pounced on the opportunity to make some cash. So if nothing else, love them for sticking it to the Hawks. You can still watch Wolves games on My50, it seems, if you've got that channel, as well as AHL streaming options.

But back to independently-owned AHL teams before I go on my daily anti-Hawks crusade. You want to make money. You do that when you win. When you make the postseason. When you win in the postseason. Independently-owned AHL teams want to win, not necessarily develop for the NHL. So when your NHL team keeps taking your best player away for weeks and then giving him back... you get annoyed.

Now let's play Chicago Wolves Simulator. You are Don Levin and Buddy Meyers, the Wolves' owners. Your goal is to win the Calder Cup or at least come pretty damn close so you can pay the bills. You have a good team - hell, you won the Calder last year! - but your best asset is this star goaltender named Pyotr Kochetkov. When Koochie's in net, you usually win because he bails out your team. When he isn't there to help you win, you kind of don't. Now, Carolina's going through its own issues in net, so they keep calling Koochie up and down. And, as previously mentioned, you kind of suck without Koochie. To be fair, you're not all that great with him, but you suck without him. And you have no control over when he goes up to Carolina, even just to sit on the bench.

You miss the playoffs by one point. One. And your three-year contract with the Canes is up. What do you do?

Waddell Young, GM of the Wolves, says their philosophy and the Canes' fundamentally differed. The Wolves develop and win. Winning develops, to them. The Canes wanted the Wolves to focus solely on development. Not winning. So, when their deal with the Canes was up, the Wolves said "no thanks, we're not going to continue this, we're going independent". This decision makes them the first non-NHL affiliated team in almost 30 years. Now, this isn't to say all independently-owned AHL teams are doomed to fail in partnerships because of divergent philosophies. Look at the Hershey Bears and the Washington Capitals for a prime example of that - the Bears are one of the best teams in the AHL and have won four Calder Cups with the Caps as their affiliates since their affiliation began in 2005. But the Wolves were quite unhappy with the Canes, and so the two split. Also notable is that the Canes have also poisoned the waters with who should be their local AHL affiliate, the Charlotte Checkers, to the point where the Checkers affiliated with the Panthers instead. So... there's that.

So what can the Canes now do with non-roster players? They can affiliate with another AHL team (co-affiliation); one instance of this was when the Seattle Kraken affiliated with the Charlotte Checkers in 21-22 because the Coachella Valley Firebirds weren't yet ready. Supposedly the plan is to get an affiliate for 24-25. But what do they do this year? Especially if they can't find an affiliate to share, which seems more and more likely as the summer drags on? Well, you can't sign players to two-way deals with the Wolves anymore, so you can't really keep veterans around in the AHL to call up if needed. So you... sign nine defensemen to NHL contracts and carry them on the roster at all times. Yep. Don Waddell, Canes GM, has basically stated outright that his roster is probably going to have to carry 22 or 23 players at all times to be sure to have replacements in case of injury. And your prospects? They either go to Europe, where they're basically inaccessible for the whole year, or you loan them to other AHL clubs. Waddell has said plans are in place with several teams to send 2 or 3 players each to several different AHL clubs. For your youngest, they go back to major junior in the CHL and related leagues. Same for your veterans - if you want to keep them, you'll have to sign them one-way (I believe) and then loan them down to scattered AHL teams across the league. Prospects who you could have signed to play in the AHL and develop? You're probably going to have to let them go to free agency (see: Kevin Wall, leading player for Penn State and Carolina draft pick, who just inked a deal with the Milwaukee Admirals, AHL affiliate of the Nashville Predators). And then you can send your worse prospects to your ECHL tea- wait. Oops. They just lost that too. Can't do that either. Well, shit.

And remember, one of the Canes' biggest assets is their system of play (with strong defense) that they execute well. The Wolves needed to teach their players the Canes' system and prepare them so the jump from AHL to NHL wouldn't be that tough. The Canes put their coaches on the Wolves for that purpose (the Wolves have since cleaned house and instated their own). Loaning your players to another AHL team? Why would that team be incentivized to teach your player(s) the system? So now even when you're calling up someone to play for the Canes, you have no idea how well they know the system and no idea how well they can play in it.

This now begs the other question - how will the Wolves fill their roster? Well, they've got options. Generally, an AHL team takes the prospects of its NHL affiliate and then fills the rest of the roster with AHL veteran free agents that the AHL team signs to AHL-only deals. But without an NHL team, it's a smidge more complicated, or perhaps easier. Firstly, other NHL teams can loan their prospects to the Wolves instead of their own AHL teams if they consider the Wolves better at developing them, for instance. The Wolves can now also sign whatever free agent players they find roaming around that could be a good fit for their team - undrafted college players, good ECHL players that can't seem to get called up enough, AHL veterans, players on European teams (especially Russians who might want the chance to get the fuck out of Russia) and so on. These free agent players could see the Wolves as a stable AHL team that can pay solid money (the AHL doesn't have a cap) with a strong chance at contending for the Calder as well as a possible stepping stone to an NHL contract. The Wolves also don't have to worry about these free agents taking ice time away from the Canes' prospects, who would need to be prioritized under an affiliation, which would also be a strong incentive for AHL free agent veterans to sign with them - they'd be able to get a truly fair chance, unlike under an affiliate system where prospects are the priority and free agents are generally playing fewer (and worse) minutes.

And remember - Chicago just drafted Bedard. The city's getting back into hockey and Hawks tickets are expensive. Want to watch some quality hockey on the cheap? Why not come to Wolves games! They're only 18 miles away from the Hawks, too!

Let's now talk about the ECHL and the Norfolk Admirals. Thankfully, this is going to be a lot simpler. The ECHL, unlike the AHL, has only 28 teams. This means 4 NHL teams don't have an ECHL team. In addition, very few, if any, ECHL teams are owned by their NHL affiliates. This further incentivizes them to play for profit (winning the Kelly Cup, the ECHL version of the Stanley Cup) instead of development. On top of this, relatively few ECHL players actually make it to the NHL. ECHL affiliates change fairly frequently, especially due to many of the teams folding because of financial issues (most recently the Brampton Beast, Manchester Monarchs, and Quad City Mallards). So if an ECHL team decides to drop its NHL affiliate, or vice versa, there are four other suitors, all of whom would probably want to pay the ECHL team decent money to be their associate. For the Admirals, it's easy - they see the Canes lose their AHL affiliate and decide they'd rather take the Jets' offer instead, whether it be for the money (Carolina's supposedly notoriously stingy) or for the security. It's just really fucking funny that it happens at the same time Carolina loses their AHL team. Get fucked lol.

TL;DR stan the Wolves for rejecting the system. Canes Suck.

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - fake sexy lamp au - 1.4

1.1 here 1.2 here 1.3 here

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then,” she said irritably, shoving hair off her face.

“I’ll deal with Stefan before he makes it necessary for me to kill him.” Klaus slung the backpack over one shoulder and looked down at Rebekah, saw feathers in her hair and defiance in her eyes for a moment, before she was just disgruntled Rebekah again. “He did well by us once, I can be gracious.”

“I wish you would let him have his memories back,” she said softly. “He might…” she trailed off. What she would have voiced went unsaid, but Klaus could have guessed.

A bitter smile slipped across Klaus’ face. “Dear Bekah, the man that preys on rabbits and falls for the lure of doppelgängers is not the man for you. The man he once was, Stefan has buried under atonement and regret.”

A sullen scowl settled on her lips, but for once his little sister seemed disinclined to continue the well-worn argument. Perhaps the evidence of Stefan’s new obsession had given her pause. A task could keep her mind off things.

“I also plan to see my doppelgänger tonight. As such, I’ll leave ‘Mother’ to you.” The woman posing as their mother needed to be hedged in with compulsions. He would check Rebekah’s work when he arrived back at the mansion, but it should be a simple enough task.

Predictably, Bekah perked up. He left her on the park bench, made his way back up the street to where he had parked his Land Rover Defender, a boxy beast of an SUV, what the salesman had Klaus thought quite laughingly described as an antique, but was only from three decades previous, mid 80s. It was good for his image as a trust fund art student—”Hipster,” Kol had said gleefully—and its teal paint job stuck out amongst all the staid coatings of the many F150s passing by on the road. If only it was more comfortable to drive, he thought in annoyance, as he pulled himself up in the front seat. It was a short drive to what was colloquially known as the Boarding House, but it was a short drive everywhere in this microscopic town.

The dark building was wider than it was tall by a long shot, with a couple cars parked out front, one a cherry red Porsche. Klaus parked his SUV behind the Porsche, got out, made his way to the door, and knocked.

There was a soft sound of the displacement of air behind the door, before it opened, and there stood Stefan. A slightly puzzled expression twitched his eyebrows down over green eyes as he looked at Klaus, glanced out at his frankly ridiculous SUV, and then back at Klaus.

“Can I help you?” he asked. 

Fitting a pleasant smile on his face, dimples to full effect, Klaus stepped up as if slightly nervous. “Uh, hello, do you own the red Porsche?”

“Yes, it’s mine.” Stefan crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not for sale.”

“Oh, no! See, I was driving by—I’m new to the area—and saw your delightful car, and was wondering if I could ask you some questions about it?” He took several leading steps toward the car, pointing at it. “I like older vehicles—as you can see—but it’s not very sporty.” Very quickly, he continued to ramble. “My little brother likes sporty cars, but we won't let him get anything that wasn’t made in the past ten years, he’s crashed them so often, so he’s hopeless to ask.”

The set of Stefan’s shoulder’s smoothed out, and he reached out of sight of the door. “Well, if you're interested in older cars, I’m your guy.” With the jingle of keys, he stepped outside and shut the door.

Klaus smiled.

[invisibleraven]

going to the garden center and picking out plants for Rose/Ray(/Reggie) because the studio plant wall, my beloved.

When Rose and Ray first suggested doing something with the studio space, Reggie kind of shut down for a bit. He knew it was healthy to move on, to accept that changing the space didn't erase his memories, or the guys.

It was just...so hard.

It took some time, and a lot more therapy, but he finally agreed to let them do whatever they wanted with the space. Just...not to expect him to spend a lot of time out there.

"That's fine tesero," Ray assured him. "But you should still get a say in what we do."

"Plus a little retail therapy is always a balm," Rose joked.

They got some throw pillows from the thrift store, a baby grand for Rose from an estate sale, and some chairs that the petal Pushers wanted to string from the ceiling-and no matter how much Reggie begged, not even Hazel would let him into the reason why.

"How about some plants?" Reggie shyly suggested. "None of us could keep anything alive, but if we're giving the studio a second life, maybe something living would be a good start?"

"To the garden centre!" Ray proclaimed, Rose giggling as she jumped on his back, the three of them galloping off to the car.

The garden centre itself was a little intimidating, but Reggie kind of loved being surrounded by all the greenery. He had nixed flowers-he got hay fever too easily. But ferns, succulents, and other leafy plants could be nice.

Rose and Ray picked up every plant that Reggie seemed interested in or fondled the leaves of, then loaded their cart up with pots, tools, and a cute watering can to boot.

"We can't fit all of this in the car!" Reggie protested, laughing all the while as Rose contemplated a spider plant and Ray weighed two seemingly identical cacti.

"Sure we can," Rose assured him.

"We have to put something back," Reggie insisted. "They'll think we're crazy."

"Well we kind of are," Ray replied with a shrug, finally picking one cactus. "Plus they're getting paid, so why do they care?"

Reggie shook his head, but he kept smiling despite himself. He started picking up plants to put them back, knowing that there was no way they could afford this, or even needed this many plants.

But every time he took a plant and put it back, it seemed that his partners had put two more in its place.

"It's too many plants!" he insisted, but he was smothering his laughter, eyes watering as Ray and Rose defiantly added plant upon plant to their already overfull cart.

"If they make you smile and laugh like that, then it's never enough," Ray finally stated. "But we really should put some back because my bank account can't take it."

"Spoilsport," Rose stated, sticking out her tongue, even as she started putting plants back.

Finally they had waht Rose insisted was a reasonable number of plants, even though Reggie was sure there were still too many, but Ray agreed with her, and there was no way Reggie could stand against them when they presented a united front.

The fun of fitting it all in the car was less than ideal, but Reggie did put his many hours of playing Tetris to good use-finally fitting everything in, though Rose would be sitting in his lap for the ride home.

"Oh no, what a shame," Rose snarked, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek as she made herself comfy.

Later, Reggie helped unload the car, and even set the plants up, too distracted with making it look nice to notice where he was. But then he stepped back, looking at the wall of plants behind the piano, the way the afternoon sun shone in, making the place glow.

And it didn't hurt.

Yes, this space had been Sunset Curve's, had been the last place they had been together, happy, and all alive. But Reggie realized by making changes, it didn't erase that past. Simply enhanced the future he had now-with Ray and Rose.

"Play with me?" he asked, sitting down at the piano bench.

"Any time," Rose replied, lifting the cover to the piano. "Islands In The Stream?"

"Only if I can do the Dolly parts."

"And we rely on each other..." Rose hummed, with Ray grinning off in the corner as he set out the other knick-knacks they had gotten for the space.

Later on, Ray would show him the photo he had taken of him and Rose playing together, framed by a sea of plant life, both smiling so wide it was impossible to doubt how happy they were.

And that they had totally not gotten enough plants.

[hikari-kaitou]

Memories 1

The trilogy gives off a strong image of winter. What place does Phoenix feel himself drawn to during this cold season? This time the character everyone has been waiting for (?) will make an appearance!

Maya: So what's with this sudden "I want to go see the lake" talk?

Phoenix: Our trial doesn't start until 10, right? I just kinda felt like stopping by beforehand.

M: Gourd Lake, huh… Oh, I bet it's because you're remembering Mr. Edgeworth's case.

P: Well, that too, but… there's just something about this place that brings back memories.

M: Did you kill someone here too, Nick?

P: Don't be silly. It's just the time of year… it makes me want to visit the place for some reason.

M: Hmmm…I'm sensing some romance in the air.

P: …This is the first place I came for fun in this city.

M: Huh?! You mean you're not from here originally?!

P: I moved here to work for Fey and Co. Law Offices.

M: Huh… I see.

P: I was still trying to get used to my new life when Mia and I came to eat hotdogs on this bench together.

M: …Oh? There's someone lost in thought over there.

P: You're right, and he's eating a hotdog.

M: I feel like I've seen that neck frilly before… Ah, he glanced over here.

P: Hey! Don't quickly avert your eyes and try to scurry away!

M: Heyyy! Mr. Edgeworth!! Over here!!

Edgeworth: Hmph… so you found me.

M: What brings you here? Did you receive another suspicious letter?

E: It's not that. It's just something about this time of year… it makes me want to visit this place.

P: Because of that case… I bet.

M: But we already solved that case!

E: …Thank you for that. I mean it.

M: There's something about the look on your face that doesn't seem settled.

P: He's got that wrinkle in his brow as usual, doesn't he.

E: …Could you at least call it a furrow instead of a wrinkle?

M: Speaking of wrinkles, your suit looks as flawless as ever. I can't see a single one!

P: In spite of the usual furrow in your brow.

E: When one is a prosecutor, there are times when one loses one's sense of calm.

M: Oh right, that happens to Nick all the time.

E: When that happens, I intentionally put more effort into arranging my outfit. Having not a thread out of place or a wrinkle to be seen makes me feel calmer somehow.

M: Nick is covered in lose threads today.

P: Leave me alone, would you? I was in a rush this morning.

M: Uh oh Nick, your badge is missing!

P: Crap! I forgot it at the office!

M: And your dress shirt is on backwards!

P: I knew it! I wondered why I was having trouble folding my collar!

M: And look at your shoes! They're both right feet!

P: Whoa! I knew I should have bought a different pair!

M: Not only that, look at your pants!

P: Crud, I forgot to wear any!

E: …. You clearly haven't.

M: ……You could have played along with us, Mr. Edgeworth.

P: Oh well, he's always like this.

E: …It's about time.

P: Right. Well, see ya.

E: Mm, see you in court.

At People Park

Chocolate statue

A Wright and Co. Christmas

New Years

Turnabout Goodbyes

Valentine's Day

White Day

Justice For All, Now on Sale

The New Student and the Rookie

Swimming in the Ocean

Seasonal Wardrobe Change

English Version

[delopsia]

how much of the truck do you think Rhett has replaced over the years? (maybe the better question is what hasnt been replaced at this point) like do you think hes completely rebuilt the transmission and engine? is there a point that he will give up on it? or do you think hes the person that will say that as long as the seat is the same one its the same truck? cuz it isnt going to last forever because that truck is how old and its also been a farm truck all its life. regardless of what state we are all living in now its safe to say that the Wyoming winters have taken a toll on the truck in the form of rust and wear and tear. if he rusts through the frame (a death sentence for vehicles) will he buy the same make in model that has had an easier life and just take his transmission and engine (he just put those in less than 80,000 miles ago god danmit!!) out and put it into the one with the good frame. i think if he ever does throw the towel in on the truck hes going to keep the seat and put it in his room in the house because theres too many memories on that seat for the thruple

I am so happy that someone is asking me about the trucks because I have put so much unnecessary thought and work into them. But Rhett's truck... Jesus Christ, it is the bane of my existence. I cannot figure out what year it is, and it's been driving me up the wall, but I'll admit I've been using this sale listing as a reference.

I'm in trouble if this truck ever sells.

That old truck has close to 225,000 miles on it at this point; it's practically gone everywhere, and for some damn reason, it's still alive and kicking. Had about 100,000 miles when Rhett bought it, and he's driven it to all hell ever since.

He's replaced the front and rear wheel hubs three times now. Had to put in new ball joints, and rust essentially forced him to replace the transmission, fuel, and brake lines after a couple of years. Shortly after that, the transmission failed and forced Rhett to gather a few buddies to help him rebuild it. But it's been a lot of small fixes here and there, the forgettable things that take an afternoon, and that's it.

The old truck was built to last, and even though nobody is 100% sure where it spent its early years, it's been well taken care of. If there's an odd noise or it starts to act out of character, the problem is located and found within the week. It's always best to fix the issue when its small, rather than wait until it gets worse.

Trucks last on the Abbott ranch. Royal's vehicle is older than Rhett's, and it's still alive and kicking! I haven't done a ton of research into what Royal drives, but I think it's an '80s GMC C/K Sierra Classic.

Honorary comparisons.

Nifty how Rhett and his Dad both seem to have Sierra's, lmao.

Regardless, it's an old truck. If Royal's truck can make it, so can Rhett's

Unless it becomes a money pit that can't stand to run for more than a few hours at a time, then Rhett's going to be hanging onto it. He could replace the whole vehicle over the course of time and still believe it's the exact same truck. But if it does fail, he'd likely go with another older-model truck with a bench seat. Maybe not the same make and model, but he'd be happy to bring home another in a different color.

As of the "current time" in the story, the Sierra is living herself a nice little life in the garage. Her Pavement Princess era, if you want me to start sounding cripplingly Gen-Z. Rhett's new work requires a lot of trailer pulling and things that the Sierra just couldn't keep up with, which means a new truck!

In Whispers In The Dark, I vaguely hinted that Rhett left the Sierra in Wyoming for a period of time because he'd bought a new truck after moving out.

This was the truck!

A 2019 Ford F-350 that I picked out back in February and simply never mentioned to anyone 😭 it never made sense to mention the exact make and model, so it got reduced to "Rhett's other truck."

After the Sierra comes home, she gets to become the official date night vehicle, alongside Bob's. It's her only job now!

I haven't mentioned a ton about Bob's truck, but since we're already on the topic, he's got a 2021 Toyota Tundra in the color Midnight Black Metallic. I exclusively picked this truck for him because some models come with a front-row bench seat.

Who would have thought that I'd have so much truck lore 🧍‍♂️

[thepoeticbubble]

Here the world wakes up, the sky unfolds, the clouds unclog like active acne, bloody hearts throb with a heaviness, salts seep in, amidst the freezed viens and cemented bones , everything is solid from the outside but gnawed from behind.

Infront of our house,few miles ahead there used to be a lake, the lake is orphaned , the stream about to be silenced , the birds about to be subjugated by thirst, the skin about to be parched.

I grow timid at prepositions else there's more to describe, what's beneath, behind,infront and after you. theres more to envision through imagery , but I can't figure out how to photograph it in words.i cant put everything in language even if I want to, I can't bake poetry everytime ,the oven of mind gets in distress ,sometimes the chimney doesn't clear the smoke off efficiently enough that I can cook the next prose. i wish someone would arrive and let open the windows to bring gush of fresh air without intervening my thoughts ,you will be Noticed not by my eyes but heart .

But my door bell doesn't ring anymore, its throat is lacerated and I don't think anyone visits here either, so it could make even the faintest sound.

It's not like city is out of stock , there is a plethora people but I think I exist remotely.

On days , I yearn to fix the bell but the thought of not being visited deliberately seems more repulsive , so I let the broken door bell follow the code of conduct ~ somebody might have tried to reach me but ughhh curse this doorbell

It is unjust for Inanimate things that surround me,dismembered by the loudness of my Grievances , sinking in a air of loneliness. I never ask them if they are fine because what if the reply is blasphemous.

But Some day some one will knock for sure, and i don't intend to send them back without a cup of tea , send them off annoyed by the smell of flashbacks of burning bread crumbs in fire , I intent to offer hospitality.

So, I mop the floor of my heart, scrubb off the dizziness , measure the diameter to have an idea of space left empty , I could be clear enough but why should I, I estimate the entire fleshy landscape is vacant and not even one thirty-sixth of yard is available in yours, I don't expect you to evaluate my measurements, how would the world care if my sound echos paradoxically, my thoughts appear convoluted , my mind a labyrinth where people stray in search of an exit but are Incapable of , where hope sits aloof and inert .

Here the walls are painted red with a mural that pictures thin blue branches stretching in and out the blind walls. Certain fissures depict that this framework has been susceptible to severe earthquakes from years.

In between the cracks, love's left a goodbye letter , an unredeemable heart ache , a kiss of death , verses of ill-omen never to be read by these fragile lips of life.

The realisation jolts my consciousness in exceedingly high S.I units that i decide to depart as soon as possible.

The road is forlorn, no busses are on business, no one promises a lift to home. It's said when you are overwhelmed, you must reminiscent memoirs from your good books , like a thought that would pacify the quarrels of your mind.

I sit on bench nearby try to recollect my address, which doesn't pass on through my head and i feel defeated down to my bones again. The pickle is what people say should be done , doesn't really compensate for my troubles because to retrieve a congenial memory at times of crisis means to uproot the brain and implant a fictitious spray of dopamine without thinking, this quick aid of "not thinking" vigorously mocks at me.

So, I take my head in my hands to wave off the ridiculous resolutions and again count the shops that come in the way of my home.

The numbers do not stop because cities are always on display and to be found in a market is such a farce, you will sold for sale. I wonder if anyone else was this absurd while being on fright and flight mode~nonsence

The bats babble , you see no life in human form and you ought to get panicked in an amount never metered, the leaves clap and claw out your heart,a strange laughter comes from the wild and you are in the middle of road that doesn't have a board to assure you where you are. Your mind has no gps, and location was never mapped too. The lake has perhaps migrated flushing your home or the lake never existed.

So, to scream just for the sake of hopelessness that adheres you seems the only option. When the tears are about to be delivered, you are called by your mother and the glass shatters, you are home , pulled back from your nightmares

Hope is sometimes cloaked in hopelessness, the cry is made to reach to ears and that is what hope is, to subconsciously believe that your tears will be harvested even when you are in your worst dream, that you will be found from the unknown and unnamed roads.

Home is somewhere in the hearts of those who take this responsibility of holding your hand in times when your identity card is lost, those who come uncalled , those who won't let you be lost when you have lost the address, those who remember you .

Home is always nearby ,you are never estranged from it, just know that while you are fidgeting in your worries somebody is looking for you. Someone is searching you and someone's going to hug right after you are traced . You are homed in hearts that aren't dead

-tabish.j

[honeylikesyanderes]

christmas with the yanderes (pt. 1?)

i'm here, i'm here, daddy's home just in time for the holidays.

18+ mdni: mostly wholesome, bit suggestive tho. contains mild yandere themes. y'all stay safe out there. mwah.

karma:

expensive christmas

most def flies you out to either a winter cabin in the alps (if you're the snow type) or to a tropical country (if you dislike winter)

regardless of where you go, a shopping spree is guaranteed.

karma would literally spend all his money on you if he could (or if you'd let him)

if its a tropical country; he's probably going to take you on a tour, and really let you learn the local culture (and unsurprisingly, he can speak the local language)

if its a winter getaway, you guys are either gonna be snuggled indoors together, or skiing/snowboarding together (although he'd secretly die from worry). its all up to you tbh.

possible gifts you could receive: literally anything you've mentioned wanting, new clothes and shoes, and probably a credit card thats linked to karma's private bank account.

possible gifts he'd like to receive: something handmade by you, new piercing jewellery, a male grooming kit, your hand in marriage.

rich man, rich Christmas; 10/10.

bhodi

cozy Christmas

bo's the type to stay indoors and stay snuggled up with you through the holidays

you guys would most probably make hot cocoa (his grandma's recipe is amazing!) as well as bake treats together

he'd set up a tree and play cute Christmas music throughout the house as well

and even though you're not expecting it, bhodi would probably stack tons and tons of gifts under the tree for you

and on Christmas day when you wake up, you'll have tons of packages to open.

oddly enough, its everything from your wishlist. your private wishlist....

possible gifts you could receive: handmade sweater (he commissioned a small business to make it), some cute jewellery (if you wear any), a scrapbook with pictures of you guys together, and everything on your wishlist fr.

possible gifts he'd want: your used underwear, matching clothing for you and him, a nail polish set, pieces of your hair.

cozy boy Christmas, 10/10

max

red Christmas

max would probably try to attend all the Christmas parties he can in the human world

he's a ''tattoo artist'' and humans usually get stupid tattoos done at parties

if you'd like to come with, he's always game, but if not, then its cool as well.

when he's not tattooing crazy youths, he's usually wandering around the city with you

exploring the shops that are having sales or just having fun in the snow.

you guys would most def have a snow ball fight and make snow angels

or if you're not in the mood for that, you guys would sit on a park bench together as its snowing, and sip hot drinks as you laugh and talk all night.

and for the first time, max is wholesome enough to give you a gift with a handwritten letter confessing his love.

(and maybe at the end of the night, you guys feed off a random civilian just for fun :) )

possible gifts you could get: some expensive/ antique jewellery, something weird/niche that you mentioned wanting, something to support your hobby, a pet.

possible gifts he'd want: a new tattoo gun and needles, new pigments, new sunglasses, (let him tattoo you!!), a book in Japanese that he mentions wanting, your blood in a vial necklace.

red Christmas, 9/10 (its not for everyone)

memory

white Christmas

memory hasn't ever really celebrated Christmas

he's been alive for so long, and he's never been interested enough to want to partake

however, with you in the picture, its a little different

so he reads up about Christmas, the customs, the traditions and the modern day celebrations

he most def takes you to the Christmas fair in town, and buys you whatever catches your eye

he sets up a Christmas tree in his wing of the castle as well

he'd also like to bake cookies with you as per the human custom

if you're religious, he accompanies you to your place of worship (although its not his favourite place to be)

anything you want to do, he's there. he makes himself present and available for you

although he may not understand the hype, if it makes you happy, he's happy to participate.

possible gifts you could get: books, vampire themed stuffed animals, a new device/console, anything you thought about recently that he heard when he read your mind, a creampie.

possible gifts he'd want: books, more reagents, your hand in marriage, creampies.

white Christmas, 9/10.

[classicmemorialbenches]

What is the tradition of memorial bench?

The tradition of memorial benches dates back many years, and is rooted in the desire to provide a lasting tribute to loved ones who have passed away. Memorial benches are often placed in outdoor settings such as parks, gardens, or other public areas, as well as in private gardens or backyards.

Today, memorial benches are often seen as a way to honor the memory of loved ones, while also providing a peaceful and reflective space for visitors to enjoy. They can be customized with engravings or plaques that commemorate the life and legacy of the person being remembered, and can be designed in a variety of styles and sizes to suit any outdoor setting.

Overall, the tradition of memorial benches is one of remembrance and reflection, and provides a way to celebrate the lives of those who have touched our hearts and made a difference in the world.

[catholicism-connoiseur]

St Augustine's

Following the experience of confession in St Peter's, I was naturally curious to see how other local churches treated the sacred practice. The next church by distance was Saint Augustine's Catholic Church; colloquially "the Augustinian". A smaller church, far from the cathedral-like scale of St. Peter's, the Augustinian hosts a far cozier and homely atmosphere than the imposing stone structure that maintains a centrepiece of the town. It hosts a significantly more community-focused and welcoming mass than most that I have seen elsewhere, and includes (by comparison to most churches' narratives, quite radically) forward thinking themes and choice interpretations of scripture in its teachings. They even have gluten-free communion bread!

In matters of exterior presentation, the church features a Victorian Gothic façade established at the same time as the church itself, in the years 1859-1866. The church has no such grand spires that reach great heights as other churches in town, rather is a humble and unobtrusive structure that sits neatly on Shop Street between an antiquated bar and a local clothing store. A gift shop inhabits part of the church's entrance, providing an information desk as well as sale of religious paraphernalia.

Entering the church, one can feel a stark and noticeable contrast in the environment to that of St. Peter's, St. Mary's and many other churches. Simple changes in interior decoration make enormous difference to the ambience: for example, the carpeted floors and cushioned pews create not only a more directly comfortable and welcoming place of worship, they also aid in removing the cold air and echoes found in more barren, abstemious churches that seem to almost pride themselves on their lack of comfort. By comparison, the Augustinian's interior is akin to walking into someone's (albeit massively spacious and oddly furnished) home. The air is warm but not stale; the lower ceiling creates an easier space to heat than enormously tall cathedral-style roofs, but maintains enough height for good circulation. (A more extensive catalogue of the church’s interior and exterior architecture can be found at the National Inventory of Architectural Heritage, including specifications on the nave, roof, walling, gables, rafters and most every other facet of the building.)

One attribute that draws attention though, is the unique stained glass windows adorning the church’s front face and behind the altar. Best seen from the inside to fully appreciate the use of colour and the intricate idiosyncrasies of the craftwork, one of the church’s windows depicts an elegant visage of the titular St Augustine as well as St Monica. The Passion Window, fitted in 1928 and restored in 1994, was created by a Harry Clarke, an acclaimed Irish artist of stained glass. Before his untimely death in 1931, Clarke had crafted over 130 stained glass windows, many religious but many others secular: his expression was not solely based in Catholicism and often featured flora, fauna, commentary on social issues and macabre characters and details that even juxtaposed traditional Catholic stained glass depictions. His work featured in the Augustinian is a beautiful, complex piece and is a treasure to the parish and town alike.

Another feature that grants this church a more communal and welcoming atmosphere is the adjoined Garden of Remembrance. This secluded garden adjoining the church's southern wall is found through a (wheelchair accessible) walkway into the main patio, where stand five stone slabs surround a water feature memorial. The slabs, and a portion of the southern wall too, hold plaques bearing names of loved ones to those in the parish, be it family, friends or pets. The area can be visited as a tranquil and sacred place to honour and remember those who have passed. There are wooden benches and soft lighting that creates a cozy and comforting atmosphere. Lush foliage adorns the enclosure, including holly, juniper and some fruit trees among many other aromatic plants. The garden is also a frequent haunt of the church's resident cat, Monica (after the Saint).

Continuing to the Confessional portion of this review, though: A dark marble plaque at the entrance informs of the church's mass, vigil and confession times. Inquiring at the small shop inside the church, I was advised to arrive punctually, as confessions tended to be busy, and so the next Friday at noon, I sat quietly in line behind a half dozen or so people. As the priest approached and the line began moving, I was admittedly elated to see that the confessional booth built into the wall of the church was in fact being used! This brought into question why, despite having a booth present, the previous church, St. Peters, elected instead for a face-to-face confessional. But for the moment, my own turn had arrived, and I entered the booth.

The box was small but not too restrictively so. A short kneeling bar on the floor faced the panel through which one speaks to the priest. It was dim and slightly difficult to see, but I figured this to be largely intentional to maintain the environment of anonymity and confidentiality. I confessed my "sin" to the priest, and was met with a decidedly calm and composed response. He seemed somewhat amused at the tameness of the sin in question, and prescribed but a single Hail Mary as penance. Funnily enough, this remarkably lax repentance granted some credulity to the idea (proposed during the drunken group brainstorming session) that perhaps those who frequented confessionals would go to one church over another for a lighter penance.

To conclude, the Augustinian is a church that many could take notes from. With such a mass exodus (pun intended) from the faith in recent decades, it's become more clear than ever that in our modern social climate, staunch rigidity to dogmatic doctrine and antiquated ideologies is pathetically ineffective at maintaining a dedicated following, much less at encouraging greater numbers to join. Some churches around the town (and country) have even been repurposed into art galleries and secular community halls due to insufficient patronage. For the religion to find any kind of long-term support from this and future generations, the path to follow is that which the Augustinian seems to set out. A church that serves and uplifts the people, not the reverse.

St Augustine's Drogheda Church gets a solid 8.5/10. Hell yeah.

[kurthummel-vogueny]

Memories || Kurcher (03/30)

Kurt turned around a corner, after leaving Elliott and Lizzie at the mall, where the little 4 year old apparently seemed thrilled to get pampered at the spa, which luckily still existed. She was definitely her father’s daughter. Of course, he told Elliott where he was going, since there was nothing they kept from each other, and Elliott knew beforehad that Kurt would have wanted to see Archer now that they were back in LIma, even if for a little while. 

He knew the amount of time they spent chatting on the phone after they graduated and left Lima, how many times Kurt would nag the other to avoid what was to come, until their talks became less and less, with Archer spacing out when his 30th birthday came closer. And they didn’t talk again. Kurt knew what he was dreading, happened, and Elliott saw his husband breaking down over that.

Dressed in dark pink pants and a light burgundy shirt, he took a deep breath while making his way through the streets he had came to know so well, the town obvioulsy buzzing with the reunion that now had everyone busy with activities, special sales and other things. But he wasn’t distracted at all by that, and it wasn’t long until he reached the main square, the fountain still standing in the middle of it, and he looked around for an available bench, sitting down once he found it and crossing his legs together. 

His calm exterior had a huge contrast against the ranging battle the butterflies were fighting in his stomach. What would happen, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t leave town without seeing the man he once fell in love with so hard, even if it was only one time.

@archer-claringslave

[loathemetc]

A.I.’s Punk Mix #2

Earlier, I went to a church yard sale, and picked up a Christmas CD called “Yule Be Merry”. However, on the inside was actually a burned CD labelled “A.I.” and “Punk Mix #2″.

After giving it a listen, here’s a list of the songs that were on the CD:

Paramore - Whoa

The Classic Crime - All the Memories

Therefore I Am - I Get Nervous In Cars

All Time Low - Jasey Rae

Say Anything- But A Fleeting Illness

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Face Down

A Heartwell Ending - How it Feels to be Alone

A Change of Pace - Prepare The Masses

Alexisonfire - Drunks, Lovers, Sinners and Saints

Thirty Seconds to Mars - From Yesterday

The Audition - Approach the Bench

All My Heroes - A Fond Farewell

Best Interest - Piece Of My Heart

A Heartwell Ending - The Secret

Crash Romeo - Dial 'M' for Murder

Moneen - Tonight I'm Gone

Four Letter Lie - The Ordinary Life

Hawthorne Heights - Breathing in Sequence

Yellowcard - Gifts and Curses

A pretty good listen overall. The disc was scratched up but it played fine. Most of these songs are from 2006, though Jasey Rae seems to be from 2010 so that’s probably when I’d say this mixtape was made. Getting some conflicting information from Google about that I’m not exactly a bank of knowledge on All Time Low so I wouldn’t know. It’s fun to dig up people’s tastes like this like some sort of graverobber. I’d love to find more old mixtape CDs if I could.

[arttherapyportfolio]

Chapter 7: “A Misunderstanding and a Diaper”

In the quaint town square, under the warm afternoon sun, Ruby walked with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She was still adjusting to her new life, each step feeling like a journey into the unknown. As she strolled, Ruby became increasingly aware of an uncomfortable dampness spreading across her pants—a stark contrast to the gentle breeze that brushed against her skin.

Nearby, a woman named Clara, known for her nurturing nature and kind smile, was setting up a small stall for a charity bake sale. Clara, in her mid-thirties, had a warm presence that made everyone around her feel at ease. Her long auburn hair was tied back in a loose bun, and her eyes sparkled with a genuine care that was hard to miss.

As Ruby passed by, Clara noticed the growing stain on Ruby's pants. Her maternal instincts kicked in, and she approached Ruby with a gentle voice, “Oh dear, looks like someone had a little accident. Do you have any extra diapers with you, sweetheart?”

Ruby, taken aback and flustered, stammered, “No, I—I don’t...”

Clara, misunderstanding Ruby’s response as an admission of not having spare diapers, responded with a soothing tone, “Don’t you worry, darling. I’ve got you covered.”

Before Ruby could comprehend the situation, Clara had taken her by the hand and led her to a secluded bench behind the stall. The sudden shift from public scrutiny to a private, almost intimate setting left Ruby in a daze. Clara knelt in front of Ruby, her face radiating empathy and concern. She gently helped Ruby out of her stained pants, revealing her plain white underwear.

Clara opened her large tote bag, from which she produced a soft, pastel-colored diaper. Ruby’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked down at the diaper, its crinkly texture and playful design starkly contrasting with her adult sensibilities. Yet, as Clara unfolded it with practiced ease, Ruby couldn’t help but notice the comforting softness of the material.

“Lift up a little, sweetie,” Clara cooed, sliding the diaper under Ruby. As Ruby was gently lowered onto the plush padding, a wave of unexpected comfort washed over her. The diaper felt like a cloud against her skin, a sensation she couldn’t quite place but found oddly soothing.

Clara’s hands were gentle yet confident as she applied a light dusting of baby powder, the scent evoking memories Ruby couldn’t quite grasp. As the tapes were fastened snugly around her waist, Ruby felt a sense of security she hadn’t known she craved. Her heart raced with a mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and an unspoken longing.

Ruby looked up at Clara, her eyes wide with a turmoil of emotions. Clara’s gaze was nothing but caring, her smile warm and reassuring. In that moment, Ruby felt seen and cared for in a way that unlocked something deep within her—a vulnerability she had kept hidden.

With Ruby now in a diaper, Clara realized Ruby couldn’t possibly walk home in her current attire. With a strength that belied her gentle demeanor, Clara effortlessly lifted Ruby onto her hip. Ruby, still processing the whirlwind of emotions, found herself instinctively wrapping her arms around Clara’s neck. The world seemed to slow down as Clara carried her through the streets, the rhythmic motion of her steps lulling Ruby into a state of tranquil acceptance.

Upon reaching Elizabeth’s house, Clara rang the doorbell. Elizabeth answered, her expression shifting from surprise to a knowing look as she took in the sight of Ruby in Clara’s arms, diaper peeking out from under her shirt.

“Looks like Ruby had a little mishap,” Clara explained, her tone devoid of judgment.

Elizabeth, without a hint of shock, simply nodded and reached out to take Ruby from Clara’s arms. “Thank you, Clara. I’ll take it from here.”

As Ruby was transferred into Elizabeth’s arms, she felt a continuation of the care and attention she had received from Clara. The experience left her in a liminal space, teetering between her adult self and the unexplored comfort of being cared for like a child.

Clara waved goodbye, a soft smile on her lips, leaving Ruby in Elizabeth’s capable hands. In that moment, Ruby realized that her journey of regression had taken a significant turn, one that both frightened and intrigued her.

Chapter 8: “Diapers and Denials”

Ruby sat uncomfortably on the living room couch, the crinkle of her diaper audible with each shift of her body. The plush padding enveloped her in a way that was both foreign and strangely familiar, leaving her in a state of emotional limbo. She was acutely aware of the soft bulk between her legs, the gentle pressure around her waist from the snug tapes, and the faint scent of baby powder that seemed to permeate the air around her.

Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The comfort and security she felt in the diaper clashed with her adult sense of self. Ruby was caught between wanting to embrace the unexpected solace it provided and the urge to reject it outright as something not meant for her.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, looked on with a sense of self-righteous satisfaction. In her eyes, this moment was a long-awaited vindication, a confirmation of what she had always believed—that Ruby belonged in diapers. She saw Ruby’s current state not as a temporary mishap but as a return to where she truly belonged.

“I don’t need these,” Ruby insisted, her voice tinged with frustration. “I’m going to take them off.”

Elizabeth, unfazed by Ruby’s protest, simply smiled. “Oh, Ruby, you’re just being fussy. You had an accident, and it’s clear you need them.”

Ruby’s protests fell on deaf ears as Elizabeth decided it was time for them to go diaper shopping. They were out of diapers, and Elizabeth was determined to be prepared for Ruby’s “next accident.”

“No, I’m not going—” Ruby began, but Elizabeth was already scooping her up onto her hip.

As Elizabeth carried Ruby, she began to bounce her gently. Ruby felt the motion reverberate through her, the diaper adding a cushioning effect to each bounce. Elizabeth’s hand patted her diapered bottom rhythmically, a soothing pattern that slowly chipped away at Ruby’s resolve.

With each pat, Ruby felt her tension ebbing away. The physical sensation of being bounced and patted, combined with the security of the diaper, left her in a dazed state of calm. She found herself reluctantly leaning into Elizabeth’s embrace, her body relaxing despite her inner turmoil.

As they walked towards the store, Ruby’s mind was a tumult of emotions. She was embarrassed at the thought of being seen in public like this, yet the rhythmic patting and bouncing had a lulling effect that made it hard to maintain her indignation. She felt herself teetering on the edge of acceptance and denial, the diaper serving as a tangible reminder of the liminal space she now occupied.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was resolute in her belief that this was the best course of action. She spoke to Ruby in a soothing voice, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. To Elizabeth, this was a natural progression, a step towards embracing what she saw as Ruby’s true self.

As they entered the store, Ruby was acutely aware of the curious glances from other shoppers. The crinkle of her diaper seemed to echo through the aisles, a constant reminder of her current state. Yet, nestled securely on Elizabeth’s hip, with the gentle pats continuing, Ruby found herself in a conflicted state of comfort and embarrassment, unable to fully reject or accept the diapers that had become the center of her world.

Chapter 9: “In the Aisle of Acceptance”

The fluorescent lights of the store cast a bright hue over the aisles, making the products on the shelves stand out starkly. Ruby felt the weight of every curious glance, each whispered comment. The soft crinkle of her diaper seemed to echo loudly in the store, amplifying her sense of vulnerability.

Trying to assert her independence, Ruby wriggled in Elizabeth’s arms, attempting to break free. “I don’t need these! Let me down!” she exclaimed, her voice taking on a shrill tone. The more she struggled, the more infantile she appeared to the onlookers, further eroding her claims of adulthood.

Elizabeth, unflustered by Ruby's outburst, responded in a sing-song voice. “Oh, sweetie, you’re just being a cranky little one today, aren’t you?” She reached into her purse, producing a baby-blue pacifier. “Here you go, love. This will help you calm down,” she cooed, gently placing the pacifier between Ruby’s lips.

The pacifier’s rubbery teat felt strange and foreign in Ruby’s mouth, but its presence was oddly soothing. Almost instinctively, she began to suckle on it, the repetitive motion providing a distraction from her current predicament.

Elizabeth approached a store employee, a young woman with chestnut hair tied in a neat bun. “Excuse me,” she began, “we’re looking for diapers for my little one here. She’s had a few accidents lately, and we want to make sure she’s well-protected.”

The employee smiled warmly, her attention shifting from Elizabeth to Ruby, who was now more subdued, the pacifier working its calming magic. “Of course, we have a range of products that would be suitable. How old is she?”

Elizabeth chuckled, “Well, she’s not exactly a baby, but she certainly acts like one sometimes.” She patted Ruby’s diapered bottom for emphasis. “She’s had a couple of mishaps, so we’re looking for something absorbent and comfortable for her.”

The two women began discussing the various diaper brands and their features, from absorbency levels to fit and comfort. Ruby felt a mixture of indignation and embarrassment as they spoke about her as though she wasn’t even there. Every mention of “wetness indicators” and “leak guards” was a stark reminder of her current state.

Yet, despite her discomfort, Ruby found herself becoming more and more placated. The rhythmic motion of Elizabeth’s hand patting her bottom, combined with the soothing sensation of the pacifier, lulled her into a state of calm acceptance. Elizabeth occasionally leaned down to coo at Ruby, whispering words of comfort and reassurance.

As the two women continued their discussion, Ruby’s resistance began to wane. The pacifier, the diaper, Elizabeth’s gentle touch—all of it was conspiring to transport her to a place of security and comfort, a space where she was cared for and protected. The line between her adult self and her newfound infantile state blurred further, leaving Ruby in a liminal space of confusion and acceptance.

[53951683139]

I wrote a add in paragraph for the great Gatsby for my English class. Can people pls give me constructive criticism? I would first like to say that I have never considered myself a good writer so try to be nice if u can?

idk i googled Tribune 1922 to try and find ads and found this

I tried to add as much unnecessary description as possible

Also I’m pretending his train was at about 6-10 (sunrise) instead of 4

I think I did a decent job if I say so myself

Start of Chapter 3:

I wandered through Pennsylvania Station, the rising sun seemed as though it was electric bolts coursing through my eyes and into the back of my head. I slunk away from those glass panels, made into a prison by the wrought iron bars, forcing a weightless fragility. Should some street rat or one of the suited wall street men through a rock upwards the glass might come shattering down, but those wrought iron bars would continue to hold the thousands of travelers prisoner in its inflexible arms. I shook my head to knock myself back into active consciousness and looked with utter confusion at the Tribune sprawled across my lap; J.C.Penny promised new dress ginghams, perfect for summer, the American Bank inquired about my money’s safety, Ford’s one-ton truck was on sale for only $540, not for long though. I turned the page to a woman pointing directly at, her ink eyes staring through my soul, “J’Accuse” the words screamed in bold font, causing a shiver starting at my feet and traveling though every inch of my body. I threw the newspaper at my feet, had it suddenly lit on fire, prompting a sheepish girl with round spectacles that overwhelmed her unassuming face to stare audaciously at me with pointed blue eyes, while a crowd only looked sideways at me, pretending they did not notice. Embarrassed, I slowly reached to my feet to retrieve the newspaper, like a guilty child who knew his parents were waiting for him to return from boarding school with his report card preceding him. Opening it slowly, cautious as though the woman might jump out at me with her pointed nail like a sword, instead I half-laughed seeing that it was a movie, made by Abel Gance, promising the greatest climax in celluloid. The sheer absurdity of my abject terror to a movie advert was increased relizing this woman had nothing for her to j’accuse me of. I rested my shoulders back on the unforgiving iron of the bench to try to ease the heartbeat trying to break out of my head. As I let my brain wander through the open meadows of my mind, I smiled faintly. Last night still felt blurry and far away, like some distant childhood activity where details flow in and out on the waves of memory, but it had an air of pleasentness that I could not place. I was starting to piece the events together; Tom hit Myrtle, her blood flowed across that tapestry of faux luxury, I left the room about then, I think, McKee was in the elevator too and we made plans for lunch…

With the suddenness of a crash I couldn’t breath, everything narrowed into a cramped space as I fell to my knees choking for breath, each one feeling more ragged and desperate than the last. The world swirled around me into one of those new abstract paintings that disfigure reality. My throat clamored unsuccessfully for air, like Tantalus reaching for the taunting fruit so close to his head. My eyes wer pushed through a dark tunnel, fleeing from the disfigured world. Every breath took tremendous effort to gasp, I was drowning in an invisible sea, and the water was filling my lungs as I gasped and fought for each short hesitant breath.

As the world recentered and my breath regained some semblance of consistency, I could see a crowd gathering around me, murmuring incessantly, thousands of morbidly curious voices pushing closer, shoving me back into that disorienting painting. The burning taste of some stong whiskey from the sheepish girl’s small metal flask brought me close enough to reality to leave the crowds and head into the chill morning outside the train station. I was still gasping, struggling to maintain my lungs, grasping anything that’d hold me as though I was dangling over Niagara falls, every breath taking all of my focus to control and not slip back into that suffocating sensation. That memory, it had to be fake, some drunken invention. But just the thought immediately worsened my state so I repressed it until acknowledge it properly.

Once I had made it back to my humble house, like a molehill in the presence of great mountains, my thoughts still stuck in a thick, disorienting, mist. I collapsed onto the bed with a Gin Rickey in my hand and fierce determination to regain my composure completely. I let my mind wander back to that drunken night, there they were, all of them; Tom and Myrtle, Catherine, McKee… McKee. He stuck in my mind like “On The Alamo” and sang that one line over and over, and in all my dreams it seems I'll go where the moon swings low. I closed my eyes allowing the drunken remembrances to march back, like war weary soldiers, different men then those who marched on the battlefield with bloodthirst glory in their eyes; Tom and Myrtle, the blood, the elevator, then… It couldn’t be, not even in my drunkenness, I wouldn’t of, couldn’t of… But even with the intense shame, it was intensely alluring to recall… I don’t know what I’m saying, of course it was an awful thing to do, but… No that ridiculous, I’m stronger than the musings of a diseased mind. I have never given in to those perverted thoughts, those twisted daydreams that torture my closed eyes in moments of weakness.

Firmly I scolded myself and drifted into a restless slumber till a sharp knock, like a crack of thunder bombarded my door, reverberating off every room till it raced in and out of my ears. Like a somnambulist, I migrated slowly towards my door, grasping at couches to prop up my half-dead figure. At the door, a frighteningly correct butler, middle aged with a sturdy frame wrapped in a suit that had never seen a wrinkle in its life, looked straight at me in unspoken disapproval. My clothes from last night had embedded into my flesh and were peeling out as I struggled to stand upright, propping myself up with the doorframe.

“Mr. Carraway,” the butler said in a respectful tone that was painfully discordant, “Mr. Gatsby wishes for me to deliver this invitation.” I stuttered out a half thanks, lost in a haze, a deep fog shrouding my thoughts. The butler handed me the note, putting it in between my fingers to ensure it stayed in my hand and did not flutter to the ground as he removed his hand. He nodded in that almost sarcastically polite way and turned to leave me staring at the innovation from my elusive neighbor.

Yeah that’s it. Idk not awful I hope