#all the graves are especially old to my american mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redshift-starfire · 1 month ago

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Getting my thoughts on the election out since I've been seeing some squabbling on my dash and I wanna make a futile attempt at clearing shit up that probably won't change anyone's mind

I'm gonna get the president shit out of the way first. Just vote for the genocide woman if you live in a swing state. We (leftists) all hate her, we are all aware that she won't stop the suffering going on in Gaza or Lebanon or anywhere else and she's not going to do much good here. I don't like voting against my morals or best interest, but that was never an option for us. Our voting system is first-past-the-post, winner takes all, so if we don't ensure that the genocidal cop woman with some good policy doesn't get into that office, then we WILL get genocidal old orange billionaire "man" who is hellbent on making everything infinitely worse. It's much easier to bully the former into ending the genocide than the latter. The latter will get you shot by the national guard. Vote strategically then bully relentlessly. We need to get our shit together if we want things to change for the better.

But more importantly:

THERE'S MORE ON THE BALLOT THAN JUST THE PRESIDENT

Do not fucking forget about Congress and how much of a hand they play in all this. God fucking forbid the GOP get another trifecta, if they do it's fucking over, we can't let that happen again. Conservatives are going out in droves to vote early and we need to beat that. A dem majority (especially a supermajority) would make it infinitely easier for the progressive caucus to get their bills through. And that would make many things possible, including better border policy and a ceasefire. This is the best outcome we can hope to have.

VOTE FUCKING LOCAL

I've seen people talking a lot about conservative maniacs in office. THIS IS WHERE THEY ARE. GET. THEM. OUT. This election has State and Federal Senate and House seats up for grabs, Governors, Mayors, County Officials, Sheriffs. All people who have a much greater force on your personal material life than whoever's ass gets sat at that one chair in that one old ass building in DC. This is the one place in American politics where Socialist and Green party candidates are even anywhere close to viable right now and it's how we can get them to be more viable in the future. Do research and make your voice heard in your local area and conditions will improve no matter who the president is. Especially if you show up for primaries and runoffs. There's an independent journalist who makes leftist voting guides for my area and that's what I used to figure out who best to vote for (much more useful for primaries).

DO OTHER SHIT TOO

This is where you can do whatever really, so long as it helps. Poll watch to make sure the GOP doesn't try and completely derail this one. Cure ballots to make sure they're counted. Protest. Scream at people. Join a militia. Strike. Plan the revolution. Boycott. Jack off on Ronald Reagan's grave and post an image of the result on every social media site with the caption: "I'm doing my part!" Whatever. Go fucking wild. The most important thing is that you bully the shit out of whoever is in office until they do something. We by no means should only be doing one thing to shape this society into one we like. Reform/revolution is a false dichotomy. If we do both at the same time, one of them will work.

Do not let them know peace.

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acrossthewavesoftime · 6 months ago

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Top 5 Graveses!

My Deer Friend, that is a fun ask!

Samuel "Sam" Graves (1713-1787). Tough on the outside, very soft on the inside, his personality has captured my research interest. Often portrayed as a nepotistic old choleric (which to some degree he was) in especially older literature on the American Revolutionary War, the man below the public persona of the admiral was the exact opposite. A caring man who appears to have been well liked by his sailors and the local people near his home, he was surprisingly open-minded when it came to what we might call women's rights, the importance of giving your children an education (something he openly chastised his brother about in letters, finding his nephews had not received enough schooling), and by all I was able to learn about the family, very good with young people. His personal tragedy was that he was childless due to a medical complication he was aware of, but he filled this void with his brother John's children and his second wife Margaret's orphaned niece, Elizabeth, who would take very much after Samuel, developing an interest in technology and ships. What never fails to strike me is how he helped protect Elizabeth's best friend Mary Anne, who may fall under the term queer, given she stated during her lifetime that she had no interest in men, from a forced marriage.

Margaret Graves (1728-1808). "Mrs Admiral", feared by many, loved ardently by her husband. So much so that rumour had it that it was she who wore the trousers in their relationship. A tough lady who was independently wealthy and had never planned on marrying at all to remain in control of her fortune, it took her all of ca. 6 months to decide that she wanted Samuel by her side permanently. She was by all accounts difficult, outspoken to the point of often deliberate rudeness, and one of the first bluestockings, being a frequent visitor to Elizabeth Montagu's London salon. In her sixties, she caused a stir in Bath for dancing at balls, which was frowned upon due to her age. She did not care.

John Graves Simcoe (1752-1806). Is it cheating? I don't think so. But he was named for Samuel Graves, and called "Infant Graves" by the same in a letter written to young Simcoe's father around the time of John Graves' christening. I found the Graves' through Simcoe, when many years ago I watched Turn: Washington's Spies and mostly remained watching on account of the delightfully evil ginger menace, John Graves Simcoe. The question "he can't have been that bad, can he?" (spoiler: he was absolutely not, rater the opposite, really) led to a research rabbit hole that ended with me finding out about Simcoe's supportive quasi-family which he found in his godfather Samuel, who helped raise him from the time he lost his father at age seven on, and supported his godson well into his thirties. Samuel viewed him as part of the family, and therefore, he can make this list!

Jane Graves (1666-1767). The mother of Samuel and his siblings, her own life appears to have been quite interesting from what little information we have. She seems to have married comparatively late, and to a significantly younger man at that; she was 46 or 47 when Samuel, her youngest, was born. When her husband died, she must have cared for Samuel's inheritance, and raised her son by herself. Looking at her life span alone, she must have been a very interesting person to talk to, given she lived to 100 or 101, a period spanning from the year of the Great Fire of London to the year the Townshend Acts were passed and Joachim Murat was born.

Richard "Dick" Graves (1757-1836). The enfant terrible of the family, living largely off his uncle's benevolence and will to promote him in the Navy. Badly educated, bad with money and so spectacularly bad with women that Elizabeth, his uncle's niece by his wife, loathed to even be in the same room as him (which ended Samuel's hope of getting the two involved with each other). "Dick" as the family called him with very likely the same undertone as in the famous Jane Austen quote on the late naval officer Dick Musgrove in Persuasion, had so little going for himself that the family sincerely hoped he would marry a rich woman, as that was his only chance of finding a settled life. He was, as they called it "shown" around at social events for that purpose. He did manage to bag an heiress, but their life together was unhappy, full of finanical struggles as both spent more money than they had, and assorted fights with Aunt Mrs Admiral, the Simcoes, the Admiralty and other assorted people. He even agreed to be the second in a duel once, while also being a Justice of the Peace. He must have been a troublesome man, but somehow strikes me as a little interesting for that matter.

#ask reply #ask game #samuel graves #margaret graves #elizabeth posthuma simcoe #john graves simcoe #jane graves #richard graves #18th century #history

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gust-jar-simulator · 1 year ago

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I like the idea of Vio adopting some Gerudo traditions as a way of mourning Shadow and coping with his loss.

I base a lot of my Gerudo culture headcanons on ancient Egypt, even though my specialty is Mesopotamia and “ancient Egypt” is about as vague as saying “yeah I have a mammal in my house”. The time frame we’re looking at- ancient Egypt is so vast that actual ancient Egyptians had their own archaeologists studying their own past. So. Read my uncited and sleep-deprived fandom post with that in mind, and maybe go look up Hathor’s significance as a goddess of both mining and makeup, or the origin of the dog star. People seem to think Egypt was all about death.

Still, I’m here for goth blorbo posting, so talk of death it is!

For my personal headcanons, and Hyrule Historia’s debatable take on Shadow being made from Ganondorf AND Link- I think he was both an attempt at mocking Link, but also possibly an attempt to create a Gerudo hero. It must sting that not only can Ganondorf never win, but even his people suffer the short end of the stick. I’ll leave Shadow’s creation and the motives behind it up in the air, but- I do like the idea of him being somewhat racially Gerudo, if not raised in it culturally. Shadow is alone, running on emotions and instincts that might be his and might be the old hate of an endlessly reincarnated demon. His brain keeps spitting up random facts about the divine ritual significance of the king, flooding season and how to respectfully summon ghosts, and he has no idea what to do with any of this.

Until, of course, one day he brings home a cute nerdy twink to the evil castle and Shadow wants this guy’s attention So Bad. Cue poorly planned and half-understood infodumping that still earns him Vio’s complete undivided attention and possibly even cuddles. We don’t know what they were doing while Blue and Red tried not to die. Maybe they painted eachother’s nails while Shadow awkwardly coughed up random facts about Gerudo noun modifiers. (It would work on me)

Let’s fast forward.

Shadow is, for all intents and purposes, very dead by the end of things. While I love the idea of Vio descending into the guts of occult research hell to bring him back, there’s time between the end of the adventure and when- or even if- his attempts work. Research is one coping mechanism. How else does he want to remember Shadow?

Shadow wanted to be a person, above all else. Real, someone to be looked in the eye and respected. Nobody else is going to mourn him- who else would have cared enough, known him enough? The other parts of Link might try to understand for Vio’s sake, but they didn’t live it. They didn’t drink with him and toss around awful villain greetings like “vile morning your wretchedness”. The only people who don’t get graves or rites or anything are… well, being deliberately treated as less than people. And even if Shadow was a magic construct made of half a dozen things and the kitchen sink, enough of him was Gerudo for him to cling to it and say this, this is evidence that I’m a person too.

Something about the practice of religion that might not be immediately apparent to the average white American Protestant or culturally Christian atheist is that orthopraxy and orthodoxy are two different things. Correct action versus correct belief, essentially. In the ancient world, it often didn’t matter if you “believed” in a god, especially if you were in a high political position- the motions still had to be performed. It was taken as a matter of fact that the ghosts needed to be given bread and the rash on your neck was a sign of a god’s displeasure that could be interpreted via medical divination.

I’m vastly simplifying it because this is a fandom post and I’m running on two hours of sleep, so I’ll cut to the chase- it doesn’t matter if Vio “follows” the goddess of the sands or any other deity, or even none at all. If he thinks Shadow would have wanted beer and bread left out for his ghost, according to how any real person would be honored, I don’t think it’s out of the question that he might just do that. Plus, I think Vio would be invested enough in how Shadow would want his memory to be treated that he’d do the reading and maybe hop over to the Desert of Doubt to ask the Gerudo for proper funerary details in person. Again, it’s not like Shadow would have any other family or friends to fill the role.

Vio absolutely has a little sketch of Shadow in his room with a glass of water and a little plate next to it, and when Blue leaves a giant platter of stress-baked cookies outside his door he shares them with his dead boyfriend. I’m just saying. The guy may be dead but the love is not.

#the goth vio saga #vidow #pagan religion rambles in my Zelda? it’s more likely than you’d think

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torithy · 1 year ago

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Best Served Cold | A Hustle Fanfiction

I know, retro, right? I haven't written a jot in what feels like forever, and I was casually rewatching this show and was totally taken by surprise by the urge to scribble something down. It turned into this...

“You didn’t all have to come, you know. Especially not in this weather.”

“Don’t be silly, Albie. We wanted to support you. Where else would we be?” Stacie Monroe chided gently, slipping her arm through the dapper older gentleman’s as they ambled through graveyard, well wrapped up against the bitter chill and with the rest of their crew in tow.

“I appreciate it, my dear,” Albert Stroller said, a heavy sigh escaping nonetheless. “Just seems like the goodbyes come ever more frequently these days. Perils of turning into an old man like me, I suppose.”

“Ridiculous,” Stacie scoffed, her fondness for her companion bolstering her need to lift his spirits, regardless of their sombre surroundings. “You’re not old. You’ll outlive us all.”

He humoured her with a smile of his own, but it died long before it could light his eyes, his heart clearly not in it.

“It was a travesty, you know. What happened to Wesley,” the American mused, almost more to himself than anything else.

“Wes Winters, the Ice Man,” Ash Morgan nodded, clapping a sympathetic hand on Albert’s shoulder as he fell into step with them. “I’ve heard all the old stories.”

“The Ice Man, because of the surname?” Stacie guessed.

“That and he had a thing for boosting diamonds,” Ash grinned. “Only crossed paths with him a few times, but like I said, I heard the stories. Couldn’t believe it when he got sent down like that.”

“Wesley was a true grifter,” Albert said, a rare sharpness to his tone. “One of us. He would never.”

“Hey, easy now, Albert,” Ash held his hands up in a swift sign he’d get no argument from him. “No one’s saying he did.”

“The police did. The courts did. Those bastards took him from his family, ruined his legacy, and made sure he spent his last years behind bars. And for what, I ask you?”

Stacie and Ash exchanged concerned glances at how upset their friend was becoming, especially as they knew he wasn’t getting any younger, no matter how much they all liked to try to deny the inevitable. But before they could turn to the rest of their crew to try to distract him, someone else seemed to do just that, stopping him in his tracks not far from the grave they had just circled back to while giving him a chance to stretch his legs and clear his head after the less than uplifting church service they had all just sat through.

Following his shrewd gaze, they spotted a lone woman stood by the as-yet unmarked mound of fresh soil, head bowed. A mane of wavy blonde hair tumbled from under a black baker boy cap, down the back of a long white overcoat worn over an all-black outfit of skintight trousers, sweater, scarf and suede boots that stretched over her knees. She cut the same solitary figure she had in the front pew of the church that had been dotted with only a few others beside themselves.

A poor show in Albert’s mind. One his old friend hadn’t deserved.

“Skylar Winters,” he said, with a nod in her direction for the benefit of the others. “Wesley’s youngest daughter. I remember her from when she was just a little girl.”

“Not so little these days,” Danny said, eyebrows raised as he tilted his admiring gaze, incorrigible as ever, no matter what the occasion. “Hey, I’m just saying. It’s a compliment.”

“Do you want to pay your respects, Albie?” Stacie asked, ignoring the interjection. “We can come with you, or give you space if you’d prefer…”

Albert considered for a moment before making up his mind and patting her hand gratefully. “Maybe you could all come with me, just for a few moments? Might bring the young lady some small comfort to know there were still some of us who believed in her father.”

“What was his story again?” Danny asked, sauntering along, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the snow that was beginning to fall lightly again. “I know you said he ain’t guilty of whatever the hell it was that landed him in the clink, but not gonna lie, I do lose track of your many, many acquaintances, Albert. What can I say? You’re too popular for your own good.”

With another sigh, Albert spoke quickly as they drew closer to the graveside. “Wesley Winters earned his Ice Man monicker grifting diamonds from wealthy owners who were themselves of the less scrupulous kind. Those whose greed led them to purchase their jewels with ill-gotten gains, or who showered them on mistresses behind the backs of their unsuspecting wives, or ever bigger marks who dealt in blood diamonds and all manner of associated corruption. In all the years I knew him, he never even came close to getting caught. Not by the authorities anyway.”

“And still he ended up getting a life sentence,” Mickey supplied, the look on his face grave. It was after all his own worst fear, that one day the house of cards would spectacularly crash and burn, despite their meticulous best efforts.

He never revelled in the misfortunes of fellow grifters, but he did hope the others would take them for what he strongly felt they were – cautionary tales.

“Life?” Danny echoed. “Shit, musta been a helluva grift gone wrong.”

“It was a set-up, pure and simple,” Albert rounded on them, his usually calm face lit with anger and his voice stern. “Supposedly cold-blooded murder, the strangulation of an innocent woman over a diamond necklace – mark my words, Wesley lived by the grifters’ code. He. Would. Never!”

It was snowing harder now, large heavy flakes swirling from heavy grey clouds to the frost-baked ground as the cold air turned their breath to steam.

“All right, all right, simmer down, old man or you’ll do yourself a mischief,” Danny exclaimed, with a lightness that didn’t quite cover the genuine concern at the core of his words. They all looked to their veteran companion as a father-figure and afforded him the same love and respect they would have had he actually been blood. Moreso in some cases, given their less than conventional upbringings. “Come on, you can introduce us to the lovely lady…” ***

“Albert,” the blonde woman said, looking up at the mannerly intrusion on her solitude and managing a fond smile as she tried to discreetly wipe stray tears away with a gloved hand. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot, all things considered.”

“Your father deserved more, my dear. It pains me to have to say it. I had hoped more would remember the old days and see fit to honour one of their own.”

“I was never going to get my hopes up,” Skylar Winters shrugged, with a forced casualness she clearly didn’t feel as she glanced curiously at the rest of the small group huddled just a little off to one side and seeming unsure of whether or not they should be there. “Not even grifters want to associate themselves with a convicted killer.”

“You know how much truth and justice there was in that,” Albert said, adding in case it wasn’t clear. “Not an ounce. Not one.”

“Still,” she said, taking a deep breath after she seemed to consider that for a moment and looking round at them again. “Quality over quantity, eh? Sorry, I can’t quite place you all, but I know dad thought so highly of you, Albert, and he would have been chuffed to know the renowned Mickey Bricks showed up for him.”

“I’m only sorry I didn’t get to know your father better,” Mickey said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Allow me to introduce you,” Albert said. “Everyone, Skylar Winters – Skylar, Michael Stone you’ve just met. This is Ashley Morgan--”

“Ash Morgan,” she mused like it was familiar. “Fixer extraordinaire?”

“Best in the business,” Albert nodded, seeing said fixer looked likely to shrug off such praise in the same casual way he always did. “And this is our good friend and colleague Stacie Monroe and--”

“Danny. Danny Blue,” came the interruption, almost before Stacie could make any acknowledgement, a hand gripping Skylar’s for a firm shake as piercing blue eyes locked on hers. “Don’t tell me what you’ve heard, darlin’, I’ll only blush.”

“He won’t,” Stacie said wryly. “He’d need a sense of shame for that.”

“Tell you what, my dear, we were just thinking of going for a quiet drink,” Albert said, seeing the young woman shivering despite the layers of clothing and realising she wasn’t the only one. He’d thought maybe it was just his old bones feeling the cold, but it seemed the weather was taking its toll on all of them. “We’ll give ourselves a chance to thaw out, reflect on old friends, raise a glass to better times. Why don’t you join us?”

She hesitated, considering. There was something both appealing and terrifying about the alternative prospect of returning alone to the empty house she had once called home and the remnants of his father’s shattered existence. The shrug came almost before she realised she’d made up her mind.

“Sure, why not.” ***

“I’ll get these,” Albert said, as the crew duly traipsed into their usual haunt, waving off the faint protests he got in response. “No, no, I insist. Skylar, my dear, you’ll join us in a small medicinal whiskey, or would you prefer something else?”

“Whiskey’s fine, thanks,” their guest agreed, following the others as they made their way to a booth, Ash and Danny slipping in on either side of the table.

Much to Danny’s disappointment, and despite his pointed looks, Skylar slid in beside Ash, while Stacie took a seat beside him with a little smirk and Mickey sat on her other side, leaving the final space beside Skylar for Albert.

It was a tight enough squeeze for the six of them, but after the chill of outside, no one really minded the close quarters.

“Eddie, mate, crank the heating up, will ya?” Danny called to the landlord busy pouring their drinks. “It’s bleedin’ brass monkeys, innit!”

Eddie paused just long enough to roll his eyes, realising Albert had already ambled off without paying, leaving him to deliver their round to the table. “Won’t pay the bar tab, but still expect to add to the overheads,” he groused, although it didn’t stop him loading the glasses with their generous amber measures onto a tray and ferrying them to the booth.

“To absent friends,” Albert said, having eased himself into his seat and removed his hat and scarf before raising his glass solemnly. “To Wesley.”

“Absent friends,” the others echoed. “Wesley.”

“To dad,” Skylar murmured, ducking her head as tears pricked at her eyelids, yet somehow just a little heartened by the gentle clink of glasses against hers, and taking a small sip of her whiskey.

“That’s off the top shelf,” Ash noted, savouring his. “How’d you talk Eddie into that one, Albert?”

“I didn’t,” the older gentleman sounded surprised, but a glance towards the bar showed their sometimes reluctant host already back in his rightful place and tipping a glass of his own in their direction.

“To the Ice Man,” Eddie said simply.

“See, my dear, your father’s name still means something,” Albert said, with a sad smile. “To those who matter.” ***

The reminiscing had taken them down many a meandering path, one drink turning into two, then three. Ties had been loosened, Stacie had kicked off her heels below the table and Ash, having checked no one objected too much, had a lit cigarette idling between his fingers.

Given the place’s unofficial status as a grifter haunt and the various plots those walls had been party to over the years, from the elaborate and sublime to the frankly ludicrous, flouting smoking laws was hardly much of a concern.

“What?” Danny demanded suddenly, a mixture of “Who me” innocence and righteous indignation crossing his face under Ash’s enquiring stare. “Why ya looking at me like that?”

“If you’ve got something to say to me, Danny-boy, just say it,” Ash shrugged, the quirk of his lips suggesting he knew exactly what the blond across the table was trying to do. And to whom. “Instead of playing footsie with me all evening.”

Danny floundered, caught out as the others – including Skylar – laughed heartily. “Yeah, well… You wish, mate, you wish.”

“Danny, Danny, Danny,” Skylar grinned, a little of her old sparkle having returned to her green eyes in the face of good company and free-flowing alcohol. Even just a few hours spent with the crew had definitely revealed who the utterly shameless flirt was. “You and me, I’m just gonna say it – you and me? It’s a non-starter.”

“Hey, no, look, that’s not what… Um, why is that exactly? If I was curious. Which I’m not saying I am.”

“Come on,” she shrugged, gesturing between them as if it should be obvious. “This… I’d be…” she trailed off, already laughing as she thought about it. “I’d end up being Sky Blue!”

Snorting at the peals of laughter from everyone else around the table, Danny shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, first, your name’s Skylar, sweetheart. Skylar. And secondly, now who’s getting ahead of themselves? Cos I do not recall proposing. And trust me, I would. Recall, I mean. Not propose. No one’s proposing, so you can all just calm right down--”

“Steady, Dan, you’re sweating,” Ash teased, getting a dirty look in return.

“Poor Danny,” Stacie pouted, slinging her arm around his shoulders. “Are the grown-ups picking on you?”

“Would you comfort me if I said yes?” he shot back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, even as she both laughed and tutted at him before turning her attention to gathering her coat and bag from where she’d stashed them in the corner of the booth behind him.

“Listen,” Stacey said. “I know you boys are dying to play poker or whatever it is you do to amuse yourselves until the next shiny thing distracts you, but I was going to call it a night. Skylar, do you have far to go? We could share a taxi if you like.”

“Thanks, Stacie,” the other woman smiled gratefully. “That’s probably a good idea. It’s been a long day and I can’t put off going home forever…”

“Well, now, forever’s… Forever’s a long time,” Danny mused carefully. “But I mean, in the meantime, you could certainly come home, you know, with me… I’m just saying.”

“Why do I feel like Stacie’s the safer bet?” Skylar smirked.

“Because you have the grifter gut instincts of your father,” Albert said.

“And they’d be correct,” Mickey added, already producing a pack of cards from seemingly out of nowhere. “Stace, if you’re sure you don’t want us to come with you, you’ll let us know when you’re home safe? You too, Skylar?”

“Of course,” Stacie said, dropping a little kiss on their leader’s temple before he eased himself up just long enough to let her slip gracefully out of the booth, back in her towering heels. “Goodnight, boys. Night, Albie, you take care.”

He smiled as she kissed his cheek and then also stood to let Skylar make a similar move out of the booth and pull her coat back on, tugging her long hair free of the collar. “Skylar, don’t be a stranger. And remember, if you need anything, there are places where your father’s name still carries the weight it’s due. Not least with us.”

“I’m so grateful, Albert, really,” she said quietly, giving him a little hug before glancing around at them all. “Under better circumstances, this would have been fun. As it was, you’ve made a tough day that little bit easier. Goodnight, guys.”

“Night, darlin’,” Ash said. “Good to meet you.”

“Night, Skylar,” Danny said, a little cheeky grin creeping over his face as he reached across the table, to press a phone into her hand. “Yours, I believe. May have some extra numbers now. Never know when you might need ‘em.”

“How did you…?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tapped the side of his nose. “We’d have to get a lot closer before I start spilling trade secrets. A lot… closer.”

“Really?” Ash said dryly. “Cos it ain’t ever stopped you before.” ***

“So you’re going back to your dad’s old place?” Stacie asked, as Skylar added an address to the instructions she’d already given the cabbie.

“Yeah,” the blonde sighed. “Someone has to sort the place out, go through his things.”

“You sure that’s something you want to be going back to tonight, straight after the funeral, on your own? I mean, I’m sure you could stay with us for a night or two. It’s a lot to take on, especially on your own.”

“I guess I feel like if I don’t face it now, I’ll bottle it completely,” Skylar confessed. “The house, it was comfortable once, but it’s been pretty much abandoned since dad went inside. I couldn’t bring myself to…”

“You don’t have to explain. Do you know what you’re going to do with it?”

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Ever since the prison called to tell me about dad, my head’s been all over the place.”

“Understandable,” Stacie sympathised. “Oh this is me. You’re sure you’re going to be ok? If you change your mind and want some company, just call – here, let me give you my number. To go with Danny’s.”

Skylar laughed at that in spite of herself, thanking her new friend as they parted ways and then sinking back into her seat again as the cab pulled away to continue the journey through the darkness, passing under pools of neon cast by the street lights.

The end-terrace townhouse, when they finally reached it, stood in shadows. Three gloomy stories towered over the quiet street, ivy stretching up the façade and the leaves of tall trees at the end gable brushed against upstairs windows.

Skylar paid the cabbie and stood in the street watching as he drove off. It felt for long moment like she’d been left entirely alone in the world and that alone was enough to make her heart sink and the warmth of the whiskey fade.

At least until a crash almost made her heart stop, only the yowl of a wronged neighbour cat causing her to curse her jumpiness and try to shake it off as she climbed the steps to the front door.

The brown envelope wedged in the letterbox caught her eye straight away and she tugged it free before unlocking the door and stepping inside to fumble for a light switch, finding only a small hall lamp on a table by the door. She probably would have discarded the mail right there until the morning, but she noticed it had been addressed by hand and bore no postal marks which struck her as slightly odd in the circumstances. And odder still, closer examination revealed that it was not actually, as she had so naturally assumed, for her father. Instead, her own name stared back at her.

Probably a sympathy card from someone who didn’t know her personally, but assumed she would show up at the house sometime.

Or not.

Ripped open envelope in one hand, contents in the other, Skylar sank down on the stairs, a past she thought she’d long-since buried racing up to meet her.

#hustle #bbc hustle #stacie monroe #danny blue #ash morgan #albert stroller #fanfiction #hustle fanfiction #fanfic #mickey bricks #adrian lester #robert glenister #jaime murray #marc warren #robert vaughn

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blnk338 · 1 year ago

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RWYS creative notes :3 part 5????

In chapter 35, Reaper chooses to wear what she would have usually worn around her mom— she also continues to wear flannels, jeans (ripped and not ripped). She does this subconsciously because it’s what she used to wear in her youth, absentmindedly going to her roots as she’s back in Cincinnati

Some folks may also notice that she reverts to a lot of the Midwest humility/politeness/vocab.

There's a reference to Makarov in RWYS. But I'm not saying where ;)

I finished up Inside Job just before writing RWYS and I think that Reagan might've been a factor in how I wrote Reaper. Her as well as Ellie from TLOU and Vi from Arcane!

I partially based Reaper's dad off of Joel from TLOU

Chapter 8: Cutting Onions and Cutting Ties was almost "Putting a Bandaid Over a Bullet Hole."

In that same chapter, there's a moment where Reaper asks her mom if she really misses her dad. Of course, her mom is taken aback, because, of course, she misses her husband. While Reaper's mom misses her husband, there's a large part of her that misses the idea of a perfect family rather than the man himself. She was in denial that she neglected and abused her child; in her mind, they were the perfect picket fence family. So again, yes, she misses her husband, but she also misses the picturesque perfection that they had, or so she thought. That is what Reaper was pointing out in her question on whether or not her mom missed her dad. More along the lines of, "Do you miss him or do you miss the idea of him and what we could've been with him still around?"

...Again, chapter 8... Yeah, that was Ticci Toby. I honestly just felt like adding him in for the hell of it, plus a little memoir to an old fanbase, and I had a bunch of people go ":0000 IS THAT--" Yes, yes it was.

On top of that comment, I made Toby a bit of a light in the dark. Especially at the end of their interaction, Toby chooses goodness over judgment. He's surprised at Reaper's appearance, but he's not disgusted. There's a clear sudden disconnect within her and instead of getting weird, he wishes her well. I had Toby there as sort of a lighthouse for Reaper if that makes sense. In the fog of all the bad shit that happened to her in Cincinnati, there was Toby, giving her one last salvageable interaction before her ship sailed away.

"A gun to his head and a gun to his head" -- I had SO much fun writing that sentence, I thought I was so clever LMAO

Laswell and Tiffany's house was based roughly off of my grandmother's house :)

I hinted that Ayla, John's ex-wife, is a lesbian

To properly write Rigo's tongue getting stuck in Chapter 12: A Very Merry Garfield Christmas, which was one of my favorite named chapters so far, I actually held my tongue and read his lines out loud to make it as accurate as possible.

In Chapter 15: It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Warcrime, Reaper calls Graves a pig. This was not only mocking his initials (Phillip Isabella Graves) but it was also a reference to her blaming him for the cop murdering her father.

A little construction fact: American buildings and Eastern European buildings are quite different when it comes to their structural construction; looking back, I actually wrote the structures of Chapter 15 with American buildings in mind because I am so used to looking at them (I used to work construction)

Please also notice that Graves consistently demanded Reaper for the information and REFUSED to let her hold any of the documents/evidence they collected.

Reaper fought Price (incredibly briefly) in the same chapter to hide the dog tags. Again, Graves demanded all the information to be handed to him. She explains Graves would incinerate Tahoma's dog tags; it was later mentioned that Graves would do anything to get rid of any information on Tahoma. Keep this in mind constantly.

Chapter 15: It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Warcrime's title is based on the MCR song "It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish." It was also originally the title of the chapter, but I felt that Graves' actions were far too impactful to not be mentioned in the title.

Along with that, Graves actually broke the Geneva Convention in that chapter! "Article 36 of the 1949 Geneva Convention II provides that “medical and hospital personnel of hospital ships and their crews shall be respected and protected”" Graves deliberately endangered Reaper and put her in a situation where she would most likely die. As a medic, she has special protections (stated above) and therefore, adds another war crime onto Graves' list. Oh yeah, she's also an allied soldier that was endangered under the command of a higher-ranked officer, but that's not that important... (/S /SARCASTIC)

I actually have removed a lot of scenes involving Zhao due to the fear that people find/found her therapy sessions boring or lackluster. I actually find her addition to RWYS crucial, but much of it could be told from Reaper's POV (ex: her flashbacks to their sessions). Regardless, I am withholding a lot of Zhao scenes because I don't want things to be boring.

#rwys cn #rwys notes

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fuckyeah-dragrace · 2 years ago

Text

Ready, Set, Fight!

it’s done! it’s finally done. first of all, i’d like to thank @sweetestberryofthebunch and @thecollectionsof for helping me through this, you guys are amazing so so helpful everything because this was a BEAST to figure out and they have been such amazing friends so, send some kudos their way!! enough of that now, let’s get into some intense hytesdoll!!

----

Everyone was chatting up a storm, dressed in a rainbow of colors only emphasized by the beige and bland walls of work, separating and creating a lively party scene. The work week was done, snow was coming down in festive flurries, all good omens for a great night. Laughter bubbled in the room, filling it high and rising to the ceiling before popping and showering everyone in a warm hazy glow of joy.

Jan was giggling at some sort of joke, cheeks rosy from the chill at the open window or maybe her first sips of wine ever. Jackie was chuckling too, Jan swaying slightly and bumping into Jackie as she gave a warm smile that seemed to trickle over to Jackie. Kameron was quietly chatting in the corner with Asia, getting the brunette to roll her eyes at whatever old story from Tennessee the redhead swore was true on her grandmother’s grave.

“Would it like, kill you or something to smile for once?” Vanjie teased, champagne flute in hand as she nudged Brooke’s shoulder abruptly. “Come on B, it’s an office holiday party! What more is there to love?” Brooke rolled her eyes and stepped away from her, taking a glass of champagne from the table.

“Sorry, V. Just been thinking,” she said, nails tapping against the glass as her eyes glanced over to the empty hallway and vacant entrance, no heels clacking against the floor or obnoxiously loud chattering echoing down the halls.

Vanjie hummed. “Yeah, I'm sure. Thinking my ass,” she mumbled, drinking from her glass, “she still has time to get here, B. She’ll show up.”

“And how do you know that, Miss Mateo?” She arched a brow at her friend.

“Oh I have my ways. Don’t you worry a little hair on your pretty blonde head, Brookie Cookie.”

Brooke groaned. “I thought that nickname died after we broke up.”

“You know that name won’t ever die as long as I’m still here walkin’ this earth.”

“So I’m being haunted before I’m dead? Great. Just what I needed.”

They laughed, sipping the now room temperature champagne together.

The night continued on and everyone loosened, drunk on happiness and joy and the magical something that always came around in the winter. Brooke was laughing with her friends, cheeks aching from how much she was smiling at some old story Vanjie was telling. Kameron finally cracked a smile and Brooke actually believes that Jan and Heidi’s minds melted at the sight of the stern woman finally showing something other than pure and undeterred focus.

———

“Are you sure we aren’t arriving too late for this party? It started nearly an hour ago.” Dame asked, her nails tapping against the black silk covering her thigh. Nicky scoffed and adjusted the thin strap of her dress.

“Mon ami, we are French. It is our natural birthright to be late; fashionably so, might I add.” The blonde was touching up her makeup as they stood in the elevator, fingertips barely gracing her lips as she wiped the edges.

“But this is a social event. We cannot afford to lose what little footing we have, especially after what you said happened with Miss Hytes.” Nicky made a face in her small mirror and Dame mumbled an apology at the mention, focusing on the ground to avoid the blondes light glare.

“Tonight is a night to have fun. Don’t think about the company for even a minute. Let loose, have fun, get drunk off cheap American wine and when the mood is right, I will give that woman a piece of my mind, understand?” She looked over at her friend, watching her nod in agreement. “Good.”

She pursed her lips gently at her reflection and smiled, satisfied with her work as she dropped her compact into her small hand bag.

“Now let the fun begin.”

“Nicky! I thought you weren’t going to show up!” Jan said, perking up at the sight of her friend. She smiled widely and got off the couch excitedly, arms pulling her friend into a tight hug.

“You know I like to make an entrance, Janice.” The French woman chuckled, hugging the young woman back just as tightly. Dame had drifted off to the side, drink in hand as she talked with some girl Nicky couldn’t remember the name of. She smiled, seeing the tall girl smile and even chuckle it seemed before she slipped into conversation with Jan and Jackie easily. Of course her eyes periodically glanced around the room as she looked for a certain someone, not noticing how close Jan seemed to be leaning in when Jackie started telling some story from when she and Nicky were in college.

“And then we keyed that professor's car, right Nicky?” Nicky broke away from her gaze into the crowd with a hum, turning to Jackie and nodding with a small quirk of a smile.

“Well that’s what he gets for making fun of an immigrant.” She grinned as Jan cackled, leaning back into the couch. She excused herself and went to get a drink, stepping out of the lounge and into the small kitchenette they had in the office. She exhaled deeply and grabbed herself a glass from a shelf. There was a bottle of wine on the counter and she wasn’t going to let it go to waste. She poured a generous amount of wine, her grip loose and haphazard on the bottle but she somehow managed not to get a single stain on her dress. Lord knows she was going to need some sort of crutch tonight if she saw her which she knew she was going to. Really, all she was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“Hey! There’s my girl.” Jaida said, coming up right next to Nicky’s face.

“Putain de dieu! Jaida! Are you trying to kill me?” She cursed, looking at her friend. “You nearly made me spill my wine.”

“God forbid a French woman loses her liquor.” The brunette chuckled, hopping onto the counter and taking the glass from her, sipping gently as her friend huffed. Nicky watched her and crossed her arms, her unbothered image seeming to melt in an instant as she started tapping her foot.

“So, is she here?” Her voice was quiet, checking over her shoulder for anyone coming in or out and possibly catching them.

“Yeah she is. Might not be her considering how much I’ve seen her smiling.”

“Really? So the ‘Queen of the North’ really can show more than just an unbothered bitch face. I will believe it when I see it.” She chuckled, relaxing slightly. “Are you sure your ‘oh so amazing, foolproof plan’ will work? I haven’t seen her once.”

“Relax, Nicky. I know it will. You should’ve seen the way Brooke was looking all around that little conference room. Looked like, at least to me, that she was looking for a certain someone.” She nudged her shoulder, drinking again from the glass. Nicky felt warmth grow in her chest and she smiled a little more. Even after the stand still they had been at, she still looked for her and cared, or at least some small part of her did and that was all she needed to know. All she needed was an inch, a single centimeter, anything that Brooke could give her and she’d make it count. She nodded and smiled to herself a little.

“You actually think this will work?”

“Girl, has any one of my plans failed before?” Jaida asked. “Brooke likes you. Like likes you a lot. All you need is a little moment for something to happen.” She dangled the wine glass between her fingers loosely and Nicky reached for it before Jaida yanked her hand back.

“Uh uh. You don’t need this. You need to go and find that blonde devil and talk to her. Don’t need any alcohol messing up what you have to say.” She put the glass down, reaching her hand over and squeezed Nicky’s shoulder gently. “Go check near the balcony. You know how she likes one of them death sticks every now and again.”

Nicky smiled and rubbed her friend's hand before stepping away. “Jaida, I owe you big time.”

“Damn straight you do. I should get best best friend of the year for this matchmaker shit I’m pulling.” She scoffed with a proud smile, down the wine in one go and pouring herself more. “Now go find you lady!”

Brooke was leaning against the railing, metal cool against her forearms as she watched the bustling city. The little lights looked like tiny bugs crawling around the sidewalks and roads from up here. She had wandered off from the party after the 3rd embarrassing story Vanjie found so important to tell everyone at the party. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been out there, but the chill had set in a little while ago and she could feel her cheeks now rosy and not her normal light dusting of pink.

“Of course the Queen of the North escapes to her frozen hide away.”

She turned around at the door and looked at the voice she already recognized. She bit the inside of her lip as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Little Miss CEO finally decided to show up.” She snarked back. “Glad to be graced with your presence. Beautiful as always, like a true doll.” She drawled out, glass between her fingertips as she watched Nicky’s hands clench into a tight fist and her lips press into a thin line.

“Thank you, Madame Hytes. I’d say the same to you but I wouldn’t want to inflate your ego more than it’s already enormous size.” She said after regaining her composure, giving the taller woman a polite smile, standing ramrod straight to take up as much room as possible. The silence settled around them in a strangely comforting way as they looked at each other, taking in the bits and pieces that seemed to have appeared. She had a different shade of lipstick, a new necklace, even the shape of her nails seemed to have changed, pointed but with a touch of gentleness in the curve. Brooke turned away from her and brought the cigarette to her lips, the smoke leaving them in wisps Nicky could barely see from her own visible breaths in the cold.

“That’s it? Nothing else to say to this inexperienced child?” Nicky egged on, her nails drumming against her forearms. She stayed inside and watched Brooke's back, fully on display with the dress she had chosen that night; satin hugging her thin waist and flaring out over her long legs like liquid luxury.

“Oh I have plenty to say. Depends on if someone’s willing to listen.” Nicky grit her teeth for a moment and felt her body heat up. All she could hear for the past few weeks every time she made a mistake was Brooke’s low voice taunting her, teasing her and she could feel her restraint snap when she looked over at her with her piercing blue eyes.

“Now I will be heading back inside to people who value what I have to say. Good ni-”

“I have something I want to say first.” Nicky cut her off, finally stepping onto the concrete floor of the balcony and into the chilly night. Brooke stopped and looked at her, taking in her small frame and how it filled the balcony, radiating with something fiery that beckoned Brooke to listen and stay put. Nicky breathed in and out before looking back at Brooke.

“You see me as nothing more than a child playing dress up, but I can assure you that I don’t take matters with my company lightly.” Her eyes set on Brooke’s in narrow slits, a stone cold stare returning to her face. Brooke squared her shoulders and stared hard at her as if entering an arena to battle for blood.

“I am young, yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how hard work builds a name. I’ve worked for everything I’ve had: opportunities, bookings, every little chance to get our name out there was my work. I got us there so don’t you dare think that I am some spoiled little girl with no concept of character and ethics.” Her voice was harsh and her cheeks grew red and Brooke knew that it wasn’t from the cold. Nicky’s small frame came closer to her as she grew more and more impassioned, her head tilted up to look at her.

Silence settled around them as Brooke absorbed everything Nicky threw at her, not so much as a hair falling out of place of her stone cold character. Nicky could only pinpoint the surge of anger coming through her, her body hot and pulsing like a wave of electricity running through a live wire. Sparking and ready to burn.

“Honestly, I think you should be grateful you received some of those pictures. They were quite beautiful, if I am allowed to say so.”

Silence again.

“And frankly, I think you need to loosen up a bit and have some sort of fun and not be such a stone faced bitch.” She huffed, having finally gotten everything off of her chest. Pure euphoria dripped into her stance as her breaths filled the silence, little puffs coming in on some sort of rhythm. Brooke was still just standing there, her stance unchanging and eyes neutral in her concentrated stare. Nicky blinked and felt another wave of anger. Still even after spilling everything she had, that cold hearted ice queen could barely give her the time of day and it drove her manicured nails into her palms.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Nothing?” Nicky scoffed and watched how steady Brooke's breaths were. Even uniform puffs of white in the cool air.

“I’m not going to feed into a child’s tantrum.” She finally snapped back, her natural cold tone cutting more than the crisp air making Nicky’s nose red. She hid her satisfied grin with her own fiery glare that had a suspicious twinkle, as if she was craving this battle of wit. Now it was her time to strike.

“Like I need advice from a CEO who had to partner with this child to save her latest release.”

“Excuse me? How dare you-“

“Haven’t you read anything online? ‘Hytes modeling: brink of crumbling’. It’s everywhere! If anything, you should be thanking me instead of treating me like such a nuisance because I’m the one that’s giving your name any value.” Before she knew it, Nicky was pushed back inside and off the balcony and against the pale ivory wall. It all happened so fast and the next thing she knew her hands were pinned to the wall and gasped, seeing Brookes face mere inches from her.

“You think you have any right to speak to me like I didn’t pave my way through the mud for this company?” Her voice was low and rumbled in her chest with a deep seeded rage that Nicky had never seen before. She’d seen Brooke annoyed and most certainly pissed off but she always managed to keep a pageant fake smile on her face but now it was like the dam had broken and every bit of anger was rushing to the surface out towards her. She was completely still, barely taking in breaths so as to not make the situation any worse. Her demeanor changed, that playfully snark gone from her eyes now replaced with a still hesitation as she watched for Brookes next move. She hated the party of herself that subtly, just barely pressed her thighs closer together as Brooke came even closer towards her face, feeling her hot breaths as she watched her nostrils flare.

“You have some nerve to treat the coordinator for your next runway photoshoot like dirt beneath your feet.” Her grip didn’t loosen her grip and her stare stayed trained on her, her jaw clenched as she embodied a starving predator before their prey. But Nicky managed to smirk and use what little bit of French cockiness she had left, tilting her chin up to stare down at Brooke, noses nearly touching.

“So she likes to be on the bottom now? How interesting. Maybe I can help you with that later.”

The distance shrank down to zero as her head was pushed back with a dull thud into the wall as she felt pillow soft lips against her own. The sensation was all consuming as every thought went out the window, all she could think about was Brooke Lynn Hytes kissing her like she was the last woman on earth. It felt like a dream but oh-so-real as Brooke dwarfed her with her strength, pushing hard against Nicky’s lips and her teeth pulling her bottom lip between them. Every part of her was sparking and alight with energy, her wrists pushing against the strong hands gripping her like a vice in some futile attempt to gain back the straws of control. Nicky whined, hoping and praying to god that the noise was muffled somehow by their lips but from the slight curve against hers, she knew she heard it.

They broke apart for air and Brooke had a smirk drawn on her face as Nicky leaned forward, trying to chase her cherry red lips. Her cheeks were a perfect shade of hot pink that was starting to spread down to her neck, blooming over her chest. Her eyes were glazed over in a lust filled haze, eyelashes fluttering as if she was ready to fly away. Her lips were plump and parted just a bit as she took in little inhales, her impeccable lipstick smeared just enough around the corners to ruin her professional persona.

They stayed separated, just staring at each other as the dust settled around them. Nicky could feel Brooke’s hot breath against her lips as her hand came up to her cheek, gently stroking over the pink flesh with her thumb in a way that made her head spin.

“You think you can help me, pretty girl?” Her voice was low and syrupy, dripping into Nicky’s ear with a sickening sweetness that made her clench around nothing and she knew with the small quirk of those deep red lips, Brooke noticed. Sharp eyes dragged down Nicky’s body and she swore she could burst into flames as she watched a hunger set into those bright blues.

She somehow managed to say without stuttering, “I know I can,” her voice barely above a whisper. A low chuckle came from Brooke as her thumbs caressed the tender flesh on the inside of Nicky’s wrist. It was an innocent touch in nature, but the way her nail periodically would catch the skin ever so slightly sent sparks down her body straight between her thighs.

“You never fail to amuse me, pretty girl.” This couldn’t possibly be real. This can’t be real. Not even ten minutes ago Brooke was ready to rip her throat out and now she’s dousing her in compliments and pet names. It was wrong, it shouldn’t be happening but it was so fucking hot. She squirmed and tried to work against her hands on her wrists but couldn’t. Her body felt like a flame and it needed something, someone to make the burning stop and save her from the depths of her desire.

Her eyes ran over Nicky’s body like a vulture, drinking in the state she was in up against the white wall. Writhing under hold, thighs rubbing together, barely suppressing down those sweet sounds Brooke so desperately wanted to hear her make. She wanted to make her squirm, make her beg, make her scream her name and have everyone know that this was who she really was. A desperate, pretty girl all in her control.

“Why don’t we take this elsewhere, Doll?” Her breath up against her ear and nearly making Nicky’s eyes roll back.

“Yes.” She whispered quickly, barely letting a beat of silence come between her words. That same smug smile met her gaze and white hot need ran through her, begging for some sort of relief.

“Good.” She kissed her again and drew out a moan from the depths of Nicky’s chest. She let go of her hands and they wrapped around her neck, pushing herself into her arms. Soft skin against expensive fabric filled their senses as Brooke gripped Nicky’s hips, pulling her as she walked backwards to an empty spare room.

“Let’s see what you got, Doll.”

Nicky barely remembered anything before she was pulled into the darkness and into Brooke’s arms but the one thing she did recall was how wholly and easily she slipped. She fell right into her trap and the worst part that turned her stomach inside out was the fact she didn’t want to leave. She was stuck and she didn’t want to leave.

#rpdr s11 #brooke lynn hytes #rpdr s12 #nicky doll #hytesdoll #office au

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 year ago

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Re: fall out boy question

YES! I feel mostly the same way tbh! The main way I rank my favourite to least favourite is which songs end up most in the top 10 but then I also put a lot of weight on the sentimental value of it, part of the reason why I quite often rank new fall out over their older stuff is not because it’s better music but because I have so many memories associated with the newer albums as I listened to them (save rock and roll, American Beauty American psycho and Mania) religiously throughout highschool and they got me through a hell of a lot of teenage angst. But it’s amazing how well it actually stands up to scrutiny versus like Twenty One Pilots who I also listened to during my angst phase and although Vessel is a good album it doesn’t even hold a candle to something like Save Rock and Roll.

It’s only recently that I’ve actually started to listen and enjoy a lot of the older stuff because my music taste has shifted slightly (not majorly) but I definitely slept on Take This to Your Grave and even to some extent Infinity on High and Folie (heinous I know) and they’re just chefs kiss.

All the albums have their own merits and my rankings are so fucking messy cuz they’re more based on my feelings than the music itself. Basically my ranking if it was based on sentimental value would be totally different to ranking based on which has the “best” music (even though I stand by the fact they’ve never released a bad song let alone a bad album *cough* panic at the disco with Viva Las Vengeance *cough*)

related to this

Oh, nice! I can see that. And, yeah, I feel you--Fall Out Boy has a lot of sentimental meaning to me, too. I dealt with a shit ton of mental health problems growing up (ans I still deal with them), and their music definitely helped me through all that as well as through the regular, non-disordered teenage angst, lmao. Though, I will forever have a soft spot for SRAR because that was my introductory album to FOB. I was too young to have heard their pre-haitus stuff as it came out. I've since gone back and fallen in love with all the older stuff and a fuck ton of their solo projects, but, yeah, the stuff I was there for on the ground floor has some extra memories.

Also, my own high school memory of them is that I decided I didn't give a fuck about if other people found it cringy or not, I just had to do it... I had a FOB lyric as my senior quote, "you are what you love, not who loves you," from SRAR.

I also listened to a lot of TØP and P!ATD, but I never got fully into them the way I did with FOB (and, to some extent, MCR).

I'm glad you've gone back and listened! I love, love, love the old stuff. I personally have a music taste that's ALL OVER THE PLACE, and I feel like FOB gets most of the credit for it. They introduced from a whole new world away from radio pop, country hits, or classic rock. It's not just that their albums sound different, but because I got so into FOB and they all talk about their different musical backgrounds over the years, I began to consume all these different genres. Treating it like music recommendations. And I especially started listening to hardcore since that's where their roots lie. I fell in love. Hardcore, rock, metal, punk, etc. All the little sub genres of each, too. Nu metal, black metal, heavy metal, metalcore, etc., etc. I love it.

That's fair, though, rankings are often messy and all over the place anyway. Everyone has their own ears and opinions.

(I bought Viva Las Vengeance on CD before I listened and... I was pretty disappointed. I think it's good pop, and I don't mind pop music. Not at all! It's just not what I was expecting from Panic! Even as a follow-up to Pray For The Wicked, which was pretty pop-ish, too. Although, I must admit that the theory that the song "Local God" is a letter to Ryan Ross makes me actually love that song, lol.)

Thanks for giving me an excuse to rant about music, lmao.

#asks #fall out boy #Spotify

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donpishya · 2 years ago

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The irony of Buchanan is that if he had never been elected, he probably would've been remembered purely in a positive light.

He was non-confrontational, a people pleaser, and a liiiittle bit of a kiss-up, which are excellent traits to have in an effective, peace-keeping ambassador; which he very much was.

They are NOT excellent traits for a strong, unifying leader; especially during a time when civil unrest was escalating. In fact, his wishy-washy approach only served to worsen the situation.

Moral of the story: The same measures will not suit all circumstances.

Several Northerners bemoaned Buchanan's incompetence amidst the early stages of the Civil war and longed for Jackson

Oh for an hour of Old Hickory!" - Fitz-Henry Warren, Dec 16, 1860

People were so desperate for Jackson to come back and save the union that certain areas actually cast their votes for him, desperately hoping he'd return from beyond the grave like an American-esque King Arthur to save them. People were voting for Jackson 15 years after he was put into the ground. The best part? There'd be people still voting for Jackson decades later.

Buchanan was loyal to Jackson when he was alive and Jackson, while he didn't necessarily hate Buchanan, wasn't a fan of his wimpy brown-nosing.

There's one funny story where Buchanan learned that a distinguished English lady was going to visit, so Buchanan suggested that President Jackson quickly discard his 'commoner' clothing for something more upscale.

Jackson, in good ol' Jackson fashion, replied:

"when I went to school, I read about a man who minded his own business and made a fortune at it."

SAVAGE 😂 😂😂

I guess my image for him wasn't that off😂

From what you said, it really looks like Buchanan was just really not the guy for a president. I kinda feel sorry for him in that part. He must of didn't know what to do with the situation. But at the same time he did want to be president...😑

15 years after Jackson's death and people still voting for him, and even after?!! They must've been really desperate for a strong leader. I can understand it but woah...

Aw, I kinda feel bad for Buchanan in Jacksons little story with him...🥺

And Jackson is just savage here!😂

#質問 #james buchanan #andrew jackson

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kammartinez · 1 year ago

Text

https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/07/27/rules-for-reading-dirda/

Paperback or hardcover? Used or new? Let’s talk about our book habits.

Michael Dirda

Over time, all readers acquire an array of personal, often bizarrely eccentric rules and routines that govern — or warp — how they interact with the printed word. For example, some people will buy only crisp, new trade paperbacks and wouldn’t touch a used book on a bet. Fear of cooties, perhaps. Do you remove the dust jacket when you sit down with a novel? I always do. Can you read (or write) while listening to music? I find this impossible, which is why you’ll never see me working at a coffee shop. What follows is a list, in no particular order, of some of my other reading habits and “crotchets,” to use an old-fashioned term. Perhaps you will recognize a few of your own.

Hard- vs. softcover

I almost always prefer a hardcover to a paperback and a first edition to a later printing — except in the case of scholarly works, when I want the latest revised or updated version of the text.

Typeface troubles

My heart sinks when I see a desirable book printed in eye-strainingly small type. Publishers must imagine that only eagles will read it.

Books as gifts

I will spend any amount on gift books for my three grandchildren, now ages 8, 6 and 4. Those same grandchildren exploit me mercilessly when we visit Powell’s Books in their hometown, Portland, Ore.

Follow the flag

As a collector, I follow the flag: that is, American editions for American authors, British editions for British authors.

Remainders

I’m deeply irritated by remainder marks — those little red dots, black lines or other insignia with which publishers deface the bottom of a remaindered book’s text block.

Deciding what to read

These days, I expend preposterous amounts of time dillydallying over what to read next. Like Tennessee Williams’s Blanche Dubois, I want magic. It might be found in the enchantments of a novel’s style, the elegance of a scholar’s mind or simply the excitement of learning something new. So I try a few pages of this book and that, restlessly hoping to start one that finally keeps me spellbound.

What I look for in used book shops

In secondhand bookshops, I always look for sharp copies of 1940s and ’50s paperback mysteries, especially Gold Medal titles featuring sexy women on the cover — the best illustrations are by Robert McGinness — or Dell “mapbacks,” which show the scene of the crime on the back.

Plastic covers: No

I find the heavy-duty dust-jacket protectors, commonly used by public libraries, utterly repellent and always remove them whenever I acquire (not often) an ex-library book.

One is never enough

I can’t stop myself from picking up extra copies of favorite books. I own multiple editions of Cyril Connolly’s “The Unquiet Grave,” Joseph Mitchell’s various collections of New Yorker journalism, and E. Nesbit’s novels about the Treasure Seekers and the Bastable family.

Books aren’t commodities

I despise — viscerally, perhaps irrationally — the people one sometimes sees at used book stores scanning every title with a handheld device to check its online price. They regard books strictly as products and usually don’t know anything about them, only caring about what they can buy low and sell high on Amazon or eBay.

Price stickers

Libraries and secondhand dealers sometimes affix ugly labels or price stickers to everything they sell. I soak these excrescences with lighter fluid, so that — with luck — they can be peeled off without abrasion.

The joy of variety

Over the years, I’ve tried to gather the best or most entertaining works in various fields that interest me. That means the literature of almost all genres and time periods, but also books about art, classical music and the history of ideas. As a working-class kid I daydreamed about owning Henry Higgins’s library, as seen in the film version of “My Fair Lady.” While I’ll never have that wonderful room, I now have the books.

Finding a needle in a haystack

I feel insanely chuffed at recognizing scarce and desirable works that have been overlooked or underpriced. I once paid $5 for an inscribed first edition of Zora Neale Hurston’s “Tell My Horse” in a very good dust jacket. Try to find a like copy today.

How many books to pack?

I never climb on a plane or take a trip without at least two books, the second as backup.

Getting kids to love books

Anything that teaches a young child to love reading is fine, including — to speak from experience — superhero comics and Mad Magazine. To my mind, though, high school English classes should avoid works by living authors and instead emphasize canonical “classics.” Young people will gravitate to their contemporaries as a matter of course, but they won’t read Shakespeare or George Eliot or Walt Whitman or Frederick Douglass on their own.

Covers are art

I keep an eye out for pulp magazines with iconic covers. Thus, I own the August 1927 “War of the Worlds” issue of Amazing Stories illustrated by Frank R. Paul, the June 1933 Weird Tales featuring Margaret Brundage’s daring art for Robert E. Howard’s “Black Colossus,” and some wonderful examples of the Shadow, All-Story, Blue Book and Dime Detective magazines. I’m still looking for an attractive, yet affordable, early issue of Black Mask.

Read grammar books

Every year or so, I dip into guides on how to write, and not just William Strunk and E.B. White’s “The Elements of Style.” I regularly fear — perhaps with good reason — that my prose isn’t just sturdy and plain, like Shaker furniture, but actually stale, flat and dull.

Make a mark

Except for beautifully printed or rarely found books, I read almost everything with a pencil in my hand. I mark favorite passages, scribble notes in margins, sometimes even make shopping lists on the end papers. To paraphrase Gibbon on the Roman Emperor Gordian’s 22 acknowledged concubines, my books are for use, not ostentation.

Check the title pages

Rule of thumb: Always check title pages of used books for author signatures or interesting inscriptions. I’ve found first editions autographed by H.G. Wells and Eric Ambler on the $3 carts of secondhand dealers.

Writers as recommenders

Whenever an author I admire mentions a favorite book in an interview or essay, I make a note to look for a copy.

Kondo-ing books

One of my favorite daydreams — I know how pathetic this sounds — is imagining a month in which I do nothing but cull my books, then properly arrange or even catalogue those that remain.

Keep a notebook handy

I regularly copy favorite sentences and passages from my reading into a small notebook I’ve kept since I was in my early 20s. Examples? “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.” — Immanuel Kant. “The primary function of education is to make one maladjusted to ordinary society.” — Northrop Frye. “Love is holy because it is like grace — the worthiness of its object is never really what matters.” — Marilynne Robinson.

Greet old friends

When I’m in a bookstore and notice works by dead authors whom I once counted as friends, I silently say, “Hello, Tom,” “Looking good, John,” “Wish you were here, Alice.”

Buy only what you will read

Mine is a personal library, not a focused collection. I never buy any book I don’t hope to enjoy someday. True collectors, by contrast, aim to be exhaustive and inclusive, gathering all sorts of material they have no intention of ever reading.

One person’s discard …

During my afternoon walks, I always check out Little Free Library boxes and blue recycling bins. I like to see what people have been reading and drinking.

No screens

I’ve never used a Kindle or any type of e-reader. I value books as physical artifacts, each one distinct. Screens impose homogeneity.

Value a home library

I regret that the ideal of a home or family library has pretty much vanished along with door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen and sets of the “Great Books of the Western World.”

Leave old books as they are

Any bowdlerization, “sensitivity editing” or rewriting of older literature is absolutely wrongheaded. Books aren’t something one approves or disapproves of; they are to be understood, interpreted, learned from, shocked by, argued with and enjoyed. Moreover, the evolution of literature and the other arts, their constant renewal over the centuries, has always been fueled by what is now censoriously labeled “cultural appropriation” but which is more properly described as “influence,” “inspiration” or “homage.” Poets, painters, novelists and other artists all borrow, distort and transform. That’s their job; that’s what they do.

Well, I’m a critic

After years as a literary journalist, I no longer feel I’ve really read a book unless I write something about it.

#books #reading

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kamreadsandrecs · 1 year ago

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https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/07/27/rules-for-reading-dirda/

Paperback or hardcover? Used or new? Let’s talk about our book habits.

Michael Dirda

Hard- vs. softcover

I almost always prefer a hardcover to a paperback and a first edition to a later printing — except in the case of scholarly works, when I want the latest revised or updated version of the text.

Typeface troubles

My heart sinks when I see a desirable book printed in eye-strainingly small type. Publishers must imagine that only eagles will read it.

Books as gifts

I will spend any amount on gift books for my three grandchildren, now ages 8, 6 and 4. Those same grandchildren exploit me mercilessly when we visit Powell’s Books in their hometown, Portland, Ore.

Follow the flag

As a collector, I follow the flag: that is, American editions for American authors, British editions for British authors.

Remainders

I’m deeply irritated by remainder marks — those little red dots, black lines or other insignia with which publishers deface the bottom of a remaindered book’s text block.

Deciding what to read

What I look for in used book shops

Plastic covers: No

I find the heavy-duty dust-jacket protectors, commonly used by public libraries, utterly repellent and always remove them whenever I acquire (not often) an ex-library book.

One is never enough

Books aren’t commodities

Price stickers

The joy of variety

Finding a needle in a haystack

How many books to pack?

I never climb on a plane or take a trip without at least two books, the second as backup.

Getting kids to love books

Covers are art

Read grammar books

Make a mark

Check the title pages

Writers as recommenders

Whenever an author I admire mentions a favorite book in an interview or essay, I make a note to look for a copy.

Kondo-ing books

One of my favorite daydreams — I know how pathetic this sounds — is imagining a month in which I do nothing but cull my books, then properly arrange or even catalogue those that remain.

Keep a notebook handy

Greet old friends

When I’m in a bookstore and notice works by dead authors whom I once counted as friends, I silently say, “Hello, Tom,” “Looking good, John,” “Wish you were here, Alice.”

Buy only what you will read

One person’s discard …

During my afternoon walks, I always check out Little Free Library boxes and blue recycling bins. I like to see what people have been reading and drinking.

No screens

I’ve never used a Kindle or any type of e-reader. I value books as physical artifacts, each one distinct. Screens impose homogeneity.

Value a home library

I regret that the ideal of a home or family library has pretty much vanished along with door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen and sets of the “Great Books of the Western World.”

Leave old books as they are

Well, I’m a critic

After years as a literary journalist, I no longer feel I’ve really read a book unless I write something about it.

#books #reading

0 notes

acetrainermags · 3 years ago

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Pokémon Adventures Chapter 10-14: The One With The Scene

Chapter 10 finds Red in Vermillion City, where he encounters the Pokémon Fan Club. They’re… an eccentric bunch, to say the least. The club chairman thrusts a copy of their newsletter into Red’s hands, and we’re given this cursed panel:

Red’s expression really says it all: I don’t think I actually want any more context for these headlines.

Upon finding out that Pokémon have been going missing in town, Red decides to investigate. He sneaks aboard the ship docked in the city, where he meets Lt. Surge.

(Side note, I'm absolutely losing my mind of the henchmen's faces in the background)

Surge is a fascinating character, even outside the manga. His name and appearance make it clear that he was a soldier at some point in his past, though as far as I can remember, this isn’t directly mentioned in Pokémon Adventures. In the main series games, he’s explicitly stated to be a U.S. soldier (his title was literally “The Lightning American” until recently), and he fought in a war.

I know that there’s a popular fan theory around the games that there was major war somewhat recently, but I’m not sure it applies here. In any case, I wish we got a little more clarity on Surge’s character in the manga, especially given his relevance in later volumes. Or maybe the man just likes the camo aesthetic. Who am I to judge?

Surge deals with Red by knocking him out with electricity and tossing him into the ocean… or so he thinks. Sensing Red’s distress, Poliwhirl evolves into Poliwrath and brings Red back to the surface. Poliwrath defeats Surge and his Electabuzz with a Seismic Toss, and the stolen Pokémon are safely returned to their owners.

Next thing we know, Red is participating in a Pokémon bike race to try and earn some quick cash. He tries to take a shortcut through a forest, which works at first, until…

“Blorg”

Also, I noticed that money bags have the symbol for Yen on them. Pokémon has its own currency, simply known as Pokémon Dollars, but I’m guessing that wasn’t commonly used when this was written. I’ll have to watch in later volumes to see if it gets referenced again.

Following the bike race, Red arrives in Lavender Town, everyone’s favorite haunted village. There’s a lot to talk about in these last few chapters of this volume.

The people of Lavender Town aren’t very friendly, but Red eventually meets Mr. Fuji, who is paying his respects to his dearly departed Pokémon, Doduo.

A couple things here: I’ve always been unnerved by the idea that Pokémon can actually die. Logically it makes sense – they’re biological creatures after all, they’re not immortal. But there’s just something unsettling about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. But this comes up in the manga rather often, so I’m sure I’ll write about it more in the future.

On another note, it’s fascinating to look back and see how willing the “old” Pokémon media was to reference real-world religions, like the cross that marks Doduo’s grave here. It reminds me of Pokémon anime episode where Ash and company were lost at sea, and Brock referenced the Biblical story of Noah. As a child, I remember watching that episode with an acquaintance and he asked, “Is this show Christian?” I wasn’t sure how to answer.

Anyway, Red finds out that Blue was in Lavender Town recently. Blue went to go investigate the rumors of ghosts in the Pokémon Tower, and he hasn’t been seen since. In what is either a concern for Blue’s safety or a need to prove he’s just as brave as his rival (or probably both), Red runs to the Pokémon Tower to make his own investigation.

The Pokémon Tower is full of nightmare fuel, in case anyone was wondering. I don’t consider myself squeamish, but, uh… no thanks.

Red finally finds Blue and together, they face down the person responsible for the ghosts, none other than Koga of Team Rocket. Shout out to Red for not being intimidated in the slightest.

This is also the first time we see Blue and Koga interact. Keep that in mind for the future.

And it would be impossible to write about the first volume of Pokémon Adventures without discussing The Scene. You know which one I’m talking about.

And objectively, it’s a GOOD SCENE. We get to see Blue’s ingenuity and how he’s able to outsmart one of Team Rocket’s elite, and Red gains some newfound respect for his rival’s ability. Plus, it gives Koga a reason to desire revenge later on. It’s great writing!

But this scene has been ruined by the internet, as the internet often does. It gets paired with clickbait headlines like “The DARK Pokémon Series!!” which is… disappointing to say the least. Actually, I can’t stand it. It’s exhausting to keep seeing online edgelords try and make themselves sound cool because they read the “mature Pokémon” manga.

Like, these are from well-known gaming/geek websites. You can do better than this, Polygon. I know it.

Pokémon Adventures has so much more to offer than just extra violence. I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: What makes this manga so good is its commitment to telling good stories.

Pokémon as a whole is about wonder and exploration – it presents us with a colorful, unfamiliar world and invites us to discover its secrets. Pokémon Adventures doesn’t appeal to an older audience because it’s “dark and gritty,” but because it takes that childlike wonder and expands on it with endearing characters and engaging plotlines. Boiling it down to just “edgy Pokémon” is a disservice to the manga itself and the fans who enjoy it.

We've seen so many amazing things just in the first volume! That's what makes Pokémon Adventures so good - the adventure.

Whew. That was a lot.

Vol. 1 ends with Red saying farewell to Mr. Fuji and continuing on his journey. I’ll be writing a wrap-up post about this volume soon, then it’s on to vol. 2!

#forgive me for talking about the Arbok Scene #it had to be done #Pokemon #Pokemon Adventures #Pokespe #Pokemon Special #Pokemon Manga #Pokespe Red #Pokespe Blue #Blue Oak #trainer red #trainer blue #Pokespe RGB Arc #Pokespe vol 1 #Dexholders

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thewholecrew · 1 year ago

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@headstrongblake: rev & nick. / verse: all american.

they couldn't help the wide grin that spread across their face at the outraged gasp that came from nick at the action. was it incredibly overdramatic that they chose to do that? yeah, but gramps wanted something to take his mind off of octavia so why not be a little extra? wasn't like it hurt them that bad, especially with it having healed in only a matter of moments. rev's grin lessened though as nick stepped back, a brow raising and wondering for a moment if they'd genuinely frightened him.

that thought fled the moment their eyes met and rev could see the amazement in them, a smirk curling on their lips as pride swelled in their chest. "just the way i am," rev offered unhelpfully before a laugh escaped them. "oh, and i can't even fight ya using my full strength," they admitted with a shrug, "shatter your brittle bones, old man," they teased before adding in a grave tone, "but you can't tell anyone? not a damn soul, got it? or you'll severely regret it." their threat perhaps even more significant now that he's seen parts of what they can do.

how? it was a simple question with a complicated and brutal answer however, rev wasn't going to tell nick about that. not about their childhood and their mad scientist of a father. no way, fuck that. "well, i could tell you the sparknotes version or i could just show you," rev offered with a shrug as they began to back up. "you believe in the supernatural, nick?" they asked as they leaned sideways against a tree, looking down at their hand in front of them as they forced their nails to slowly begin growing into pale and sharp claws. "honestly, i don't really think i do but, i mean how can i not with what i am...?" they trailed off, claws then retracting back to form their natural human nails again while aqua eyes lifted to meet nick's once again.

"promise me you won't scream like a little girl?" they asked with a smirk, pushing themselves off the tree. they then kicked off their shoes, hands going under their sweater to remove their binder. luckily for both nick and them, rev was a master at shifting forms now. unlike hunter, the shift was seamless, quick and painless. the distortion and change of their body fluid like a rolling wave starting at their feet as it rose up and crashed over them. a sea of fur erupting along their body as it changed, clothing tearing away as they tripled in size. they lunged forward now with a snarl, a dark grey wolf the size of a large grizzly bear landing in the space rev had put between them.

large paws sunk into the mossy earth with a thud, lips curling to show off their pearly white canines as those same sharp, aqua eyes locked with nicks. with a full body shake of their fur, relief flooding through rev as the worries of their human form disappeared and their wolf self then simply lowered their upper half to the ground, ears perking as their gaze turned friendly. they offered him a wolfy grin, head tilting as their tail wagged as if they were just an oversized puppy. ta-da! is what that meant.

@thewholecrew : rev & nicklas.

at rev’s offering of a fallen tree, his brows drew together, hand coming up to scratch at his beard. okay…perhaps that was more logical than the idea nick had conjured up within seconds. there was a chance he was overrreacting. that he was seeing things that weren’t there. hearing things and reacting in the worst case scenario way because lately…that’s all it’s been. & now, his nerves are fried from it all. he offered a gruff nod, ignoring rev’s comment about nicklas stalking them. already he’s borderlining there, and he knows it.

a stiff chuckle came forward, nicklas mirroring rev’s crossed arms as he casually shrugged. no, he couldn’t just talk to kassy because she’s doing all that she can to hold herself together while they wait for octavia to open her damn eyes. "listen…i get it, i know.” nick nodded. after the fire and what had happened with grant all nicklas had wanted was to be alone. its why he’d become such an ass to kassy, erupting with anger and now here he was, forcing the same on rev. “i know that’s why…” nick’s about to come out with another form of an apology when rev caught his attention, eyes narrowing as rev moved closer to him.

“rev, what the fu…” a shocked gasp left him, head shaking as he nearly took a step forward. but rev held up their hand, telling him to just wait. “what are you talk…” his voice trailed off as he watched the blood the trickled from the wound rev gave themselves slowed until almost magically, the wound closed. as rev cleaned the blood from their arm, nicklas’ head shook disbelieving what he’d seen with his own eyes. instead of peering forward, reaching to touch rev, nicklas took a step back, eyes shifting up and down rev for a brief second, before remembering how that’d gone last time.

nick brought his gaze back to rev, amazement twinkling in the depths of his blue eyes. this…this certainly had his mind working and turning quickly away from octavia and the hospital. nick choked out a scoff, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards as he watched rev. “pfft, if anythin’ you just got more explainin’ to do…like how the hell you did that…and…” eyes widen as the log rolled away with forced despite rev’s gentle nudge. “and that…jesus know wonder your hit has me seein’ stars, that’s… extraordinary. how?”

#headstrongblake: nick.#verse: all american.

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tgon · 2 years ago

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The Nightmare Room #9, Camp Nowhere | Review

Title: The Nightmare Room #9 – Camp Nowhere

Author: R.L. Stine

Cover Artist: Vince Natale

INTRODUCTION

30th US President Calvin Coolidge would stow pickles and munch on them around the White House. It’s been said that he was the first “President To Just Be Two Kids Stacked On Top Of Each Other” president. Everyone has their quirks. R.L. Stine’s quirk is writing good camp stories. Maybe we can set aside our doubts and let the nostalgia of summers-gone-by whisk us away. Go ahead. Set down your bags.

A summery breeze shoots past, warming the trees, carrying the sweet smell of sap along for the ride. Sounds of nature fill your head. Water laps at a lake’s edge, birds chitter away, a lonely bee bumbles along. A counselor jotted down your name when you arrived, but the ink hasn’t even dried yet. Camp. It’s a place for developing minds, new friendships, one or two “Ernest” films, and sometimes terror.* Hang on to your friendship bracelets, camper. The story is about to begin.

*Actual terror may vary.

STORY REVIEW

Everyone at Camp Hawkwood thinks Russel is a wimp. And they’re right. When he tries to disprove his wimpery it only makes things worse. He attempts to save a counselor’s dog, but (long story) he gets knocked off a cliff by snakes. Ouch, my scariest summercamp memory is when I ate gummy worms until I threw up.

All senior campers get an opportunity to canoe down Forbidden Falls. Adding to the terror, Counselor Ramos reveals that he won’t be able to canoe alongside the kids and will have to watch from the sidelines. It makes no difference to Russel. He already decided to be the bravest camper to traverse the Falls. This includes worrying himself so bad he gets nightmares.

When the big day comes, Forbidden Falls turns out to be a dud, not scary at all. Russel and his friends decide they’ll get revenge on Ramos for playing up the terror. They settle on a classic prank, the old “Make An Adult Think We’re Dead” routine.

The kids all flip their canoes to stage a wreck (hilarity!) and wait to see their counselor’s reaction. Things go haywire when the kids realize they’re lost. The entire area looks unfamiliar, and their footprints from earlier have vanished. Russel uses the footprints as a poetic metaphor for a higher power, but his peers are unreceptive.

Night falls. The kids hunker down as best they can. Russel and his friends Charlotte and Erin spot a light in the distance. Into the night with Charlotte Sometimes the group goes. They discover a place called Camp Evergreen. It’s odd for many reasons. The phones don’t work; the campers watch black and white movies; most disturbing, they don’t know who Michael Jordan is (that sneaker logo guy).

A camper named Drew warns Russel and his friends that they’re in grave danger. Unfortunately, “Drew the Schmoo” has an embarrassing nickname so he’s immediately discredited, especially as a political candidate. Russel begins to heed the warning once he discovers that the other campers have locked Drew in a shed, and making people angry is a universal sign of rightness. They don’t lock irrational people in sheds now do they?

The Hawkwood campers set Drew free and run until they’re caught by Camp Evergreen. The lead counselor explains that his camp is super cursed, and it does not get more sensitive to Native Americans beyond this point. Native spirits destroyed Camp Evergreen years ago for trespassing. These aren’t unreasonable destroyer spirits, though. They grant the campers two days a year to come back as ghosts so long as they’re respectful of the land and keep their existence a secret. The lead counselor tried to get three days a year, but Spirit Court disfavors mortal men.

Drew goes beserk and lights a cabin on fire. If the forrest burns, the ghosts will be destroyed and probably lose their deposit. Cooler heads prevail when Russel puts out the blaze. Promising to keep Camp Evergreen a secret, the living kids are allowed to leave. While sprinting into the woods, they discover the real (and terrifying) Forbidden Falls. I should clarify that “discover” is code for “fall headfirst into.”

Doom seems inevitable for the kids tumbling ungently down the stream until they’re lifted up by unseen hands. Up. Up into the air. A ghostly voice thanks Russel for stopping the fire, and the kids are set down at Camp Deusexmachina. Russel brags to every Hawkwood kid about how easy Forbidden Falls was.

THE VERDICT

Abrupt ending aside, this book executes its small(ish) concept well. It’s sensitive with the main character. Regrettably less sensitive with the mysticism. Credit where it’s due, Stine resisted his urge to name this book Camp Tipacanoe.

9th US President William Henry Harrison was nicknamed Old Tippecanoe. His presidency had an abrupt ending when he died after a month in office. Four years is a long time. Tasteless segue aside, I’ve been reviewing this series for nearly four years, and I’m only nine books in. I’m going through these numbers slower than Nevada goes through votes, which’d be topical if I wrote this back in November 2020. It’s not so dreary, though. Just keep going and see where it gets you. Harrison considered himself retired prior to his election, so being president for a month was a cherry on top.

BEST QUOTE(S)

“But what if it’s a UFO?” David asked. “What if aliens from another planet are secretly landing in the woods, and they zap anyone who disturbs them?” “But they might have food!” Marty exclaimed. “Yeah. Let’s check it out!” David said.

The camp spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

David shouted. “Remember what the counselors told us? About the snake caves?” [...] “That’s just another camp legend,” Marty said.

Snake caves. Yet another thing made up by greeting card companies. Much like Boss’s Day or Saint Valentine.

#The Nightmare Room #Nostalgia #Horror #Books #Goosebumps #Review #Literature #Stine #PazReviews

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tickle-bugs · 3 years ago

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One of a Kind

@amazingmsme I didn't want to post the thing you sent just because of the minor minor spoilers (I hate that we've lost a grip on spoiler culture on the internet so I am overcorrecting to keep my blog safe!) but what you sent was too goddamn cute. Have an unedited thing I wrote in one go. This takes place in the nebulous, non-existent gap between episode 5 and 6! I still haven't see the finale so....this is canon-adjacent-adjacent I guess. Enjoy!

Spoilers for the Loki series under the cut!

Cataloguing variants had always been time-consuming, but somehow Loki was making it take longer. Mobius knew that Loki should’ve gone through his stack already, especially with his reading speed, but he was just staring at one particular file and huffing at increasing volumes.

Alright, I’ll bite.

“I’d ask what you’re thinking about, but I know you’re gonna tell me.” Mobius thumbed through his file on another Loki, one who’d defected from Thanos in 2012 to join the Avengers. They’d pruned him pretty early. Mobius still regretted not being able to pick his brain for a little while longer.

“These other variants are incredible,” Loki scoffed.

“I agree.”

“I don’t understand it.” He stared at Mobius, brow furrowed, and alright, they clearly weren’t getting any more work done.

“Lokis tend to be extraordinary. It’s kinda a thing with you guys.” Mobius slid his files aside.

“Right, but in comparison, I am at the lower end of the bunch.” Loki frowned, gesturing as if this was a matter of grave importance.

“Okay, you lost me.” He folded his hands on the table and squinted at Loki.

“We have an alligator, an illusionist whose powers dwarfed my own, a child who killed Thor, a President--though I can’t fathom wanting to be a part of the American political system--and an enchantress. Those are the variants that we know about. So why am I here helping you?”

“You’re the best of the bunch.” The simplest and truest answer. Loki didn’t seem to buy it.

Mobius dragged his chair around the table and put it in front of Loki, effectively pinning him against the table--well, he could just stand up and walk away, but Mobius knew he wouldn’t. It was part of their thing.

“What are you doing?”

“Just gettin’ closer.” Mobius slotted his knees between Loki’s and pulled his chair as far in as it could go.

“I can see that. Why?”

“I just wanna be close to you, that’s all.” He gave his best convincing grin. Loki visibly softened.

“Loki, you are a genius with a good heart. You’re here because you are, at least in my book, a hero.” Mobius gave his knee a steady pat. Loki puffed with pride.

“Go on.”

“Wow, you are on a perfect swinging scale of narcissism. From self-deprecating to king of the world in no time flat.” Mobius laughed.

“Thank you.” Loki adjusted his tie, missing or ignoring everything but the word ‘perfect’. Mobius bit his lip on a chuckle--he really shouldn’t inflate an already dangerously-large ego, but Loki needed it, he thought. His confidence was all air, after all--smug posturing designed to fill the void of something genuine. Loki could use genuine, for a change.

He looked Loki up and down slowly, deliberately, and an absurd little idea took root in the back of his mind. It had worked in the Time Cell, so maybe...

“Why are you looking at me like that? Wh--Mobius. Mobius. Stop it.” Loki leaned back as much as he could. Mobius grinned and hovered his fingers just over Loki’s torso, dangerously close. Loki sucked in his stomach, looking frantically between Mobius’s hands and his face.

“This r-really isn’t necessary.” The wobbly smile on Loki’s lips told Mobius the exact opposite.

“Nervous giggler, huh?” Mobius twitched his fingers and Loki jumped.

“No.”

“Perfect! Then you’ll hear what I have to say.” Mobius set his fingers adrift, passing languidly over Loki’s spots but never landing anywhere.

“Sylvie’s my favorite because she’s wild and unpredictable. I can never quite figure out what’s goin’ on in that head of hers, regardless of her being a Loki, and it fascinates me. You know I love my puzzles, and cracking open her head like a walnut has been a real highlight of my career.” Mobius’s fingers over Loki’s knee got the first giggles to bubble out, sweet and fluttery, and it took all of his strength not to chase them down.

“But you? You’re incredible. Quick wit, a quicker knife hand, and a will to survive that I haven’t seen in--” Mobius whistled lowly-- “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Plus, you’re pretty cute. Or, so I’ve heard.”

“You had me wrapped around your finger when we brought you in. I mean, you could talk a desert into bloomin’.” It was the first time in a few thousand Loki’s that he’d genuinely almost been fooled--something about this one, his Loki, just got to him in a way that the others never could.

“I still have you around my finger.” Loki’s smile and rosy cheeks ignited a gentle warmth in Mobius’s chest. Gentle, rolling chuckles flowed steadily from him, walls completely broken down, and if Mobius could keep one memory forever, it would be this.

“Oh, and that laugh. I’m almost jealous. Literal music to my ears. Y’know, the other Loki’s never laughed like this? It was always this fake, snooty chuckle that used to make my skin crawl.

“But not you. You’ve got this damn beautiful giggle. It’s like the old saying goes: every time a Loki laughs, a puppy is born. Or angels get their wings. A little bit of both.” Mobius let his fingers drift upwards to Loki’s ribs and he whined, pitching forward until his forehead hit Mobius’s chest.

“T-That’s not a thing.” The color on Loki’s face had matured into a wonderful shade of cherry, his voice pinching from the sheer volume of emotion--Mobius could actually see him working through it in real time. Another favorite thing that he could never express aloud--how earnestly and easily Loki wore his emotions.

“He speaks!” Mobius swooped his hands in, never touching but threatening, and Loki yelped around some more giggles.

“Stop it.” Loki swiped at his hands, but even at close range, he couldn’t coordinate enough to catch Mobius.

“You’re right, my bad. It’s rude to keep you waiting.”

“Wh--no, nonono, that’s definitely not what I meant--”

“You make it so easy for me,” Mobius sighed wistfully, seeking out Loki’s trick rib as easy as breathing. Loki shrieked, crumpling in Mobius’s arms, and Mobius held him as he deftly took him apart.

“You are a Loki, alright? There’s no doubt about that. But you’re you, and I like ya. Stop worryin’ about the others.” He wormed his fingers under Loki’s arms, then spidered across the backs of his ribs and up towards his shoulders.

“M-Mobius!”

“Excellent point. You also have me. That’s a pretty big deal--I’m one of a kind, y’know. Limited edition. So there’s that.” His hands found solace beneath Loki's jaw, pulling forth jumpy squeaks between...purrs? Huh. He made a note of it as he scribbled his fingers up Loki’s thigh, dodging swatting hands like a stubborn bug. Loki pulled his knee up to his chest, head tilted back in open-mouthed laughter, and Mobius followed him.

“Who’s got an ego now?” Loki smirked, eyes crinkled, and Mobius summoned his best dramatic gasp.

“You take that back!”

#my drabbles #marvel #loki #ticklish!loki #mobius m mobius #writing them as super affectionate but not having them kiss...schrodingers lokius #lokius is super cute though and im starting to get into it now! feel free to tag this as ship if you'd like but it isn't expressly romantic #but it could be if you squint #its just up to you to squint if you wanna see it #no proofreads no edits we die like overcaffeinated writers who are avoiding other tasks by writing #sorry for the abrupt end on this but it just felt right #edit: linked my other loki fic for context at a certain part....realized i referred to it on accident

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years ago

Text

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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