#and if it ends up being a project worth salvaging

[bigfatbreak]

Hi I'm new here, and some people recommend me your feralnette au, but when it start? And what the au is about?

the feralnette au starts just after the season 3 finale, somewhat after miracle queen. Reaching a mental breaking point, Marinette can't handle her social life, her grades, being ladybug and being the guardian without giving up one of them. in an act of incredible sacrifice and self sabotage, she cuts herself off from the class to focus more on investigating hawkmoth, and to distance herself from her friends, believing some part of herself is the problem with akumatizations.

After such a change, the Marinette we have is much more jaded and much more tired, and in order to change her reputation of "everyday ladybug," to further distance her civilian persona and her ladybug persona, she begins changing her interactions with people in her daily lives - resorting to violence or sarcasm when in the past she would've been the first to talk things out. (thus, the "feral" part of feralnette)

shit happens. stuff gets wildin. we get a little blasphemous, a little heretical, and a little eldritched. talk about edgy. keep in mind I started this a few years ago (oh god) so some stuff isn't going to align with the new seasons of mlb.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three (ongoing.)

the pacing in the first chapter is a bit funky, as I actually wasn't planning on making it a full fledged comic, but something-something i have no self control lmao.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling.  So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle. 

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good. 

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes. 

What’s worth Salvaging:  While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special. 

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm. 

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and  work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs.  Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills. 

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers:  They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make.  Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something. 

Artsource

[archaeologyfandomsandsleep]

Chapters: 3/3

Rating: E

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz, Bobby Nash, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Howie "Chimney" Han, Christopher Diaz, Father Brian

Additional Tags: POV Eddie Diaz, Gay Eddie Diaz, Sexting, Online Dating, Miscommunication, Idiots in Love, Evan "Buck" Buckley and Eddie Diaz Being Idiots, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Worth Issues, Texting, Catholic Guilt, Panic Attacks, Gay Panic, Eddie Diaz is Thirsty for Evan "Buck" Buckley, Smut, Blow Jobs, Love Confessions.

Summary:

“What’s this about dick pics?” Shit. Hen had moved towards the table and had evidently started listening to their conversation. Eddie immediately began mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of teasing he was about to endure. Buck looked like a deer in headlights, so Eddie was forced to try and salvage the situation. “It’s nothing, just this new app Buck found.” “Really? You looking to date again, Firehose?” The smirk that accompanied this question let Eddie know that Hen had heard a lot more than just ‘dick pics’. “Ugh, fine.” Might as well tell the truth, though he half wished the stupid tones would go off and save him. “I told Buck I missed the intimacy of a relationship, but didn’t want one right now, or a hook up, and he’s trying to convince me this new app has what I need.”

OR Eddie accidentally matches with an anonymous man on a dating app and has some revelations.

[montgumery]

okay i have so much to say about this guy, but this is the first ref from my big project! Maiq is the grand admiral (in charge of all fleet operations) of a group of star systems known together as the Conclave, which has been at war/very high tensions with another empire, the Imperium Arcana, for hundreds of years, ever since both nations reached the stars. (i have lore posts planned later but there are myths involved. like the rivalry predates most recorded history)

The Conclave uses a combination of magic and technology, whereas the Imperium only uses magic. (again, more details about it later but they are an even match) Maiq had been serving in the fleet as a ship captain, commanding a powerful battleship in defense of the Conclave, until he and the battalion of ships under his command were attacked by an incredibly powerful Imperium weapon, a lightning elemental. Attempting to save his crew as it ripped his ship apart, he attacked it by diverting the ship's arcane energy array, resulting in a blast that separated it from its core, but he was injured to the point of near death by discharging magic.

Somehow, he survived, dragging himself to an escape pod, where he's been in stasis for the last 20 years, believed dead. In the meantime, as the Imperium grew ever stronger, the Conclave's then grand admiral defected, leaving the fleet in shambles. Shortly after, his pod was found. (still need to work out these story details a bit lol) It's a miracle that he's even still really sane after that long in forced stasis, and even more so that he was able to (mostly) walk away from the elemental's attack, even if he is now permanetely injured.

in this world, magic has a definite effect on the user, and anyone used to being around/working with magic can "feel" it in the air. (so hyped for the magic explanation post guys) but Maiq gives off bad magic vibes. (the magic signature conclave sailors are used to is not there) the scent of ozone seems to follow him through the air, like a overheated plasma coil, or the moment before a storm. some of the newer recruits flinch during inspection if they stand too close, unable to shake the feeling of static crawling up their spines. As the highest ranking officer left after the former admiral's betrayal, and the vicious infighting that followed, (with a power vaccum and the fleet stranded, officers and sailors alike were forced to fight for resources) he's basically been tossed headlong into the deep end of a pool filled with acid. he knows he has to take up the mantle of grand admiral, he has to try and salvage what remains of his beloved fleet, the closest thing he has to a home, but is there anything left even worth saving? (spoiler alert the answer is yes, I don't like writing things that are 100% doom and gloom, the real world is tragic enough already lol) also for personality traits, he's an excellent strategist, that tends to push himself up to, or past the point of exaustion. pragmatic, sentimental, determined. at the heart of it, i'd call him an optimist. that might not be the right word for it (idealistic maybe?) but he is firm that things can and will improve, if he can put in the work to get it done. that does have a bit of a downside though since he tends to push himself and not like relying on others, especially now that he can't walk without a mobility aid. (his mindset will improve as the story progresses but for now he has opinions and not all of them are great)

if anyone made it through the absolute word vomit holy shit, thanks for checking it out! definitely more to come!

[alexanderlightweight]

No idea how I ended up on it but was watching videos of bone carvings yesterday which was fascinating! So prompt today for you is Alec's hobby being bone carving and him making Magnus either jewellery or knifes as a hopeful courting gift <3

here we go! i hope you enjoy. this is a part of the star eater verse, with sentient shadow alec trueblood.

-

It takes Alec five missions to find what he wants and when he gets back, even the ichor teams’ wince at the state of his gear. Alec ignores the looks and takes his gear to decontamination with him. Whatever can’t be salvaged he’ll toss, but it was worth it for the bounty he got.

There are bones that gleam like shattered obsidian and Alec washes them carefully in the water, focusing more on the bones than himself. It takes hours and his skin is wrinkled and the water tepid by the time he’s done. The Institute seems empty when he finally gets to his room, and he knows that’s because of how long he spent under the water.

There’s a sandwich, a mug of tea and a glass of juice on his desk with a note from his second. Alec reads it, chugs the juice and takes a tired bite of the sandwich, half-heartedly shoving half of it in his mouth. Chewing is more effort than it’s worth and Alec attempts to mimic a snake as he just bites and swallows, wanting to be done with his meal so he can focus.

Without Magnus around, eating is a chore, and one Alec isn’t fond of. It means that his shadows are constantly nudging him in reminder, their own greed the reason they take into consideration his own needs.  They don’t like being hungry, so they don’t like Alec being hungry, especially now that he knows Magnus.

Magnus, who his shadows adore almost as much as Alec adores him.

It’s with his shadows that Alec carefully begins to carve.  He could use adamas or regular knives or magical blades, but his shadows can cut sharper and more delicately than any weapon could try to.  Magnus doesn’t need hair sticks, but he likes ear cuffs and Alec knows the shape of the shell of Magnus’ ear, both of them even.

It’s with ease and his shadows that he measures out the right amount of bone and gets to carving.

The first thing he makes, even before the ear cuff, is going to be buttons.

Magnus is obsessed with buttons.

Normally, he’s kind enough to take off his clothes magically, but Alec still remembers the feel of tiny, delicate buttons and what sometimes seems like dozens of them. All ridiculously slippery and small and hard to maneuver when distracted.

So, Alec starts his project simple, and he carves buttons. Little whalebone style buttons to go on Magnus’ favorite corset. Little round buttons for his boots and flatter buttons in circles for his shirts. Larger pendant styles with elegant MBs for his peacoats and Alec frowns when he realizes he’s run out of bone and has hundreds of buttons around his room.  He underestimated how much the shadows would enjoy helping him and now he finds that he and they are stuck sorting buttons.

First to make sure there aren’t any flaws, and then according to what kind of button they are. 

Alec finds himself in Magnus’ closet, having accidentally been whisked over by his shadows and he’s barely been there a moment before magic keeps him in place.

“Don’t even think about wisping away.” Magnus tells him, voice calm and collected and his magic tight from where it’s pinning Alec. “Come here, darling. You’re going to join me for dinner.”

It’s not an option and Alec swallows, his shadows tremulously pushing him forward and several tangling with the magic as if to coax it loose.

It doesn’t work and Alec steps closer, blushing as he realizes he showed up at Magnus’ in only in his boxers.

“Magnus, I—” Because they haven’t talked about Alec coming over without permission and he… just did it. Without asking or warning or even checking that Magnus was alone and —

—

“Oh darling.” Magnus says with a sigh, and he steps close enough so that he can pull Alexander to him. “We’ve talked about this. I’m fine with the liberties you take. Now what has you so spooked, you’re normally so much more confident, Alexander?”

Alexander is avoiding his gaze and it’s his shadows who — as usual — give him away. Magnus reaches out and snags a velvet bag and he opens it, pouring some of the contents into his palm.  It reacts with demonic energy, but not in a violent or dangerous way.  In fact, it’s rather similar to magical conduits and as Magnus looks over the small, round pieces of what he realizes are bone, he recognizes them.

“Are these demon-bone buttons?” He asks, delighted despite the strangeness of Alexander bringing them over. “Where on earth did you get them? I haven’t seen such high quality apart from my own stock in centuries!”

“We carved them.” Alexander says, shuffling like he’s a nervous schoolboy. “Because you like buttons.”

“I like buttons?” Magnus asks, surprised and confused until he realizes that most of the outfits, he wears around his boy are difficult to take off… because he likes Alexander’s inexperienced attentions and how eager he is to learn. His large, calloused fingers struggling with Magnus’ more delicate buttons is a thrill Magnus enjoys repeating.  “Yes. I do enjoy buttons.” Magnus murmurs happily, eyeing the bags with a new interest. “There are more, aren’t there? You must show me darling. Instantly.” Magnus says and then he forgets his own words because the shadows conveniently trip him, right into Alexander’s embrace and a happy, eager kiss.

Magnus decides that the buttons can temporarily wait, instead focusing on tasting Alexander.

[roniarose]

Guardians 3 thought dump

Aaaah i actually liked an MCU movie for once

The Guardians were kind of the perfect team to go up against that type of villain, a team thats taken two movies to learn and are still in some ways learning that their differences and flaws are what makes them a family, up against someone who sees those flaws as a failure to be discarded. All of the Guardians spend a lot of time across all three films trying to escape how others view them, so this antagonist really feels like the perfect choice to culminate the trilogy

Also man the russos took a fat wet shit all over gamoras arc and james gunn still managed to salvage it and make it work, I was fucking terrified the whole movie that they were gonna end up together when thats literally impossible with this gamora, But gamora calls out quill immediately in this, and tells him thats shes not that person he so desperately wants. Peter still at least has the arc that he was meant to have regardless of gamoras fridging, where he needed to realize that hes projecting what he needs from other people onto those people, especially gamora. The movie still hints that they COULD end up being together, they just both need to spend time becoming more actualized versions of themselves. And peter needs to resolve more of his emotional baggage and sexism.

Its funny because from the way 2 ended its really obvious that gunn had planned for them to be together in 3 but that basically got ruined when she got tossed into the infinity stone pit. :/ i’m glad gunn was smart enough to realize that trying to redo 2 movies worth of relationship buildup across one movie was a bad idea

Lets see what else

Oh, hey Nathan fillion, long time no see! I’m glad you finally got to be in a story about a ragtag found family in space that didn’t end up getting canned, and i think the fight you did in the building that looked like a middle school science textbook illustration rocked, 10/10 keep rocking the Michelin man fit

I like that Adam Warlock is a big dumb idiot man that carries a pet around and listens to king crimson because its super obvious gunn had no clue what to do with him but had to have him there because the mcu continues to be an ever expanding nightmare mess. 10/10 no notes

Obviously the i am groot reveal was cute, and also a kind of cycle break that didn’t feel forced or like it had extra gravitas added to it, the reveal that the audience is part of the family now just gets to be a simple little moment

I love that nebula gets to be relatively more relaxed in this movie on the whole, she honestly deserves it, let her sip her lil sodie pop.

I loved Draxs lil dad moment in the third act as well, and how it ends up forcing nebula to learn that emotional intelligence is just as vital to have a practical intelligence. Up until that point she really underestimated him and a lot of the rest of the team because she had been taught by thanos a lot of the same things our villain believed, that theres only one kind of way to be, and that only perfection and results matter. She ends up learning through the guardians and drax that we each of our own individual strengths and perceived flaws, and that real perfection is in the culmination of those forces in our lives. I thought it was nice :)

The last thing i can think of is that I liked how a series defined musically by track from the 70’s and 80’s ends off with a track from the 2000’s. A way of communicating subtly our characters aren’t trapped in their past anymore. Great stuff

Anyways thats what i got atm, if you stumbled on this and are wanting more mcu stuff, sorry to disappoint, this is prolly the last mcu thing i’m checking in for unless something reveals itself to be more interesting in the future. I wanna try and talk more about other things tho, so maybe you will like those posts!

Testing this out

[pixiecaps]

hope you don't mind me writing paragraphs about my thoughts on purgatory in your ask box, if you do mind then thats so fair, feel free to ignore lol

yeah purgatory story wise just kinda sucks from a player's standpoint. like really sucks. taking away the last bit of agency they had (doing whatever they could to save their kids, only for them to end up not even saving them and therefore everything they did the past two months being for nothing) just kinda feel frustrating. from a overall story and general writer's perspective it's cool and ties into themes about having no power, but like... idk is it worth sacrificing your players' enjoyment for that? from a meta standpoint the point of the roleplay is to encourage player engagement so like what was the fucking point

HOWEVER i do have a tin foil hat theory that cucurucho saving the eggs and bringing new ones was a last minute damage control situation after seeing all the purgatory frustration and the team going "guys i think we might have fucked up. how do we salvage this" like its still so so very sloppy but... the damage control also worked so ggs lol.

also i guess we as an audience have no idea what goes on behind the scenes? because admins might be studying for finals for all we know. the writers could be amateurs where qsmp on their first major project. the team could be too excited to properly think through or shut down subpar ideas. maybe q was like "lets make a hardcore tourney" and the team had to figure out how the fuck to fit a hardcore tourney in. who fucking knows

anyways sorry about the purgatory rant i think it just frustrates me because we all know the team is capable of executing lore well. purgatory and its aftermath is just Not that

yeah i fully trust the admins and writers. as we know they have everything planned months in advance and they put love and care into the story. so i trust them. i choose to believe it was just such a new dynamic with purgatory that they may have not realized how difficult it would be to incorporate the lore and story in a satisfying way and thats okay it happens. it just sucks that it all came to such an unsatisfying conclusion. the arc left a lot to be desired. but theres still a lot left from this arc that we haven’t seen yet that could change my opinion. i still wonder where the hell the feds put luffy ya know😭

[woman-respecter]

hi i want to chime in with my own bestie breakup story! i didn't for a while because i didn't think it would contribute anything, but then i remebered it was initially a 3 way breakup BUT i was able to make up with one of them.

so my first two years of college i had 2 really close friends in my major, though i was closer to one of them, Jane, than the other, Kate. we would do pair assignments and stuff together, trading off who had to work with a rando. sophomore spring was the first time all 3 of us worked on a project together (with a 4th, Other). i was having some mental health issues that semester and was working on my end of the project pretty slowly. Jane and Other both asked me if i wanted help, but i assured them i could finish in time, and they didn't press it, so i thought we were cool. cut to a week before the project is due, my part is basically done except some integrations with my groupmates parts. i try to ask them questions but they don't really respond until i find out 2 days before the assignment is due that they'd gone to the professor behind my back and asked to do a back up project because they were worried i wouldn't finish. and they'd switched their focus over completely to the backup, leaving me hanging. the worst part for me wasn't that they thought i couldn't finish (it's just homework who cares), but that they thought so poorly of me as a friend that they genuinely believed i would let *them* fail the project because of me.

i was pretty wrecked, that summer (and whole following year really) i was extremely paranoid of all my frienships. i tried talking to Jane when we got back but both of us were adamant in our positions, which sucked because our lives were still pretty entangled otherwise. Kate i didn't talk to at all in the fall, but we had a class together in the spring and she would say hi when she saw me. and then one day she mentioned she'd been in my hometown over winter break and i got so sad because i realized how much fun we could have had if we were still friends. so i texted her asking if we could talk because i missed her but i was also still mad. as soon as we sat down she apologized for what had happened and said she'd known they were in the wrong the whole time and she'd spent all year wanting to reach out but being afraid of how i'd respond. and just like that we put it behind us. senior year we even risked doing an assignment together again. (it went well!)

i know this is long lol but. i haven't gotten over my friend breakup with Jane, and it's possible i never will. this was 7 years ago, mind you. but patching things up with Kate repaired all my shattered confidence and made me realize that i am redeemable and worthy of having close frienships. we wouldn't have made up if that wasn't the case. and honestly her and Jane's friendship faded pretty naturally once we were no longer a trio but she and i still hang out when we're in the same town which is extra vindicating.

i hope all of your sakes that you find somebody like Kate, who makes you realize your friendship is worth fighting for. it changed my life, truly.

i’m so glad you were able to patch things up with kate! salvaging 50% of a breakup is pretty good all things considered lol

[amirycashforcars]

Rev Up the Road: Car Removal in Hoppers Crossing

Do you have an unwanted Hoppers Crossing car? An automobile removal service can quickly and efficiently remove garbage and damaged or unwanted cars. Properly throwing away old automobiles frees up space and helps you and the environment. This blog will explain how to remove your automobile and why it's advantageous for car owners.

 Freeing Up Space and Reducing Clutter

 One of the first perks you'll notice is that taking out a car gives you more space. After you get rid of an old, useless car, your driveway or garage will have more space. This space could be used for new vehicles, storage, or a cleaner, more organised yard. Car removal hoppers crossing clutter makes your house seem cleaner and more practical.

 Posted cars are unsightly and block roads or spaces that may be better used. Getting rid of cars brings out the best in your home. Whether you need to create space for a new project or park another car, losing the automobile is a simple method to improve your space.

 Car Care for the Environment

 Ignoring outdated automobile disposal can harm the environment. Oil, petrol, and antifreeze from vehicles and trucks pollute the environment.  Responsible automobile removal ensures thorough scrapping and safe disposal or reuse of parts. Most firms reduce waste and use eco-friendly methods.

 Moving junk in Car Removal Tarneit that cares about the earth will recycle metal, plastic, rubber, and glass. You may employ these resources to produce new items, reducing raw material usage and environmental impact. Hiring a professional to remove your automobile solves an issue on your property and improves the environment.

 Quick and Convenient Process

 Most people must realize how quickly and efficiently selling an old car is. Professional Car Removal Tarneit services try to make the process as simple as possible. They will come right to you after you call and schedule a time to pick up your things. You save time and effort by having the automobile checked out and gone in a few hours.

 Convenience is a primary reason people choose automobile removal services. A professional agency handles everything from legal paperwork to towing the automobile. The procedure usually takes one Day to use your space immediately.

 Getting Value from an Old Vehicle

 Car removal hoppers crossing is inoperable, it can still be valuable. Many Hoppers Crossing vehicle removal firms give cash for automobiles in any condition. Use a car you'd generally park to make some extra cash. Scrap metal, pieces, and materials salvaged or reused give the automobile worth.

 Additionally, some moving companies pay cash for cars. Selling an unwanted automobile might make you Money and free up space. This extra Money may help many people buy new automobile or household items, making the procedure even more helpful.

 Conclusion

Hoppers Crossing make it easy and quick to eliminate old cars that aren't being used. It removes clutter and waste and ensures that your vehicle is thrown away in an eco-friendly way. Fast and straightforward services make selling your automobile easier than ever. Everything works out in the end, and you may even make some Money. Remove your car if it's taking up space. This choice is simple and will benefit both you and the planet. Amiry car removal service is best for car removal.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 23rd July

Hmmm. In some ways we've got two sides of the same coin this week. Of course, the coin is just "men being terrible", and one side of it makes for a much more appealing song than the other. Still, there's definitely a thread running through these songs, with two different men who need dumping, pronto!

Living Doll - Cliff Richard (peaked at Number 1)

Of the two songs, this week, this is by far the better known. It's Cliff's first ever Number 1, it hung around for a whopping 15 weeks, and I'd say even nowadays a fair few people could hum a bar or two for it, or at least name it as a Cliff hit. It's not the first one you'd think of, you know, but it's there, in the public consciousness, nonetheless.

Unfortunately, compared to a lot of his previous non-Number 1 hits, it's pretty toothless, without any of the bite of, say, Mean Streak. The Shadows are credited (though they're still technically going by "the Drifters") but they've been given precious little to do, and it shows - there's none of the sharpness or edge that previous Cliff hits have, just a sea of rather nondescript strumming, which Cliff sings along with gamely, but already sounding very much like he's on autopilot. I think he's going for a hangdog sort of country-esque delivery, perhaps, except it mostly just comes off a bit bored. The pace is slower than usual, for Cliff, too, which doesn't help matters - it makes the song feel slow and mushy, but it never quite slows down enough to work as a ballad, either. It just ambles along a bit pointlessly, you know?

Of course, this could be salvaged, if the lyrics were good. But instead, the song sets its sights firmly on "creepy", with lyrics about how he's got myself a cryin', talkin', / Sleepin', walkin', livin' doll. This was apparently inspired by an ad the songwriter saw in the newspaper for a toy doll for children that could "kneel, walk, sit and sing". But that doesn't really make it less icky - especially when we get to the lines inviting you to take a look at her hair, it's real / And if you don't believe what I say, just feel. And then we stray from "kind of gross, as a metaphor" to "straight up serial killer stuff" as he sings about how he's gonna lock her up in a trunk / So no big hunk hunk can steal her away from me. Which is genuinely one of the most terrifying lines we've heard in this project so far. You're going to lock your girl up in a trunk for fear of other men stealing her? You were literally asking them to feel her up, just one line ago, Cliff! Neither of these are okay things to be doing or saying!

It's objectification at its most literal, a song about treating your girl like a literal toy made for your pleasure, with no mention of her having anything resembling agency or choice in the matter. She's a prop, no more, no less - in many ways, it's the same kind of trope that Aqua will play with a full 38 years later in the song Barbie Girl, except at least there's a bit of irony and a bit of playfulness, there. You get the impression that Cliff means it, here - or at least that he doesn't see anything wrong with it. Like I said, gross.

It was written for a film, Serious Charge, so I guess you have got the old "oh, but it's the character singing, not Cliff" defence, for whatever that's worth. He apparently plays a pretty minor role in it, though - it was his screen debut, and by all accounts a decent but not hugely well-known film, kind of melodramatic. It's notable, though, since we've not really seen British singers stars doing films, before. Sure, your Elvises and your Frank Sinatras have crossed over into film. But British artists haven't, until now. A trend that's going to continue? Or just another way that Cliff's trying to emulate his American peers? I guess we'll see if other British artists follow suit, or if it's just going to be Cliff making the leap to the silver screen...

Ugh, I'm still listening, and it gets creepier every listen. Let's hope the next song has something more fun in store...

Lipstick On Your Collar - Connie Francis (3)

Okay, if you've read any of my other posts on Connie, you will know that I love her. She's seriously been one of my favourite discoveries so far, with her sass and her youthful energy. She's had a few minor missteps - notably, I haven't enjoyed many of her slower songs - but give her an upbeat, angry song, and Connie really can do no wrong, in my books. And this? This song might just be Connie at her most bitingly accusatory. It's like if Who's Crying Now were just a little bit more vicious in its takedown of its addressee, and I am here for it.

It's a story song, which are always fun, and the setting for this one is just deliciously dated, as Connie picks the story up when you left me all alone at the record hop / Told me you were goin' out for a soda pop. Immediately I'm transported to a wholesome 1950s diner, lots of teens ordering milkshakes and putting dimes into the jukebox and drinking coca cola through bendy straws. Except all is not well with Connie and her date, as she notes how you were gone for quite a while, half an hour or more. And just what did Connie spot? Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you / Lipstick on your collr said you were untrue. So, Connie's man's been cheating. Except it gets worse, as he tries to convince her it's hers - a stupid move, since it's the wrong colour. And then, the vindication and the betrayal as who walked in but Mary Jane, lipstick all a mess / Were you smoochin' my best friend? Guess the answer's yes!

Through all this drama, Connie manages to sound suitably pissed off, but also like she's kind of revelling in revealing all the juicy, salacious details, detective style, catching her man out in a bare-faced lie, before finally gearing up for a big, public dumping: bet your bottom dollar, you and I are through. Yeouch! It's messy, and it's trashy, but there's something pettily satisfying in it all, the way Connie completely takes her man apart, with a sort of catty side-swipe at Mary Jane, that shameless tramp (!) It's very reality TV, very gossipy, and I'm not ashamed to say that I could eat it up with a spoon. I just enjoy the way it unfolds, and how utterly un-heartbroken Connie sounds. She's just done with this dude, and you know, I can't even blame her. What a cad!

It also helps that it's a pretty catchy number, and well made. Connie can still sing, you know, and I'd even say that the guitar solo here, despite very much not being the point of the song, works better than Cliff's did. It's pacy, and it's got a lot of energy. what's not to like?

Like I said, two songs, two men being just the worst. Except while Connie's man of the moment is clearly meant to be a bit of a melt, Cliff seems to have stumbled into it accidentally. I try to give songs from the 1950s a bit of a pass, because if I objected every time there was some sort of outdated sentiment, I'd be having a lot less fun with this project. But even for the 1950s, something about "my girlfriend's a literal doll, and I'm gonna let you touch her hair, then lock her in a trunk" is a step too far. Plus it's got none of the verve of Connie's song, which only compounds the issue. Give me the trashy drama, any day.

Favourite song of the bunch: Lipstick On Your Collar

[turtle-steverogers]

hii, it's the unsent project anon again!! sometimes i think about steve. instead of going back in time for yk, he goes back in time to see his mother again. and has a dance with his mother because he never got to before for several reasons. it would be more rocking from foot to foot than anything else. and steve can barely see through his clumped up lashes from the tears while she strokes the side of his head before cradling it (its a bit of a stretch because he is all big and healthy now) while muttering, "my stevie, my boy" and steve just grins "it's me, ma".

(he would come back after spending some time with her, with a heavy heart but still)

was thinking about this at like 3 in the morning

anon i genuinely think you're trying to murder me lakjdflksjfaskdjflksf

anyway i wrote another fic

-

There are extra white jackets in the back closet, and Steve steals one that’s approximately his size, despite the shoulders being a bit too tight. Pants are a little harder to come by, but he manages to find a pair that look like they’ll fit him in some poor chap’s locker. He tugs them on, grimacing at the way they hug his thighs and fall only to his ankles. They’ll have to do.

He’d already scoped out the hospital the night before-- he knows she’s on the third floor in a private ward. Good, he thinks. She deserves it, if nothing else.

He is focused as he moves through the halls, head down as he passes other nurses. There’s a clipboard discarded on a table near the children’s ward and he swiftly picks it up, squinting at it. He doesn’t process any of the words on the page, but his act seems sound, because nobody stops him.

He makes it to the stairwell at the end of the hall, pushes open the door and takes the steps two at a time. The smell is one that is achingly familiar-- the walls grey and hazy. The air seems thicker, the lights yellow and dim. And though he’s been removed from the past for over a decade, it still feels like home. Like normal. His normal.

But he does not belong anymore, and he will not stay. He’s already been a ghost once. He’s hesitant to be one again.

Especially now, when he is out there somewhere. Most likely in the shitty tenement he shared with Bucky, but also possibly at the grocer he worked at, his ma’s telegram in his pocket. Savoring the bits of her that he could salvage with the knowledge he’d never see her again, even while she’s alive.

Closure has been something Steve always felt he lacked. But he’s seen hell now-- lived in its fiery pits for more years than he can count. He can take some goddamn closure for himself.

The third floor is nearly vacant. No one is in the hallway when Steve steps out of the stairwell, but he can hear voices in the rooms that line the sides. Coughs echo ominously off the walls, and Steve’s toes curl in his shoes, a brief wave of anxiety washing over him. He hadn’t missed these hospitals, and he’d hoped to never deliberately step foot in one again. But this is necessary. This is worth it.

He walks swiftly towards the end of the hall where the private wards are and stops in front of the first room. The name next to the door is incorrect, so he continues on until he sees it, heart stopping in his chest, then speeding up enough to make his lungs tighten.

Sarah Rogers-- TB. Alternative uniform required.

Steve closes his eyes against the blood rushing from his head. He wants to tell himself it’s been so long since he’s felt this detached from reality-- this out of place in a space that should feel so familiar-- but it hasn’t. The feeling, he’s realizing, never truly left him when he woke up from the ice, and the reverse here is strange.

And there’s something even stranger about reconciling this, because he’d lost his ma far before he’d ever died. This grief is an old wound-- one that’s scabbed over only to bleed circumstantially. He’d grown used to living with this particular, bone deep pain. He isn’t sure if he’s here to lance that, or if he’ll walk away with a deeper wound. He isn’t sure it matters, either.

He pushes open the door.

The room is lit with natural light. There is a desk with a vase and a water pitcher on it, along with a few medicine bottles and a tissue box. The bed is pressed against the far wall, the covers barely disturbed save for the frail figure that lies in it.

Sarah turns her head and looks at Steve.

Steve’s world stops.

He hadn’t seen his ma when she was this ill. His last memories of her are of when she was healthy-- cheeks red and full of life, eyes alight with an optimism he still valiantly tries to uphold. Life had not been kind to Sarah Rogers, but she was the kindest soul Steve had ever known, even in the shadow of his father’s violence.

Is, he corrects himself as he looks at her. She is the kindest soul. She’s there. She’s right there.

She’s right there, and she looks weak. She is gaunt and frail, eyes sunken in and cheekbones sharp against papery looking skin. There’s an exhaustion in the lines of her young face that Steve recognizes as the long standing effects of illness-- your body praying to be done fighting while your mind begs otherwise.

Steve resists the urge to turn and run.

Sarah’s face does something strange as she looks at Steve, and he realizes that he’s been standing there for longer than would be normal for a nurse-- shell shocked and silent. She opens her mouth to say something, then stops, eyes widening as she seems to process what she’s looking at. Or who she’s looking at, most likely.

A wizened hand comes up to cover her mouth and she gasps, fear flashing through her eyes and no, no, no--

Fuck, he’d thought of this. He’d had a fucking plan for this, but he can’t remember it now and he really doesn’t want his ma calling security on him, because he has so much to say, and--

“Ma,” he says frantically, taking an aborted step forward. She shies away and he stops, hands flexing at his sides. “Ma, it’s me. I swear it’s me, I can explain.”

Sarah looks suddenly furious. “This is not funny, young man. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave this instant.”

Fuck, her voice. Her goddamn voice, as weak as it is now, still has the same strong cadence. The subtle Irish twang. And fuck, Steve can’t help it. He bursts into tears.

“Fuck,” he says, falling to his knees. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think he could stomach the weight of everything that’s happened since he last saw her-- handle standing in front of her with blood on his hands, underneath his fingernails. In his goddamn soul. What would she even think of him now?

He sobs, biting down on a knuckle to keep silent, his other arm going around his stomach. It’s how he used to cry when he was much younger, and more frantic, and that seems to convince Sarah more than anything.

“Steven?” she says. She sounds incredulous. Damnit, she probably thinks she’s hallucinating. Steve had hallucinated a couple times when he was ill enough and his fever was high. Mostly his father, but he’ll digress.

He looks up, and he can barely see her through the tears that clump on his eyelashes. Sarah’s face does something complicated, then softens, and she reaches out a hand. Steve looks at it and sobs harder.

“Oh, Stevie. My boy, come here,” she says, because maybe he is a goddamn hallucination, but her instinct was always to comfort those in pain. She was a nurse, after all.

Steve is goddamn helpless.

He manages to get to her bedside, chest heaving as he buries his face in her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s me, ma. I promise it’s me. I can explain, I swear.”

“I don’t doubt that you can explain,” Sarah says sternly, and fuck, he’d missed her chastising him. He can’t help it, he laughs, breathless and watery. “What happened to you? Why are you--” Big. Healthy. “Steven, you can’t be in here. I’m highly contagious.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t matter. I can’t get sick.” And oh, his accent is back. He hasn’t had one in years. Decades. A goddamn century.

Sarah lets out a strangled laugh that quickly turns into coughing, and Steve briefly wonders how close she is to death. She died in Winter, and it is sometime in Fall right now. Close then, he thinks. He hugs her harder as the coughing dies down.

“A stór, do you hear yourself? You had pneumonia last Summer.”

Summer. Last Summer. In this world, it had only been a mere few months without her. A fresh wave of grief washes over Steve, and then he can’t help another laugh, then another, and suddenly he’s cracking up into her stomach. Laughing like the insane man he feels he often is.

Sarah freezes, then reaches out to lift his face, their eyes meeting. His laughing stops. She gasps again.

“It really is you,” she murmurs, thumbs moving to the outside corners of his eyes, where there are two identical freckles. Little stars, she used to call them.

Steve offers her a brave smile. “Yeah, ma. It is.”

Sarah shakes her head. “What happened?” she asks again.

“I… so much,” Steve breathes. “I don’t know how to explain it all. I-- I don’t know where to start, but god, I just wanted to see you. I needed to see you.”

Sarah studies his face. “You’re so tired,” she says, thumb stroking his eye again. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. His lip trembles.

“So tired,” he agrees.

“You don’t need to tell me everything,” Sarah says. “I’m not sure I want to know. But I just… Steven, you look so different.”

Steve laughs, wiping at his eyes. “In a few years, there’s a war,” he says. Blunt-- they’d always been so straightforward with each other. “A scientist-- god, please don’t be mad-- a scientist offered, or… offers? Offered me an opportunity, and I took it.”

“Of course you did,” Sarah murmurs, looking fond and angry despite. She seems to set that train of thought aside. “Germany?” and oh, right. It’s already been in the news, the new reign.

“Yeah.”

Sarah hums. “My dear, you look like you’ve seen more than just war.”

Just war. As if any war was just anything.

As if his war ever truly stopped.

He casts his gaze down.

“Yeah,” he says again, and he thinks of Bucky, who’s also yet to come home from the war. Bucky, who is probably somewhere at the docks right now, untouched by anything but insecurity and financial hell. He desperately wishes they both can soon. This visit, he hopes, will bring him one step closer.

Sarah must read his mind, because her face clouds over.

“Bucky…?”

“Survives,” Steve says quickly, then backtracks. “Kind of. We both kind of died, then came back to life in the future and--” Sarah looks horrified now, and Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s alive. We’re together.”

“Alright,” Sarah says slowly. “As long as you’re together.”

Steve nods, and fuck, he wishes he could have brought Bucky, too. Sam as well-- showed his ma his new friends. The brave new family he’s made for himself. The thought has his eyes swimming again, and he screws up his face, trying not to cry. He’s a goddamn mess. It’s ridiculous.

“I must admit, I’m quite confused,” Sarah says. “And sweetheart, you’re not talking.”

Steve shakes his head, and her arms come around him. He melts into the hold-- savors the feeling. Memorizes the pressure, her smell, and pockets it away for later.

“I just missed you so much is all,” he croaks. “And I-- ma… I’ve done so much. I’ve hurt so many people. Killed so many people, and I still feel so lost, and everything hurts and oh Christ, I’ve just-- I miss you.”

He had sworn to himself, before coming in, that he wouldn’t unload any of this onto her. But her warmth is all encompassing, and he craves her comfort. Her approval. Her strong, sure tone telling him everything will be okay.

That he will be okay. He has to be. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s not.

“Lord’s name,” Sarah murmurs, and Steve huffs another laugh. She runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know how any of this is possible, but I do know you, dearheart. And I know that you are a good person. A gentle person-- my gentle boy, if you’d had a choice, you wouldn’t have chosen violence. But you know more than anyone how mean the world can be. You might have had to make hard decisions, done bad things, but you, Steven, are not bad.”

Steve’s lips part. It doesn’t fix everything, the words-- it barely scrapes the surface of the wall of pain and guilt that suffocates him. But for a moment, the world seems clearer. Quieter. The ache in his chest lanced for one, freeing breath.

“Ma…” Steve says. He doesn’t know how to thank her-- what to say-- because here she is, offering him warmth and closure, even though she might still think he’s nothing but a figment of her imagination. He craves her compassion; her generosity. Swears to uphold it as best he can.

You always stand up, she once told him. He will still, he thinks. He always will. And he will now.

He’ll go home to his family-- his life-- and goddamn live finally. He’s been surviving for so long, he realizes. It’s about damn time for him to stand up and live.

“You’ve still got the same heart,” Sarah continues. She pokes his freckles again. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Steve lifts a hand to cover hers. Her hands are as soft as they always were and he turns his face to kiss her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss her cheek, eyes closing as memories of doing that before running off to school or to play flash through his mind. She smells faintly of vanilla. He wonders if she still dabs it behind her ears.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, ma. I love you. I love you so much-- thank you for being there for me. For raising me, and loving me.”

Sarah hugs him. Outside the room, there are voices; shuffling. He needs to go. The window is open, and they’re only three floors up.

“Loving you is the easiest thing that I’ve ever done,” Sarah says. She looks at the door. The voices are closer now. She kisses his forehead. Another echo of a life long gone. “Go now, Steven. Go home.”

Steve looks at her one last time, drinking in the love in her eyes. And as he climbs out the window, the too-tight doctor’s coat ripping around the shoulder seams, he can’t help but think that he’d gotten her eyes right whenever he’d painted her.

Her love won’t be something so easily forgotten.

-

Bucky catches him before he can collapse as he reappears on the launch pad. He lowers them to the ground, cradling Steve’s head with and letting him practically climb into his lap as he weeps, overwhelmed.

After a few minutes, he pulls back. Bucky’s watching him, concerned, and Steve leans in to gently kiss him.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, wary as they pull apart. He reaches out to swipe some tears off Steve’s cheeks.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says. “All the stones are back-- everything’s okay. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Relief washes over Bucky’s face and he kisses Steve, smiling. “Oh god,” he murmurs. “Thank god.”

Steve wraps his arms around his neck, humming in agreement. Sam and Bruce are somewhere-- Steve can hear them talking-- but it’s distant.

They’re quiet for a long time, breathing in each other. Bucky’s arms feel so goddamn safe that Steve feels his resolve slipping again. He can tell Bucky things. He can be here with him now. Home.

“I went to see her,” he whispers.

Bucky stills where he was previously rocking them lightly.

“Her…” Bucky says, then shifts. “Your ma?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Bucky squeezes him tighter. “How-- how was that? How did she…”

“She was confused. I don’t even know if she knew I was real.”

Bucky pauses, then kisses behind his ear. Steve thinks of vanilla again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

“No, it was-- good. Needed. I feel… good.”

“That’s so good, honey.”

“She asked about you-- wanted to know if you were, um, alive. I told her you were.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and there’s a small smile on his face now. Bucky had loved Sarah as if she were another mother, and Steve had done the same with Winnifred. It was a privilege to have had both of their protective arms. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘as long as we’re together’.”

Bucky smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve wants to reach out and touch, so he does, because he can do that now. Bucky is tangible. He is here.

“She’s got a point,” Bucky says. He goes back to rocking them and Steve rests his head on his shoulder. He hears Bucky start to say something, then stop.

“What?” he asks, pulling back.

Bucky studies him. “Did you want to stay?” It isn’t accusatory, just curious, and Steve considers it.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Just… instinctively. It’s an opportunity I might have taken up if someone offered it ten years ago, but… I’m a ghost there now, like I was a ghost here, and I don’t want to do that again.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to.”

Bucky nods, cupping Steve’s cheek and thumbing his jaw affectionately. “I hear you,” he says. “I was just wondering.”

“And besides, my ma told me to go home before I left,” Steve said, cupping Bucky’s cheek in return. “So I did.”

Bucky smiles, and presses their foreheads together.

“We can do that now,” Bucky says. “We can go home. We can rest.”

And there are still things to do-- Steve doesn’t think there ever won’t be things to be done. But that can wait for another day.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He’s grungy, dirt digging in bone deep from the whirlwind of the last few weeks. He smirks, climbing off Bucky’s lap. “But I call first shower.”

Bucky snorts and stands, pulling Steve up.

“Yeah, whatever, asshole.”

Yeah. The world can wait another day.

-

There’s a bottle of vanilla in the spice cabinet. Steve sees it as he’s looking for the cinnamon. The kitchen is empty, but for the first time in years, he knows he’s not alone.

He takes the vanilla out and dabs some onto his fingers, gently rubbing it behind his ears. He closes his eyes, letting the smell wash over him. He can still feel his ma’s arms around him, keeping him warm.

Home. He’s home.

-

thanks for reading yall aflkdjflaksjdf

[inspiteallthedanger]

Do you think John’s resentment towards Paul (which still came through sometimes in 80) was something that grew and festered in part due to his distance from it? I mean, maybe it was easier to transfer his trauma from beatlemania and other negative aspects from that time in his life onto Paul especially since he was already pissed at him for the way the band ended (Paul announcing it, bringing in eastman, suing them ect.). It seems like all that really soured him on Paul and totally flipped what was once fondness and a tolerance for his quirks into mostly contempt. If John and Paul used to feel magnified by the other I guess it makes sense that the negative side of that would make him hyper aware of the ways he couldn’t stand him. Paul’s insensitivity and his ‘being aware but not wanting to know’ seem like things which John eventually found intolerable. Obviously it’s all moot anyway but what do you think it would’ve taken from both John and Paul if they ever decided that a friendship was worth salvaging? Although the possibility that they would’ve just gone on as distantly friendly (a la Paul&George) with periodic phone calls, postcards ect. is valid too lol

In short, nonny, I think you're completely correct. I'm going to elaborate but it got so long it's going under a cut. It's been ages since I needed to that. Thank you for sending something that sparked this!

It's like Paul says in GB, "When you're close, physically, something grows. When you're not, something goes." One of the things that almost everyone comments on in GB is that Paul and John seem almost hopeless to stop themselves from being drawn together. When they let themselves, their chemistry is off the charts, and they get one another. They're creative and they have fun. John making Paul laugh even when he's almost out of his mind from stress, through to John carefully talking Paul through his anxiety. Through to Paul gently coaxing John into the project. I know there's plenty of sources (themselves included) that show they weren't always so happy. I think music seemed to be a very safe space, but nonetheless, when they let themselves, they did get on.

I think part of the reason John threw himself on the 'Yoko boat' was for exactly the reasons you've outlined. He knew he had to get away, to put physical space between them if he was ever going to actually move on.

It's also important to note Janov's influence on the things you outline. One of the pillars of his teaching is that friendship is a lie. You see John spouting this line years later. I think it played into his deepest fears about his relationships, especially his relationship with Paul. So, without Paul there to show that it wasn't true, it was almost easier to believe it.

The things you outline so perfectly illustrate how it feels to break up with someone. All those things you fond cute are just annoying. But, also, I do think it's just a very John thing. He needs to make a villain or a hero out of people. It's also very John to need to blame someone for his own feelings. Across the Universe didn't sound how you wanted it to? Paul must have subconsciously sabotaged it.

I don't mean this to say, btw, that he's wrong either. Paul is annoying. Paul was cold and distant in ways that plenty of other people have commented on. I think the issue was that Paul didn't realise that John wanted/needed anything else. They were stuck in 15 year old boy dynamics and they aren't known to be super caring and supportive.

What would it have taken for them to move on? Urg. That really does depend on what you think the issue was. If it's the official narrative: Paul being overbearing and not supportive enough. John being hot and cold and noncommittal about projects. Then I guess that's not that hard to overcome. It would take some time to build up trust, to meet on an equal playing field. But it's doable.

I think, personally, it’s more complicated than that. At the very least, they were way too possessive of each other. They didn’t know how to be together without it being the most important relationship of their lives. That, clearly (and as they said repeatedly) didn’t work with marriages. So, what then?

Either they both move on and accept that they're not each other's everythings. This is problematic because I think the whole reason they were incredible was the intimacy of their connection. Dumbing that down might impact the music. Ultimately I think that’s probably why they didn’t go back. Accepting a lesser thing just wasn’t what either them wanted.

And that’s not considering the possibly that they were in love with each other. What if they were the lovers that never were?

They… shag? See Going Nowhere, really.

Or we go down the middle and say they were just best friends that fell out badly. Well, in that case, it would involve a lot of work. They'd need to establish healthy boundaries. They'd need to communicate about both how they feel and what they want from the relationship. John would need to feel loved and cared for outside of the music. Paul would need to feel secure and that John wasn't going to run off with the next artist that catches his eye.

There is, sadly, little evidence that either of them really got to the stage where this would be possible for them. As I sad, I don’t think they even necessarily wanted it. Seeing someone that you loved and it all fell apart can often just be painful, however much you want it not to be. Staying friends would have kept things tidier but, really, it might also have just been worse.

[adultswim2021]

Saul of the Mole Men #7: “What's Happening down There?” | March 26, 2007 - 12:00AM | S01E07

When we last left Saul and his Mole Men: Saul’s heart’s been broken by Fallopia, his would-be big-titty blonde GF. She tries to reassure him that she values him as a “totally sexless” friend. This is Irina Voronina’s first real comedy line that she really has to sell. As for her comedy chops, they’re uh… (*googling her to see how hot she still is*) pretty good!

Lil, who is very Sigmund-esque (of and the Sea Monsters fame), is going through puberty, and his father won’t help him with a particular right-of-passage. We learn later what this entails: A trip to Puberty Gulch, where the darling little Mole Boy has to hunt for a pair of testicles. The testicles are portrayed here as skittish little insect-like creatures who are difficult to trap.

Meanwhile, Bertram has begun his Project Thunderhole, which if you need reminding entails digging a huge hole upwards towards the Earth’s surface. This was previously considered forbidden. As we cut back to the worksite we see worker Moles begin digging and immediately get crushed by a cave-in, one by one. The final scene in this runner has Bertram putting up a memorial statue to the workers who have lost their lives to Project Thunderhole. The statue topples over and crushes one of the workers. Solid joke.

This horrific process is the reason Clancy is too distracted to take his son to Puberty Gulch. Luckily Lil and Saul run into one another while they are off moping around and licking their respective wounds. Lil needs to go through puberty lest he be condemned to a fate worse than death: become (Married… With Children slime font) intersexed. That line hit my ear a little harshly, but we’ll move past it. Sorry to anyone out there who watched this episode of Saul and got bummed out by it. Luckily, nobody watched this show, so the chances of that are infinitesimal.

Also notable: Saul gives Lil his amber gemstone, one that he says he got from deep in the bowels of Indochina. This has made a few appearances in the series; Saul pulls it out to gaze at it while reiterating his theory that all rocks are sentient and descended from one ancient “mother rock”. Saul does this because he’s so despondent over Fallopia that he basically gives up everything that he cares about (at first).

Saul and Lil go hunting for testicles and eventually find some. Perhaps this is symbolic in Saul’s own character arc; having just been rejected for his own presumed lack of sack he winds up grabbing a pair for someone else. This selfless act redeems him in Clancy’s eyes, who arrives late on the scene with the pathetic offering of his grandfather’s hand-me-down hangers.

Throughout the episode we see a bird watching the action from a monitor. The episode ends with this bird grabbing Saul and flying him to its lair. I believe this is recycled from the pilot, and a tiny bit of footage from the pilot makes its way into this episode. 

I suppose this is one of the stronger episodes. It actually manages to stand alone for the most part. It’s notable that director Tom Stern actually considers this one his favorite (as noted on his vimeo page, where I got that weird title card). This show, for as samey as it seems, does have peaks and valleys. A geologist’s dream!

MAIL BAG

Did you ever see Josh Gardner-as-Saul on Jimmy Kimmel Live for a sitdown interview? Going by an old Toonzone thread, it seems it was on March 30, 2007. Gardner seemed sloshed. Shame it’s not online. I can’t imagine it’s worth looking up’

I only have the vaguest of memories of him as Gerhard Reinke on Kimmel, and I think it was just to throw to a video segment when they were trying to salvage that character from Comedy Central’s trash heap. I don’t even believe you’re being real with me, and that’s a shame. I thrive on respect. You blew it buster.

What was your reaction to seeing Dana Snyder do live action for the first time? Back when only his voice was known, wasn’t that something? Or was he already in some DVD extra I’m forgetting?

I don’t have any memory of this! I must have seen him for the first time at some point. I feel like I got into ATHF to the point I felt the need to seek out photos of him. Someday I’ll redo this blog and weave in every single DVD extra as well. And then I can finally kill myself

[coltsbitch]

small world ~ colt grice x reader

colt grice x reader; 3.7k words; nsfw summary: colt didn’t purposely sleep with falco’s teacher

masterlist

Colt is a responsible person. He’s caring, polite, never late. All the qualities of a good person.

He is not the type of person to fuck his younger brother’s third grade teacher.

But let’s back track to that night.

Colt had finally given into Porco’s insistent pestering, who had even roped Reiner in to watching Falco for the night and let himself be dragged to a bar.

“Alright, who’s the prey for tonight?”

Colt grimaces, “I thought we were here to drink.”

Porco slaps a hand on Colt’s back, “How long has it been since you got laid?”

Colt rolls his eyes, and shrugs off Porco’s hand, “Kind of hard when you have custody of a nine-year-old.”

“Pokko, leave Colt alone.” Pieck sets down the drinks she retrieved from the bar, “We’re just happy you could come out tonight.”

“Thanks, Pieck.” It had been a rough year and a half for the Grice brothers, losing both their parents in one night and Colt having to drastically shift his life in order to care for Falco. Not that he’s bitter about, would give his life for Falco if he had to, but doesn’t make it any easier.

“But if you are looking for someone, I have a couple friends I could set you up with?”

Colt groans, dropping his head into his hand.

“Babe, he doesn’t need a relationship, he needs a fuck.”

Pieck raises her brow, “And what do you have against relationships, Porco?”

Porco’s eyes widen hearing his full name come from Pieck’s mouth, “Nothing! Nothing babe!” He pulls her into his lap, “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Pieck scoffs before returning her attention to Colt, “So what’s new?”

The three spend the next couple hours catching up, Colt filling them on Falco, Porco making lewd jokes, and Pieck reprimanding him with swats to his head.

By Colt’s third drink Pieck’s eyes are dropping and she’s practically asleep on Porco’s shoulder, who’s trying to shake her awake.

“Such a light wight.” Porco is muttering, but there’s a lace of affection, “You don’t mind if we head out?”

Colt waves him off, “I’ll probably finish this last one and then get home too.”

Porco nods, “Let me know when you get home.” Colt smiles at his friend who underneath many layers of roughness, is truly a caring guy.

Colt watches as Porco practically carries Pieck out the door. He picks at the label on his bottle, wondering if Falco is asleep by now or if Reiner indulged him with too many sweets and might still be bouncing off the walls.

Colt downs the rest of his drink and moves to stand but is interrupted from his thoughts when someone slides into booth across from him.

“You get ditched too?”

Colt freezes, “I, what?”

You crinkle you nose, “Sorry, that’s probably weird. I just saw your friends leave and thought, that’s something we have in common.”

Colt doesn’t answer, can’t answer. Because here sitting in front of him is this gorgeous woman who quite literally came out of nowhere. And maybe it’s the alcohol making his eyesight fuzzy around the edges, but you look like a goddess with the neon lights of the bar hanging over you.

You bite your lip, hoping to still salvage this, “I’m ___.” You extend your hand, glad to see he is at least able to shake it back.

“I’m Colt. Sorry.” He shakes his head, “Just wasn’t expecting anyone else.” He gives an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “Umm, so your friends left you?”

You settle into the booth, “Yeah. It was supposed to be my post break up girl’s night, but they all quickly found someone else to spend it with.”

“Sorry about the breakup?”

You wave your hand, “I’m over it. Cheating bastard wasn’t worth my time anyway. But what about you? You part of the lonely hearts club too?”

Colt laughs, “No, I mean, I guess I am. But it’s just been a rough year.”

You hum, and Colt’s thankful you don’t press further, not wanting to unload on the first pretty girl who’s looked his way in the last year, “Let me buy you a drink?”

Colt opens his mouth to politely decline, thinking about Reiner who’s waiting at his apartment for him to get back. But there’s something about the small smile on your face and shinning eyes that has him following you to the bar where you order two beers for each of you.

Now Colt will be honest, he knows he’s pretty helpless when it comes to flirting. Never quite sure what to say or how to say it. He’s watched his friends for years, even tried to get lessons from Zeke when he was in high school, but it’s all been for naught.

So with the way you’re laughing at all his jokes, even the one he knows aren’t that funny, and your knee that keeps knocking into his, or how you’ll accidentally place your hand on top of his before quickly pulling back.

There’s no way this is all in his head.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom really quick. You’re not going to bail on me, are you?”

“I’ll be right here when you get back.” Colt smiles. You bite your lip giving him a once over, causing Colt to flush under your gaze.

You nod and walk in the direction of the restrooms, and Colt throws a glance over his shoulder, seeing that you’re already looking at him as you push the door open.

What the fuck is he doing?

Colt needs to get home. He needs to prep Falco’s lunch for tomorrow, the laundry needs to be moved to the dryer, double check Falco’s homework, not to mention finish that project his supervisor has been hounding him for at work.

But Colt glances over his shoulder again and sees you still haven’t left the bathroom.

Fuck. Is he going to do this? That was a clear signal, right?

Colt flexes his hands a couple times before standing from his seat and making his way to the restrooms. It’s in a dark corner of the bar, and he double checks that no one is looking before pushing open the door.

You’re standing there with your arms crossed leaning against the sink. Your head pops up at the sound of the door opening and a grin splits out onto your face.

“Fuck.” You say, “I wasn’t sure if I was being obvious enough.”

Colt stands awkwardly, “I’m glad I wasn’t misreading it.”

You grab Colt’s hand and pull him into one of the stalls, locking the door behind you.

“What if we get caught?” Colt whispers.

You shrug, “I guess we’ll have to be quick.” You chew on your lip watching Colt process your words and the situation he’s found himself in.

He nods, face determined, looking like he’s about to enter a war or something. You giggle at his seriousness, threading your fingers through his belt loops and pulling him flush against your body.

Deciding the best way to move this along is to get right to it. Pressing your lips against his you wrap your arms around his waist, hands finding their way past his shirt, and you’re surprised to find the taught muscles that hide underneath.

Colt cups your cheeks and it’s sweet, the way he kisses you deeply. But that’s not why you seduced him into this grimy bathroom stall.

You sneak your hand down to his ass, gripping one cheek and giving it a tight squeeze, which earns you a desperate whimper and a sharp grind.

You let out a surprised laugh that turns into a moat when one of Colt’s hands lifts your leg around his hip and pins you against the stall. Colt pulls away to gasp and you use the opportunity to begin your assault on his neck.

He has to press his hand into the stall above you to ground himself, the kisses you trail along his neck not letting him think straight, but he needs to get this one thought out before he can continue anything.

“Wait, wait.” Colt puts a little distance between your bodies, “I don’t want you to think, I mean, I can’t commit to anything right now.”

You humor him with a smile, “Colt. I’m about to fuck you in a dirty bar bathroom, I’m not looking for a proposal or anything.”

“Oh, okay. Good, I guess.”

You roll your eyes, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Colt’s cheeks darken, “Made out with someone I met thirty minutes ago? No.”

You run your hand down his chest, and back up behind his neck, “I hope we’ll end up doing more than just making out.”

“Umm, right.” Colt grunted, “Uh, do you have a condom?”

You smile and pick up your purse dropped at your feet, pulling out the latex square. Colt reaches to take it from your hand, but you pull your hand back, “Let me.”

Colt swallows and nods, watching as you reach down to his belt, undoing the buckle. You work your speedy hands, unzipping his pants and pushing down his underwear.

You glance up as you’re ripping open the package, but Colt isn’t looking at you. His eyes are transfixed on where your one hand is resting close to his newly exposed cock. Taking pity, you grasp his shaft, giving a firm tug.

Colt shudders and thrusts into your hand, “Please.” He whines.

You roll the condom down his cock, rolling your thumb over the head when it’s situated, before turning around to face the door.

A beat passes and you glance over your shoulder wondering what the holdup is.

Colt’s cheeks are a dark pink as he stares at you.

“Well?” You ask, pressing your ass into his crotch.

Colt grabs your hips to hold you still. He doesn’t want this to be over before you even have your pants off.

The two of you work together to lower your jeans, pushing them down to your knees. He traces the line of your panties with a delicate finger, captivated by the pretty lace.

“Maybe if you do a good job, I’ll let you keep them.” You tease.

Colt chokes on a laugh, realizing you caught him in his transfixed state. He pulls down the lace to bundle with your jeans and can’t help himself when he reaches around your hip and dips a finger into your folds.

You moan at the contact when he brushes against your clit that’s been ignored all night. You don’t have anything to grab onto as he spreads the wetness along your cunt, so you ball your hands into tight fists.

“So wet.” Colt praises in astonishment, “Barely touched you.” He pushes two fingers into your cunt and thickness has you curling your toes.

“C’mon.” You whine, “We’re running out of time.” You’re really just desperate for his damn cock to fill you up already, but you don’t want to beg.

“Fuck.” Colt mutters, as if realizing he can’t take his time like he wants to, like you deserve.

Pulling your hips back and pushing you down a little, Colt lines himself up. The heat radiating from your pussy makes his head spin a little. But he pushes himself in slowly, inch by inch. And you have to stand there and take it, the door in front of you making it impossible to escape.

He lets out a groan when he bottoms out, and you squirm as his balls brush against your clit.

Colt’s arm wraps around your stomach, pulling you up against him as starts to thrust shallowly.

One of your hand flies to his arm, nails digging in when he hits a spot deep in you. Still bracing yourself against the door you let you head fall forward trying to suppress a groan.

Colt shushes you, kissing the back of your neck, “Need to keep quiet, right?” You nod meeting his thrusts, a particularly sharp thrust making you clench and Colt moans into your hair.

“I thought we needed to be quiet.” You tease.

Colt has a snarky comment on his tongue but holds it back when the door opens, sound from the bar spilling in. You both freeze. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening if someone were to look under the crack of the door, but you’re also in the last stall.

Both of your hearts are beating loudly in your chests as the sounds of someone washing off spilled beer on their shirt reaches you.

“Quiet.” Colt whispers in your ear that has you nodding along. But the thrill of getting caught reignites the flame in your core and you can’t even stop your body from rolling back on his cock.

“Fuck.” You harshly mutter, eyes rolling into the back of your head. The feeling only amplified when Colt shoves his fingers in your mouth, the same fingers that were deep in your cunt, now covered in your cream that’s assaulting your senses.

Your muffled moans test Colt’s patience while he waits for the person to exit the bathroom. And the second he hears the door shut, he’s slamming into you with a speed and power you didn’t think the blushing man had in himself.

“Such a tease.” Colt gets out between clenched teeth, his hands sliding down your front to rub tight circles at your clit.

You squeak at the sensation, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer, clenching and spasming around his cock that has Colt tipping over the edge with you. But Colt doesn’t let up, thrusting through his orgasm and still playing with your clit.

“Colt!” You yelp, having to rip his hand away from your body, unable to withstand the stimulation any longer. But he grabs your hand and locks it against the bathroom stall while he gives you a few more hard thrusts.

You cry out, tears filling your eyes while he slows behind you. Colt presses a kiss to your cheek as he pulls out, and you miss the fullness. You close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. You can feel Colt behind you trying to situate himself. Even going as far to pull your pants up for you too.

You huff out a laugh at his chivalry, “What a gentleman.” You tease, buttoning your pants, “I guess you don’t want my panties then?” You ask over your shoulder.

Colt blushes, which warms your chest, as if he wasn’t just balls deep in you, “So it was good then?”

You turn to press a kiss to his cheek, “Yeah, you did good.”

“Good.” Colt nods, “Umm, it was for me too.”

You smile at his awkwardness, “Good. So, did you want to finish our drinks?”

Colt’s face drops, “I should probably get home, actually. But maybe,”

“No worries.” You wave him off, ignoring and not dwelling on why that disappoints you a little. You unlock the door and step out of the stall, glad to see you’re still alone.

Colt follows you out and looks like he wants to say more but decides against it, “Right. I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe.” You look over your shoulder at the door, “I’ll go out first?” Colt nods, “Okay, well. Thanks again, for everything.”

Colt smiles and you feel a little weak in the knees and like you could go for another round all over again. Readjusting your purse, you press a quick kiss to Colt’s lips before heading out the door, not looking back. And Colt isn’t surprised when he returns to the bar to see you’ve already left, but none the less slightly disappointed at the fact.

Colt manages to make it home just a little after midnight. He quietly opens and closes the door, praying not to wake anyone. Reiner is sitting in the on the couch watching a silent television.

“Falco asleep?” Colt whispers, toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket on the hook.

Reiner nods and flips off the television, “Crashed a couple hours ago. He was trying to stay up until you got home, but just couldn’t do it.”

Colt feels a brief flash of guilt but shakes it away.

“Thanks again. I know Porco roped you into it, but thanks.” Colt isn’t good at accepting help from others, especially when it comes to Falco, but his friends usually don’t take no for an answer.

“Don’t worry about it.” Reiner waves him off, “You have fun tonight?”

Colt shrugs, “It was nice.”

Reiner gives a noncommittal hum, eyeing Colt as he pauses at the door, “Might want to wash the lipstick off your neck before getting into bed.” Colt chokes on nothing as Reiner’s shoulders shake with laughter, “See ya later.”

The rest of the weekend Colt tries and fails to push you from his thoughts. Yeah, he was the one who made it clear it was a one-time thing, and maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in so long, but he’s really wishing he had at least asked for your phone number.

Monday morning he drives Falco to school, and he’s contemplating texting Porco about going to the same bar again this weekend, with the off chance you might be there again.

“Bye Colt!” Falco screams slamming the door. Colt winces at the sound, swearing one of these days that boy was going to break off the door. Out of habit he checks the back seat, and Colt has to repress a groan when he sees Falco left behind his superhero lunchbox.

Colt peers out the window to see Falco is already long gone, somewhere in the mess of children who are running around the playground for the few minutes they have before the bell rings.

He knows he’ll get a tearful phone call later if he doesn’t get the lunch box to Falco, so Colt resigns himself to being late to work and pulls into the parking lot.

Lunch box in hand Colt walks towards the playground, hoping that Falco will see him and make this detour faster than it needs to be. Colt is fiddling with the lock, making sure it’s secure which makes him walk straight into the playground monitor.

“Shit.” Colt mutters “Sorry, I wasn’t watching-” But the rest dies in his throat when he sees it’s you standing in the bright orange vest.

You’re just as surprised to see Colt standing in front of you. Thrown and honestly a little concerned as why the fuck he would be here at your elementary school.

“Colt?” You ask.

“Umm. Hi?”

You give him a once over, appreciating the button down and slacks he’s wearing today, also taking note of the children’s lunch box in his hands. A bit too old to be at this school, but also a little too young to have a child here, you think.

“Colt!” You both turn at the sound, and you realize it’s one of your sweetest students sprinting towards you, calling his name.

Falco comes to a halt, “Is that my lunch box?” He asks, grabbing it before Colt can even answer.

“You forgot it.” Colt is able to choke out, eyes jumping back and forth between you and Falco.

Falco follows his older brother’s eyes and realizes you’re standing with them. Somehow having missed the vibrant orange safety vest you have thrown around you shoulders, honestly making you a little self-conscious that this is what Colt is seeing you in after this weekend.

Not that you care what he thinks of you. You’re not looking for anything right now.

“Ms.___?” Falco pulls on your hand, “Do you know Colt?” You open your mouth, unsure how to respond, not like you could explain it to the nine-year-old.

“I’m Falco’s brother.” Colt sticks out his hand, which seems like an overkill to you since he’s literally been inside you.

“Oh.” You say, taking his hand, well aware of the Grice family situation. And your heart clenches at the thought, making a little bit more sense why he was so firm about letting you know Friday night was a onetime thing.

You’re spared from saying anything when the bell rings, signaling the start of school.

“Sounds like you better get to class.” Colt tells Falco.

Falco pouts, sad he wasted his last few minutes talking to his brother and teacher, “Okay.” But still takes the time to hug his brother, “Thanks for my lunch box!” Before sprinting towards the entrance.

You clear your throat, “Falco’s a good student.” Mentally face palming yourself for the awkward comment.

Colt’s eyes widen, “You’re Falco’s teacher?” You nod while Colt mutters out a curse, earning a giggle from you, “This is awkward, right?”

You nod, “A little.” You chew on your lip, unsure what to say, but realize most of the students have cleared out, and it’s probably not the best to leave your thirty students unsupervised for too long, “Well, I need to-”

“I know this-”

You both stop while the other tries to talk, quietly laughing. “You go.”

Colt rubs the back of his neck, “I know we both agreed to a one-time thing, but I think I’d hate myself if I didn’t ask for your number.”

Your mouth parts, “Oh.” And Colt flushes, “Umm.” You avert your eyes, “It’s just, your brother is in my class and I try not to mix personal life with work.” You stumble over your words.

Colt flushes further, “Right, sorry. That was rude of me to ask, especially here.” Colt glances at the ground.

You chew on your lip, still thinking it over. It’s not that you don’t want to see Colt again. But he is the guardian of one of your students and you just got out of long relationship, not looking to jump into another right away.

“Maybe I can get yours?” You offer, and Colt’s head shoots up, eyes a little wide, “I mean, incase Falco forgets his lunch again?” A small smile playing on your lips, holding your phone out.

“Right.” Colt agrees, typing his number in, “He’s very forgetful. And it’s not like he’ll be in your class forever.” Colt says but it comes across as a hopeful question.

You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his forwardness, accepting your phone back, “I’ll see you around Colt.”

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt 2

Pairing: Eventual Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Length: 1.5k words

Warnings: Too many commas, some extra ‘u’s in words as I’m Canadian..., not enough time spent world building. Hope y’all got an imagination.

Notes: They meet! They meet!  (Tags at the end.)

PART ONE

The morning sun saw Frankie already awake and amidst his trees. He knew that most people thought him stubborn by wanting to run his little orchard himself. He had heard the whispers, seen the side glances, the quirked eyebrows. The odd reputation he was gaining was worth the solitude and peace he had found.

The reputation of Town Recluse was better than That Ex-Cokehead Murderer. A small part of his brain knew that he was being too hard on himself but a larger part was convinced he deserved it. 

So, he worked his penance here. Frankie nursed the trees back to fruition, his sweat and blood sacrificed to bring forth life; refusing to use pesticides or any form of agent that might harm another living thing. Deer, rabbits, mice, and bugs were the bane of a harvester’s business but Frank had decided to find joy in their presence. If he didn’t have to see another death until his own, that would still be too soon.

It had taken him three years to get anything more than a few barrels of apples. Most asked why he didn’t just cut them all down and start anew. They didn’t understand, hell he barely did, but in his soul, Frankie knew he needed to prove that he could do good. He had made his own baskets, built sheds, mended fences, and slowly built the business and a small loft for himself in the old barn.

Looking down the rows and rows of trees, Frankie was starting to get the feeling he might need help this harvest season. It wasn’t easy for him to acknowledge this but if he didn’t get at least one helping hand, more than a few bin-fulls would go to waste. Frankie decided he would put up a flyer on the notice board the next time he went to town and pray that only quiet people would apply.

The trees were his pride and joy. A variety that had been lost and forgotten until he had bought the aging orchard and a man named Tom Brown had come along asking about the fruit.

He felt at peace when he worked as it let his mind focus on the job at hand and was tired enough to slip into a deep slumber at night. Previously plagued by nightmares, long days of pruning, fixing, or working in the mill proved the cure for a dreamless sleep.

“I’m sorry, how much did you say the total was?” you asked while rapidly trying to do some math in your head. If you purchased everything you needed at the hardware store that would only leave you forty-seven dollars left in this week’s budget. And it was only Monday. “Ermm, on second thought, I don’t know if I really need the plaster and trowel just yet. I’ll just take the drywall and screws, please.”

Leaving the store, head down, you were feeling like such an ass you didn’t even notice the two older ladies watching your exit and whispering madly to each other. The owner of Hank’s Hardware, whose name was oddly Allan, kindly helped you pile the drywall into your truck box. You were too busy with the tie-downs to notice him join in on the developing whispered plot.

Unable to resist, you purchased a bouquet of sunflowers. They were your favourite and, once you mentioned that you were new in town, the sweet older gentleman selling them gave you an extra bunch for free. The bright flowers lightened your heart enough to almost, almost, make you forget your even lighter wallet. 

The laden-down truck was nearly out of town when you spotted an open-air market down a side street. It had a surprising number of booths set up and looked so welcoming that you couldn’t resist.

Slowly walking between the stalls, you smiled at each vendor and complimented their handiwork. A few you recognized and thanked for the delicious foods they had brought by when you had first moved in.

You wished you could have supported more of the vendors, you respected their ability to create and be confident enough to share their wares. Taking one last look around, your gaze was caught by a familiar logo: it was the same one you had seen scattered across your porch a few weeks ago. ‘Catfish Cider’ in bold script framing a picture of a gnarled old tree. Maybe you should buy some and have Jacquie over for a less depressing girl's night? But could you afford it, even with leaving behind some of the reno items at Hank's?

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there staring at the display until a voice called out.

“You gonna buy something or just wanted to block off my stand?”

Whipping your head up you noticed the man standing behind the stand for the first time. His face, for the moment, set into a grimace you assumed was due to him being upset at your loitering.

“I dunno,” you fired back, annoyed by his annoyance and too tired to stop yourself from saying a bratty, “is it actually worth the money?” 

His grimace turned into eyebrow-raising shock, the tan skin of his rather attractive face reddening a shade or two with anger.

“Oh, you have such a discerning pallet to know better?”

“I- what? No! I just want to make sure I’m spending my money on something worthwhile.”

“Like flowers?” He challenged, his stance widening and arms crossing across his chest. 

You’d seen that pose too many times in the past; Brad used to tower over you posturing himself just like this asshole at the market. He liked to hover over you menacingly any time you had mustered up your courage to state an opinion or to belittle your ideas. It made you inwardly flinch, making you angry at yourself for still acting like a meek victim, and then, in a show of great maturity, you projected that anger onto the stranger who initiated the exchange.

“Like it’s any of your business!” You cried out in a shrill voice you didn’t even recognize as your own. “But yes, these flowers make me happier than anything else I’ve seen today could.”

“I’ll have you know-” he ground out, jabbing his finger at you.

“Nope!” You interrupted him, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m done listening to men like you!” 

“Men like me? Men like ME?” He crowed, “Pray tell, what the hell do you know about men like me?”

Had you been acting like a functioning adult you might have realized that your voices were beginning to get noticeably loud. A small crowd around the two of you had stopped what they were doing to listen while also trying to look like there weren’t eavesdropping.

“I know all I need to,” you proclaimed, not quite able to stop the tremble in your voice. “and I’m not going to waste any more of my life listening to one.” With that, you sharply turned and made your way through the suddenly thick crowd of people.

Once the adrenaline from your encounter had worn off, you found yourself crying in your truck and regretting the way you had snapped. The hot guy at the stand might have been a bit brash with you but he hardly deserved you taking out all your inner turmoil on him like that.

Frankie winced again, thinking about how quickly out of hand the conversation had gotten. His remark was supposed to come out light and teasing but he was out of practice talking to people. Pretty people. People who were framed by armfuls of sunflowers, whose skin glowed in the Autumn sun, who had a ready smile for everyone she talked to. 

He had found himself craving one for himself, and when she had stopped at his booth, looking lost in thought, he silently begged for her to look up. Impatient, he just blurted out the first words that came to his head and instantly regretted even trying. His cheeks grew red from embarrassment and Frankie just stood there looking at her blankly, not sure how to salvage the situation.

Before he could open his mouth to apologize though, the woman responded with a retort of her own. While it could have been interpreted as teasing, there had been a fiery glint in her eye that had pushed his pride button. Frankie was suddenly ready to throw down or at least regale her with the accolades of his cider and how it came to be.

What a mess he had made. He had riled up the beautiful stranger to the point her voice had wavered with barely repressed emotion. Not to mention the stir he had caused in front of half the town.

Once the market quieted down and everyone was closing up shop, Greg from the stall next to his, called over, “Know who that was?”

Even though it had been over an hour since the spat, Frankie knew he was referring to the woman with the sunflowers.

“Hopefully just some Leaf Peeper, I’d hate to run into her again.”

“Oooooh I dunno,” mused Greg, “A woman with passion in her blood like that can be a boon to crusty old men like us.”

Frankie noticed the gleam in Greg’s eyes and felt an odd burning in his stomach because of it. It was not jealousy at the unbidden image of Greg and the woman together. Definitely not.

PART THREE

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov 

[angel-of-stagelights]

I’m Gonna Learn You a Thing

I’ve been at the bottom of a research pit for quite a while now regarding a particular, extremely strange musical by the name of Starlight Express. Maybe you’ve heard of it, maybe not. It’s a musical with music by Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyrics by Richard Stilgoe and the first thing to know about it is that the entire cast of characters is anthropomorphized train cars, and the show is performed on roller skates.

Starlight Express is weird, even for Andrew Lloyd Webber, and its history is kind of ridiculous. First of all, it was based on a scrapped idea for a Thomas the Tank TV series that was considered in the 70s, but never produced. Webber was also composing songs for an animated TV adaptation of Cinderella that would feature Cinderella as a steam engine and the stepsisters as a diesel engine and an electric engine around the same time. The Cinderella project went into development hell, but Webber salvaged several songs from it to create what would eventually become Starlight Express.

The idea to put the whole show on roller skates actually didn’t come up until after the first few songs were workshopped, but once it was in there, it stuck. Starlight Express is built around its races and dance numbers, all of which are performed on skates.

So what is the show actually about? Well, Starlight Express follows an old steam engine named Rusty and his quest to beat the reigning champion, Greaseball, in a race to prove his worth to Pearl, the beautiful first class carriage. Beyond that, the show has actually undergone a lot of revisions. A lot of revisions. 

Over the course of its production history, the show has had songs added, removed, rewritten, pasted together, and shuffled around. Characters have been added, removed, renamed, and had their storylines and arcs completely reworked. In some versions, the show opens with a child being sent to bed and leaving his toy trains out on the floor, implying that the entirety of the show is some kind of fever dream or made up story. The entire orchestration and tone of the show were revised in 2018 to the point where the German production had to shut down for a month to re-learn the show with all the new changes. Although not remotely the most notable of the 2018 changes, there is particular glee to be found in the introduction of two new characters, a British train named “Brexit” and a Japanese train named “Manga.”

As you've probably guessed, Starlight Express is considered a flop musical on Broadway, but what you probably didn’t guess is that it’s also the ninth longest running production in the history of the West End. It ran from 1984 to 2002 and closed after approximately 7,400 performances. Additionally, there’s a huge theater in Bochum, Germany that was built specifically for Starlight Express, and the show is still running there as of 2020 (28 years). Although the Broadway production closed relatively quickly, it was nominated for seven Tony Awards. The only Tony it won was Best Costume Design.

There’s no conclusion to this post. I have no final point. I just think it’s absolutely fucking wild.