#anti chevie

[postmodern-blues]

A full live breakdown of my reaction and thoughts to the Variety interview because I feel like I’m going crazy.

- I fucking KNEW Reitman was going to reduce each cast member to one aspect of themselves. I FUCKING CALLED IT. Pretty sure I laid it out in a dm exchange with @mrs-jake-blues. Reitman, you goddamn bastard.

- “Like that Peter Jackson documentary about The Beatles- What was it like when certain songs were written?” Make a documentary then. What the fuck are you doing making a biopic style movie when you had access to all the people you wanted to interview. Tell the truth rather than making the story into a movie and the people into characters. I can’t tell you how excited I’d be if they were making a documentary about the first SNL episode.

- SO glad that Rosie Shuster’s actress got to speak with her directly. That is a comfort, in fairness.

- I’m still furious about who they picked for Gilda. Young hollywood beauty standards are a disease. They could have spent 2 extra minutes finding someone who was as interesting and distinctive as Gilda. someone jewish even

- “I wanted to talk to Lorne, but Jason didn’t think that was a good idea” what the fuck does that mean. Are you kidding me? Why??

- “The internet is very abundant” girl come ON

- “Oh, I didn’t have to meet him and I didn’t have to try and figure him out because he’s a different man” are you saying that people fundamentally and irreconcilably change as they grow older and more famous, retaining not even a spark of their former selves? Jesus Christ just one conversation man

- “One of the things that Jason was really clear about with us as soon as we got going was that we were trying to capture the spirit of this moment in time and the essence of these people at this moment in time” I don’t know man that just seems like a super weak excuse for why the still living members of the cast and crew weren’t more involved. Why does your movie have to be some kind of ultra special time capsule if the people it’s about didn’t really get a say in how they were portrayed?

- “We didn’t have to think about them ten years later or even think about them once they had been affected by fame” that would be much more interesting though. You know that, right? Because then you’d be forced to write and portray them as complex people rather than stock characters for your boy wonder self insert fantasy

- “We were representing them, not recreating them.” What???? It sounds like you’re doing the opposite, actually.

- “Being on set and seeing everybody in their wardrobe, it was like, oh my god these are like superheroes or like shakespearean characters that everyone is familiar with that we’re getting the honor to show our interpretation of” Okay if he’s talking about the actual CHARACTERS, like Emily Litella or the bees or whatever, FINE. But you can get the same thing just by putting on a conehead mask on halloween. But if he means the players?? Insane thing to say. They’re not characters, they’re people. Two of them died young. There is an excess of storytelling and mythology surrounding them, but they are in fact people. To call them characters and to claim you can have an “interpretation” on them is laughable. This is the kind of shit that gets biopics torn to shreds. You can’t just take the history of a living human person and reduce it to an acting exercise. You’re doing everyone a disservice.

- “Dylan’s voice is insane in this movie” Unbelievably offensive. At least I’m getting some confirmation that O’Brien is attempting a Canadian accent but girl wtf is wrong with you why would you say that? Dan Aykroyd actually sounds like that! It’s not insane; it’s his fucking voice! Christ alive

- “I did not do a lot” And there it fucking is folks. My worst nightmare made flesh. Every single fucking nitpicky thing I’ve said about this movie made manifest and validated in one little sentence. The guy playing the most interesting guy ever to grace showbusiness: Dan Aykroyd, who is a fascinating, multilayered, quirky, abundantly creative, unlikely genius, who has given us the greatest and most beloved films in the past century. He didn’t research to play that guy. I’m shaking with fury it’s just so unbelievable. And Reitman has a direct line of access to the actual living breathing human man! The man who, as author Daniel de Vise described, went so far as to offer the details of his route to school for de Vise’s newest book. Aykroyd would be willing to talk, I know it. Jesus H tap dancing christ I cannot even fucking believe it. Worst case scenario.

- “In that way, you followed Jason’s direction” die

- “The idea is to capture one piece of essence of the character. You can’t actually replicate a person.” Insane shit. I thought the idea was to capture a moment in time? This is just further solidifying my fervent belief that this could have been a documentary. A documentary can do WAY more and go WAY deeper than a movie with regard to historical stuff like this. ESPECIALLY when you have the people in question sit down and explain themselves. You can’t replicate a person, so why make them characters? Why not try your hand at documentary filmmaking instead of making this all about you, Reitman?

- “I was in terror that I’d ruin my career over trying to do this.” “Are you serious?” Okay at least Chevy’s actor gets what a big fucking task this is. Everyone else is acting like it’s no big deal to do no research and stumble your way through playing one of these people. At least he respects that this is a legacy worth PREPARING FOR

- “You spend a lot of time in this film watching these people not performing but living” GREAT POINT. ALMOST LIKE YOU SHOULD GET TO SPEAK WITH THE PERSON AND GET A SENSE OF THEIR VOICE AND MANNERISMS. HMMM

- I really respect Chevy’s actor right now actually. Not only did he go in depth with interviews trying to get a sense of Chevy as a person, but he actually seems to have picked up Chevy’s inflections and mannerisms and such in a way that is convincing. As someone who has watched a lot of Aykroyd interviews (as many as say someone playing him should) I can list specific vocal and physical habits of his for you in detail. I get the sense this guy could do that for chevy, that gives me a small sense of relief.

- Thank GOD Garrett’s actor got to speak with him. Garrett is fucking old, guys. Can you imagine if instead of a shitty poorly researched biopic starring bland young people, we could have an in depth and stylistically pleasant documentary starring all the still living people who were involved before a lot of them die?? Because remember most of them are in their 70s and 80s??

- If they make Garrett “the black one”… if they make his whole character about how he’s the only black guy. I’m literally gonna kill myself. Super inspiring guys. Great job. I don’t really have any reason to think they will but the way they talk about him just irks me slightly

- “He was going through a lot more than just having to perform” something you’d only know by talking to him, once again.

- “Jason was spot on with his writing” based on everything I have seen I am very much inclined to disagree. Jason doesn’t seem to give a shit about reality

- “The one thing I’m not going to do is I’m not going to watch any of the first season of SNL” from GILDA’S actress is CRAZY. How do you know what her characters and physical comedy are like then?? What the fuck that is so insane. Why would you do that??? My confidence in the quality of the Gilda performance just dropped back to zero.

- “Our dressing rooms were designed and catered for our characters’ personalities” weird as shit. Stop calling them characters.

- “There was this clip of Gilda that I had never seen before” Literally insane. Unfathomable.

- “Gilda was the fairy dust, Garrett was looking for his identity, Chevy is an ego that needs to be humbled, Aykroyd is this genius that’s like filtering a firehose through a straw, each one had like one thing to focus on that was their journey” Congratulations Mr. Reitman you’ve officially read the introductory paragraph of a 500 page book about SNL. Usually a sane person would finish that book before presuming to turn its subject into a movie. But fuck man whatever.

To be completely honest the thing that kills me is the smugness with which he delivers all of this. It’s like he feels entitled to this story because his late father was of the set that produced this era of comedy history. And Ghostbusters, I get. Ghostbusters is Ivan Reitman’s legacy, and it makes sense to pass it on to his son. I love the new Ghostbusters movies. But this is different, man. This isn’t yours. And everything about this interview and the promo just oozes with presumption. I truly believe that if he really gave a shit about telling this story in a way that was meaningful and paid hearty homage to the people involved, he’d make a damn good documentary. He has the connections to make it happen and the stylistic eye to make it memorable. It could be the next STEVE! (martin). But he chose to make a biopic comedy, and he chose to tell his actors not to research, not to speak with the subjects of their portrayals. And he seems to think it’s some kind of big flex that his actors don’t know shit about the 70 somethings they’re playing because “it’s just a moment in time”. Horseshit excuse, dude. This group of people matters to me. The complex dynamics and the internal grappling with fame and the comedic theses of each one (I mean, comedy MEANT something to Gilda Radner. She performed with purpose. To fail to watch the most famous examples of her prowess is absolutely inexcusable), it’s all important. And Reitman is acting like it’s not. All that’s important is that his name comes up in the same sentence as the legends he wishes he was. Fuck all the way off.

And seriously, I mean, I know I’ve been snarky about the Aykroyd portrayal without any real reason, given how little we’ve gotten of him, but the confirmation from the horse’s mouth that O’Brien barely did any research justifies all of it. Absolutely revolting development. My confidence in this movie (such as it was) has waned to absolute zero. I will not abide by this being how these people and this show are remembered. Congratulations, guys, you Bohemian Rhapsody’d one of the most important moments in comedy history. Exeunt.

[chevy452]

Okay, okay, okay so your girl caved and read A Court of Thorns and Roses. I picked it up forever ago and struggled with the face-value Tris-Divergent-Pick-Me vibe I got from Feyre.

Goddamn, I wish I had held out a few more chapters.

Boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy she is so fucking cool. The whole beauty and the beast meets hercules/orpheus climax had me awake at 2am!

Also, because I'm now actively trying to avoid too many more spoilers I'm staying out of the ACOTAR tags, but please tell me Rhys at some point suggests sharing *wink* with Tamlin? Right? That happens right?

[wanderingmind867]

She was the best person on 70s SNL, and you can't change my mind! I saw her on the Muppet Show as a child (my mom and dad bought those DVDs for me), and she was funny. She deserved her own show! She did! Especially since a lot of the writing on SNL was never very good! Curse you, Lorne Michaels!!!

Flashing a great big weekend smile…

With the incomparable Gilda Radner

❤️ 

[wanderingmind867]

I know Chevy Chase has been said to be a diva backstage, but I still think he's pretty funny. One of the better cast members on original SNL, honestly. I also like the story of him not understanding Community. Based on what I know of it (plus my hatred of absurdism/surrealism), Same. I probably wouldn't have understood it either. Probably. I can't guarantee that, however. I don't like the stories of heard about him being rude to people when he hosted SNL, but I still think there's worse people than him from that era. Like Michael O'Donohue. I've heard many, many bad stories about him.

[universitypenguin]

The Lobster Trap

Word Count: 1,178

Summary: Princess finds out about Lloyd's views on marriage and his past when she over hears a conversation between him and Zach.

Author's Note: Thank you for the ask @yenzys-lucky-charm

Warnings: Fluff, minor (semi-intentional) eaves dropping, anti-marriage views.

Masterlist

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Thank you so much for your question! I’m thrilled that you’re still enjoying the story (and that you actually took the time to reread it!)

Lloyd has always been a closed book when it comes to his relationship and personal history. He avoids discussing the past, particularly his time in Europe and the Fitzroy kidnapping, which led to his arrest and catalyzed some very painful changes in his life. Despite doing a lot of inner work, Lloyd is still very uncomfortable with deep introspection and would rather avoid conversations about his past, especially the darker aspects of his time in the intelligence community. 

His experiences there, along with a traumatic childhood, have left him with a lot of memories he'd rather forget. He’s not the type to readily share them, especially not with Princess, who would be horrified if she knew the full extent of what he’s been through, and what he’s done. However, that reluctance doesn’t mean that Princess isn’t desperately curious about his past… she just respects him enough that she doesn’t pry. 

Your ask inspired me to write a scene where Princess overhears a conversation between Lloyd and Zach and learns a little about Lloyd’s past. Without further ado: 

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The quiet rumble of the Chevy Tahoe’s engine was a soothing hum in the background as you made the most of the drive home by catching up on sleep. Or at least you were trying to sleep. It was more like a very relaxed half-doze that you’d fallen into, the state between waking and sleeping where everything felt hazy but your mind was still above the surface of sleep, aware and semi-alert. 

It was a long drive back from Charlotte and the trip hadn’t fazed Lloyd or Zach, but you were exhausted. You were determined to hit at least one REM cycle, so you kept your eyes closed, trying to lull yourself to sleep. You felt the car shake as Zach passed through a railroad intersection that you remember from the trip down. It’s right before a small picturesque town, which you have to drive across to get to the highway leading north, towards D.C. you almost want to open your eyes and peek at the scenery but if you do, all hope of sleep will be gone. You keep your eyes closed. 

There’s a rustle of cotton against leather as Zach turns to check on you. 

“Is she still asleep?” he asks in a low voice. 

“Has been since we passed through Greensboro. I’ve been keeping an eye on her in the mirror,” Lloyd replies. 

“Mmmhh.” 

They lapse into silence and you hear the tick of the turn signal as Zach comes to a stop at the light. The only way through town is the main road that goes past the businesses and the city park. Opening your eyes is even more tempting. 

The car swings left and you realize that from your seat, the park is on the opposite side of the road. Opening your eyes would basically be pointless. You snuggle deeper into the seat, sighing. Sleep is right around the corner, you can feel it creeping up. 

“Would you look at that?” Zach asks. 

You don’t open your eyes but they swing towards Zach under closed lids, in an automatic movement. 

“That’s a lot of dress,” Zach says, chuckling. 

“Especially considering she’ll only wear it once.”

You realize there must be a wedding going on in the park. 

“You think the dress is expensive?” Zach asks. “You’ve never seen a bill from a divorce lawyer. And mind you, mine was amicable. I don’t even want to think about what a contentious divorce costs.” 

Lloyd grunts. “Especially when there are kids involved.” 

You thought you heard something in his tone, a subtle shift that hints of something painful. Zach doesn’t seem to notice. 

“True. But marriage isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Look at Bishop—married fifty years and still crazy about his wife. Landon’s happy enough with Ellie. It works for some people.” 

“It’s like a lobster trap–easy to get into, hard to get out of.” 

“With the wrong person, yes. If you have the right one…” 

“You can keep pouring, but I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid,” Lloyd says.

“You make it sound like a death sentence.” 

“For some, it might as well be.”

Zach laughs. Lloyd doesn’t. 

“There are only a few reasons to get married and none of them apply to me,” Lloyd says.

“Yeah? What are those reasons?” 

“Religion, stability for children, and the legal benefits. I’m agnostic, I don’t plan on having kids, and as far as the legal stuff, no one needs those things from me.” 

“The legal stuff would be more of a downside in your tax bracket, though,” Zach points out. 

“I’m thinking more of retirement benefits, inheritance rights, automatic next of kin, that stuff.”

“Come on, Lloyd,” Zach says. “You’ve dabbled in relationships over the years. Not a lot, I admit. None of them ever made you think, even for a second, that she was the one?” 

Lloyd scoffs. “No. Not even for a second.”

The hardness in his voice took you by surprise. 

“What about… what was her name? Miranda? You two were serious for a while.”

"Michela," Lloyd says the name as if he’s testing it out. "We both knew the score until she wanted to change things and I wasn’t onboard with that. She told me what she thought of that, and me, before she split.” 

Zach considers this for a moment. “You never talk about the women you date. It always made me wonder if there was more going on than you were letting on.”

“Or less,” Lloyd replies. 

“Well, that’s harsh.”

“There’s no point in dragging up the past.”

“Mmmhh. Your past is full of regrets, I suppose,” Zach says.

“And yours isn’t?”

“Touché.” 

The icy way he spoke of his past relationships shed a tiny ray of light on Lloyd’s highly compartmentalized private life. Your heart aches and you wonder how deep the mental scars from his past truly run. It was impossible not to notice the bitterness underlying his attitude towards marriage. You wished he could see that not all relationships are doomed, but you knew better than to challenge such a deep-set belief. Zach apparently didn’t share your reservations on that subject.

“It’s not all about the past, you know? It’s about what you want for the future. You should think about finding someone who understands you, someone who could share your life–all of it, not just the parts you let them into.” 

“That sounds like a recipe for disappointment. I’ll stick with keeping my expectations low, but thanks.”

Tension hangs thick in the air, before Zach relents. 

“Alright. Maybe you’ll change your mind someday. Marriage isn’t all bad. When it’s to the right person, it’s actually pretty great.” 

There’s a sneer in Lloyd’s tone when he speaks again.

“I didn’t realize you believed in fairy tales, Zach. Marriage brings out the worst in most people. Unless you have a good reason to need one, it’s pointless.”

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Masterlist

[peachetteprice]

Mister Commander | Phillip Graves

Chapter 2 - Tiger Rag

Chapter Summary:

The Collins sit down for a family meal with their new-found guest. Only, he hasn't arrived at the table as of late.

Word count: 3.3K (ish)

CW: Crass language, written by a Brit with no knowledge of Texas...

Sunday was hot. Hotter than hell's boots.

Phillip had been with the Collins - somewhat distanced - for the past week.

Every day, he would go into the woods with Winnie's father with a pocketful of cigarettes and a flask of tequila, and they'd come back in the evening with game, wild hog, deer, rabbit, fish, or any other wild animal they could get their hands on - though, much to their chagrin, Mrs. Collins refused to cook any and all of them. And every evening, as the sun continued its descent behind the hills to the East, Winnie brought an aluminum-tin full of food to Graves' doorstep.

On Sunday, however, there was none of that. Mr. Collins said it was too hot for Phillip to be staying in that 'sauna' and suggested it would be a ripe enough day to have dinner as a collective, Graves included.

Mrs. Collins didn't think herself brave enough to break the news to Winnie, however, so at six - as they took up their seats at the table - Winnie found herself staring at a bare plate and a set of cutlery that had never been there before.

"Momma... are we havin' another guest?"

"Nope. Phillip's eatin' with us tonight." Mr. Collins cleared his throat. "He'll sit there."

Winnie glanced at her father, who was too busy scratching at a rust stain on his fork to notice her ample grievance. Mrs. Collins, however, caught her eye during her round of napkin-passing and surely spotted it.

"Stop with those eyes, Winnie. Phillip Graves is a guest."

She huffed. "Sure. Phillip Graves hasn't once tried to be a guest. Every evening, I walk over to his cabin, and every evening, he slams open his door and grabs his dinner like it was a damn burden for him to even bend down--"

"--You keep those comments in your own head, little miss Collins." Mr. Collins grumbled. It was a terrible grumble, the sort of grumble only a father with waning patience could muster. "Pro'lly is a burden for him to bend down with that shoulder. That's why he's out with me most of the time... gets his mind off the wound, alright. Can't blame him for bein' anti-social."

"Can, and absolutely will for as long as he's--"

"Phillip!" Mrs. Collins exclaimed joyously, wafting a ladle as if it were an Olympic baton. "How nice of ya to join us! Gosh, I didn't even hear ya come in! Take a seat, please, get comfy. It's grilled steak and potatoes on the menu tonight."

Winnie didn't dare look him in the eye. He didn't deserve it. Not after his treatment of her own mother, refusing her cooking until it was too late in the evening to eat it comfortably.

It was too easy to recall her mother's flustered state, scrounging like a rat in a pantry for cutlery and crockery - not forgetting the can of Cola - only for Winnie to bring it to his doorstep as if she was his servant.

As if it wasn't thirty-two steps from his door to their front porch and another twelve to the kitchen.

Even after he sat, she paid him no mind. No attention. Only once did her eyes cross his path, in passing, and as soon as they did, they promised never to meet it again.

"Hot outside, ain't it? Inside, too..." Mr. Collins licked sheepishly at a glass of Scotch.

Winnie, wine.

Graves, beer.

"Sure is." Graves leant against the table.

Winnie felt the wood tilt beneath her elbows - she wrenched both arms into her lap instead.

"Wonderin' where Bonnie is with the food..." Mr. Collins hummed. "Gonna have to move the sheep to the East field at some point... got a Chevy needin' repairs in the barn, too." His lips smacked after every sentence. "You gon' help me with that, Phillip?"

"Bastard, makin' me do all that shit that I don't wanna do..." He scoffed.

Mr. Collins raked with laughter.

Winnie didn't watch it happen, of course, but she heard it - a button popped. Another sliver of Graves' sternum appeared into view, beneath his blue cotton shirt. A sparse number of hairs tickled his chest, though he was mostly bare.

If she didn't have such a kink in her eyebrows, she might have noticed the better half of his looks. The way the evening sun caught his tan. The way it grabbed him by the hollow of his cheeks. The way it caught the strands of blonde in his hair and turned them golden.

"Where's Momma with the food? I'm starvin..." Winnie swallowed half of her wine glass in just two gulps. "Y'know, I can help ya with the sheep, Daddy--"

"--When d'ya need 'em movin' then? Next week?"

Winnie clawed at her table mat. She clobbered a mean silence.

"No rush. Few weeks." Mr. Collins shrugged. He then delved a pinky into his ear canal and gave it a twist. "You say somethin', Winnie? You know I can't hear well out of my right. Those IEDs pack a punch, don't they, Phil?"

"Sure do." He approved.

Winnie watched Graves' chest inflate with a breath - though nothing much above - then, after a few seconds, deflate.

"Doesn't matter, Daddy. I was just... I can help ya with the sheep if you need it."

"Why don't you and Graves do it together? Now, there's a million-dollar idea. Y'ever wrangled sheep before, Phil?"

His groan suggested he had never.

Then, and only then, did Winnie decide to gaze at his face. And, much to her bafflement, he was already watching her right back. Hazel blues, pierced and primed for her stern attitude to dissolve. Even still, he didn't much acknowledge her, for what it was worth. His eyes moved across, up, then somewhat down, before they cast off entirely to the right, where they narrowed with lust.

And, with a tight jaw, he whistled. "Ouch-- Bonnie - those steaks are lookin' fine. God, I've missed your cookin'."

"Who would'a guessed..." Winnie chided, much too suddenly and quietly for anyone to hear, except Graves. Whether he understood what she was referring to at all was beyond her level of care.

The table sparked with conversation once everyone had had their fill.

All four beef steaks had since disappeared, leaving a bloodied puddle of juice on the plate from whence they came. The remaining potatoes had been set aside for potato salad for the next day's lunch, and a mound of grits collected a crust in the bottom of the pan. To set delight along Mrs. Collins' lips (she was never much of a grits connoisseur, having grown up in Georgia), Mr. Collins went about churning spoonful of it into his stomach.

And when he'd finally exhausted the room in his pouch, to the extent of unbuttoning his jeans and making his shirt slack, he stood to help his wife swap the dishes out for dessert.

Chestnut pie - picked straight from the woods. Mrs. Collins hadn't ceased about how perfectly they'd behaved when grinding them down for butter. It was a stunning pie. Caramel brown; it steamed as she segmented it carefully, slice after slice, into equal triangles so as to not spoil anyone's temperament.

It was such a lavish dinner that, as they silently indulged in the woody scent of baked chestnuts and the sharpness of fresh dollopped cream on top, Winnie had forgotten what she'd sworn to herself earlier that evening.

As the spoon hit her tongue, her gaze meandered. Up, up, up, and right to rest on a vein along Graves' forearm. She hadn't known how firm they were - not that it should have been a very common thing to notice - until then, when the sun had dipped beyond its reach and simmered the dining room in all manners of orange.

It made the valleys, the rivers, and the streams of his arms appear taught, free-flowing with blood. The veins coasted about his skin as if they had been eroding him for millenia. When they dipped past his wrist and over the mound of his knuckles, they split into brooks and disappeared along his fingertips.

How a man of his calibre - his age, no doubt - could boast such raw beauty - of such a vexing degree - similar to that of the crests, peaks, troughs, basins, and gorges of her life in Texas, was simply astounding.

So astounding, in fact, that for all of three minutes, Winnie hadn't mouthed a word. Not a peep from her lips until the ambling drone of her father cut through the static, muffled laughter ensued, and her mother asked, as clear as the glass in the greenhouse;

"Phillip. When are you going to get a wife, already? You're eating us outta house and home every time you come 'round."

Winnie was back before she knew it, before she'd even taken her eyes off that one pesky vein on Graves' arm and before she'd even gained control over her eyes and the aching kink in her neck from staring him down for the better half of Al Green's Love and Happiness.

He raised his glass. "It's cause you're a damn fine cook, Bonnie. Can't get away from ya. I love a woman who can fix together steak and grits like it's the last meal she'll ever make."

Winnie smiled. She'd finally clued in, eyes lighting with recognition that wasn't present earlier - and it was best to be genial. "That's momma, for ya. She loves her food."

"Yeah, and it doesn't like my waistline..."

Mr. Collins, naturally, began his tirade that his wife was just as, if not more, beautiful as the day they'd met. Mrs. Collins, on the other hand, perked with laughter and gave him a coy clap across the chest.

Then, for at least forty seconds, maybe longer, the pair of them were cutthroat for the matter of humility. Mr. Collins chided that Mrs. Collins was as dainty as a daisy in a field, which she denied, and Mrs. Collins insisted that Mr. Collins was as dependable as the statue of Adam, which he also denied, and neither seemed to want to relent any time soon.

It was a plain argument, the stuff nobody would tip a pot over.

So they jousted for a while, as Graves and Winnie scraped the last of their pies. In good time, when Mr. and Mrs. Collins had at last come to the conclusion that neither was more or less stunning than the other, did Graves, beneath the commotion, ask;

"You cook much, Winnie?"

For the second time only that evening, Winnie met his gaze. Something inside it felt inviting - if only he had that glint in his eye on the porch last week. Perhaps it was the first time he'd extended an olive branch - it was certainly the first time he'd addressed her solely - but nothing about the depth of his eyes felt insincere, nor disinterested, nor anything malicious of the sort.

It was the kind of gaze that might have liked to be explored.

"No... no, not much, sir." She murmured.

"Sir?" He retorted, light as a feather. And then, with much raucousness, laughed to her father and asked, "You got her to call me sir, Steve? You're that much of a little shit to your own daughter, huh?"

"You're a veteran in my books, Graves," Mr. Collins took a healthy glug of Scotch to wet his throat, even if he had to give it a minute for the burn to settle, "a good woman has to know her manners."

"Manners?" Phillip scoffed.

Winnie slid out a smile, if only for the fact that her father had a smear of cream along his chin. "I know my manners just fine, don't I, Daddy?"

"Do ya?" Graves uttered. He didn't bother to meet her emphatic stare. Instead, he pawed and scraped at the mushed remains of his chesnut pie, wolfing it down like a starved man - as if he hadn't gorged himself on steak and potatoes prior to dessert.

Seconds trickled by as the ever-so-ignorant Mr. Collins turned to Mrs. Collins for a napkin - so that he might wipe the whipped cream from his face - at which point, Graves snuck once more into conversation, with a voice so hushed it could have only been meant for one person, "Might wanna teach a woman to knock a lil' quieter..."

It was the sort of comment her Daddy couldn't have heard.

So, Winnie's gaze flickered up. Not so far up that she met his face - she didn't want to make it the third - but not so far down that her eyes chased that one vein beneath his sleeve. Safe enough between the two extremes that, from the tilt of his chin, she could tell: his eyes were on her.

It seemed, after a while, that service was not over. Pie had been gorged on, sure, but conversation trickled as it had done for hours, with no end in sight. It had been so long at the dinner table that, much to Mrs. Collins' future disagreement, the remaining chesnut pie had lost its warmth, the whipped cream had since deflated and ran liquid, and, even still, nobody had realised the faucet was running from before dinner had initially been brought out.

"You never said, Winnie. What did y'do before comin' back here?" Graves sipped at his Scotch. There was a pool of condensation beside him, that he wouldn't touch with a napkin. If his glass wasn't sliding across the table, he wouldn't drink from it.

"Worked up in Dallas. Lived there, too. Used to be a financial accountant, you know, dealin' with numbers."

Graves stuck a thumb into Steve's face. "Like your Daddy after he retired from the field? You take after him pretty good. Heard ya... heard y'had a boyfriend or somethin' back there, too? Things turn' sour?"

"Not... not sour. Things... just happened." She corrected, stabbing a few asparagus onto her fork. "He tried me, once. Y'know how it is... never turned back after the second time."

"An' he let a pretty lil' thing like you get away?" An eyebrow twitched; he reached for another swig of scotch. Winnie would have said something, perhaps, if his tone wasn't so dismissive, and if he hadn't rushed right along the connotations. "You'll have suitors around the block for you in no time. Ain't that right, Bonnie? You were a bit-of-a catch in your day."

"Still is." Mr. Collins elbowed Graves.

"I am not." Bonnie caught a hand at her hip. "But, I admit, you should'a seen me ten years ago. You would'a had a go at me, too, Graves--"

He scoffed, holding his hands in mock defeat. "--You know what, I just might have done."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't've." He clapped a hand on Graves shoulder. The good one - he knew better than to kick a man when he was down. "I'm glad our Winnie took after Bonnie, here. Wouldn't wanna be chasin' a man down with this face."

Graves chuckled. "Yeah, cause they'd be runnin' the other way--"

"--You shut your mouth." Mr. Collins slapped the back of Graves' head.

The table was quiet for some time as the raucousness died. Only after a few minutes did someone say something, and like most times before it, that person was Phillip Graves.

"So, you take after your mother, Winnie?" Though he was still reeling from his laughter, shoulders sagging with every beat of amusement.

"No, I--"

Bonnie, mid-scoop of pie, wildly thrust the ladle toward Winnie. "--She does. Won't let her deny it. Wants to, 'cause she thinks she ain't pretty, but she takes after me!"

"Alright." She chuckled. "Momma says I look like her when she was young." Winnie shrugged. "Though she says my hair ain't as curly and my nose ain't the right shape--"

"--And she doesn't have my gums. She has her father's gums."

Winnie snorted. "Yeah. Daddy's gums, momma's... teeth, supposedly."

Graves shrugged. "Whatever gets y'there..."

Mr. Collins asked for another round of pie, next, even if she explained that it had long gone cold and the cream was flat - but there was too much left and he didn't want it causing Bonnie any upset - and they went circling the table for another few rounds of red wine, beer, and scotch (whatever matched their penchant), until they'd all but exhausted the modicum of vacancy in their stomachs, collectively slumping back into their chairs as the delirium of late-evening settled in.

That was, until, after some time - wishing to crack open a window and get to washing up - Mrs. Collins clamboured from her seat. "Well, I better start gettin' some of these dishes in before the sauce crusts down."

"I'll help ya with that, Bonnie," Graves stood.

Winnie stood after him, catching his curiosity. He was busy hoisting the belt of his trousers after being sat for so long, and stretched out his shoulders like her father did when it was time to dust the house.

"Sit." Winnie chimed. "Guests are guests. I'll help ya, Momma."

Mrs. Collins glanced between the two of them - it was a feast for her eyes. "Goodness. Well, one a' you help me!"

"Y'want me to sit around while you ladies clean the table? Can't do that. My Momma raised me better." Graves held his hands on his hips, half-intent on sliding plates along plates, and cutlery over those same plates - the sort of passive-aggressiveness Winnie despised from a man.

"Yes." She swatted his hand away, catching a twinge of provocation. "Now, sit."

Mr. Collins whistled. "You better just si'down, Phillip. She's got a temper on her like nothin' you've ever seen. Worse than her mother."

To which, Mrs. Collins shouted back from the kitchen, a muffled but audible, 'I heard that!'

By nine, Winnie regretted even opening her mouth. The exponential pile of dishes that stretched from one end of the kitchen to the other could have rivalled that of a hoarder's. For one meal for four people, out of the three that she'd cooked that day, she managed to use a mandolin and each of its attachments, of which there were six. Crinkle cut, straight cut, slivers, chunks, thin slices, and thick slices.

And all were a bitch to clean.

Winnie was on the 'slivers' attachment when she heard footsteps at the door. "Momma, how'd ya manage to use this many appliances? I'm half expecting the coffee machine to appear outta nowhere..."

A gruff voice replied - one she'd learned the sound of, though didn't like to hear. "Sorry, sweetheart. I ain't y'Momma."

"Well, can ya get her, please? I wanna ask how she managed to use both of our Dutch ovens." She gestured wildly at them on the drying rack; soapy water dribbled down the ankle of her gloves. "Seriously. How does one woman use both of 'em for beef steaks, potatoes, grits, and chestnut pie..."

Graves chuckled, and soon, he was beside the drying rack, back against the cupboards, towel in hand, swiping away the remnants of water.

"Thought my Daddy told you to si'down."

"Your Daddy's out back, choppin' wood for Bonnie's kiln, although I ain't seen her use it in years." He arranged the dinner plates into a neat stack. "And I'm sick of smellin' the remnants of dinner when I could be helpin'."

"Well - thank you, but I don't need your help."

"I know that." He dried another plate, and added it to the pile.

Was this some sort of a challenge?

A moment's silence, then; "Y'got a hair in your eyes."

"I know that." She spat his words right back, huffing the piece of hair away, just for it to fall back against her nose. "Damned... thing."

Graves dried his hands and hooked the rag over his belt. "C'mere. I got it." He reached for the strand, and Winnie paused with bated breath, waiting until he'd hooked it over her ear before she inhaled, lest she catch a whif of his cologne. "There ya go."

"Thanks." She mumbled, though it came out more like a disgruntled slur - because she couldn't quite get over the softness of his fingertips against her temple.

| Chapter Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Philip Elliott at Time Magazine:

The actual roadmap for 2024 might have moved when you were not looking. Maybe—and it’s a big maybe, admittedly—the biggest detour in politics right now is parked in the driveway. In ways subtle and overt, the electric vehicle has become the avatar for clean energy in the minds of voters, which may prove to be a political clunker for Democrats, despite having the stronger story to tell.  The voters most turned off by talks of Tesla Cybertrucks and Chevy Bolts? Young voters, voters without college degrees, and Latinos, according to new polling from the centrist groups Third Way and The NewDeal that is hitting allies’ inbox as you read this. Their surveys find a surprising 44% of the American electorate hold a negative view of electric vehicles. The numbers are about the same for voters in the battleground states of Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Arizona, Nevada, and Georgia. That’s an anchor that no engine—powered by raw jetfuel or lithium-ion batteries—can move with so little time before Election Day in November. [...]

There’s long been a myth—and a popular one at that with progressives—that so-called Climate Voters are a sufficient force in politics to sway outcomes. This is, to be frank, not at all the case. In fact, climate change seldom merits a spot in the top-five ranking of priorities. The Third Way survey found just 4% of voters ranked climate change a deciding priority, well behind the economy, border, and democracy itself. Even amid the wave of inflation and worries about day-to-day costs, gas prices aren’t even a driving force; food, housing, taxes, and health care all outpace the price at the pump, according to Third Way’s research. 

That’s not to say Climate Voters can be ignored, strategists say. They are likely to be highly educated, high-propensity voters who favor Biden by a solid 96-point margin. (They also have checkbooks that fuel the campaign and its allies.) The problem is there just aren’t enough of them to counter their intellectual inverse, a group lumped together in Third Way research as Economy First Voters. This conservative bloc tends to be heavily tilted toward Latinos, women, younger voters, and those who lack a college degree. These voters view themselves as just trying to get through the week without the government making it harder. And for these voters, Trump enjoys a 26-point margin and opposition to EVs enjoys a 44-point toehold. For Economy First Voters, a full 64% of these voters tell pollsters that climate change will have to wait until inflation is under control.

[NOTE: Poll conducted between May 9-18, 2024.]

Could anti-electric vehicle sentiments be the reason why Donald Trump is polling well? A poll from Third Way and The NewDeal conducted between May 9th and 18th reveals that 44% of those hold anti-EV sentiments, and those holding anti-EV sentiments are more likely to back Trump in the election.

[taylorswiftandx]

Taylor Swift and Myth/Legend/Fantasy

Note: huge thank you to @meandmypagancrew who collaborated with me on this post! This one is very subjective - I ultimately chose to include references specifically relating to the story elements of religion/myth/legend/fantasy/tales, in order to determine what to include here versus what appears on TS and Religious Words/References. TS and Literary References may also be of interest.

'Taylor Swift'

Picture to Burn: State the obvious, I didn’t get my perfect fantasy

'Fearless (Taylor's Version)'

White Horse: I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairytale

The Best Day: Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away

The Best Day: It’s the age of princesses and pirate ships and the seven dwarves

Today Was A Fairytale: Today was a fairytale

'Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)’'

Long Live: I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

Superman: I watch superman fly away

'Red (Taylor's Version)'

State Of Grace: These are the hands of fate, you’re my Achilles heel

'1989 (Taylor’s Version)'

You Are In Love: You understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

Now That We Don’t Talk: You part the crowd like the Red Sea, don’t even get me started

Suburban Legends: I didn’t come here to make friends, we were born to be suburban legends

Suburban Legends: I had the fantasy that our mismatched star signs would surprise the whole school

'reputation'

I Did Something Bad: They’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one

'Lover'

(no myths/legends)

'folklore'

invisible string: Isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

invisible string: A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar

mad woman: And women like hunting witches too

'evermore'

willow: As if you were a mythical thing

champagne problems: Your Midas touch on the Chevy door

gold rush: My mind turns your life into folklore

ivy: I wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed

cowboy like me: Now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon

'Midnights'

Anti-Hero: Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I’m a monster on the hill

Labyrinth: Lost in the labyrinth of my mind

Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve: I would’ve stayed on my knees and I damn sure would’ve never danced with the devil at nineteen

Dear Reader: When you aim at the devil, make sure you don’t miss

You’re Losing Me: I’m getting tired, even for a phoenix

'The Tortured Poets Department'

So Long, London: I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist

But Daddy I Love Him: Screaming, "But, daddy, I love him"

Guilty as Sin?: These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Guilty as Sin?: If it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

Guilty as Sin?: What if I roll the stone away? They're gonna crucify me anyway

Clara Bow: Beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more

The Albatross: Locked me up in towers, but I'd visit in your dreams

How Did It End?: My beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, D-Y-I-N-G

I Hate It Here: And in my fantasies I rise above it

thanK you aIMee: I pushed each boulder up the hill

thanK you aIMee: So I pushed each boulder up that hill

The Prophecy: Cards on the table, mine play out like fools in a fable, oh, it was sinking in

The Prophecy: Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand

Cassandra: So, they killed Cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst and tried to tell the town

Cassandra: I was in my tower weaving nightmares

Peter: Forgive me, Peter, my lost fearless leader

Peter: And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired

Peter: Lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life

The Bolter: But none if it is changing that the chariot is waiting

The Manuscript: He said, "No, just a good samaritan"

Other Songs written by Taylor

Beautiful Ghosts: Is this hope just a mystical dream?

Crazier: I was trying to fly but I couldn’t find wings

Official Alternate Releases

Cassandra (Clean Version): When it's "Burn the witch" they're shrieking

[imagineanime2022]

The Heroes With A Hunter S/O

Keigo Takami X Reader Shota Aizawa X Reader Taishiro Toyomitsu X Reader

Requested: Anon

Request: I have read other writers doing stories about Supernatural and I thought it would be cool is the league of villains Dabi, Shigaraki, Spinner and the others had (or even pro heroes?) a S/O who is a “Supernatural Hunter” like Sam and Dean? They have the anti-possession tattoo, they drive the Chevy Impala, they have the hunting equipment in the back of the trunk, I thought that would be kind of awesome?

(I noticed that some writers were doing stories about it, and I thought it was kind of cool?)

(Y/F/H/D) - Your Favourite Hot Drink

General

Your family had been hunters since before quirks became mainstream in the world and so it was already well instilled in your family to teach their kids to fight and hunt the way that they had.

Demons and other supernatural creatures were a lot less likely because there were fewer humans that they could prey on with the development of quirks but ghosts were still very common so you still had the anti possession tattoo and all of the hunting weapons that you might need.

Your family and their profession became known to heroes early on, they always seemed to cross paths so by the time that you became a hunter, your family was well known and most people didn’t question you.

The general public still had no idea what your family did, so you still had an ungodly amount of fake IDs in your glove compartment.

You are good with first aid and emergency treatment because you got injured a lot and you had no one to help you.

Most of your family members were quirkless but you were one of the few that had been blessed with a quirk that made you a natural hunter, with enhanced senses and reflexes.

When the heroes couldn’t explain what happened you got called and that was how you met most of the more famous heroes but only some of them wanted you around and believed the work your family did. After all not everyone wants to believe that there was something more powerful than them.

Keigo Takami

🪶 Keigo met you on a mission, the commission finally decided that it wasn’t something that could be fixed by the No.2 hero, it was more in your area or expertise. 🪶Keigo loved having you around so much that you ended up dating, you were good together, you had fun and whenever you worked together the people in the area worried back you were very rarely serious. 🪶Keigo very rarely ot in your car so he doesn’t really know what’s in there, just that you are super protective of it. 🪶Keigo didn’t necessarily believe in ghosts and the like before meeting you but he had been with you enough times to know that you weren’t lying about what you believed and kept anything that you gave him for protection at least you can’t yell at him after that.

Keigo knocked on the window of your car and you jumped as you looked at him, you rolled down the window “how can I help you?” You asked. “You’ve been out all night. I thought you might want this.” He said as he held out a (Y/F/H/D) to you and you smiled. “Thank you.” You said softly as you took the drink from him. “So did you find anything?” Keigo asked. “No, I think this one might have been a false alarm for once.” You answered as he leaned down so that he could see you properly. “Are you on shift yet?” “Not yet.” He answered as his eyes caught something on the other side of the car, he stood up walking around the front of the feathers from his wings separating from his body as he opened the door and sat in the passenger side seat. “What are you doing?” You asked. “There’s something sticking out of the glove compartment.” He muttered, you rolled your eyes as you waited for him to continue, he opened the glove compartment pulling out the multitude of fake IDs. “What are these?” “Oh sometimes it’s easier to just use those instead of heading in with a hero especially if you're busy.” You explained. “Aww you only like working with me?” He teased and you rolled your eyes shaking your head. “You're one of the more understanding heroes, that's true, but sometimes before the surveyor for a building or interior designer grants more access then even your name can give me.” You explained as he nodded as he started flipping through the fake IDs. “Do people actually believe that you're from the hero association?” He asked. “Hmm? Oh yeah you’ll be surprised what people believe when you have a suit on and official looking ID cards.” You answered. “Now give me those and get out of my car, aren’t you supposed to be on shift now?” “Yeah, I guess.” He answered as his wings reformed as he stood outside the car. “Where are you going?” “Home to get some sleep.” You answered. “Go to my place, bigger bed, quieter around there.” Keigo said as he crouched now back by your window. “Alright.” You nodded and he smiled, leaning down his wings flaring to cover you both as he pressed a kiss to your lips before disappearing into the sky, you smiled as you started the car and headed to his apartment to get some rest.

Shota Aizawa/Eraserhead

🐛 Aizawa saw you more than he would have liked before you started dating, he didn’t believe a word you said and even with the confirmation from the heroes association that you were cleared to work he watched you closely. 🐛You never really cared that he didn’t believe you but it did give you satisfaction when he was involved in an investigation that proved everything you said was true, from there he was way more accepting and eventually you started dating. 🐛Aizawa hated that you would come home with injuries, he understood the work that you both did meant that you were injured a lot of the time but he hated that you’d rather deal with it yourself then see a professional. 🐛Aizawa loved your car though, you’d often drop him to the school in the mornings before he started staying there so he could catch a few winks on the way.

“Alright who cooked this because I need to pay them to cook for me for the rest of my miserable existence.” You said as you walked into the shared living area for all the kids Aizawa sighed as all of the kids looked at you. “Hi.” “Who the hell are you?” One of them asked. “Kacchan, that's rude.” Another scolded him. “I didn’t ask you Deku!” The same kid answered. “You're mildly volatile aren’t you?” You smirked as the blonde looked at you through the corner of his eye. “So what am I doing here?” “Oh, the kids were worried about ghosts so you're going to do your job and get rid of them.” Aizawa answered. “Hold on.” You put your hand up as you looked at him “you built this place right?” You asked. “I didn’t.” Aizawa smirked. “I mean the collective ‘we’, like the school that built this place, I mean that this building is a new building right?” You asked. “Yes.” He answered. “Alright kids it’s super unlikely that there are any ghosts here, unless you’ve all killed someone recently, and buried them in the back garden.” You explained and they all looked at each other before looking at you. “Can’t you do like a seance or something and see if there are any ghosts here?” The pink haired kid asked. “I’m a supernatural hunter not a spirit medium, I don’t connect to the other side, I find evidence of them connecting to us and close the connection.” You explained. “I don’t even charge for it.” “You didn’t tell us that part Mr Aizawa.” The pink haired girl called out and you looked at him. “Wait, were you all ust testing me?” You asked. “You have to admit that the work you do seems unrealistic.” The boy with glasses on said and you narrowed your eyes at Aizawa. “And you didn’t think that it was worth telling them about the mission that we went on, what you saw?” You asked. “This was more entertaining.” He answered with a shrug. “I don’t know why we’re even still together.” You mumbled. “Together!?” The kids asked and you shrugged. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do.” You smirked as you walked towards the door. “Where are you going?” Aizawa asked. “Duty calls.” You said waving your phone before leaving him with all of the angry kids who wanted answers.

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fat Gum

🍡 Taishiro is probably one of the most accepting heroes, he was happy to work with you even with knowledge of the work that you do. That was the reason that you became so close with him and likely ended up dating. 🍡 Taishiro got to know what it looked like when you were having a bad day, when you were having a good day. The jobs that broke you or built you up and learned to react accordingly. 🍡 Since you didn’t actually have work hours like he did, his office was always open to you, he even offered you the secretary job so he could see you all the time, he promised that you could leave whenever you needed. You turned him down because office work just really wasn’t your thing. 🍡 Taishiro treasured the time that you spent together and worried every time you left for a job, just as you worried when he went on missions.

Taishiro hadn’t expected to see you laying across the sofa in his office with your arm over your face “Hey Sugar are you okay?” He asked as he closed the door, in his smaller form he walked over crouching in front of you and intertwining your fingers together before slowly moving your arm so that he could see your eyes “there you are.” “Hi.” You said softly. “Are you tired?” He asked. “Yeah…” You nodded. “Is that all that’s wrong?” He asked. “Do I have to talk about it?” You asked. “No of course not, just tell me what you need me to do.” He said, you didn’t say anything, just leaned forward pulling him on top of you wrapping your arms around him tighter, he easily manoeuvred you both so that you rested on his chest as he gently ran his hands through your hair. “Thank you.” You said softly. “Always.” He promised pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Tai didn’t need to know what you had seen, only that it had affected you in some way and he was there to help you sort through it even if that meant doing nothing apart from sitting there for hours with nothing but the two of you.

Request Here!!

[transnickle]

Today is trans day of remembrance. The day we and the world honor the memory of the transgender people whose lives were lost in acts of anti-transgender violence.

Today we remember the 37 known trans people killed in the the last year and the ones we will never know

Nex Benedict - Owasso, Oklahoma

The following List is courtesy of the human rights campaign

https://reports.hrc.org/an-epidemic-of-violence-2024#in-memoriam

Amiri Reid - Toledo, OH

Kejuan Richardson - Toledo, OH

Jean Butchart - Van Buren Township, MI

Savannah Ryan Williams - Minneapolis, MN

Meghan Riley Lewis - Bel Air, MD

Amber Minor - Rayton, MO

Kitty Monroe - Phoenix, AZ

Righteous “TK” Chevy Hill - East Point, GA

Diamond Brigman - Houston, TX

Alex Franco - Taylorsville, UT

Meraxes Medina - Los Angeles, CA

Africa Parrilla Garcia - San Juan, PR

Tee “Lagend Billions” Arnold - Hallandale Beach, FL

River Nevaeh Goddard - Stow, MA

Andrea Doria Dos Passos - Miami, FL

Sasha Williams - Las Vegas, NV

Starr Brown - Memphis, TN

Kita Bee - Kansas City, MO

Reyna Hernandez - Renton, WA

Brandon “Tayy Dior” Thomas - Mobile, AL

Michelle Henry - San Francisco, CA

Yella (Robert) Clark Jr. - Angola Prison, LA

Jazlynn Johnson - Las Vegas, NV

Liara Tsai - Minneapolis, MN

Pauly Likens - Sharon, PA

Shannon Boswell - Atlanta, GA

Kenji Z. Spurgeon - Seattle, WA

Monique Brooks - Orlando, FL

Dylan Gurley - Denton, TX

Tai’Vion Latham - Baltimore, MD

Vanity Williams - Houston, TX

Redd (Barbie) - Chicago, IL

Kassim Omar - Columbus, OH

Honee Daniels - Rochester, NY

Santonio “San” Coleman - Athens, GA

Quanesha Shantel (“Cocoa”) - Greensboro, NC

[lastoneout]

I love a good taxi/uber/lyft story!

Okay there are three people who stand out as the weirdest drivers I've ever had:

A guy who showed up in the nicest, fanciest car I'd ever seen in my life--like I think it was a Chevy Malibu??--in basically pristine condition aside from the fact that it absolutely REAKED of weed and had a thin blue line bumper sticker on the back, who was also listening to a true crime podcast about a serial killer and then said halfway through the ride, completely unprompted, that he "liked this episode bcs his uncle was a prime suspect in the case". Truly the most fascinating person I've ever met.

An old dude with a huge white beard wearing a bright red sweatshirt + sweatpants combo, who told me he used to work as a mall Santa before spending the entire rest of the drive ranting about how stupid anti-maskers are.

A lady who had a whole-ass bearded dragon hanging out on her shoulder. He had a tiny, home-made neon vest and leash and while I'm not an expert he seemed remarkably chill about the whole thing and stared at me for a bit before falling asleep halfway through the ride. The lady also told me tons of stuff about her other bearded dragon who wasn't with her at the time. I gave her a huge tip.

So yeah using uber/lyft/taxis means you meet a lot of the coolest, weirdest people ever, and tbh it's pretty great lol

(Also honorary mention to the VERY old guy who picked me up once post-eye exam when my eyes were dilated who's gps just straight up was not working and so I had to try to give him directions despite us living in The Sunniest Place On Earth which meant I couldn't see shit. We nearly died I'm pretty sure. It was terrifying but also fun.)

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Car and Motorcycle Spells and Superstitions

Vroom Vroom, if you know or dont know hello! I am a motorcycle driver (2022 Venom x18R) and my loving husband is currently in school for automotive mechanics, loves tinkering on his car (2001 BMW-Z3), and overall we make a great team!

Today, both Mr. Iris and I wanted to share spells and superstitions we use to not only keep our things running but also protected

Motorcycles:

We believe in the use of a guardian bell, the superstition goes that there are ghosts and evil spirits that get into our bikes and ruin them, a guardian bell wards off from crashes, break downs, and other damage that is caused by these spirits. The bells trap them inside and the ringing drives them mad so they fall off and wander around aimlessly

Some chapters and churches (especially in the south) host a 'blessing of the bikes' ceremony before the first events of the year, its a non-denominational blessing where people of all sorts get together and bless their bikes for safety

Riding with your gear pegs down can be an invitation for spirits to hop on the back of your bike, if you are in a funeral motorcade its an invitation for the deceased to enjoy a last ride, but I dont reccomened keeping them up on your daily ride

In world war 2 messangers would ride green bikes which made them targets, and after the war there were so many of these green bikes that people would buy and then break down it became bad luck to ride a green bike

Never ride a dead mans bike, its said that their spirit will come down and knock you on your ass

Its bad luck to drop a helmet with the common saying “As goes your helmet, so goes your head.”, but its also a safety thing. Helmets shouldnt be dropped because of the compression and foam inside of them which lessens their ability to protect you in a crash

ALWAYS WEAR A HELMET.

Always stop to help fellow bikers, you dont know when you will need it

Iris's Motorcycle Ward:

First, bless your bike in as many ways as you want, then create a sigil of luck using the number wheel system, instead of drawing that sigil and place it on your bike take those numbers (i.e "protect this bike" becomes 12478) and either draw them in bike cleaner OR get decals to hide around

Cars:

You might notice how nascar drivers have their own good luck charm, whether its a photo of their partner, a lucky coin, or a blue sock, we can replicate supersitions of our favorite driver (congrats to Landon Cassill)

If a bird poops on your car its a sign that you may recieve good news or riches

Holding your breath under a tunnel or by a cemetery was started because people believe that restless spirits might come out and enter your body, or mess up your car.

Some people say to ward your car from future accidents, its best to scratch or dent it when you first get it because it keeps accidents away

do a ritual (kiss your mirror, slap your visor) when you pass a yellow light because it wards away cops

Pick up your feet when you pass over a bridge or railroad, its said that if you dont you wont find your future spouse because you "already crossed the threshold"

You may hear "a bmw is the most expensive car youll own" or "Id rather push a chevy then drive a ford" when you observe these phrases take note of your own car, and find good luck phrases to support your car

Avoid places with a lot of accidents, not only is it good luck, but there may be a lot of accidents for a reason like blind turns or strange speed limits

Mr. Iris's green light spell:

On all of our vehicles we put a spell on the cars computer (CAN and ECU's), we enchanted our car or bikes by holding the dash, then chanting or visualizing our energy connecting to the CAN, we ask that the computers energy predict green lights and take the energy of our car to prevent red lights. We have had a very good success rate! Other spells we love:

Another one we do is an 'anti-cop' spell, on a bike sometimes we get ahead of ourselves and feel like the speed limit is a suggestion, so to protect us we not only keep a sigil patch on the inside of our helmets and we also keep a blue fuse in our pockets as a ward from getting caught

When Mr. Iris has a race or car show he uses a significant date to help win (Go 917), plus he also creates a chant to "hype up the cars engine" there are ofc other superstitions like these so really pick what you like!

Thank you all! I hope you enjoy!

Tip Jar

[queenklu]

I made TWO (TWO!!!! 2!!!!!) appointments ON THE PHONE within the space of ten minutes and not only would that have been nearly impossible a year ago, if the stars had somehow aligned and I'd managed it then I would have been in agony during the lead up, fighting my way through it, heart pounding by the end and shaken in the aftermath. That's assuming I even remembered to make the appointments at all.

Hey guys??? This just in: Meds Work.

Even with stressful things going on (we're heading into a teacher's strike amongst other joys) I feel like this might be the first summer (in...my life??) that I've been able to genuinely Relax. Like yes, there are things I need to accomplish but they don't feel like shoving my hand into a large hive with the goal of pulling out fistfuls of bees! Like, that's not how you get honey anyway!

And let me tell you, the road here S U C K E D. My first meds provider told me "You said you like writing, use your words" when I was crying too hard to speak (didn't help, thanks!!), that I didn't have ADHD I just "liked procrastinating," said she wanted me to be braver and then took the ADHD questionnaire I'd filled out and said "This is worthless." AND I STILL WENT BACK!! I went back until she moved practices because I'm stubborn and wanted to prove her wrong and because she'd signed for the psych eval and even THAT GUY ALSO SUCKED, BUT the new meds provider was able to look at the mess he handed over and go "Huh. This seems weird. I'm going to listen to you."

(what a concept)

A treated combination of anti-anxiety and ADHD means I sleep better. I teach better. I grade better. I rest better. Hey do you know if you feel like a huge clock is ticking down every free moment it's not actually REST? Doing things I don't particularly care for no longer feels like crushing my brain against glass wall, or--you know, without contacts I can only see about five inches in front of my face before things get blurry? It felt like trying to drive without contacts. If I squinted I could sometimes get lucky and dodge things before they came my way, but it hurt and was exhausting and terrifying and I still hit big things.

It's not 100%, if 100% even exists. I still forget things sometimes--I forgot to put the milk in the fridge the other day, but I also remembered on my own. And I was kinder to myself about forgetting.

The last car I had was a 92 Chevy Van, which I loved endlessly despite his many quirks--one of which was the fact that he had no warning light on the gas gauge or beep to let you know you were low. This meant I ran out of gas twice on my way to work--genuinely OUT, no gas left, pushing on the pedal but the car is slowing down, stuck on the side of the road NONE GAS. My new car has a light, a beep, and a digital count-down--all of these assistive devices to avoid a break down.

That's what I was always looking for with medication. And I'm really proud of past!me for fighting for us until we got it.

[wordycheeseblob]

Yea it would be nice if Chevalier explained and was more of a team player but I also get why he doesn't at times.

With Chevy it's not from A->B

But at times a whole A->Z

Imagine having to explain all that in the middle like

Chevalier: Do not go into the rose garden unless you want to die-

Emma: I know, assassins right?

Chevalier: -of starvation

Emma: what, how?

Chevalier: *sigh*

Chevalier: if you go into the rose garden now you will run into the Poseur who usually promenades at about this hour, he will question you regarding your identity, not getting any information for his lack of tact he will eventually get sidetracked bragging instead about his shares in the flower market of Jade also mentioning the worthlessness of Rhodelitian roses in comparison, bringing them down to appear better for him and his precious jadean flowers. You will listen silently to the ramblings of this revolutionist, polite as you are, until you get to a point you don't understand and are obliged to interrupt to clarify-

Emma: Hold on, revolutionist?

Chevalier: -precisely like that. The Poseur has been attending Clavis' clandestine meetings for months, which is an important point for reference in the future. As we were, you interrupt him arguing that there is more to roses than their monetary value, a point he will callously dismisses-

Emma: oh...

Chevalier: -until about two months later when he will remember your words at the annual rose festival, added to this, due to the dryness in the air this season and the winds coming from the southeast, bringing premature rain, his crops in Jade will see a significant reduction. His lack of budget will hold his plan on supplying the anti-monarchy faction. In panic, the Poseur will keep it a secret and search for an equally profitable alternative for a cheaper price. That's when he will use his charisma to bring up roses in social circles and though he may be quite impatient and vain, his undeniable influence combined with that of other seven prominent nobles that always follow suit, will hype the rose market to a point where it turns into the new big thing that will resonate among all social circles seeing as the elite are obsessed with them. It then inadvertently extends to the neighboring countries after the cultural exchange gathering and continuous gossip on fashion among noble ladies who try to keep up with the latest trends. The new rosemania will cause asset prices to massively deviate from intrinsic value creating the first economic bubble in the history of Rhodelite. Do you understand?

Emma: ...

Emma: could you repeat that last part where you said everything?

[bluetronics]

Proper intro post!

I'm Blue, or Bluetronics. I'm 18, coming up on 19 in october.

I don't necessarily identify as objectum, as I dont like "identifying" with terms in general- I kinda just am what I am! But for the sake of clarity, this is an objectum blog.

Call me whatever you want in terms of pronouns, I dont have any.

My attractions are mainly to electronics. Luckily I seem to lean the way that is very popular here on tumblr! Synthesizers, old computers, old electronics in general, and I also really like some cars! 1957 chevy bel air my beloved...

My first crush that counts as objectum would probably be when I was younger and was MASSIVELY into my dad's old 1982 Volkswagen beetle. I watched that my strange addiction episode of the guy who likes his car and was like mm... yeah...

I'm pursuing education in electrical engineering so I can build my own stuff. I'm currently on a gap year but still learning to build analog synths/gather my skills to make official education easier to pursue!

I do multimedia art, idk how much of it I'll post here since that's more the focus of my main blog and EE blog, but mostly it involves putting synthesizers into weird shit.

I do plan on making digital art and paintings pertaining to this blog, and will certainly post them here!

The stuff that I own that I REALLY like include:

*A casio MT-36, unnamed and very sexy.

*My Siglent oscilloscope, Nellie who is a great help when it comes to building my synths:)

I also have an omnichord OM-36 and a casio vl-1 vl-tone who I am not attracted to, at least not as of now, but I love them nonetheless!

DNI: basic stuff, proship, homo/transphobes, if you're attracted to children or animals or into incest in any way (including fictional), etc. Even if you're anti contact, I dont care. Stay the fuck off of my page and please get help. I emphasize this VERY strongly because even in my short time here I've noticed that, unfortunately, some in the objectum community seem to sympathize heavily with those things because of the whole fiction/paraphilia aspect of it. If you claim I am in the same community as, and thus must sympathize with, harmful attractions towards beings that cannot consent, just because we are both paraphiles, you are absolutely NOT WELCOME HERE! Leave! Thank you.

This page will also include suggestive content so minors or people who are uncomfortable with that stuff, please DNI.

[cto10121]

Twilight Clownery—Part 2

In the guise of a personal essay on OP’s relationships with toxic men, at that. Honestly, the whole thing is so loosely conceived it just sounds like a parody of anti-Twilight clownery. Let’s get to it.

Already we have Bullshit #1. Although Team Jacob had its passionate adherents, Team Edward was definitely the most popular by a large margin. OP may have ~lucked out by having Team Jacob fans as her friends, but I was there. I remember the discourse, the fanfiction, the ~atmosphere. Most everyone was Team Edward.

Nowadays Jacob—the “healthy” choice—is mostly lambasted for his assault on Bella and his manipulation into kissing him. So already this essay and its ~Team Bella conclusion is several years outdated.

Tag yourself, I’m “reinforced his being a man.” 😂Also, “abstracted danger”—literally nomadic vampires and a whole-ass vampire royal family. Also, also, Edward considers himself a danger as well.

Charismatic and everyone despised them. That is some hot ice and wondrous strange snow right there. The quality of the prose here is truly ~~stunning.

Considering that Rosalie canonically hated Bella for 1) Edward liking her and 2) for Bella wanting to be a vampire and not choosing humanity like she would (*foot stomp*) and viewed her as a baby incubator in Breaking Dawn to the point of Jacob and Edward both calling her out for it in disgust…she is perhaps not the best character to use as a grand metaphor for your sapphic desires, Clown OP.

At this point I’m not at all convinced that Clown OP even watched the movies. This was in Eclipse, and Edward didn’t deflate the tires of her Chevy; he removed the engine. Nor did he forbid her to leave the house, only not to see Jacob or the werewolves. And homeboy literally just gave up after Bella’s toothless “grizzly bears” threat.

This is toxic, all right, and I’m not referring to Twilight. Seriously, wtf? Being heartbroken after a major breakup with someone you love is one of the most realistic parts of the whole series. It’s so real it’s frankly basic. Even Clown OP was appalled, lol.

The movies may have been godawful adaptations, but the fact that they depicted Bella’s heartbreak is not one of them. Had Meyer made Bella move on after a month or two with Jacob or a new beau, I would have called bullshit. Bella was so in love with Edward—he did save her life three times and stopped himself from draining her dry in the process—that no other response would have been plausible.

As if Jacob didn’t show “toxic” behaviors the fandom is in continual pearl-clutching over, to the extent of making the incredibly asinine fanon that Meyer purposefully “ruined” his character in Eclipse. Also, Clown OP unironically thinking that basic-ass compliment is “queer” is clownery of a very different kind.

…Doesn’t Bella actually attribute some of these traits to Edward? In Eclipse? Maybe not all of them, but most? I don’t think Clown OP is making the point she thinks she is making.

One of these days I will make a whole-ass post about this whole notion of reading characters as role models. There are truly people out there who read all fiction as medieval morality plays for actual instruction, and Clown OP is almost certainly one of them.

This is going to sound super wild, I know, but did Clown OP ever consider—just once—that Meyer may be doing this very much on purpose? That throughout the book Edward gets to know Bella and begins to like her as a person? That the whole metaphor of bloodlust isn’t so much carnal lust but dark impulses of (patriarchal?) violence and lack of empathy? That the the whole point of the book is to see Edward develop from an arrogant vampire to a boy in love struggling on being completely out of his element? Did Clown OP ever think of it or did she just want to talk about her awful experiences with men through very hazy memories of watching the first Twilight movie?

(Also, not to be mean or anything, but Clown OP criticizing Meyer’s prose…don’t go throwing stones in a glass house, hon. I’m just saying).