#gateway to embarassing myself

[coulthardie]

I really want to make more tumblr moots, so reblog with your faves please. Or reblog if we have the same faves!

[vanya-imyarek]

Finally, I had done it. It had taken so many years of research, of trial and error, of people believing I would never have succeeded - but finally, I had developed the perfect book.

The Tale of Tales was in ebook format, an extremely sophisticated software which detected multiple parametres like the downloader's current bookshop, research history, social media profiles, time dedicated to reading - to elaborate on their literary tastes and alter the story to fit them, producing the perfect book to everyone's tastes.

The success was immediate and clamorous. Everyone wanted to read the perfect book for them. I became famous overnight, a contended star of talk shows and conventions. From an indebted student, I was suddenly rich beyond my wildest dream. I received thousands of fan mail every day, people who thanked me for giving them the perfect story, the story which would comfort them, exalt them and move them with no flaws or drawbacks. It was as if I was living in a dream, everything I ever wanted granted after all of my struggles. I felt at the top of the world.

Of course, I got criticism. Some were expected - crazy theorist believing my book was the gateway to New World Order brainwashing, bigots believing it was the product of Satanic magic, critics scorned that they had nothing to criticize - but some weren't. Some came from one of my dearest friends, someone I thought would always have my back. They said The Tale of Tales was unethical, of all things. Unethical! As if I hadn't just found a way to create the perfect artwork, the one which would have left everyone happy! What was there, to worry about philosophy?

It was only after several months that I felt the curiosity to check the fandom for my book. I was aware that there was one, every story with a certain popularity had an online fandom, but before I had felt almost embarassed to check it. But now, I really wanted to know: what was the fandom for a book that changed for everyone like?

Initially, I found only good things. People posting screenshots of what The Tale of Tales was like for them, other people commenting and making comparisons with their own. Everyone seemed to have fun, and again, I felt so, so happy of having been able to create such a thing, that would have spread nothing but happiness.

But after some time, I found the first ship wars. Now, I know fandom online couldn't be exclusively positive places, but I had hoped ... here the issue wasn't what ship was validated by canon and which not, because every copy of the book validated the ship the reader wanted to see realized. The issue was that, appearently, some people took offense that someone had a personal canon completely different from their own. Some of the screenshots with romantic scenes, along with a good number of positive comments, had a few negative ones, criticizing the reader for wanting such a ship. I even found a few callout post, detailing why people whose book canon validated Ship So-and-So were stupid or bad. I was taken aback - so much for creating something that would have made everyone happy - but I calmed myself down. These negative comments and posts were a minority. I couldn't expect for everyone to be good, after all; the majority of people were nice and only wanting to have fun. I had nothing to worry about.

Then some people, an increasing number of people, began mocking others for the genre their version of The Tale of Tales was. Of course, the genre was to change according to the tastes of the reader, but some took issue with the favorite genres of other people. There were a few snobs for which the book became a masterpiece of classical literature mocking people for whom it became fantasy of sci-fi; but there seemed to be an online witch hunt for those for whom it became YA or paranormal romance, accused to be 'vapid teenage chicks'.

Teenager girls began having a bit of an hard time online: accusing their version of The Tale of Tales to be a paranormal romance became a standard way to insult them, some online places began requiring them to post screenshots of their version to prove it wasn't a YA but 'serious stuff' to admit them, some started willingly posting the screenshots to prove that they weren't 'like all other girls'. I even found a few posts and videos with girls tearfully talking about the cyberbulling they were subjected for having posted of their paranomal romance version of the book.

That was, of course, for the girls. If a YA or paranormal romance was found in the hands of a teenage boy, the mediatic guillotine was guaranteed.

At this point I began feeling a little on edge, but still, it wasn't my fault. If people I had never met thought it was right to harass people for having different tastes, that wasn't my responsibility. I talked a little of this in the next video interview I made, to make clear I didn't approve of this behaviour. These declaration were largely ignored by the cyberbullies, but provided some comfort to the bullied kids.

Then the book ended up in the hands of politicians.

They began quoting it left and right - literally. I saw The Tale of Tales held up for things ... horrible things abou immigrants and the queer communities and the healthcare and work systems, horrible things I would never had said, but I saw quoted right from the book for which I had chosen the title ... of course, there were people who lifted encouraging and progressive messages from it, but still, it was the first time I began to seriously reconsider what I had done. I refused responsibility for the quotes by the most extremist parties, reminding everyone that the book shifted according to the tastes of whoever read it, but it backfired. The politicians began using it, and its contents, as proof of the convinction they had in their beliefs (people should have voted such stalwart people). And that's where things began going downhill.

By now people had starting recognizing The Tale of Tales as a tool to find 'good people'. The next step was seeing it as a tool to find 'bad people', too.

What struck me was the double face of the process, online and in real life. Online, it was a rush for wokeness: people whose version of the book had contents considered sexist or racist or queerphobic, be it for genuine bigotry or simple ignorance about sensitive subjects, were immediately blacklisted and harassed online - often to the ironic result of radicalizing them even more. If this had at least some basis of morality, the situation quickly degenerated: the naming-and-shaming began targeting people whose version had dark contents, like scenes of violence or abuse or rape, no matter if they were presented in a critical light, people always questioned why they were there in the first place. And let's not talk about people whose book contanied age-gap romance.

In the real world, while the moral panic against people whose version of the book had dark subject remained, the table on minorities turned entirely. Several stories began popping out, about teenagers forced to read The Tale of Tales by their parents: if they found it with queer themes, especially if positively presented, the kids were assumed to be queer themselves, and several ended up in conversion therapy or thrown out of home. An increasing number of schools began assigning my book as an obligatory read, and the students had to send their version to the teacher; the result went anywhere from the parents being informed of the presence of 'disturbing' or queer themes to the versions 'unofficially' influencing the grades the teacher would have given in future assessments, as if it was a demonstration of the personality of the student.

Things kept escalating. The Tale of Tales began an item in job interviews - sometimes provided by the reader themselves as proof of their ideal moral character, but most times ordered by bosses to detect any hint of inclination to a different job, inclination to 'excessive' family time, suspicious desire for better healthcare conditions or respect for mental illnesses, and once again, queerness. And then it began being used in police investigations.

I lost copyright after this. The rationale was that since the book basically wrote itself, I had no right getting money from it; my old interviews from the time politicians had started using it were particularly useful against me in this. I lost what was my main source of income, and had to find another job to live; irony of fate, I was given my own book to read as part of the job interview.

Where was I? Ah yes, the police. Whenever a case was difficult, they began ordering the suspects to read The Tale of Tales to detect hints of guilt or a 'suspicious' mindset. The efforts of genuine psychologists and psychiatrists to explain that literary preferences meant nothing in most cases, and that such a tool was not a reliable measure of mental illness let alone actual involment in a crime, went mostly unheard; not when less scrupolous 'professionals' began popping out claiming they could use the book for a perfect profiling, not when the police found out criticism against them in the suspects' versions. Once again, as predictable, minorities got the short end of the stick, their books the most liable to be declared as 'containing proof of guilt'.

My book was no longer a book, by that point. Almost nobody bought it to have the perfect story: it was a tool, it was an instrument people were judged by, and people hated it. Associations for human rights denounced The Tale of Tales as unethical, just as my friend had done so long ago; actual associations rose specifically against it, to have it banned. It was probably the first time in history so many common people advocated for a book banning, while those in positions of power defended it as one of their best tools.

The debate went on for years, and I followed it religiously, even if I now worked as a waiter and no longer had anything to do with it. My connection to it was actually best not advertised. Ultimately, after a long fight which involved every possible king of intellectual saying that the book was useless as a valutation item and countless people unable to find jobs or abandoned by their families or unjustly ended up in jail, a bill was passed that definitely banned The Tale of Tales. The file codes were deleted, the copies destroyed: its particular nature, the fact it didn't tell anything in itself and every copy told a different and mostly innocuous story, made it useless even as a historical document.

Every trace of the existence of my perfect book was cancelled.

"Well, it just doesn't seem…ethical." Your friend slowly says to you. "Ethical?" You yell back at him. "Who cares about morals when I have created a masterpiece! A book that learns what the reader likes and changes its script accordingly. Imagine that, the perfect book!"

[worldchampionpeccobagnaia]

By what logic makes learning a new language culturally insensitive??

bestie i WISH i knew, it makes absolutely no sense :’)))

[pikkori]

bipolar/psychosis talk ///

I was dealing with high functioning psychosis earlier this year and the gateway to it was astrology and tiktok. since that experience, i can no longer allow myself into spiritual spaces because 9 times out of 10, i will fall into the rabbit hole and find a community where they are also exhibiting symptoms of psychosis through a feedback loop. I ended up getting lured into cult-like thinking by the end of it.

spiritualism and bipolar are probably one of the riskiest combinations. Sure, choose whatever belief system makes you comfortable, its none of my business, but bipolar individuals should tread carefully online when it comes to spiritualism. I was nothing like this before I got exposed to online astrology spaces. You may be the most rational least gullible person on earth, but mania is not immune to it. I've been having psychotic symptoms since I was a child. But when I hit my mid 20s, my grip got weaker and weaker. I am fully lucid now, but I don't believe in astrology or occult any longer. And if you knew me personally during that phase, and were concerned, I am sorry for that. I am still extremely embarassed by it. Examples to be careful with if you are susceptible: Numerology, Affirmations, Mantras, Manifestation, the universe is a simulation, Shifting etc etc those are quick fucking gateways into losing your ground, so please please be careful if you feel these may apply to you.

[emjee]

MG has read...a lot of TOG fanfic this autumn: a rec list

Hey y’all, @morallygreywaren asked if I’ve done a fic rec list yet, and I think I’ve done bits and pieces but not a full list. Fortunately, I just put one together for a friend who watched the film for the first time on Sunday, so I’ve got something close at hand! I’m keeping the category divisions I used for my friend, because I like them. I’m gonna star the E rated stuff for your avoidance/exact opposite of avoidance needs. Off we go!

Joe and Nicky (historical)

Ars Poetica by superblackmarket. Actually read everything by superblackmarket, they’re amazing. (*)

The Other Matter by survivah. Sometimes I lie awake at night staring at the ceiling thinking about this fic. If you like your Joe/Nicky get-together stories with a tall glass of pining/idiots to lovers, run don’t walk.

Salt and Harvest by @hollybennett123. Joe and Nicky + bread through the ages. Literally what more could you want.

for all hearts torn by stonecarved (figure8) (@lgbtmazight on tumblr). Joe and Nicky + pilgrimage. Len is one of the greatest gifts this fandom has.

The Gold of Your Body by @azephirin. This contains the tag “Catholicism as a gateway drug to BDSM” and it is. Incredible. (*)

The Subtle Approach by survivah. The great thing about this fandom is that your Regency AU doesn’t actually need to be an AU.

The Profession of my Fingers by mellyflori (@werebearbearbar on tumblr). 5+1, Nicky’s Hands In Joe’s Curls Throughout The Centuries (*)

Joe and Nicky (modern)

My heart as green as weeds by KatStratford (@katrinastratford on tumblr). In which they have to peace out to Scandinavia for Lying Low purposes and Joe Does Not Vibe with how cold it is. It’s a huge quarantine mood. (*)

While we’re young by hyb (@h-yb on tumblr). *pinches bridge of nose* listen they are IN LOVE

Stop, listen, feel, believe by Tam_Cranver. This is my favorite fic set almost immediately post-film. Hot as hell. Emotional intelligence off the FUCKING charts. (*)

Joe and Nicky + Nile + being immortal family

Three Immortals and a Puppy Walk Into a Bar by survivah. What it says on the tin, a fucking delight

A nice story and The art of remembrance by @sixth-light. Joe, Nicky, Nile, and discussions of war crimes.

Straight up Joe/Nicky smut, you are WELCOME (these are all E)

Taking instruction by @sixth-light. feat. light dom/sub, in a really sweet way.

Literally everything @bakedapplesauce has ever written, special shoutouts to:

The present is nothing but an interruption of the past 

Hora somni

There is no “I” in “team” (but there is one in “vibrator”) 

You want some Joe/Nicky AUs? I got you

Explaining is Losing by @sixth-light. Academic nemeses to lovers. I have read this fic an EMBARASSING number of times.

Good Enough to be True by @sixth-light. Modern AU, super soft fluff/healing where Joe’s gotten out of a terrible relationship and Nicky’s the first guy he’s dated since

sine qua non by mellyflori (@werebearbearbar). Modern AU friends to lovers with all the trimmings. (*)

Extremely niche genre of Nicky Bitches About The New English Mass Translation:

third for a word and the song keeps going by Macremae

INAIED gets its own heading

If Never Again, If Every Day by @gallifreyburning and @takiki16 is the light of my Thursdays. 2021 Nicky ends up back in 1099, 1099 Nicolo ends up in 2021, we all lose our minds over the emotions that ensue. Someone once described the 1099 plot of this fic as “Yusuf: I truly hate this and I’m annoyed that killing you doesn’t work. Nicky: You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” I think about that description every fucking day.

Book of Nile (I know one of the rules of this ship is that you have to say you hate it here and were forced to ship it against your will but LISTEN these fics are so good that I can’t bring myself to hate it here at all)

The Last Man on Earth by survivah. Five times Booker and Nile find themselves in a romance novel trope. Delicious.

son rêve d’opaline by stonecarved (figure8) (@lgbtmazight​). Sleepy. Sexy. I’m obsessed. (*)

everywhere on earth you go (you’re gonna have me)  by nondz (pinkjook). There is a swing dancing scene in this one that I lost my fucking mind over. (*)

This is by no means comprehensive, and I encourage you to check out all the fics of all the authors mentioned here. I’m having a great time reading in this fandom.

[psykeres]

realtor

'Okay, so, thanks again for having this call with me, Mister Eaton,' I said to the laptop pushed back on the papers on my desk, trying gamely to make eye contact with the unblinking camera lens. 'I'm glad you decided to work with us to find your new home. House-hunting in the Pandemic is wild, right?'

I was speaking to my own image pantomiming me in the call's video window, the only evidence that I wasn't talking to myself a bright red letter E in the list of participants. Chris Eaton, I rehearsed silently, single, mid thirties, and currently having camera issues. Maybe not so technically inclined - we could deprioritize IT infrastructure.

The voice coming back through my headset was bright and friendly enough, like he was trying to put me at ease. 'You're right about that,' my newest customer opined, 'Nobody is holding open houses anymore and I don't see the point in just driving around neighborhoods window-shopping. Besides, I gotta tell you the last year has really changed my priorities for the new place... with everything, you know?' Nothing to do with that  but smile and nod understandingly, like I knew exactly what he was talking about.

'I know exactly what you mean, Chris!' Time to build some rapport and get the process rolling. 'A lot has changed all right. So what are you interested in looking for now?'

'Well, I'm sick and tired of HOAs and, you know, neighbors all over the place. I've been thinking a lot about getting out of suburbia and maybe finding somewhere with a little more space, where nobody minds if I don't mow the lawn for a little while. Maybe back in the woods a little bit.'

I was already reviewing listings in a few more rural parts of the county, glancing sidelong at the second monitor plugged into my laptop's matte black dock. He is a cottagecore sort of guy, I thought with what I hoped was a healthy level of smugness. Easy. And then Eaton through the earbuds, reminding me I'd forgotten to fill the silence with some apt bit of script: 'Also, there was one other thing I was hoping for. I understand it might be hard to find, but I'd like a property with a well.'

'The good news is that might not be so rare, Chris! On a lot of the more rustic properties I'd like to show you, well water is all you'll find. Worried about the taste of city water?' This came out more or less automatically, so I found myself unprepared for the follow-up.

'No no,' Eaton interjected hastily, firmly. 'I mean that's fine of course, I grew up drinking well water. But I mean I want a well. Stone circle, hole in the middle, water at the bottom. You know. The deeper the better.'

You fucking what? I didn't have a response for this, or it wasn't coming quickly. I guess I've been having it too easy at work lately, 2021 needs to make it interesting. 'O-okay, I get it.' You don't get it, fine. Make this normal so he doesn't get embarassed. 'That sounds really picturesque, doesn't it? But you should know the State usually requires landowners to decommission those old ones or seal them up. They're a hazard.' Please don't make me call forty owners asking about obsolete holes they won't admit to having.

Eaton's voice swelling in my ears again, now in a rolling cadence he hadn't used before. It was like he was performing. 'Don't worry, Kelly, I've looked into it a little bit. And the State only requires that for abandoned ones. The one I need, uh, it won't be. And I'm totally fine buying a property as-is, right? So they don't need to worry about fixing it.'

Fine. Get him onboard and he'll like one of these places, well or no well. I hoped I hadn't made a face while he was talking, there was no way he'd miss it with the laptop's eye on me. 'Sure thing, that will definitely help. Let's have another call this week after I line up a few places to view. Is there anything else I should keep my eyes open for?'

'I think you've got it, Kelly. Just a place on some acreage, with some trees and a well. The deeper the better, remember!' He said it lightly, no big deal, but I could hear some weight behind the words. God, he was serious. If only there was a bar for realtors somewhere maybe I could tell this later like some kind of war story. Instead it was just going to be stupid and awful. But Eaton was saying something else, so low I'd almost missed it. 

'Deep enough for her to hear me...'

'What's that, Chris?’

'Never mind. I was just talking to myself,' came back the brusque reply.

Fuck that. I decided I had missed it, and if I hadn't I still wasn't a therapist. Eaton could talk to himself in greater comfort offline, and I needed to get some coffee and get to work, in that order. We said our goodbyes and agreed to talk again on Friday. I undocked my laptop and stuffed it in its bag, snatched my off its spot on the desk and worked the strings over my ears. The bright blue and maroon logo proclaiming "Your Gateway to Arkham!" I left facing in; I wasn't on the job yet.

At the door I stop to check pockets for my full panoply: wallet, keys, phone. The hated but comforting bulk of a pack of cigarettes and its attendant lighter. I turn the key, I turn toward the drive, I think:

The deeper the better. Why was that? Better, maybe, not to know.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Twenty-Eight

Table of Content or Part Twenty-Seven

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning(s): Language, Hints at drug abuse

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

-------------------------------------------------------

Once we get on the road, I glance over at Nikki before reaching for his free hand, lacing my fingers through his.

I notice him side eye me before smirking to himself.

We park a block down from the Rainbow and when I get out, I regret not wearing pants.

It's not freezing by any means, but it's in the mid 60s with a little wind blowing.

A small shiver runs through me, and Nikki's locking the car and sliding his jacket off, handing it to me.

"Thank you." I say to him, putting it on and thanking God he creates as much body heat as he does because it's like a portable heater.

"Mmhmm." He replies. "I don't know why you didn't bring your jacket."

"It wouldn't have looked good with this." I state in terms of my outfit.

"You can wear anything and still look good." He tells me flatly as if it's common sense and I rub my red lips together and hook my hand around his arm.

We get into the Rainbow and step to our booth, Vince, Tommy and Mick already laughing their asses off over something, and when we get to them Tommy's practically shoving his tongue down Nikki's throat.

"Sixxter!" He tipsily exclaims, putting his arm over Nikki's shoulders and kissing his cheek. "Fuckin' missed you, man." He tells him and Nikki chuckles as I slide in beside him, taking his jacket off of me.

There's lingering groupies as always, although there's more of them now than before the guys had a decent amount of fame.

I feel skin rub against my leg, which confirms there's a girl under the table giving someone a blow job and I roll my eyes.

Nikki orders a beer, I get a Pepsi, and a brunette groupie that's got her eyes on Nikki gets a high dose of audacity and utilizes it.

"Can I have a sip of that?" She asks Nikki when he gets his beer and I raise my brows, turning to glare at her, and then him, when he looks me in the eye, smirks, and hands her the beer.

The guys are completely silent, studying me to gauge my reaction and I roll my jaw.

"Down Kitty." Vince jokes as the girl hands Nikki's bottle back, making sure to make a show of wiping the drop of beer left on her bottom lip with her manicured fingers, not looking away from him.

"Thanks." She says, glancing at me as if to brag, and I ignore her and look straight ahead, not giving her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me...I'll handle Devil Spawn when we get home.

I just get up, mumbling that I'm going to the bathroom.

"Baby, c'mon, it was a joke." Nikki chuckles out.

"Lick my clit." I snap at him, not giving him a second glance before stepping to the bathroom, hearing Vince and Tommy "Ohh" and "Damn" at my harsh response to him.

I get in the bathroom, tears lining my eyes, and see a mass of fluffy blonde hair standing at the mirror beside the one I end up standing in front of.

First glance, I think it's a woman...Second glance, maybe?

I take a third look, realizing it's a man touching up his foundation and I mind my own business and stop my mascara from running by grabbing a paper towel out of the dispenser quick enough to catch the pair of tears trying to leak out of my eyes.

Something falls into the sink infront of me and I furrow my brows and look down, seeing a tube of mascara.

I look at the only one that it could belong to and pick the tube back up, handing it out to him.

"You can use some when you get done crying your's off." He tells me calmly, his accent a dead give away that he's certainly not from around here, continuing to touch up his own makeup.

I go to argue but he cuts me short.

"It's mascara, not a used needle."

He's got a point and I can't help but smile a little at his response, continuing to dab at my eyes with the papertowel, drying my tears.

"I have to use the girl's room because I get in to fights any time a guy walks in and I'm putting on makeup." He explains to me. "I don't like being called a 'fag'."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." I assure him, throwing the paper towel away. "And if being a 'fag' means you wear more makeup than most women but still have chicks throwing themselves at you, then so be it."

I reapply my mascara and hand it back to him, saying an appreciative "thanks" just as the bathroom door bursts open.

"Babe, c'mon, you gotta come meet this dude, you're gonna fuckin' freak." Nikki tells me, his hand wrapping around my wrist.

"What? Who?" I furrow my brows.

"Razzle."

"Who's that-"

"Hanoi Rocks' drummer?" He reminds me. "They're touring here and we just met him, like, right after you left and..." Nikki trails off, noticing the blonde dude in the bathroom with us.

"By all means, go on." He nods to Nikki with a proud smile on his face that completely frames his high cheek bones and wide, blue eyes.

I found out in that moment I had shared eyelash germs with the one and only Michael Monroe, lead singer of Hanoi Rocks.

I'd heard their music through Nikki and  Tommy, and Duff really dug them, too.

I remember thinking Mike was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Like Axl Rose, he looked like a really gorgeous woman at certain angles, and I hated them for it because they really didn't know how freaking flawless they looked.

Michael didn't just have an abnormally beautiful exterior, his spirit, heart, and soul, were just as phenomenal and that made a lasting impact on me so much so that I named one of my children after him.

I discovered the kind of person he was in December of 1984 when tradgedy struck Hanoi Rocks and Mötley Crüe and he and his bandmate Andy McCoy stayed with me and Nikki for a little bit.

I'll get into all that soon.

I step out of the bathroom after Nikki and Michael talk a bit and exchange numbers, and Nikki guides me to our table and I hear a thick british accent before I can see Razzle that well.

He's got on a top hat with a red scarf tied around it, his sunglasses resting on the rim of it, a polkadotted tie is around his neck and he's wearing a dark red velvet overcoat.

His eyes are lined with black liner and he's showing off a mouthful of teeth with his contagious smile.

"Razz, man, this is Viv." Nikki introduces me.

"This your missus?" He asks him in disbelief, and I don't know if it's a good thing or bad thing he's asking it that way. "Oh, she's beautiful, Nikki...what the bloody hell is she doin' with you?" He chuckles at his own joke and the guys join in while Nikki laughs it off with them.

"Nah, the real star is Tansy." Vince informs him as Nikki and I sit down.

"Who?" Razzle asks and Vince and Tommy look completely offended before Vince is pulling his wallet out and grabbing a piece of paper out of it.

Once he unfolds it, it's an entire page torn out of an issue of Playboy, and I'm assuming Tansy is somewhere on it because he points to something to show Razzle and the drummer's mouth drops open and his eyes get wide.

"I definitely want to meet her." He comments and I reach across the table and snatch the paper from Vince and crumple it up.

"Viv!" He whines at me, trying to reach for it over the table and I shove it in my bra and raise my brows at him. "That just makes me wanna get it even more." He informs me.

"If you want me to castrate you with my nails, you'll reach down my shirt." I promise and him, Nikki, Tommy, Mick, and Razzle wince at the thought.

"That's fine. I'll get all I want when our girl's December issue comes out." Vince smirks, winking at me and I roll my eyes.

"Swine." I insult him.

"Prude." He shoots back before his face gets suddenly really smug as if he remembers something. "Actually..." He fumbles with his wallet again before pulling out a polaroid. "...I suppose I should stop calling you that."

He waves it, Razzle and Mick looking over his shoulder at it.

"Woah." Razzle mumbles.

"Don't be a fucking dick, Vince." Mick scolds him as Vince turns the picture for me to see.

It's me, wearing nothing but a pair of heels, on our mattress at home with my legs spread wide open, touching myself with my back arched, eyes closed, and lips parted in ecstasy.

I feel Nikki tense up beside me as embarassment and humiliation floods through me.

My face is burning red and I'm rendered speechless, glaring at Nikki, who's snatching it away from Vince.

"Where the fuck did you get this?!" He barks at him.

"The fuck are you talking about, Nikki, you fucking gave it to me." Vince argues.

"When?!"

"You were fucked up and gave one to me and one to Robbin." He adds and I snap my attention to my husband.

"You were just passing out our pictures?! What's next, making copies of our tape and tossing them into the audience at shows?!"

"You have a sex tape?!" Tommy suddenly pipes but it goes unacknowledged.

"Fucking bullshit, I've never been that fucked up where I'd willingly give you pictures of her like this!" Nikki throws at Vince.

Vince looks at him pointedly, his index finger hitting over the vein in the crook of his arm as if it were a needle and Nikki realizes he did indeed give him the picture, he just doesn't remember, because he was stoned out of his mind on smack.

If Razzle wouldn't have been Razzle, we would've scared him away and he never would've wanted to hangout with us again.

But he kept quiet and never once brought it up.

It's safe to say the Sixxes leave notorious first impressions.

[whookami]

I LOVE this.

I imagine from this gateway he’s gone on to explore all the really super weird animated movies of the 70s-80s now.

He started out with some of the more mainstream titles. He cried during The Last Unicorn, and Watership Down fucked him up so bad, because it’s just a bunch of rabbits, man, but it’s so dark!! And the end of Plague Dogs had him lost for days. The Secret of NIMH is just one of the best films ever, forget the fact it’s animated, and he kind of wishes Mrs. Brisby was his mom. The Raggedy Ann and Andy film is just...super weird? It makes him think about the Pink Elephants sequence in Dumbo, and while it used to upset him as a kid, now that he’s lived through all the shit the Upside Down has thrown at him, he kinda likes the unsettled nauseous feeling it gives him?

And from there he’s found stuff like Heavy Metal, and Fire and Ice and even Fritz the Cat and it’s so off the wall, so unlike anything he’s ever thought animation could be, and he’s calling up Robin to talk about it constantly and she’s so-so about this stuff. Like, she thinks Watership Down is pretty classic, and she likes The Hobbit and such, but Steve has kind of lost her with Fritz and Heavy Traffic. He tried to get her to watch Starchaser with him, and she just flat refused. He’s a little bummed because no way can he introduce the kids to this stuff, but oh well.

Then one day while on an errand in town he runs into Jonathan, as in, he literally runs into him because Steve is too eager and moving a little too fast and off in his own little world. He apologizes and helps Jon up of course, as he’s grabbing his own stuff off the sidewalk between ‘sorry’s’. Suddenly Jonathan’s eyebrow lifts and he points at the copy of Wizards clutched in Steve’s hand and asks “Is that...is that for Robin?” Because he’s met her, and it doesn’t seem like it’d be her type thing but it definitely doesn’t seem like Steve’s.

Steve just pulls it a little closer to his chest and kind tries to hide the cover better with his hand, because no, “It’s mine. For me. Just, whatever. Y’know,” because he’s a little embarassed and he definitely knows Jonathan is the type to judge him for what he watches (and he and Robin should really talk more, because they totally share that in common!!), and he would really rather skip being made to feel like a dork today. He gets that enough from Dustin and the kids, thank you.

But like, Jonathan just asks “Have you seen any of Bakshi’s other films?” And yeah, he actually says films not cartoons, and Steve is practically bouncing on his feet because someone else knows who Bakshi is, and it isn’t just Robin?! And this is how Steve discovers that Jonathan has a huge VHS collection of weird and wonderful animated fare that he’s mostly collected via trades, and Steve isn’t even put out that some of it isn’t English and he’s gonna have to read subtitles.

They get high together and watch anything from Shinbone Alley and Fantastic Planet to Galaxy Express 999 and Space Battleship Yamato. They just have endless talks and listen to records from Jonathan’s collection afterwards and actually get to really know each other and to their surprise really really like each other? Because sure, a lot of their outward traits are pretty contradictory, and the same goes for a good portion of their interests. Jonathan pretty much hates all organized sports, and Steve knows nothing about photography and composition and proper lighting. But, inside? They’re both kind of worriers. They both push down the emotions they aren’t ready or able to cope with. They both have big issues with fathers and families and how they’re perceived by outsiders. And they only discover all this because they bonded over the super weird and mind blowing animation of the late 70s-early 80s.

...I somehow took the very cute and simple premise of the OP and low key expanded it into eventual Stonathan (likely Stoncy if I let myself have a few more paragraphs here) out of sheer excitement and nostalgia over how groundbreaking that era of animation was. But since they did mention it was a part of their Stoncy fic, at least I kept my shipping mostly in line there. Sorry OP. I loved your idea though, really!!! Steve would totally dig the Rankin-Bass films and the music!!

In my Stoncy fic I made Steve a fan of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. It’s barely alluded to, but it’s there.

Lbr, that boy is a nerd. He seemed to genuinely enjoy Star Wars, even if he couldn’t recall some of the details. Can you imagine what other things the kids have introduced him to?

Anyway so my head canon is that Will showed Steve the Rankin-Bass animated versions of the Hobbit and LotR (IDK, I feel like Will would really like them) and now Steve loves the movies.

Does he know any of the lore? Nope. Does he space out a bit when the kids talk about the Silmarillion? Yep. But he DOES know the lyrics to all the songs and can be caught humming or singing them at random.

[ruby-stones-blog1]

Practice Challenge 1

There is no competition, because nobody can be me

“Ten minutes left, I repeat, ten minutes left ”, the announcers hollow voice halls through the empty dressing room. Slowly I stand up from the shabby bench I’ve been sitting on and roll my stiff shoulders. I’ve got one minute left before my mother starts looking for me, like she always does. I pick my up my heavy dance bag and lock it into one of the empty lockers and approach the exit with steady steps. A blinding light hits my eyes and makes me squirm. A shiver runs down my spine as I open my eyes again. I let my gaze linger around the arena until I find the other competitors. Quietly I join the other girls in line and take a deep breath.Calm down Rubes, you can do this. Remember, no one is as good as you. A staff member comes up to me and hands me a number, 912, which I pin on the side of my leotard. Hastily she goes over my data with me and leads me to a doctor. Of course they demand a last check up, they always do. Apparently they still don’t trust my abilities. Nearly every competition I get accused of druguse - until the tests proof them wrong, but that still doesn’t stop them from accusing me the next time.

As I am waiting for the test results, I look over to the other girls standing in line, happily gossiping and laughing. How do they get along that well? They all can’t be that nice. “Here you go, Miss Stones, your test results are good, would be so kind to join the girls to your right? ” A man hands me a sheet of paper with my name, number and test results on it. I don’t bother to thank him, just as mother said, and stalk over to the other competitors. Immediately the voices stop whispering as the girls eye me from the corner of their eyes. A few seconds later the muffeling continues on a lower volume, now with me as a main topic. The competition started a few minutes ago and the first two girls already finished their choreo with a rather low score. The following girl, number 908, goes up to the bars and starts with an uprise with a clear hip circle. She flourishes well but her body isn’t steady enough and her underswing ends with her stumbling onto the floor. Seriously, these are suppose to be one of the best gymnasts in Illéa. “This is going to be a boring competition”, I mumble, clicking with my tongue.

“Hey Rubes”, the blonde to my left approaches me. “Don’t call me that”, I state as she rolls her eyes. “Everyone calls you that honey, if you want it or not. So stop complaining”, she shifts her weight from one leg to another while she plays with her long ponytail, “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”“What is it then?” I ask a bit annoyed. “I wanted to know if you applied for Dom’s selection.“Wait, what? "Dom’s selection?” I exclaim a bit dumbfound and laconic. Come on, pull yourself together Rubes, you are not that dumb. “Ohhh you haven’t heard about it yet? Did your mommy take away your TV and Phone?” She mocks with a high pitched voice, but was completely right. I hear the girls laughing, which ends as I glare at them with an unspoken threat. “Cut it Stacey.”“Easy Ruby, can’t you take a joke?”, not when it hits near home, “Anyway, are you applying?” To embarasse myself in front of the whole country? Definitely not. “I haven’t though about it, but I don’t think so (…) why? ” “Good, he wouldn’t want you anyway”, she says and looks at the girls, “can you imagine her,  a stuck up bitch, as a queen.” With her hideous laugh she starts a riot of  scurillous high pitched voices arguing about me being queen. I ignore the mob and wait for my cue. A few seconds later number 911 finishes her last move and receives her score.

With steady steps I walk up the stairs and position myself in front of the judges.“Ruby Stones, Number 912”, I introduce myself, anger filling my voice. A staff member nods towards me and I position myself in front of the bars. Through the corner of my eye, I can make out my mother holding up a sign in the guest area of the arena. Slowly I inhale deep and exhale while swinging my arms over my head. They swing back and I jump off the ground gripping the first bar, executing the first kip. My body swings back and I realese the high bar and flip forward in a counter somersault with strandeled legs. I inhale slowly and grip the high bar again with a reverse grip. As I swing forward again I go for a double twisting double back dismount, which is one of the hardest dismounts ever executed. Here goes all or nothing. I flip backward in a 720 degrees while twisting 720 degrees in my axis and landing in a tucked in position. I stretch my body and prepare myself for the last part of my choreo, a made up move, never performed at a competition before by any female gymnast. I start running and swing my arms to bounce up while doing two backflips with a half twist and land with a tucked in frontflip. I stretch my hands above my head and give the cheering audience a wide wholehearted smile. I did it. I actually did it.

Slowly I turn around to the astonished judges and I am pretty sure I just won that competition. After receiving a very high score, I sit down onto one of the empty benches far away from the loud tumult. Gosh I hope Mom won’t be mad at me for not sticking to the usual routine. I probably shouldn’t have overdone this choreo. Silently I watch the leftover performances and definitely enjoy the moment Stacey falls onto her face a bit too much. I keep judging the choreographys silently, only eyeing one or two actually good performances. With an ear paining beep the judges announce the competition and ask for a 5 minute consulting time. Girlgroups are forming again and most of them are sending jealous and hatefull glares my way. I try my best to ignore them and just tap along to the beat floating the arena. In a few hours I’ll be home again and all of this will be laying the past, I’ll get to sleep and eat and play with my pets. Ohh Lola, how much I miss my little dogo, I wish she could be here with me right now.

Another announcement is passed through the speakers and all the competitors, including me, are walking towards the podium were the presentation ceremony takes place. “We all have to thank you for the amazing performances you have brought us today. You can all be very proud of the things you have achieved today. All of you have traveled great distances to show your potential today and prove that you are Illéas finest gymnasts. But today we want to honor the greatest from all of you.” I roll my eyes and let out a silent yawn. Can’t they cut it short? I just want to go home and sleep. My shoulders sack down a bit and an annoying pain spreads itself trough my sore head. “Now we want to announce our winners. So let’s start with the top 3. On Place 3 is Stacey Turning, with the Number 913. Come up Stacey, let us great you."With short motions I start shaking my head on a subtle level. How did she make it to the top 3? That girl fell face down onto the floor, not even gracefully. "The second place goes to Number 956, Ariana Leaven. Congrats my dear."A petite brunette steps onto the podium and greats the host with a warm smile. She was one of the actually decent girls and definitely deserves that spot, if I can say so.

"And now our top one,  the greatest gymnast Illéa has ever seen”, if that ain’t me, “with the number 912, the astonishing  Ruby Stones.” I hear my mother screaming my name as I approach the podium with the nicest smile I can bare, plastered onto my face. I shake the hosts hand and accept a nice bouquet of flowers and a golden medal on a silver chain embellished with daisys. With a genuine “Yeahhy” I hold up my bouquet of flowers and let the audience celebrate me. The brunet, whose name I already forgot,  congratulates me as Stacey stands there with a pouty lip and crossed arms being a sorrow loser. But somewhere deep down I can find my younger me in Stacey, the way she barely can hold back her tears and how her anger boils underneath her delicate skin. Exactly that was me just a couple of years ago, when I didn’t know that winning isn’t everything.

After a couple exhausting interviews and tons of pictures taken for the press, I am finally released from the stress. Sleepy I walk into the empty changing room and get rid of my bright lilac leotard and change into some sweatpants and a flowy top. I grab my golden ring, which is shaped like a leaf and has a little ruby on it, very cliche I know, from my dance bag and pull over my daisy yellow raincoat. My parents are expecting me outside the arena with a fake smile gracing their faces, just like every time I publicly fuck up.

They escort me towards our shiny new car as I prepare reasonable arguments to defend myself for whatever may come. As I sit in the car driving towards home, watching the beautiful, loud and bright citys of Angels turn into the calming landscapes of Dakota, I wonder when the screaming and accusing will start. We have been driving for an hour already and no “How dare you, Ruby”, no “You are bringing dishonor on this family and ruining your carer” and neither a “No dinner for the next couple of days for you, Ruby” left their mouth. I humm a tune that I picked up earlier at the arena as I am biting my nails. We are getting closer to what I call “home” every second. Home being a small white house with an admirable jewelry shop next to it, which also belongs to us, in a tiny town with just a couple of streets and a huge forest behind our garden. Although the house may seem a bit little, it’s big enough for the three of us, including the fact that my parents spend most of their time next doors.

As the car pulls up into the gateway my finger start trembling and I have a lot of difficulty opening the door. Culpable I step out of the car, still waiting to be screamed at every second, ducking my head between my shoulders and following my parents into the house. Carefully I put down my dance bag and look at my parents which are standing in the doorframe leading to our kitchen. My mother slowly crosses her arms and considers me with a daring look. “So what was that about, young lady? Do you wanted to show off infront of your friends”, she starts accusing me in that awful hollow voice of hers. “Mom they aren’t my friends”, I start. “Don’t you dare interrupt me!” She glares at me until I let my head sink down so I can see the tips of my bare feet. “How may times have I told you to stick to your damn routine?!” I still don’t dare to look up and just wiggle a few of my toes to release some tension. “Go up to your room Ruby, no dinner for you today. I don’t want to see you until you have thought about your actions and it’s consequences.” “Yes mom”, I answer quietly and make my way up to my room as quickly as possible.

As I step trough my door I am greated with a lively and dulcet melody of a dog’s happy barking and bird’s lovely twittering. I go down to my knees to embrace my little puppy Lola and let her little tongue tickle my face as I enjoy every little noise she makes as I fondle her belly. With a last little kiss to her check I stand up and get out of my coat. Neatly folded up, I put it aside, far away from that little bundle of joy. Following that I fetch one of the birdfood packages to feed my little music wonder Zuzu. She greats me, chirping a new melody I have thought her the past days. With a pleasing sound, I ripp up that package and fill a bit food into Zuzus bowl. She carefully hops towards her food and picks a few of her favourite corns out of it. Hearing her chirping a bit louder than previously, I fill up her water bowl with fresh water and rearrange her cage a bit. After caring for my little friends I make my way towards the bathroom. Just one quick bath and then I finally get to rest. I pour a few drops of my favourite bath oil into our hot tub and grab a colourfull bath bomb from the shelf next to it. With a loud ‘ploob’ it hits the water and slowly dissolves into an ocean of flowers. In a tranquil manner I take off my sweatpants and my top, throwing it into the laundry basket and peacefully glide into the hot water. I let my had fall back and close my eyes. The warm water surrounds me, massages my body while small bubbles hitt my bruised skin. My figure glides down deeper into the water, letting the soft bathwater hitting the tip of my nose. The muscles in my upper back slacken and finally let my body relax. My sleepy mind is at ease as the warmth lulls me in. Just as I am about to fall asleep, I remember the one thing I tried to repress the entire evening. Dom’s selection.

Suddenly the water isn’t as warm and welcoming anymore, my muscle tighten again and I sit upright, the cold air sending shivers done my spine. Should I dare too? No, Rubes, mother is going to be mad at you, do you even remember what happened just an hour ago? “Maybe I could just ask”, I mumble to myself. Asking has never hurt anybody, hasn’t it? After a few minutes of violent shivering I decide to finally get out of the ceramic bathtub and swathe myself into a fluffy hot towel. On a low setting I dry my hair  and change into an old shirt and shorts, last but not least I slip on some thick socks and make my towards my bed. With a quiet “goodnight” to Lola and Zuzu, I crawl under my Bright pink blanket and make myself comfortable. I fluff up one of my huge pillows and rest my tired had on it. Sleepily I let my hand wander across my giant mattress to find my lost stuffed animal. Tossing around to now scan the area with my eyes, I immediately find Sera the pig and firmly press it against my chest. Curled around it, I close my eyes and feel consciousness slipping away. Just another day over.

Birds are chirping the melody of the forest, a soft snoring of a dog fills the room. Fresh air florishs trough the room, shaking up the curtains at the window and a loud growl coming from an empty stomach is to be heared. With a loud yawn I get up and stumble towards the bathroom door. In a hurry I twist my natural hair into a low bun, throw on a light dress and trample down the stairs to be at the breakfast table on time. My mother still gives me the silent treatment, but that doesn’t stop me form quietly helping her set the table before father comes down. We all eat in silence, the only sounds coming from butter being spread on the bread and crumbs falling down onto our plates. I slowly test the water by asking my father for the orange juice which was placed across the tabel, which he gladly hands me, even insisting to pour the juice in my glass for me.

“Mom, Dad have you already heard about the new selection?”, I carefully start the conversation, fiddling with the expensive tablecloth. “Yes we have my dear. Why do you ask?” My father suspiciously looks up from his newspaper. “I’ve heared a few girls talking about it earlier today, they even asked me if I wanted to apply”, I dare to answer, not making any eye-contact . “Silly girls, I hope you didn’t even considered it”, my mother snickers and looks at me with a mocking twinkle in her eye. “Euhmm, I actually wanted to ask you if I could apply, you know, that could a great experience for me, seeing the world and stuff like that."Just looking at my mother, I immediately knew her answer. She is never going to let me go, not in a thousand years. Though what surprises me is that father, who barely says a word, speaks up:"Ruby. I woke up with the intention to actually praise you for what you did yesterday, you gave an astonishing performance. I really wanted to be proud of you, but you have disappointed me today. ”, I look down at my hands and feel guilt filling up my half full stomach, “I have never asked much of you, but your career and your current caste is something my mother and I have worked for your entire life. I am not going to let you throw it all away for a hormonal prince and a one to thrithyfive chance of becoming queen.” He looks at me, stonecold, no emotion flickering in his eyes.“But dad, (…)”

“My answer is no Ruby. You are not going to apply for the selection, end of discusion”, he opens his newspaper again and flips to another page,  my mother just shakes her head and keeps eating in silent. His face is persistent and his strict posture tells me that he is very determined with his decision.

I knew mother wouldn’t approve of my idea, but I put all of my hope into father and now he has let me down too. We finish our meal in silence, just as we began it. I clear the table on my own and pull out my math classwork after I finished cleaning up, just like my mother asked of me earlier. Forcefully I  slam the text book open on a relatively unnecessary number. I stare at the equation I am suppose to solve and instantly know I am not going to accomplish that today.  How am I supposed to derive a awfully long and complicated divisions function in just five minutes without having done math in the past few months? I close my book and scribble an obviously wrong answer onto a piece of paper, just to pretend I actually achieved something today. My thought keep tumbling away from the topic I should be thinking about, but in instead I can’t stop daydreaming about Dom’s selection. Why do I even want to compete in a stupid selection for the love of someone I don’t even know?

Because I have to accept, that this isn’t the actual reason I want to enter. Deep down I know that this will be my only chance to finally leave this shattered home and be my own independent person. All my life I did what I supposed to do, never asked, never questioned anything. Every decision I had to face wasn’t mine to make and now finally I get the chance to escape this way of living. I’ll get to see the world,  eet people and be who I wanna be. And maybe when I am queen I can own more pets, fall in love and get to be happy. What a life that would be. But the question is, how do I apply? I can’t just walk into the palace and say “here I am”, I mean I could try… But seriously there must be a way for every single avaible girl in Illéa to apply. They couldn’t just let everyone walk into the palace to apply. Why didn’t I listen more closely to the girl’s gossip? Could it be that the administration send out letters with application attached to them? If that’s true, then I must have received one as well. That’s probably how mom and dad found out about Dom’s selection. But where would they hide such an important letter?

Determined to search for the possible letter, I neatly pack away my math stuff, sneak out of the dinning room and make my way upstairs to father’s office. While eavesdropping closely at the bulking office door, I finally decide to break in and look for that damn letter. Technically I am not breaking in because I know where father hides his keys, but it definitely feels like I am committing a crime.

With a lot of courage I unlock the door, my shoulders twitch as the exigous sound from the lock halls through the corridor. Daringly I push the door open and take a look inside, - no-one to be seen - I make a step forward on my light feet and tiptoe towards father’s desk, just like a true ballerina. Making almost a half pirouette, I turn around and glance across the room, skanning every shelf and every corner. Hopefully father doesn’t have any security cameras in here, otherwise I am screwed. I turn to face the desk again and precisely scatter through the stack of letters sitting on the mahagoni desk. Trying not to leave a utter mess, I go trough every single sheet of paper, without finding what I’ve been looking for.

After cleaning it all up, I decide to look through the drawers on father’s desk and check every other possible hiding spot. Even the curtains have to be pulled away.  Still, I found nothing. A dissapointed feeling spreads through my body and numbs my veins. With a perfect pirouette, I turn around once more, letting my glaze skipp across the room one last time. Nothing. With a sludged posture I pace trough the hallway and try to come up with different possibilities of where the “maybe letter” could be hidden. “Maybe they’ve already tossed it away, not even bothering to hide it from me”, I think out loud. Wait, that could be it. Maybe I can find the hidden letter in the trash. Hopefully it’s still there, because I genuinely don’t have an idea when it arrived. The letters could have been sent out a month ago or maybe even prior to that. With wide eyes and a possibility ahead of me, I sprint down the stairs leading down to the garden where our dumsters are placed.

Due to a huge momentum the clasps flies open and I can forcefully open the lid. I swing my leg over the edge of the dumpster and jump inside, digging trough the trash and I only stop as I finally see the deep red emblem of the royal family peaking through the tons of paper. I pull it out from underneath and open the envelope with my teeth here and now, still squating in the dumpster. Hectically I skim the letter only reading the bold and underlined words, excitement filling my guts. I turn the letter around and fill the application out, leaning against the side of the dumpster, trying my hardest to let my nicest handwriting show. According to the invitation I only have two hours left to turn the application in. Now I only have to come up with a reason to leave the house.

Leisurely I stroll through the house, searching for an old and used pair of pointe shoes and a too small leotard. As I approach the living room, I find Lola playing with a rather mistreated pair of pointe shoes. The ribbons attached to the shoes, if you can call them that, only consist of some torn strings with frayed edges which barely resemble the colour it once had, and don’t even get me started on the shoe itself. From the kitchen I quickly fetch some treats for Lola in exchange for the shoes. As soon as she sees me reentering the living room, she greats me with happy barking and gratefully excepts my treats. I fondle her for a few minutes and throw her favourite ball once, until I realise that I don’t have much time left. I tickle her belly one last time before I head out to the shop, where mom and dad are working.

The sweet melody of the doorbell floods the room as I enter the shop and make my way towards the front. I can see my father talking with a happily chatting couple, which hopefully lets my mother think twice, before she loudly lectures me. My sweetest smile lingers on my face as I try to bring up my nicest behavior. “Hello Mom”, I approach my mother, standing alone on the other side of the counter. “Why aren’t you doing your class work?”, she wonders. “I already finished it, don’t know how I managed to do it that fast, but I think today is a math day for me.” That’s a total lie, I haven’t done anything at all. I despise mathematics. “Ohh really?” She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Yes. But that’s not what I came here for. I wanted to ask if I can go to Mrs. Stutters, the lady from the dancewear shop, I need a new pair of pointe shoes and a new leotard.” I hold up my shoes and a two sized too small leotard to prove my point, as I lick my lips. “Fine. But remember, you are paying for your new shoes and leotard on your own. I want you home in twenty minutes.”, she presses her lips together and nods towards the door, “And don’t forget your other responsibilities.” I nod towards her and leave a subtle “yep”, popping the p,  before I sprint out of the shop onto the street, barely hearing mother screaming after me. She never liked it, when I ran through the shop.

As fast as I can without looking suspicious I make my way to our old town hall, where the applications for the selection shall be submitted. I am standing infront of the giant wings, when my plan starts to crumble and doubts drastically crush my sudden confidence. What am I thinking? Mother will kill me when she finds out that I submitted my application, I should be well aware of what I am doing here. I am betraying father and destroying his trust in me.

But isn’t that what I wanted to do? Leave father, mother and this town behind me and finally be free? Isn’t that why I am so desprate to take this chance? I am actively pursuing my future, even if this future is based on pure luck. “Rubes, you are not going to back out. You are 18 years old, you at going to change your life right now”, I build up myself.

I inhale deepply and stalk  trough the gates, head held higfh and a proud grin crestes my face I notice a line of ten to fifteen girls around my age waiting to get a picture taken, directly in front of me. Apparently that was one of the important parts I skipped while skimming the letter. I nervously join the other girls and let my eyes wander around. I have only been once or twice to the town hall before, it’s not a very memorable place. The only beautifull aspect of this building are huge windows next to the rose garden, mother told me that during summer time this garden is filled with endless species of birds but right now I can’t make out a single one.

Now it’s mine turn to submit my application. I walk up to tall looking red head and hand her my sheet of paper which she gladly accepts. After that I have to fill out a permission sheet and get my picture taken. With a inaudible “goodbye” I leave the town hall. I take one last deep breath, turn around and ask myself: What have I done.

[goodadultsdont]

Good adults know how to hold their liquour

I know most of us feel guilty after a weekend of heavy drinking and partying. I also know that today, with all my monday blues, I’ve been very seriously considering giving up drinking for good. It’s not about how hungover I might be but about the effect alcohol is starting to have in my life. I’ve been drinking since I was 16. I’ll be turning 27 in a few days. 

My parents would be absolutely terrified to hear this from me, but where I grew up, teenage drinking is completely normal. Those who don’t drink are the odd ones out. Furthermore, the every weekend plan is to go out to bars or clubs and get trashed. The only positive thing about this type of environment is that you can actually make friends and meet interesting people. Also at times, you can really enjoy yourself, but I’m pretty sure that’s beside the alcohol and not because of it.

When I was in highschool we were made to sit through a survey in which they were trying to determine if the teenagers in my class were at risk of developing an alcohol dependency. The scary part about alcohol is that you can be both physically and emotionally addicted to it, and you can highly increase your chances of developing a physical dependency if you drink often. This survey asked students how often they drank, and it gave them four choices: 

a) Once a year b) Once every six months c) Once a month d) Once a week

I remember that at that point I regularly drank up to two times a week and that that choice wasn’t even in the survey. I at that point was unknowingly putting myself at risk of having my body depend on alcohol to function normally. Pretty scary stuff when I know come to think of it.

If you’re an adult who’s grown up in heavy drinking countries you’ll know all about how hangovers get worse with age and you’ll have experienced how your body becomes less and less apt in processing alcohol. I must admit that I rarely do things that embarass me when I’m drunk, which should be evidence of some form of self-restraint. I’ve never blacked out or thrown up in public. However, alcohol has lead me to make some poor life choices.

If any of you have heard marihuana is the gateway drug to harder substances, you’re failing to acknowledge that actually alcohol is what leads most people into all their other vices. I started smoking “socially” which is a fancy way of saying you smoke when you drink, because for some reason alcohol makes you crave cigarrettes. The first time I tried pot I was really typsy. That can also be said of extasis and molly.

This isn’t supposed to be a sad story about regret because I will admit I’ve enjoyed more parties than those I’ve regretted to go to. I guess all I’m trying to say is good adults can manage drinking without binging. Good adults know that most drinks are unnecessary and that nothing good happens after three in the morning (or very rarely so). 

Good adults also understand that alcohol is quite a powerful substance, which can lead to all sorts of negative situations in which people can get truly unpleasant, but not really be held accountable.

On a more positive note, I wish you all to have had as many wonderful parties as I’ve had. I wish you all to be free from regrets and headaches you saturday and sunday mornings. Most of all, I wish for you to realize that your best memories will probably be those outside of bars. And for me? I think it might be time for me to retire.

“ God, grant me the Courage to change the things I can.” Serenity Prayer.

[arcane-archives]

*Atira retreats to the trees at the edge of the clearing. She sighs and takes a seat on a nearby rock, burying her face in her hands. The totems around her waist glow as the spirits of an eagle, a bear, and an orca appear beside her in comfort. Indra exits Athlai's home just in time to see the green spectral forms around his friend.*

Indra: Atira...? What's wrong?

*He approaches the mage of Kindness, giving the bear a little pat on his way.*

Atira: I am...Ashamed. Very ashamed, Indra. I gave Toriel the fish I caught this morning, but I did not help her carry it. I just dropped it in front of her! Ah, how rude...How embarassing...How shameful...

I do not know what overcame me, I just...I saw that gateway and I could not go through it...

Indra: ...I understand. It's quite frightening, isn't it...? To go to a world without human magic...

D-Don't be mistaken, of course I'm still going but-!

*He sighs.*

H-Honestly, it's humiliating that I'm this unsettled by it...

Atira: ...Champion of Justice, do you think they will leave me?

*The healer looks at the spirits around her with tears in her eyes.*

Will they slumber, or will they depart...? And if they go...Will that be better for them? Am I selfish for keeping them here? I ask myself this each day...

Indra: *The archer takes a seat next to Atira, and gently places his hand on her shoulder in comfort.*

You could...Leave them here. In this world.

Atira: ...What if someone were to take them? Or-Or destroy their vessels? I have never been apart from them...I feel pathetic...Being so afraid to be separate from them.

Indra: They are family to you. It is only natural for you to feel this way...

Atira: I...I suppose.

*The grass around her starts to wilt and the leaves on the trees start to die and fall to the ground. Atira looks at her companions sorrowfully before letting them return to their totems with a sigh.*

I will have to decide soon...

Zephyrus: *He laughs bitterly.* No intention of hurting me!? Oh, that's rich! You're bloody insane if you think I'm going to fall for that garbage! *He reluctantly reaches into the bag and holds out a handful of gold coins.* Here! You want money right!? I can give you more than whatever that scum bag is offering! Not in gold, but in information. Blackmail. You can get 5 times the amount of gold he's paying you, if you use it well! ...You just have to let me go. That's all I'm asking.

Chara stared at the child in confusion and amusement. They approached the child and took one of the gold coins. Was this genuine? They bit into it and it left a mark. Soft and malleable… real gold…Should be good for the treasury. They had no need for more money, but it was nice to have anyway.“So, who do you have information on?” They asked, interested in what the child had to say. They almost pitied the child. They clearly didn’t know that they were trapped here forever yet.