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[octuscle]

Hi Chronivac support: I hope you can help me. I am an affluent, well-educated, overgroomed, overdressed white corporate executive, but I know that is not my REAL calling and identity. I have very expensive clothes and a BMW, and even my name Timothy is formal and classy.

However, I know that I should be an uneducated manual laborer, working as a garbageman. My REAL calling. I must be forced to surrender my corporate career, my office, my BMW, my expensive formal Italian suit and tie, my briefcase, my manicured fingernails, my styled hair, my wristwatch and polished black dress shoes and socks and yes, even my own name along the way down the class ladder to my new real life. But I don’t have the courage to make the changes alone. Can you show me the way to transformation? Thank you.

Seriously? Well, it actually doesn't look like there's any reason for you to be dissatisfied with your life. But if you want to…

While you are taking your croissant and your cappuccino, your cell phone vibrates. You take it out of the inside pocket of your tailored Scabal jacket. But it's not your new iPhone 15 Pro. It's an old rather bruised device. But you know the code to activate it. The message you got is in Turkish. It's called "If you don't get your ass to the site in half an hour, you're out of a job." Unfortunately, you don't understand Turkish yet. The transformation has only arrived at your calloused hands and dirty fingernails. Your skin is getting darker. The back of your hands hairier. In incipient panic, you reach for your Montblanc wallet. But there is only a cheap nylon wallet in your worn jacket. With a few dirty bills inside. Fuck, if you pay for your breakfast, you're broke. You look around. And relax. Here in your favorite café, tea and sesame curls only cost a few cents. And you can pay later if necessary.

You get a new message. That you can pick up your wages for the last ten days later at the construction site. After that, you don't have to show your face again. Fuck, that means you'll have to bum cigarettes again the next few days. But working sucks too. And in case of need you can always carry boxes in the morning at the wholesale market. And actually, what the social security office pays you is by and large sufficient. Shit, the pissers said that you have to visit the employment office today. Otherwise they will stop paying you.

In the bus you drive without a ticket. What for? You have better things to spend your money on. The lady you sat next to gets up after a few minutes and changes her seat. Just because you are looking at pictures of fat cocks on your cell phone and massage your bulge. Infidel buffer!

You know what your name means, Ünal? It means "fame." What a contradiction to your new life. Let's see if the employment office has a job for you today.

Pics from your old and your new life found @mensuited and @hairyturkandarabstuds

[tadaxii-i]

i need you to tell me about rosestarkillerchaser like they're a sales pitch please

You got it bestie *hiss* (I definitely didn't have to research what a sales pitch was, what are you talking about?)

Hey, you! Yeah, you, hi!

I'm gonna make it short, I'm *your mom haha*, I just saw you had a bunch of marauders on your feed, yeah? You like them? I really really do, especially Regulus.

And you know Reg, you know Reg! He's got a hard life, he deserved better, yada yada yada, so we got him a boyfriend, obviously; but love, what if I tell you there's better out there?

At PBAM INC, we've got the best value deals for rareships on the market. And I know what you're saying, you're saying "rareships? I already have James! I don't want to replaces him" and neither do we! That's why I'm here, today, to talk to you about rosestarkillerchaser.

I know it's a mouthful *corporate laugh* but that's also was Reg will say right before a night with them!

And well, between you and I, my love, who would want to deny Reg anything, yeah? Not me, that's for sure, and I know it's not you either!

With rskc - i'll shorten it for your pretty mouth - you could have everything you've ever wanted and a half for your sad, pathetic little wet sock of a blorbo.

Now imagine- please close your eyes, my love, and imagine. Regulus, poor Regulus. His mother's a bitch, Sirius doesn't want to be around him anymore. Barty and Evan tell him to stay away from the Gryffindors, but James slithers past their watch. He's hot, Reg knows it. And Barty, he's so determined to protect his best friend, yeah? Because he loves Evan, and he loves Reg too, in equal measure, and he want to hate James. But James is soft touches and starlit eyes and everything Regulus ever wanted and well, how can one guy be so likeable? Barty, by virtue of well-intentioned protectiveness, finds in James what Regulus saw in him, with his pretty eyes and the dimples on his cheeks. In an effort to hate James Potter, he falls in love with him.

And you might be thinking, "how is this beneficial to James? He deserves full love and attention too, my boy" and I agree with you! But I assure you, beautiful, that Barty bites, and he bites hard. He'll bite him too, when the time comes. Wouldn't you love, to ask, a reprimand, "Barty, have you been biting?" And he would look around sheepishly, but you, you wonderful soul, you could look James in the eyes, and he would uncross his arms from behind his back and tell you "I don't mind" when his arms are bloody and bruised. Isn't that the most wonderful thing you've heard today?

Of course, we're not robbing Barty of a proper, full time boyfriend. See, you and I, we need to make sure the dog is on his leash - and if that leash is called Evan Rosier, oh, what can we do but rejoice? And Evan can have Regulus, too, in the quiet ways that Barty and James don't allow themselves. He is masterfully calm, and when I say the guys will team up to make him lose his composure, it's a once in a lifetime deal I'm selling you.

The AU potential is immense too! Vampire: three mean, mean dudes to bully one poor human, yummy! Royal : the more roles the merrier! The drama! College: do I even need to say it? Cowboy, Band, Band! The band au where all of them are boyfriends! Were you expecting it? Because I can deliver it to you, right at your front door!

Our boys have so much potential, don't you see? James' unforgiving hero complex, Regulus, a self appointed marty, Barty who can Make Himself Worse and Evan who hides as much venom in his veins as the rest of them: don't you see how great they can be?

That's why I'm here right now, lover, so hear me out; for the feeble price or free-ninety-nine and a kiss on the forehead, monthly rskc delivered, right under your doorbell, for your own pleasure. It's been approved and mandated by the SONS, the RPA and even the CBTPC, and I have the best deals, today, on the market, even wholesalers and resellers. It's a steal, don't miss out on it!

Here's my card, I'll be waiting for your call, yeah? Remember, PBAM, okay? Have a great day, lover, and with every great day, comes a great ship! Toodles~

[twiceroyaldove]

hereby registering my predictions for the PJO episode breakdown!

(prob should've posted this before the premiere lol -- i haven't seen any leaks about what content is in which episode, this is just based on the episode titles)

so this is the list of book chapters, and the bolded chapters are the titles of their episodes. obviously this assumes they didn't change the order of any major events, and that each episode contains the events of the chapter it's named for.

Episode 1:

I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death

Grover Unexpectedly Loses his Pants

My Mother Teaches Me Bullfighting Episode 2:

I Play Pinochle with a Horse

I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke

We Capture a Flag

I Am Offered a Quest Episode 3:

I Ruin a Perfectly Good Bus

We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium Episode 4:

We Get Advice from a Poodle

I Plunge to My Death Episode 5:

I Become a Known Fugitive

A God Buys us Cheeseburgers [this is the water park chapter] Episode 6:

We Take a Zebra to Vegas [this is the lotus hotel chapter]

We Shop for Water Beds

(half of) Annabeth Does Obedience School end with charon taking them across the styx Episode 7: finish chapter 18, getting past cerberus

We Find Out the Truth, Sort Of Episode 8:

I Battle My Jerk Relative

I Settle My Tab

The Prophecy Comes True

notes:

from the episode titles alone you can tell that the second half of the book is getting much more screen time than the first half. i think that makes perfect sense, one episode to get to camp and one to spend at camp, by the end of episode 2 it needs to be quest time. (it's actually really surprising in hindsight that the quest doesn't start until almost halfway through the book.)

episode 2 might feel the most rushed compared to the book for that reason, between meeting everyone and getting claimed and getting the quest etc. there might not be much time for capture the flag. (maybe some exposition is getting shifted to episode 1 at the cabin to help with that?)

i'm sure some events have been cut, but i don't think any chapters are likely to be cut wholesale. (for example the water bed scene could easily be cut, but there are other scenes in chapter 17 that probably need to stay.)

the episode 6/7 boundary is really a tossup, it's very possible that 6 just ends with escaping the hotel. ultimately i think they'll have wanted to end 6 on a more suspenseful note than "oh no we only have 1 day left!" but it's the one i'm least confident in for sure.

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[autolovecraft]

I thought!

Great heavens, Birch, but you got what you deserved. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. I thought! At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Perhaps he screamed. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here.

As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Birch. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he vaguely wished it would stop.

It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales.

For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks.

He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last.

An eye for an eye! The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon.

It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. Why did you do it, Birch? But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; so that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had chosen it, how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go.

Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought! Being without superstition, he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar. Perhaps he screamed. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. An eye for an eye! The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.

Birch, just as I thought! His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. Birch, though dreading the bother of removal and interment, began his task of transference one disagreeable April morning, but ceased before noon because of a heavy rain that seemed to irritate his horse, after having laid but one mortal tenant to its permanent rest. Perhaps he screamed. Birch still toiling. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. Birch, though dreading the bother of removal and interment, began his task of transference one disagreeable April morning, but ceased before noon because of a heavy rain that seemed to irritate his horse, after having laid but one mortal tenant to its permanent rest. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. Birch? Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height.

[tiikerikani]

A crack in the glass

This post is incredibly difficult to write, there's just so much to process. Except for putting on the radio this morning with my alarm, I haven't had any music on since Saturday night...

I didn't even make coffee this morning. Today I worked while putting together the Lego I got for my birthday and making some paintings. (You already saw one in the previous post, there's another I'll post after this one, after which this title will make more sense.)

2023.05.06 Logomo-sali, Turku

I guess we can start with some nice stuff.

The Viking look is kind of my thing now? All of the pieces of random medieval/Viking garb stuff I'd ordered arrived just in time for this magnificent outfit inspired by the album cover colors.

(I also had a blue bandana over my hair which isn't in this picture, and it was cold so I ditched the hand fan.)

The gaggle (again)

I noticed the gaggle almost right away upon getting my stuff dropped off at the coat check, so, as had been suggested, went over to say hi. So who are they really? The gaggle consists of a Finnish couple and a German couple. They were suuuuuuper wasted that other time in Tampere (which explains a LOT, really) and yeah they seem the party type (which isn't MY type, but I've had a lot of practice awkwardly bullshitting along in undergrad).

The Finnish woman was like "yeah we've spoken crappy English with each other for 10 years"; at least she has not found that to be a barrier to making friends... The German guy was going on about how they've gotten sometimes to hang out and get drinks and other goodies with the band after shows and I'm thinking what if I glommed myself onto these people but I really can't do the party personality thing.

The number of chairs in this room is too damn high

That is, way over 1000 seats. I was close to the middle, so you're seeing only like half the width of the room here. Kinda sucked that the floor was just folding chairs but at least there's more elbow room than if we were jammed into a crowd.

Fanclub Founder was next to me (again! what are the chances?? she's local though).

Before I forget, the music stuff

The performance was being taped for their next live album (yay!). They didn't mention this until a number of songs in, but it had the effect of emboldening people to sing along more loudly.

I hope they don't use this take of Samaan mutkaan kaatunut though, because there were some things I didn't like about it. (For one, there's a minor goof in the intro and for two, they kinda went straight into the preprogrammed transition track rather than letting the song end on the piano motif.)

Fanclub Founder doesn't know this (and I think she may have thought my reaction interesting) but Senpai can REALLY STOP MOTIONING AT ME ON THE ONE LINE ANY TIME NOW

Exodus got the backing vocals, well, back (all 4 of them)

I am still not entirely convinced about the extra brass parts but ok

I'd already pointed this out on my Instagram last time but Markus has fun 🍄 socks that you can only see when he's on the cello :P He's also got a cheat sheet on the floor in front of him for this song, for whatever reason.

(Been a while since I last took pictures of the acrobatics routine.)

Fanclub Founder handed up a wholesale box of mints before they lined up for bows, which made Very Serious Security Staff a little nervous (it's not the first time I have seen somebody make this offering).

Hey this wide-angle thing on my phone is great, I can actually get all 18 of them into the picture from the first row. (Also, that is TOO MANY!!)

The aftermath

The gaggle went almost immediately to the adjoining bar after the performance. At some point a gaggle guy popped out to ask me whether I'd seen any of the band members yet. I hadn't, so he went back to the bar.

The bathroom queue was easing up—and as I returned to the lobby after, I heard the final strains (again!) of Happy Birthday from one corner and it turned out the whole ladies' quartet was there with somebody, who was shedding tears of joy. [1]

I should probably further point out here that at least Heini and Jepa have also solo careers independent of the band so they have a bit of their own cult followings. (They are also incredibly friendly, so there's that.)

So yeah I missed my chance there... but I did catch the two of them to get their playing card pictures signed.

Blonde fangirl appears to attended alone (minus second blonde fangirl), and tells me I'm not the first person to collect signatures on the cards, but how would I know, I don't come from the kind of background that would enable me to go to art school AND for all intents and purposes LITERALLY follow them around to EVERY show. But in the interest of fairness I asked her to sign the card with her dedication note on it too.

I managed to flag down a couple more people for their signatures, but after that, the whole place was pretty much cleared out and the folks working the merch table even put everything away already before Pate showed up to take the stuff out back. He offered to take my stack of cards and get them signed by whoever was still around. The building is absolutely massive so it took a while and I'm loitering awkwardly waiting for him to come back because by this point the place was deserted and it was just Very Serious Security Staff watching me impatiently wondering when I was gonna get the heck out of there.

Anyway, he suggested I could talk to merch lady next time before the show and she could help get the last two signatures sorted. [2]

__________

[1] Incidentally it was also the birthday for one of the "regular" pair of ladies who, well, at least the one of them, is friendly and invites me to have a coffee or drink with them before we're let into the room.

[2] He had forgotten that Jukka-Pekka is even on a card and as a roadie of course he was still there but it didn't make sense to run all the way back again just for one card.

The after-aftermath

I'm sad I didn't get to talk to Senpai, especially since it was (almost) my birthday. I know it's just life and I'm nothing more than just one random fangirl and I shouldn't intrude on their (professional) lives nor expect anything special.

But on the other hand... some of the other groupies HAVE had special treatment? Like blonde fangirl and her illustrations on the cards? And the gaggle have had the privilege of partying with them? How do I earn this?? Is it like a five-year groupie privilege or something (I'm making this up)??

They weren't going straight home either; I'd asked Pate and got a little clingy about it and was politely told to go away. The rest of the players had left after he got the signatures for me, and it was just him and the roadies who were still there packing stuff. The gaggle reappeared from the bar and he also sent them away after a few words. Next time I'm around it will be the end of the spring tour so if it were me, I certainly wouldn't want any outsiders crashing THAT party (and it wouldn't be my birthday anymore anyway).

So I went back to my lodgings and cried for half an hour, left an apology on his Instagram, and ate Hesburger on the floor while crying for another half hour:

...I know I'm being a little unreasonable. I desperately want to be around people who care that I'm having fun, who value my presence and enthusiasm, and who kind of see me as an individual on some level (however superficially), and those rare occasions when I am, I never want them to end.

Because I can feel it:

This fire is going to die if I keep just feeling so bitter and alone after these shows. The whole run this spring of what will be 5 shows in 3 months is a bit…mentally taxing, tbh. Especially so because of this. But for now seeing Senpai is still worth it for its own sake, and I would lose even more if I stopped going and just stayed home. [3]

As a small consolation (OK it was not actually the intention but let's call it that) I had organized a small birthday meetup for geocachers Sunday afternoon (which was my birthday proper anyway). I don't even geocache all that much anymore, and I was hoping I'd have cool "shenanigans with Senpai" stories to tell, but at least it was 45 minutes of things actually being "officially" about me. (Also, there were Swedish-speakers!)

__________

[3] Incidentally the Fall tour schedule was published today and the only date I kinda even feel like going to is in December. They're Kind of a Big Deal enough now that they're booking a lot of arena and resort shows and I'm just trying to avoid those for as long as I can, because like this one felt like way too many people. even if I didn't need to look at them from the first row.

Fanclub stuff

From last time: Very Serious Security Staff walked over to get somebody to put their (small) paper sign away (and at another point mistook somebody's white phone case as one) Turns out the latter was actually Very Serious Security Staff being (mistakenly) Very Serious against people filming the performance. They were either misinformed or simply didn't ask the band whether this was allowed, because they have never forbidden it, and have even encouraged it, so people who weren't there can enjoy it too. (But OK be reasonable and don't just film the whole thing???) I mean heck, even boyfriend and I both filmed a few clips.

There was some debate over whether it was appropriate that people sang along and stood and danced (at an ostensibly sit-down show), especially for those on the floor level where we were just chairs instead of tiered seating. This is a bit of a tough one, since they were also kind of encouraging this (considering you usually want crowd noises on a live recording). I don't (really) dance but I certainly sing/shout to everything I'm confident to the words for and dramatically gesticulate (what I lack in vocal technique I compensate with body language), and it was nice to learn that Fanclub Founder actually appreciates the latter. (Feelings seemed a bit ... cold the last time we met.)

In my latest bid to try to be relevant, I decided to follow a few of the regular groupies on Instagram, or at least some of those who seem to tend to go through the tags.

[ronmanmob]

{{Sinday Meme}} @brooklynislandgirl

A minor epoch comes and goes where solar systems die and new ones are born by the time the question becomes evident, though Girl does her best to try to ask in a way that makes sense: she pats his hands, her chest, then his again to indicate she’s referring to him, then she points at her own pursed lips before gathering her fingertips into sock-puppet shapes and touches their tips together, a kiss. Then her brows furrow and she shakes her head before glancing around. There’s nothing immediately workable in visual range which draws a heavy sigh.

She covers the lower half of her face with her hands, digits splayed out as she thinks.

And thinks.

And… ah! Once more she gestures and touches and signifies him the way someone would use the word “you.” Then she creates a heart shape with her hands, and presses that to the spot on his chest where his beats steady and strong. It is the best way she knows how to convey love.

The next part is harder to convey because she doesn’t quite have the way to express it. It’s come to be seen in the months of their knowing of one another that she ~Girl~ does not know how to read, that individual letters and putting them together in words is not her strong suit. A thing Boy confirms over a cup of tea one of the few times she isn’t glued to one or the other of them. Neither of them seem to have that specific education, it wasn’t needed at the Facility.

On and on it goes, dramatic pantomime paired with impersonal gestures. Little things she’s picked up on mostly from himself and Mountain that Talks, as she so fondly has come to think of Pat as. Eventually and maddeningly time consuming, they arrive at the crux of the matter.

What would Ron do if he fell in love with someone out of his reach?

It was something of a dance, how they communicated – Ron and Girl. Part pantomime, part BSL - which Ron was doing his best to learn since she and Boy had become at the very least semi-permeant fixtures in his life and one of them relied on something like it to talk - it was holey in the Swiss cheese sense but it got them by. They made it work. It just took a little minute now and then.

“–Wha’s t’be done…wiv a love tha’ don’t…connect.”

There were BSL words peppered in there as he spoke, simple ones, formed like  child would when they were learning – slowly, a lick clumsily, but formed none the less. Love…Connect…Broken…all signed. They made his words come a hint slower than usual, talking in two forms at once making the trip between mind and mouth a little longer. 

But they made it. It just took a little minute, didn’t it.

“–Well I’d-” 

There was some life experience behind this answer; some put to bed remembered pain that Ron didn’t want to dig up wholesale. Dusting a little soil off it might pass muster, but exhumation wasn’t his aim. 

“–I grieved for a li’le time” he shared, still speaking carefully despite how the BSL had petered out once he’d got out of his depth with his vocab. “Not like when someone passes away…A different grief. For wha’ could’a been if only…If only…” A sneer’s implication touched Ron’s lips. “Terrible words them – if only. They make y’dream ‘n wish ‘n fink’a wha’ can’t be, so I try t’not If Only…” Try being the operative word there. Ron’s failure at it didn’t come into the narrative. It wouldn’t do to dwell. 

“So–” he said instead. “I grieved quietly t’meself, kicked meself b’cause me ‘eart was foolish…’N then I let it go as best I could. Left it t’time t’let the feelin’s fade - ‘n they did.” 

It was a neat little box of a description for a not at all neat process, but without delving deep into places and times and people he couldn’t bear to think about, even now, it would have to do.

[sublimationapparel]

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[octuscle]

Mick - Good Boy To Chav

"ANTISOCIAL I DON'T LIKE YOU". Great shirt, Michael thought. With his lanky torso, he'd probably look a little silly in it. But to shock his stuffy middle-class parents, it would be just the thing. They hadn't thought it was a good idea for him to travel around England alone for six weeks during the summer vacations. They probably just thought he was too young and inexperienced at just 18 years old. But Michael had had a great time, with the last of his money he had been able to afford three more days in London in a shabby hotel, and now he had found a souvenir.

Sunday, departure day. Michael didn't really appreciate the breakfast at the hotel, but he was hungry and probably he would have to eat more for a longer time after the greasy English Breakfast. So he showered, styled his hair, put on jeans us sneakers and took the tank top.

08:00

No sooner had he put it on than an electric shock went through him. For a second his eyes went black. He shook himself, grabbed his key and descended the narrow steep stairs to the breakfast room located in the basement. He only had to wear the shirt for a few seconds and it had taken possession of him. He was antisocial now. And with every minute he wore the shirt, his mind and body would change, as if he had lived his antisocial life for another week.

08:05

Michael enters the breakfast room. Since he met his new pals a few weeks ago, his skull has been freshly shaved every morning. But no one here cares. There are enough other chavs with short hair hanging out here at the hotel.

08:30

Michael had wolfed down his breakfast. Since he had gotten the job on the construction site organized by his pals, he could eat like nothing. And table manners were nothing for unskilled construction workers.

09:00

He had packed his clothes into his big gym bag. Fuck, at some point he really had to wash, it stank like in the boys' toilet of a sports hall. Which was very horny. Before he left the room, he went to piss again. Damn he had a pressure on the bladder. The toilet bowl he hit only so half, the bathroom filled from the splashes of his piss with a fine mist. Michael looked in the mirror and licked the mist from his lips. His tattoos were really coming along. And the tunnels in his ears even more so. But there was still plenty left… I wonder what the lads would think of a tattoo on his bald head.

09:10

In the backyard of the hotel by the garbage cans, Mike had to suck the dick of the fella at the front desk. That was the price he had to pay for bumming a cigarette. He'd had worse deals than that. Sucks that he had to leave the hotel, but as long as he didn't have a paycheck, he had to stay with a pal.

09:30

He had bought another pack of cigarettes from the last of his money. Now he was waiting for the bus. Hopefully none of the mangy inspectors would come, he didn't have a ticket. But with the fat tunnels in his ears and his two full sleaves, no one would talk to him anyway. And the toil on the construction site had left visible traces on his body. He really looked like one of the bad guys.

10:00 a.m.

He hung out with his pals in his new room. The mattress had been cummed on more than once. Even without his dirty clothes, it stank pathetically of sweat, beer and cigarettes. Mick stripped off his sneakers and held his filthy socks in Gaz's face. The first of his pals began to jerk his cock. Kyle sucked Liam's prick. The orgy could begin.

12:00

Before there was pay on Monday, his lads and he were broke once again. He didn't need to ask his parents for money, he hadn't had any contact with them in years. But tonight Mick would help out at the wholesale market. Floor cleaning and garbage disposal in the meat market hall. There would be a few pounds pay for that. And for that, his pals and he would get credit at the pub. Life as an antisocial chav was the best life!

[stylishanachronism]

@ Obsidian please lean the fuck out on the Catholicism, it’s making my life Difficult

[katieswan193]

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[autolovecraft]

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily?

He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. Why did you do it, Birch? It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales.

I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here.

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things.

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine.

Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Great heavens, Birch, just as I thought! Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before.

Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. The tower at length finished, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Clutching the edges of the aperture. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; so that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face.

He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications.