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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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A taxonomy of corporate bullshit

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

There are six lies that corporations have told since time immemorial, and Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen's new book Corporate Bullsht: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America* provides an essential taxonomy of this dirty six:

https://thenewpress.com/books/corporate-bullsht

In his review for The American Prospect, David Dayen summarizes how these six lies "offer a civic-minded, reasonable-sounding justification for positions that in fact are motivated entirely by self-interest":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-10-27-lies-my-corporation-told-me-hanauer-walsh-cohen-review/

I. Pure denial

As far back as the slave trade, corporate apologists and mouthpieces have led by asserting that true things are false, and vice-versa. In 1837, John Calhoun asserted that "Never before has the black race of Central Africa, from the dawn of history to the present day, attained a condition so civilized and so improved, not only physically, but morally and intellectually." George Fitzhugh called enslaved Africans in America "the freest people in the world."

This tactic never went away. Children sent to work in factories are "perfectly happy." Polluted water is "purer than the water that came from the river before we used it." Poor families "don't really exist." Pesticides don't lead to "illness or death." Climate change is "beneficial." Lead "helps guard your health."

II. Markets can solve problems, governments can't

Alan Greenspan made a career out of blithely asserting that markets self-correct. It was only after the world economy imploded in 2008 that he admitted that his doctrine had a "flaw":

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/greenspan-admits-flaw-to-congress-predicts-more-economic-problems

No matter how serious a problem is, the market will fix it. In 1973, the US Chamber of Commerce railed against safety regulations, because "safety is good business," and could be left to the market. If unsafe products persist in the market, it's because consumers choose to trade safety off "for a lower price tag" (Chamber spox Laurence Kraus). Racism can't be corrected with anti-discrimination laws. It's only when "the market" realizes that racism is bad for business that it will finally be abolished.

III. Consumers and workers are to blame

In 1946, the National Coal Association blamed rampant deaths and maimings in the country's coal-mines on "carelessness on the part of men." In 2003, the National Restaurant Association sang the same tune, condemning nutritional labels because "there are not good or bad foods. There are good and bad diets." Reagan's interior secretary Donald Hodel counseled personal responsibility to address a thinning ozone layer: "people who don’t stand out in the sun—it doesn’t affect them."

IV. Government cures are always worse than the disease

Lee Iacocca called 1970's Clean Air Act "a threat to the entire American economy and to every person in America." Every labor and consumer protection before and since has been damned as a plague on American jobs and prosperity. The incentive to work can't survive Social Security, welfare or unemployment insurance. Minimum wages kill jobs, etc etc.

V. Helping people only hurts them

Medicare will "destroy private initiative for our aged to protect themselves with insurance" (Republican Senator Milward Simpson, 1965). Covid relief is unfair to people that are currently in the workforce" (Republican Governor Brian Kemp, 2021). Welfare produces "learned helplessness."

VI. Everyone who disagrees with me is a socialist

Grover Cleveland's 2% on top incomes is "communistic warfare against rights of property" (NY Tribune, 1895). "Socialized medicine" will leave "our children and our children’s children [asking] what it once was like in America when men were free" (Reagan, 1961).

Everything is "socialism": anti-child labor laws, Social Security, minimum wages, family and medical leave. Even fascism is socialism! In 1938, the National Association of Manufacturers called labor rights "communism, bolshevism, fascism, and Nazism."

As Dayen says, it's refreshing to see how the right hasn't had an original idea in 150 years, and simply relies on repeating the same nonsense with minor updates. Right wing ideological innovation consists of finding new ways to say, "actually, your boss is right."

The left's great curse is object permanence: the ability to remember things, like the fact that it used to be possible for a worker to support a family of five on a single income, or that the economy once experienced decades of growth with a 90%+ top rate of income tax (other things the left manages to remember: the "intelligence community" are sociopathic monsters, not Trump-slaying heroes).

When the business lobby rails against long-overdue antitrust action against Amazon and Google, object permanence puts it all in perspective. The talking points about this being job-destroying socialism are the same warmed-over nonsense used to defend rail-barons and Rockefeller. "If you don't like it, shop elsewhere," has been the corporate apologist's line since slavery times.

As Dayen says, Corporate Bullshit is a "reference book for conservative debating points, in an attempt to rob them of their rhetorical power." It will be out on Halloween:

https://bookshop.org/a/54985/9781620977514

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

#pluralistic #corporate bullshit #lies #books #reviews #taxonomies #labor #denialism #consumerism #Nick Hanauer #Joan Walsh #Donald Cohen #history #object permanence #taking the right seriously

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parfaitblogs · 5 months ago

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scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending. word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember.

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met.

But no, that was just Spencer.

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it.

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'.

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it.

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists.

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments.

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs.

"What's wrong?"

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong?

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling.

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard.

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart.

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake.

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago.

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie.

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?"

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body.

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that.

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing.

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence.

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it.

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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ladykailitha · 8 months ago

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The Harrington Pattern Part 12

Hey all, this story will wrap up today, so next week it will go back to just one chapter a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays and when Glitters wraps up, Sundays will go back to one a day as well.

A short chapter for the first of two, because this chapter got too long and needed to be cut down a tad and the next part fits better as a whole.

Eddie and Steve finally kiss and just giving Steve the loving crafting circle he needs.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

****

Steve got to see where the cast ate their meals, where some of the cast stayed in large tents (for those that had traveled from out of state but couldn’t afford a hotel), he got to meet the people who sold the food to the tourists, and the people who cleaned up every night.

It was marvelous.

“So was the two events they were trying to schedule at the same time, the joust and your trick riding?” Steve asked after they left the cleaners.

Eddie grinned. “Close, the sword fighting and my trick riding. I told them that I would happily run over those bastards, but I didn’t think the horses would appreciate it.”

“I bet that got them to change their tune,” Steve said with a laugh.

“It sure did, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured.

Suddenly they found themselves utterly alone.

“Steve–” Eddie began, but Steve placed his fingers on his lips.

“Just wait,” he said softly. “There’s something I want to give you first.”

Eddie blinked at him. “You bought me a present?” he asked. Well technically he said, “Ym brut me apresemnt?” since Steve still had his fingers over his mouth.

Steve laughed and dug it out of his pocket. “It’s been on a little journey, one that nearly gave me a heart attack,” he murmured, “but Jeff was able to get it back to me in time.”

He handed the small pouch over to Eddie.

Eddie took it gingerly and rubbed it between his fingers as he looked at the small thing that Steve had made for him. But as small as the item itself was the giving of it, was massive.

“I remembered you telling me that your dice bag broke,” Steve mumbled, “and I really wanted to thank you for all your help this weekend. I don’t think I could of done it without you.”

Eddie looked up at Steve with glossy eyes. “It’s perfect, Stevie.”

“I plan on giving a bunch to Katie for her to sell while I make the bigger pieces,” Steve continued, “and Robin said that I should give the first one to you, because it’s special. And you deserve something really special, Eds. Because you’re special to me and I–”

Whatever else Steve was going to say got swallowed up by Eddie kissing him firmly on the lips.

He had just grabbed Steve by the face and locked their lips together.

Steve was stocked into stillness, but that didn’t last long as he pulled Eddie close to him and deepened the kiss.

Eddie let out a happy sigh as they parted for breath. “Wow, baby. You kiss like it might be your last.”

“Eh...” Steve said with a half shrug and a lopsided smile, “when you’ve faced more then one ends of the world, it very well could be.”

Eddie chuckled, pressing their heads together. “You’ve got me there, big boy.”

“Mhmm,” Steve said softly. “And I’ve got you here, too.” His arms tightened around Eddie’s waist, drawing them flush against each other.

Eddie swatted at him. “Sap.”

Steve kissed him again. “If I’m a sap, then you’re my tree.”

“That was corny even for you, honey,” he murmured, swatting at him at playfully.

Steve just laughed.

****

The end of the Renaissance Fair had come at last. There had been more then a few bumpy moments, but looking out at all the happy faces being lit up by fireworks, Steve was pleased with the results.

And next year was going to be even better, he had plans for helping the kids have quality costumes like Corroded Coffin boys had.

He might still have to do some altering instead of full on sewing all of the costumes, but he was really looking forward to it.

Katie had told him that he had several people offer her crazy money for the pouch he had accidentally dropped, so he promised her a dozen by the end of next week for her next Fair. In different sizes too.

Eddie had been the one to suggest that. Little coin purses, dice bags, and even handbag sized ones. Eddie was even going to help him find the right materials for it, ones that weren’t as expensive as the little dice bag Steve gave him.

Steve was really looking forward to it.

They hadn’t told the kids yet about their change in relationship. Not yet. They wanted to hold onto it for themselves a little longer.

Though, judging from the look that Will and Mike had sent him, Steve was pretty sure most of them had figured it out anyway.

So what started out with longing gazing into each others’ eyes, ended with holding hands under the cover of darkness as fireworks exploded overhead.

Steve had never been happier and he just knew more happiness was coming his way.

****

Steve was proven right when Claudia called him up the next morning.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve murmured sleepily.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “did I wake you?”

Steve looked blearily at the clock on the microwave. It was after ten in the morning.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, “I don’t usually sleep this late.”

“While that is certainly true,” Claudia agreed, “you also don’t normally spend three full days at a fair. Too much sun, too much fun, and too little sleep makes for a tired Steve. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. Henderson. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes!” she said brightly. “Are you free this afternoon, from around two to four?”

Steve looked over at his calendar and squinted. “Looks like it, unless the nuggets call for rides to wherever.”

Claudia chuckled. “I think they’re going to be just as tired as you and not want to go anywhere today.”

He laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

“So, me and couple of the other moms have a sewing circle every Sunday,” she explained. “And we were all wondering if you wanted to come and join us. We have punch and little treats and spend two hours working on whatever project we have going on while we fill each other in on what’s happening in our lives.”

“You gossip,” Steve accused, teasingly.

She giggled. “Gossip is such tawdry word.”

“Like your every day language wouldn’t make a sailor blush,” Steve said dryly.

“And how would you know that?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

“Ma’am, your son has the worst language I’ve ever seen on a teenager,” Steve said, “and I’m damn sure he didn’t get it from his dad. Even when he was alive.”

Claudia’s giggle turned into a full on laugh. “All right, you’ve got me there, Steve. So you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” she cried. “We meet at Joyce’s this week.”

“This week?” Steve asked, already plotting what to bring as a treat and which project he wanted to start.

“Yes,” Claudia explained. “We rotate every week so that one person isn’t stuck hosting every time. And if you come often enough, we’ll have it your place once in a while, as well.”

Steve frowned appreciatively. “Sounds good. I’ll see you later then.”

Claudia squealed in excitement. “I can’t wait. We’re going to teach you how to use a sewing machine!”

That really piqued Steve’s interest. “Oh yeah?”

“It was Karen Wheeler’s idea,” she explained. “Karen doesn’t sew like the rest of us, but she does cross-stitch while we all chat. Apparently Mike was telling her about all the sewing you did for him and his friends and that it was all by hand.”

Steve nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, my parents thought sewing was for girls, so I learned by hand.”

“Make sure to bring some examples of your work,” she said. “I want to blow Olive Peterson’s mind. She’s of the same mind as your parents, even though what she does, the knitting, was originally only for men.”

“I have these pouches I’ve decided to make and sell,” Steve said with a grin, “so I can bring those to work on and bring some of the work I did for the kids to show off.”

“That’s brilliant!” Claudia said. “I see you later!”

Steve said goodbye and hung up.

This just might be the thing he needed.

****

Part 13

Don't quote me on the knitting originally being for men thing, it was something I learned when I read a 12 Dancing Princesses retelling years and years ago. The soldier in the story knitted to keep awake at night.

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

@croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv

@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system CLOSED

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

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silverzoomies · 9 months ago

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Alone

peter maximoff x reader fluff

warnings: fluff, humor, first meetings, pining, female reader

word count: 3,461

a/n: just a drabble i spent way too long on. based on something i used to daydream about a lot. happy late valentine's day !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Peter sits, slouched on the floor against the foot of a sofa. Glimmers of light flicker in his eyes, as he indulges in some mind numbing television. Reruns of Frasier play stereotypical laugh tracks, droning through the basement. He can’t help but follow suit. Chuckling along in quiet huffs, he shakes his head.

Upstairs, the house rests in silence. Dead quiet. Magda snores softly in her room. Lorna’s probably conked out too. And Wanda? She’s gone. Somewhere. He could never guess. She doesn’t tell anyone where she goes on weeknights. But hey, what’s it matter to him? So long as she’s playing it safe.

Peter snickers at another corny, sitcom joke. He guzzles down handfuls of Reese's pieces. The candies rustle in their small box. But with the rustle, his ears catch something else. Distant and faint. Outside the realm of television laugh tracks and candy clicks.

It’s a lyrical melody, playing with romantic cadence from outside the basement window. Peter tilts his head back, drinking a glass bottle Pepsi. Fizzy sweetness mildly irritates his throat. Raising a brow, he guides his gaze to the window. One more chug of his soda, and he snatches the remote.

The roar of sitcom television falls into stillness.

And sure enough, a tune whispers from beyond the window’s glass. Like the call of a sea siren through the neighborhood. But it’s 10pm on a Tuesday night. And the likelihood of a smokin’ hot siren crawling from the ocean - to a house in middle class suburbia - is beyond impossible. Unless Peter’s dreaming again.

In which case; wait for him, nautical dames. He'll grab his trunks and be out flash.

And the night goes by so very slow

Oh I hope that it won’t end though

Alone

Peter narrows his eyes at the window, scoffing to himself. Woah, now. Is he warped in the head? Or is the mantra of Heart crying out from beyond the shadows? Peter appears at the window in a zip. Raising himself on his toes, he launches his body upward. Through smudged glass, Peter’s black hues scan the world outside. A shadowy mass looms in the grass, imposing and somewhat terrifying.

Until he realizes, it’s someone holding a giant boombox over their head. Phew .

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone

Peter’s silver brows furrow again.

“What the hell?” He mutters under his breath.

He unlatches the window, pushing it open. Allowing that unmistakable tune to come through much clearer. Peter watches the mysterious, boombox stranger for a moment longer. A beat passes, and Peter sighs. He could just as easily zip out there, confront the culprit, and return to his basement lickety split. Instead, he opts for the casual approach.

Peter pushes himself through the window, his bare feet scuffing the basement wall. He accidentally kicks over a set of speakers. Some he stole five years ago and forgot about. They tumble off a wall shelf and crash hard onto the floor. Knocking down a bunch of stolen street signs in their wake. If Maximoffs weren’t such deep sleepers, he’d be in for it now. Big time.

As soon as Peter’s out, he stumbles in the grass. Mumbling a hushed - Shit.

You don’t know how long I have wanted

To touch your lips and hold you tight

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Crawling through the dry, winter grass, Peter finally stands. With an exhale, he wipes dirt from his grey sweatpants. The rando in his yard doesn’t react, but they lower the boombox a little. Peter waits at a distance, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Who are you? Whaddya wannnnnt?” He shouts.

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone?

No response from the rando. With a simple gesture, they tap the speaker of the boombox. Whatever that means. Rolling his eyes, Peter strides across the cold grass. Shirtless in the brisk, February air. He raises a hand to scratch his messy, silver bedhead. As he moves in closer, the neighborhood street lights illuminate the figure’s features.

Up until now, he thought some weirdo guy snuck out to pine for Wanda’s attention. Peter’s ready to kick his ass if he needs to. Poor Wanda’s always got dudes falling to her feet on Valentine's day. But she usually does the ass kicking. More power to her.

Guess he won’t have to this time. Turns out, it’s just some weirdo girl.

How do I get you alone?

Peter puts a stop to the song before it reaches its end. Extending a hand in a quick blur, he abruptly clicks a button on the box. The neighborhood drowns itself in late night silence all over again. Interrupted only by the occasional car passing in the distance. Peter’s vascular arms cross over his chest. Lidded eyes leer straight at the mystery woman.

“Sooooooooo…” He tilts his head to the side, “Who are you? And why are you playing Heart outside my house at, like, ass-o-clock at night?” Peter pauses, eyes narrowing in suspicious slits, “Are you tryna pick up my sister? ‘Cuz you kinda look the type. And I know she’s been ‘tryin’ new things’ lately.” He gestures with air quotes, “If you catch my drift. Not that it’s any of my business. Point is , she’s not here.”

Boombox girl lowers said boombox down into the grass. She shakes her head, reaching into the pocket of her oversized cardigan.

“Pick up your sis- hah! ” She snickers with a snort, dawning a bashful smile. Boombox girl runs her other hand through her hair, “No! Noooo, it’s not like that! Uhm…I was actually playing Alone for you, silly.”

Peter drops his arms to his sides, and his heart skips a speedy beat. Scrunching his nose, he curls his lip.

“Youplayedwhatforwhonow?” He slides his hands into his sweatpants pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. The apples of his cheeks burn, and Peter clears his throat, “Uhhhh. Okay. Thanks? That’s…sweet, I guess. But, I-I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Her smile’s kind of adorable. Especially as she rubs her neck, displaying timid hesitance. Whatever confidence she had, she must’ve maxed out on 80’s romance cliches.

“Not really? I mean, I’ve seen you around. A lot. But you’ve never really noticed me, so…”

Alrighty then. That makes this interaction even weirder. But Peter’s pulled equally weird - if not more desperate stops to win some hearts in the past. And he may or may not be guilty of the same technique she’s using now.

Give him a break, okay? So what if he took a chance on it once? Back when he was eighteen and leagues more naive. It’s a little cheesy, sure. But it’s also the story of how he lost his v-card. And not the Valentine’s kind.

Case in point, it worked for him. So, he’ll bite.

“And you thought crashin’ outside my house, blastin’ some corny song while my family’s asleep - that’s a smoother move than…oh, I dunno…just talkin’ to me?”

She shrugs again, her guilty eyes looking down at the grass. Boombox girl raises a foot, tapping the ground with the tip of her boot. God, she’s obviously so nervous. And he's not gonna lie, it's a little charming. The corners of Peter’s lips turn up in a grin.

“I thought it might get your attention. You just…you move so fast all the time. And I’m really slow when it comes to these kinds of things. You were always gone before I ever got the chance.”

“How’d you know where I live?” Peter throws her a nod of his head, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Pulling her hand from her pocket, she fixes her attention on the plastic case of a cassette tape.

“My uncle tried to arrest you once.” She grins, “He was out on patrol. Saw you steal a speed limit sign. Your mom paid him to let you off the hook.”

Peter’s brows fly up under his bangs. His cheeky smile spreads into his dimples.

“Your unc-...seriously? Whoa. No kiddin’?” He laughs, “Wish I could say I remember. But that sorta thing used to happen to me all the time.”

Not like he wasn’t asking for it back then. But to be fair, Peter’s made some drastic improvements. When it comes to his klepto compulsions, anyway. Excluding the influx of junk food and Garbage Pail Kid cards he snags on a daily basis. From nation-wide chain stores. Totally ethical.

“Yeah, I know.” She giggles, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. This way, he actually gets a good look at her. Soft lips. Pretty eyes, “You used to be the talk of the station, where he worked. Those guys never shut up about you.”

Reaching forward, she passes Peter the cassette in her hand.

“What’s this?” He gently takes it, inspecting the hand-made label inside the case. Decorated in little, lightning bolt doodles. Even some hearts. Aw. Cute. Scratched across it in messy handwriting, are the words - For the kleptomaniac. In exchange for my heart. You stole it forever ago.

Come on. Could she be any more corny?

“It’s a mixtape.” She bites her lip like she’s terrified to keep talking, “It’s cool if you don’t listen to it. I dunno if you’ll even like what’s on it. But I know you carry around that Walkman all the time.”

Uh huh. Did her uncle tell her that too? Get outta here.

“Does it have Heart on it?” Peter flips the case over in his hand, pursing his lips.

“Of course it has Heart on it.”

“Awww. Givin’ me Heart for your heart.” He snickers, turning pinker in his cheeks, “This is legit the cheesiest thing a girl’s ever done for me. I’m kinda buggin’ out right now.”

“Oh yeah? I mean, I can always take it back, if you-” She teases, like she thinks he’s being sarcastic.

She reaches for the tape. But as her fingers brush the case, Peter raises it above his head. The motion happens quickly, before she can even keep up. Boombox girl wasn’t foolin’. She is slow. Slower than a turtle on tranquilizers. As she makes another attempt, Peter drops his hand in a speedy blur.

“Hey, hey, hey. Nuh uh. No takesie-backsies.” He teases, waving a finger, “A trades a trade, babe.”

Her hands rest at her hips, and she flutters her long lashes. So shamelessly flirtatious, but still not enough to win him over. Not just yet. Even if her bedroom eyes offer a tempting invite. Like, seriously, so tempting.

Mama didn't raise him like that, though. Peter has somewhat of a delinquent track record, sure. But he's still a good hearted gentleman. He'll take her out on a few dates first. Treat her to a little arcade romance, before he tries some no pants dancing.

If she's not playing him for a complete jackass, that is. Really, it’s almost too good to be true.

No chick has ever pined for him this hard in his life. And Peter’s never had the chance to play hard to get. He bets dollars to donuts, boombox babe probably isn't a mutie either. Talk about some major role reversal. How often does a human girl beg and plead for mutant man's love? She knows he's a total shut in, right? Or did her uncle not fill her in on that?

“You still have my heart, though.” She coos, gazing at Peter with those eyes.

Those - embrace me, o’ speedster man of my dreams - eyes.

Yeah. Her uncle most definitely didn't break the news. Peter hisses, teasing her again with a click of his teeth.

“Ooooh. Yeah. Well, finders keepers. Good luck shakin’ that silver lovebug.”

He flirts back and forth with her naturally. Kinda like high school sweethearts. It goes on for a few more minutes. Until he's pestered her enough, she just up and quits. Her car's parked down the street. A Volkswagen bug. Hah. And there she goes. Peter's secret admirer stomps off. Boombox swinging at her side. A wave of guilt almost pulls him under, and Peter starts to regret teasing her so much.

She laughs as she walks away. And the call of her giggle brings him back to the surface, much like a song. Seems like the sirens really did come out tonight.

So, she likes playing games too, huh?

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Peter’s not even that much of a Heart fan.

He looks down at the cassette case in his hands. Rolling a thumb over a scratch in the plastic. A beat passes. In a flash, he appears in front of her. Peter walks backwards, padding barefoot along the side of the road.

“So, are you gonna ask me out ‘er what? C'mon, don't be chicken shit. I know you got it in you!” He jokes.

Boombox girl giggles so hard, she breaks out in dorky snorts. Ah, the sexiest, siren song. Too bad that's not a track on the mixtape. He’s willing to slip her some loose change for a raw recording.

By happenstance, another car slows to a stop. Right in the middle of the empty neighborhood street. Colored a familiar shade of scarlet, the vehicle looms for a beat or two. Peter comes to halt, watching as the passenger side window rolls down. Boombox girl crashes right into him.

Shit. Peter just now realized, he doesn't know her name yet.

He grabs her hips on instinct, catching her in case she falls over or something. Her free hand clutches his arm, right over the ‘mom’ tattoo etched into his skin. Naturally, Peter radiates enough warmth to act as a heater. He’s a godsend on cold, lonesome nights. Boombox girl presses her body closer to his, seeking his heat.

Peter knows she does it without thinking, since she whimpers a soft, “ Oh god. I’m so sorry. ”

“It’s cool. You okay?” Peter’s hands linger on her hips.

“What’s going on over there?” Wanda grills playfully from her car. She flits her eyes between her doofus brother, and boombox girl. When Wanda purses her lips, she does so in a way identical to Peter, “Is he giving you any trouble?” She asks what's-her-name.

Peter zips to the passenger side door, crossing his arms over it. Leaning against Wanda’s car through the window, he makes a pfffbbbbtt noise.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Wands. I’m just walkin’ my future wife to her car.” He raises one of his hands, waving the cassette case, “Check it out, ah? She made me a mixtape! Cute, right?”

Wanda’s knits her brows as she tilts her head. The long, scarlet locks of her hair bounce with the motion. At the side of the road, boombox girl makes an adorable squeal. She covers her blistering face with her hands, mewling silent pleas.

“Oh my god stop. I’m sorry I even said anything. Oh my god. ” What's-her-name whimpers.

Which really isn’t helping the whole suspicious sister situation. Wanda leans back in her seat, peering over Peter’s shoulder at boombox girl. Narrowing her eyes, Wanda looks back at him. And before she can call Peter out on his bullshit, he lowers his arms from the door. Peter drops his chin to it, his tapioca eyes gazing up at Wanda innocently.

He chews his lip. In that ‘ I’m obviously up to no good’ kind of way.

“Y’wanna know what that cutie over there told me?” He purrs, talking loud enough for what’s-her-name to hear, "She said I stole her-"

Boombox girl shrieks, “MAXIMOFF! Please! That was a secret! I’m serious! You’re killing me here, dude!”

Maximoff?

Ohhhhh. She doesn’t actually know his name. Seriously? Didn’t what's-her-name say she’s pined after Peter for a while now? How long is a while? Long enough to know his address, apparently. And to know he likes listening to his tunes. And to know he’s a mutant with a rep for thieving. But not long enough for anyone to drop his name? Did the feds never bother learning it? Ouch. Figures.

“Piet.” Wanda leers at Peter, holding him at gunpoint with her eyes, “Leave that poor girl alone. Look at her! She’s had enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter stands up straight. Lazily, he smirks, waving a hand, signaling Wanda to drive off.

“Naaaah! You shoulda seen her back at the house. She’s hopelessly in love with me. Played songs outside my window. Y'know, like they do in the movies? I’m serious! You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Once more, Wanda shifts her skeptical gaze to what’s-her-name. The mystery girl carries her boombox to her car. With her head dipped and a free hand over her face. She looks like she’s doing the walk of shame. As if Peter stole a little something else from her and-w hoops. That's also not helping his case at all. Wanda hums, doubtful of Peter’s unlikely story.

He cheeses a toothy grin, looking guilty.

“Really?” Wanda adjusts in her seat, reaching for the radio dial, “Well, you might wanna tell her goodnight. For a girl who’s totally in love with you , she seems in a heck of a hurry to leave.”

And with that, Wanda drives off. Peter stumbles back, his calloused heels scuffing concrete. Wanda’s car rolls all the way down the road and into the driveway. Whipping around, Peter catches what’s-her-name opening the trunk of her love bug. As she lifts the boombox into it, Peter zips up next to her. Latching his arms around the boombox, he gives her an aloof grin.

“Can I borrow this for a sec? Thanks, cutie.” He throws her a wink.

She doesn’t get the chance to ask why. Peter zips back to his spot on the side of the road, clicking a button on the boombox. He raises it over his head, letting Heart roar obnoxiously across the neighborhood. Disrupting the late night peace. Out the corner of his eye, Peter notices a few neighborhood lights come on. The song plays just as Wanda hops out of her car. She stops in the middle of her stride to the front door. Her bags hang from her arms and her keys dangle on her finger.

Wanda squints, eyebrows turned inward.

How do I get you alone?

“I TOLD YOU! SHE’S TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH ME!” Peter yells.

A faint, red glow emanates from Wanda’s hand, as she delicately swipes it in the air. The boombox’s tape player pops open with an click, and Peter lowers the box down in front of him. He playfully pouts, muttering a soft booooooo to himself. Abrupt silence fills the entire neighborhood again, save for the local dogs barking in their yards.

“Say goodnight, Pietro.” Wanda’s voice calls from the driveway, before she disappears into the house.

Peter doesn’t even realize what’s-her-name is standing next to him, until she speaks.

“Pietro’s a beautiful name.”

Peter snickers, feeling heat rise in his cheeks again. Popping open the case she gave him, he swaps the tape for the one in the boombox. Rapidly clicking the volume button, Peter huffs a soft laugh, hooded eyes blinking.

"Thanks. I'd say the same about yours, but I don't even know it." He teases. A little shy, Peter keeps his eyes on the boombox, "I go by Peter, actually."

"Peter. Pietro. Whatever your name is, you embarrassed the shit outta me, man." What's-her-name scoffs. Peter kinda likes the sound of both names in her voice, "You're lucky you're gorgeous."

Gorgeous? Whoa. That's a helluva word. Shit, this really is too good to be true. Peter's heart skips another beat, and he shakes his head. "Y'know, if you still what your heart back, you're shit outta luck, babe." Peter clicks the play button on the boombox, only after some tension heavy beats pass, "Like I said, finders kee-"

An all too familiar melody pours from the boombox speakers, softer now.

I hear the ticking of the clock

I’m lying here the room’s pitch dark

“Seriously?” Peter laughs, slinging an arm over boombox girl's shoulders.

“Yeah, seriously. I told you it had Heart.” She blushes profusely, averting her innocent gaze.

Maybe there really is something to these 80's romance cliches. Peter's almost willing to give up his own heart. Just as compensation for hers.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt

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munson-blurbs · 5 months ago

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@corrodedcoffinfest Day 9: The Hideout

Word Count: 715/Rating: T/Pairing: none/CW: hurt/some comfort, canon compliant, drinking, grief, mention of Eddie's death/Tags: Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson, Jeff, Grant, Gareth, The Hideout

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Can I get something for ya, Mr. Munson?”

Wayne didn’t even notice the bartender approach him and lean his elbows on the counter. He shook his head before remembering that if he didn’t order something, they’d probably give him the boot.

“Whatever’s on tap.”

The bartender nodded and left to fill a cloudy glass with a beer that was bound to be half-foam.

Wayne took in his surroundings while he waited. The Hideout looked exactly how he remembered it, despite the promised renovations after the earthquake hit. The countertop was still sticky with a mysterious residue, the air still smelled like old frying oil, and the sound emanating from the speakers was more garbled crackling than music.

There was an obvious difference; acknowledging it made Wayne sick to his stomach. It was a reality he had to face every moment of every day.

His eyes instinctively landed on the makeshift stage buried in the corner of the bar. Every Tuesday night, just like tonight, his nephew and his bandmates would ascend the single step and put on a show for the drunkards barely hanging onto consciousness. Despite their less-than-enthused audience, Corroded Coffin performed like it was a sold-out world tour.

Wayne couldn’t make it to every show, but he’d take a night off every few months and make sure to swing by and catch the boys in action. The very first time he saw Corroded Coffin play at The Hideout, he was astounded by the sheer happiness on Eddie’s face. In Wayne’s opinion, it was even more incredible than the sight of his ringed fingers flying over the frets. That smile never faltered, even if the crowd jeered.

The bartender slid the glass in front of Wayne, meeting his gaze. “We miss him around here,” he says quietly. “He was a good kid.”

Tears misted over Wayne’s eyes, and he blinked them away before any could trickle down his stubble-coated cheeks. “No, he wasn’t. He was a pain in your ass.” He huffed out as much of a laugh as he could muster.

“Yeah, but he was a pain in my ass with a good heart.”

Wayne nodded. He sipped his beer silently, letting the liquid fizz out on his tongue before swallowing. He wasn’t sure why he’d stopped by; it felt like a special sort of torture. Everything about The Hideout reminded him of Eddie. Eddie, who should have been there tonight, warming up and tuning the guitar he cherished like it was his child. Getting ready to play ear-splitting music for the residents of a town who never appreciated him.

“Mr. Munson?”

Wayne looked up, expecting to see the bartender, but the voice came from someone beside him. Jeff was giving him a small smile, concern evident in his eyes. Gareth and Grant stood behind Jeff and wore equally worried expressions.

“Boys.” Wayne gave a quick bob of his head. “You playing tonight?”

Gareth shook his head, his curls bouncing. “Nah. We haven’t played since…” He trailed off, but Wayne could fill in the blanks.

Since the earthquake.

Since the bar reopened.

Since Eddie died.

“We still come here every Tuesday and have a drink in his honor,” Grant said. “It’s…weird without him, but it feels like what he would want us to do. Stick together and all that.”

“Yeah.” It was all Wayne managed.

Jeff bit the inside of his cheek. He glances at the two other young men, who nod in the silent agreement that only comes from long-standing friendship. “Can we sit with you?”

“Oh.” Wayne blinked in surprise. “You sure you wanna hang out with a sad-sack old man like me?”

In response, the boys pulled their stools closer.

“Eddie…” Gareth started, “Eddie loved when you came to our shows. It meant a lot to him, especially because we don’t exactly play music you like.”

Wayne chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m more of a Johnny Cash kinda guy.” He took a large gulp of his beer. “But I wish I could hear Ed play one more time.”

“Us, too.” Grant sucked his teeth. “Do you…do you wanna talk about him?”

Wayne’s answer felt like an exhale, a release of the pain and anguish he’d been keeping inside since the Henderson boy delivered the news of Eddie’s fate.

“Yeah. I do.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #wayne munson #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fest #gareth emerson #jeff corroded coffin #grant corroded coffin

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taikouvember · 7 months ago

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TAIKOUVEMBER 2024 - ANNOUNCEMENT POST

Hello everyone!

First of all, thank you to all 30 participants of the interest poll, it was very interesting to see how another ship week would be perceived! Considering that the majority of voters confirmed to be happy to participate or enjoy the event, we shall dive into the third year of Taikouvember! (Title picture + new icon by @seventeenlovesthree)

November is the last month of autumn, right before Christmas time begins. It’s a time that can be filled with light and coziness, gloominess and melancholy, inspiring us to reminisce about our best, most precious qualities - and those of the ones we love. So, November 4th to November 10th shall be dedicated to the platonic or romantic relationship between Taichi Yagami and Koushiro Izumi (Taikou, Koutai or mainly known as Taishiro(u) in the English speaking fandom). Of course they're known for their courageous and knowledgable traits - so this time, let's shed some light on their potential other qualities:

Day 1, Monday, November 4th: Friendship

Day 2, Tuesday, November 5th: Love

Day 3, Wednesday, November 6th: Sincerity

Day 4, Thursday, November 7th: Reliability

Day 5, Friday, November 8th: Hope

Day 6, Saturday, November 9th: Light

Day 7, Sunday, November 10th: Kindness / Miracles

You can interpret the prompts however you like. In addition, you are absolutely free to use the same prompts for 2022 and 2023 if these are more to your liking! If you want us to reblog your posts, please tag everything as #taikouvember, #taikouvember2024 or #taikouvember 2024 and we will be happy to share your content, let it be fanart, fanfiction, edits or whatever comes to your mind.

@digievents If possible, I would love for the event to be added to this year's calender!

Please check our Rules & FAQ and a more detailed Prompt Guideline for more information. Stay tuned for the upcoming updates!

#taikouvember #taikouvember2024 #taikouvember 2024 #taikou #koutai #taishiro #taishirou #event announcement #digimon events #ship events #announcement #taichi x koushirou #taichi x koushiro #taichi yagami #koushiro izumi #koushirou izumi #tai kamiya #izzy izumi

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multimilfs · 2 years ago

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Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Stairway to Heaven

Summary: Anon requested Melissa Schemmenti + 132 -- "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

AO3

List of prompts found here!

A/N: Happy ficmas everyone!! I have been working really hard to get ready for kickoff today and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have in store! Enjoy!

Special thank you to the amazing @arewecoolio for reading this over for any errors!! You're the best 💖

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @greenawayprentiss @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

Gary is cool. He's even funny on occasion, when he remembers the punchline. He treats Melissa like a Queen—though she deserves nothing less—and worships the ground she walks on. But you’re not convinced he’s good enough for her.

You’re watching the two interact across the lunchroom with simmering jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion you’re not fond of feeling, but one you can’t seem to shake these days. The grip on your grading pen tightens as Melissa laughs at some joke of Gary’s.

“Girl, you’ve got to do something about all… that.” Ava says, motioning to your expression, “Channel that anger into something productive. Like packing orders. Or sex.”

“I’m not participating in your pyramid scheme.” You answer.

“Oh, so you’re going to get some? Finally. It’s hard having to entertain you with my stories when I’m not getting anything back.”

“To be fair, I never asked to hear about your sex life,” You point out. Ava shrugs and you continue, “If you tell me about Tyrone one more time I might lose it.”

“Tyrone? He’s old news. I’m onto Jamal now, keep up.”

“Jamal? What about his sister?”

“She was into some weird stuff. I’m freaky too, but even I draw the line at dolls.”

Ava shivers and you decide not to ask. It’s better for your sanity that way, though you’re morbidly curious. Ava never tells a bad story.

Another presence joins the table as Janine sidles up, looking far too awake and positive for 9 am on a Tuesday. She smiles obliviously.

“Dolls? I loved dolls as a kid.”

Ava scoffs, “Yeah, I bet you made them kiss each other and all that nonsense.”

“Of course I did. It was like directing my own little show!”

“Is that where the control issues started?” You ask.

Janine’s oblivious smile drops and she levels you with a look. It’s closer to matching Barbara’s with every day that passes, it’s almost impressive; but unless Barbara herself levels one at you, you’re going to remain unphased.

“Don’t shame my childhood development just because you’re jealous over Melissa and the vending machine guy.”

You turn red, “I am not jealous!”

“Right. And I wasn’t named tastiest doomsday prepper in Philly.” Ava says, rolling her eyes.

You and Janine lock eyes, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Everytime you talk to Ava you learn more about her; that isn’t always a good thing. When Janine opens her mouth, you give her a subtle shake of your head. Once the two get started it’s impossible to get them to stop.

Unfortunately, Janine is too stubborn, and has to do things her way; she engages the Principal in a battle of wits she can’t win. You tune it out the second she starts in on how doomsday prepping is futile and the kind of neurotic spending reaction it induces only benefits the government. That isn’t a can of worms you feel like glancing inside.

You decide to torture yourself emotionally instead.

It should be easy to watch Melissa laugh and grin in that smug, bright-eyed way she pulls off so well, but it turns your stomach to know Gary is the cause of it. He’s nice enough—that’s the excuse you try to use everytime, to no avail—but he isn’t you. And against the slim odds of someone like Melissa ever wanting you romantically, you wish it was you.

Does he know her favorite restaurants, her favorite soap operas? Does he know about the years Melissa dedicated to caring for her Nana? Does he know how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have Melissa Ann Schemmenti wrapped around his finger?

The likelihood of him knowing anything important is slim-to-none. The redhead is too private to share information so soon, but the little green-eyed monster in your head prods you, asking what if he does? Your fists clench in your lap. You’ve been climbing the stairway to heaven this whole time and Gary’s probably on the highway.

“Hey, hon,” You’re surprised from your thoughts to see the object of them in front of you, leaning on the table, smiling.

You smile back, “Hey, Mel.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

Hope claws up your throat. You shove it down violently, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest.

“Depends. Why?”

“Gary was asking about you, he wants to meet ya. I was thinking you could bring your secret lover on a double-date tonight. You meet my guy, I meet yours.”

You tilt your head, brows scrunching, “Secret lover?”

“Oh come on,” Melissa rolls her eyes. She levels you with a look that says don’t give me that bullshit, “I’m not blind. You suddenly go silent on all things romance and think I wouldn’t figure out what that meant?”

Nerves and mortification make you nod, smiling sheepishly. Your chest hurts. Of course she’d notice; after several years of friendship and teaching together, how could she not? The two of you were practically glued at the hip before Gary came along. No topic had been too much and then for you to go silent… you can see how that’d come across. You’re glad she didn’t suss out the real reason.

“I’m not sure. Things are still pretty new…”

“I’ll buy your drinks.”

That makes you pause.

Then you see how she’s looking at you. She’s leaning down into your space, grinning like she knows she's won. You can’t deny her anything, not when you know how much it’ll mean to her for you to really meet Gary as her romantic interest rather than a passing acquaintance. It’ll kill you. Watching her laugh with him will undo your feeble grip on sanity.

It’ll kill you, but you’ll do it for her anyway.

“When and where?”

— —

This is a terrible idea.

The place Gary chose is a total dive, and not the good kind; every surface is covered in a fine layer of grime and ash, ninety percent of the men and women at the bar smoking like chimneys, and the beer you ordered tastes like if someone decided to waft alcohol in the direction of their drink. All of this you could forgive.

What you can’t forgive is the absence of a proper pool table.

Every table in the place is falling apart at the seams. There’s maybe two cues per table and some of the nets have holes large enough to send grown men chasing after solid and striped balls alike.

The worst part? Melissa stands in the center of it all, smiling like none of it bothers her. You know better. Her smile is strained at the edges, her eyes slightly pained. If only she’d say the word, you’d sweep her out of here. She just maintains that strained smile when you walk up to her.

“Where’s the secret lover I was promised?” Melissa asks.

You smile, though your heart isn’t in it. It’d taken endless promises to get her to agree, but eventually—

“Sorry I’m late y'all. There’s a guy selling mixtapes outside and I had to hear it before I bought anything. Can’t be too careful, you know?”

Melissa’s smile melts from her face. Her eyes bore hard into you, dark with emotion. As she looks between you and Ava—who leans against the table next to you, either totally oblivious or uncaring—her jaw tenses.

Gary chooses that moment to speak, a jovial smile on his face, “Now I did not see this coming! I never would’ve guessed you two would be seeing each other.”

“Neither did I.” Melissa says.

You want to disappear into the floor. Despite the fact that Melissa is openly seeing Gary, you feel you’ve done something wrong.

It doesn’t help that Ava drapes herself against your side. She makes deliberate, intense eye contact with Melissa, and takes a slow sip of a drink you failed to notice. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re grateful for the absence of anything sharp.

“What can I say, I lucked out. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of her.” Ava says. Her tone is startlingly sincere.

You give her a hard look. She just shrugs.

“No drink for me?” You ask, anything to distract from the way you can’t look at Melissa.

Ava raises a brow, “If you want something, you just gotta ask.”

“I’d kill for a gin and tonic.”

“Got it.”

“I’ve got it, you two sit.” Melissa interjects.

She extracts herself from Gary and stands at the same time Ava does. On another night, you’d take Melissa's offer as the kind act it is, but tonight it feels strangely like a threat.

The two are caught in a strange staring contest. You want to reach out and tug Ava down into her seat, but you’re frozen, wondering what the hell is going on.

“I’ll get it.” Ava says.

“She’s my friend.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest.

“She’s my date.”

Melissa’s body tenses at the word.

You’re too busy watching Ava, trying to decipher where she’s been hiding this acting talent. She had been reluctant to join your ruse and now it seems like she couldn’t be anywhere else. For a moment it feels authentic enough to make your stomach turn.

Gary cuts in before Melissa can back down, “I could use another beer if you’re going towards the bar.”

“Sure. You got it, Gar.”

The two walk away in tense silence. Melissa keeps looking at Ava from the corner of her eyes, while the principal pretends she isn’t there.

It leaves you with Gary and you smile. Trying to pretend there’s no tension is easier with the women across the bar.

“It’s good to meet you,” He says, friendly enough, “Melissa talks about you enough I feel like I already know you, but I’m glad she got you to come out tonight.”

“Yeah. It’s good to meet you officially. Besides the occasional run-ins during lunch, I mean.”

He nods and drinks the last swig of his beer. You take a few seconds to glance through the haze of smoke towards the bar. Melissa leans one arm on it, waiting while the bartender runs around helping out rough-looking men and women. She looks perfectly placed and yet stands out; she’s probably the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in this place.

Ava’s chatting up a woman at the bar like Melissa isn’t even there. So much for her putting on a good act.

Even if she’s not looking at Ava directly, you know Melissa’s listening, cataloging everything. You’ll get an earful about having self-respect when choosing partners later.

“There’s another reason I had her ask you here tonight.” Gary says.

His face is serious. You’ve never seen the man without a smile and it unnerves you. Trying not to let that show, you raise an eyebrow.

“I wanted to meet the woman Melissa’s in love with.”

You blanch.

“Gary, that’s—she’s not—“

A hand settles on top of yours and his smile makes an appearance. It’s kind, kinder than you deserve after all the things you’ve thought about him.

“I knew there were three of us in this relationship when I went out with her the first time. But I’m giving you the chance to make it two again,” He says, “She’s crazy about you and I can see you feel the same way. She’s all yours.”

You should be overjoyed. Melissa feels the same way about you, you have a shot? Instead, you feel angry.

“You’re going to give her up just like that?” You snap.

Gary startles you by laughing.

“I can’t exactly give up what isn’t mine.”

“She chose you.”

“Sometimes people make mistakes.” When you seem unconvinced, he shakes his head, “Melissa’s a good woman, she deserves someone who makes her happy. That just happens to be you and not me. I’m not mad about it.”

You’re reeling. The room feels like it's spinning and you don’t have time to regain your focus before the women return. Ava sets down your gin and tonic with a nod.

Melissa starts up an animated conversation with Gary, who nods along, adding in his own comments. He keeps glancing over at you when Melissa won’t. The whole thing makes your stomach turn; you have no clue what you’re doing.

You grab Ava’s hand, flashing a strained smile at the pair, “Excuse us for a moment,” and drag the principal off to the bathrooms.

Once you’ve shoved Ava in the ladies room and locked the door behind you, you spin on your heel towards the other woman.

“I know you want this to bother her, but dragging me into the bathroom for a quickie is a bit much, even by my standards.” Ava says.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Right, why else am I here then?”

“When you and Melissa went to grab drinks, Gary told me Melissa’s in love with me.”

Ava stares at you.

“That’s it? I could have told you that months ago.”

You blink, “What?”

“Yeah, neither of you are subtle. You practically have it written on your billboard sized forehead.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach a hand up to your forehead, before reminding yourself to focus on the task at hand. Ava knew Melissa returned your feelings the whole time. You wonder who else knows and has let you stew in jealousy for weeks.

Melissa’s reaction to Ava makes a lot more sense. It’s almost comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has been fighting with jealousy. You feel very, very blind.

“Who else knows?” You ask. Your friend gives you a blank stare, “Seriously? Everyone knows?”

“Yes. Do me a favor though and play dumb a few more weeks? I’ve got good money on this.”

“You bet on me?”

“I bet on Melissa, actually, which is why I need you to keep quiet.”

“Ava, I’m not going to ignore this because you want to win a bet. Come on.”

Ava rolls her eyes, “Fine, I’ll cut you in on the bet.”

“Ava!” You glare.

“This could be your chance to support a young, black entrepreneur. It’s hard out here.”

“Try that on Jacob.”

She lets out an ugh and throws her hands up. You want to be upset that she’s asking you to keep quiet, to lose more valuable time with Melissa, but you can’t be; even if she did leave you oblivious for weeks. If you’re going to be upset with her, you have to be upset with everyone.

It comes from a place of letting you make your own decisions; you know that and admire it just a little. But you were oblivious. Melissa seems like she is too, if Gary’s talk told you anything. Would they have let the two of you circle each other the whole time?

You would be miserable if Gary—Gary, who you’d been unfair towards this whole time—hadn’t spoken up. He’s sacrificing his chances with Melissa so you can have your own. Mentally, you make a note to get the man some kind of ‘thank-you’ gift.

Ava snaps in front of your face and you jerk back.

“What are you going to do?” She asks.

“Uh… talk to her?”

“Not the energy I was looking for, but good enough. Let’s go.”

Ava grabs your arm, not unkindly, and drags you to the door. You drag your feet.

“Now?!”

She doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. The bathroom door is opened and you’re nudged through it. You walk, but throw a glare over your shoulder, annoyed at her sudden silence. Ava doesn’t acknowledge it.

Gary is the only one left at the table and you panic, eyes searching the room. The heart in your chest settles when you catch a glimpse of familiar red hair.

Melissa’s across the bar at one of the more put together pool tables, surrounded by women in a shocking amount of leather. Her eyes are focused right on you. They move briefly to Ava, though she doesn’t seem to find anything damning. The focus of her gaze moves away when one of the other players nudges her and she leans over the table to line up a shot.

You’re caught for a second in watching her. Her eyes narrow before she settles in to take the shot and when she pulls back the cue, she makes direct eye contact, and sinks a solid ball in one of the pockets.

Cheers go up from the woman you assume she’s playing with. You don’t bother to look at her. Instead, you make a direct beeline for Melissa; her eyes following you every step of the way.

“Can I talk to you?” You ask when you reach her.

You’re well aware of the glances her fellow players are throwing in your direction, but you don’t care. Melissa seems curious, but she gives nothing else away.

“I’m in the middle of a game, hon.”

Laying your hand on her arm, “Please, Mel.”

Like magic, you watch her soften. She nods and hands off her cue to the nearest person without looking. You lead the way outside, wanting away from the noise and smoke for a few minutes, if only to clear your head.

The silence is too tense for your liking, but neither of you are doing anything to break it. You breathe deeply. You’re at a loss on what to say; how do you tell someone you’re in love with them?

Instead of anything rational coming from your mouth, you ask, “How do you feel about Gary?”

Melissa jerks in surprise, “That’s what you pulled me out here for?”

“He seems to think your feelings, your heart, lie elsewhere,” You barrel forward, hoping it works in your favor, “Namely, with me.”

Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression. It’s all you need to feel more secure in blindly following Gary’s word.

“I’m not sure where he got that idea.” Melissa says.

“But you’re not denying it.”

“Does it matter? You seem to have things pretty easy with Ava.”

A note of bitterness slips into her voice. You soften, recognizing the underlying jealousy you’d been feeling only this morning.

“It matters to me,” You say, “because I’m crazy about you, Mel, and I need to know you feel the same way.”

Melissa doesn’t bother to hide her surprise this time. You smile, but fidget under all of her attention. You want to reveal every thought and feeling to this woman in a way that’s overwhelming. She seems so shocked, you can’t help but want to assure her of how real your feelings are.

“I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much,” You admit. It feels odd to say it out loud, “But you make a lot of impossible things feel possible.”

She looks at you like she’s never seen you before. It’s daunting.

“You really mean that?” Melissa asks.

“Wholeheartedly.”

“And what about Ava?”

You chuckle, “I bribed her into playing the part. She’s a surprisingly good actress.”

“Good.”

Melissa leans forward and kisses you.

It isn’t the kind of kiss you expect, but it’s the kind you always daydreamed about; the soft, almost hesitant way she claims your lips, while her hands dig into your hips. You’ve never felt so awkward and so pleasant in your life. You have no idea what to do with your hands.

The other kisses in your life never felt so strange. You wonder how much they really meant to you, if this is what a real, loving kiss feels like; unsure and yet, eager.

Throwing your nerves out the window, you give in to all of it. You sink into the whirlwind of emotions and wrap yourself around Melissa. Her kiss grows more insistent and you match it, pulling where she pushes, moving with every forceful press of her lips.

You’re on your last shred of oxygen when she pushes you back. Only an inch of space separates the two of you taking in furious gulps of breath, cheeks flushed pink and wearing matching smiles. It hardly feels real.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Melissa says.

“Hardly. I’d have kissed you in a second if you asked.” You say sincerely.

“Me? Why would I be the one to ask you?”

You raise a brow, “Well, you were the one seeing someone else.”

“I wouldn’t have gone out with him if you said something.”

A laugh leaves your lips unbidden. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at Melissa, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to answer that question. She’s wonderful and kind and beautiful and all the things you feel you don’t deserve. She’s yours anyway.

Her eyes shine as she stares back. Wishing you could jump into her mind, you get lost in them. Then you do as she wants and capture her lips in another kiss. It’s shorter than the first and more comfortable, but the feeling of newness still lingers.

Not for the first time, you wonder how much time you’ve lost being jealous. But you try not to dwell too much; it’s difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world is staring into your eyes. The lost time doesn’t matter when you have it now—when you have her now.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #abbott elementary imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #multimilfswritings #dec2022 #multimilfsficmas2022

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yellowflowerbub · 2 years ago

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bathtime (together)

♡ Feb. 10th ♡

♡ Day 1 of 5 ♡

꒷︶ ̇ ̟ ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

summary. you decide to prepare a surprise for Aki when he comes back from work on valentines day

wordcount. 1.3k+

pairing(s). aki hayakawa x reader

tag(s). fluff, teasing, bathing together, pet names (my love, dear), gender neutral, cheesy

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Water is pushed into the tub’s side, it dramatically thrashes against itself before leveling out into miniature waves as the stray droplets that were flung into the air mush together with the rest. Bubbles begin to float over top of the water as the sweetly scented solution is progressively poured. They greedily stack upon each other, building from the water level and up, consuming the surrounding until where the bubbles began and water ended seemed nebulous. They shimmer by the reflection of soft candle light and a tablet positioned on the tub’s wide rim.

A music streaming application is open, pop-ups of different playlists invade the screen before being absentmindedly closed as your shaky fingers feverishly scour your account for the ‘Bathtime with Aki’ playlist. It seems as though it was purposefully hidden, concealed by a multitude of advertisements and song suggestions you never paid more than a second thought to.

“Dear?” You hear. The distant call is muffled by the rushing, running water and a closed bathroom door. You scramble to turn the water off so as to not alert him. He’s on time of course, but per usual you failed to be ready.

Even more anxious, your eyes can barely keep up with how quickly the many playlists whizz past. “What was that? Was the water running?”

You curse his good ears and continue to search, “Yes, I was just,” you pause, “...washing something off.”

“Alright.”

At taxing times like these you’re thankful of how much of his trust he confides in you.

You gasp as you spot his name and click it, rapidly turning up the volume while it loads. Through a small speaker on top of the bathroom counter plays the melody of the first song, the funky bass filled with emotions you’ve only touched upon with Aki echo throughout every inch of the bathroom. The sound sneaks under the crack between the bathroom’s door and the cold tile to the silence of the rest of the apartment. The hum of the first few chords of what you believe to be a piano makes a smile creep up your lips. You’re sure he’s heard the song.

By the time the artist begins singing the lyrics to the first verse a soft knock is heard on the door’s wood, you can barely hear it over how loud the speaker plays. “Yes? Who’s there?”

“Who else would it be?”

“I dunno? Maybe my boyfriend?”

“Really? And here I am thinkin’ you’re single.”

You giggle, “Wanna come in?”

As the door knob twists and the bathroom door is opened by a crack, the incoming chorus you felt approaching hit. Every little note incorporated into the production from tic to tune fuse within each other to create a symphony your ears are happy to hear. You sing under your breath and let the bubbles in the bath come over your shoulders as you melt into the almost hot water, your arms float by your sides, your feet by one another, and your back pressed to the side of your bathtub.

“Come in, don’t be shy.”

He hesitantly slides into the bathroom, the full suit he wore feeling a bit uncomfortable now that he was surrounded by a warmer air and steam with the door shut behind him.

“What’s all this?”

You smile, “Have you checked what day it is?”

His brows furrow, he actually has not. He pulls back his cuffed sleeve to reveal a chunky metal watch worn around his wrist. You’d got him that watch for his birthday the year prior as a surprise and he had put it on immediately after he tore it from its packaging. Since then, you’ve never seen him without it.

“It’s Tuesday?” Still bewildered by the scenery, he thinks to himself for a quick moment before it comes to him.

“Valentine's Day?”

“Ding ding ding!”

He swears to himself it’s from the scented candles but his face burns, “You’re so corny.”

“You love it.”

For a moment, he seems to remember how naked you were. He’s seen you naked more times than he could probably recall but it never failed to restart his heart as if it were his first moment he laid his pretty sapphire eyes on you.

“If you get in I might let you touch instead of just stare.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He wastes no time riding his suit coat from his torso, his nimble fingers spend no more than a second undoing each obsidian button. He shrugs the thing off his shoulders, half heartedly folding it to toss on the floor. His suspenders and pearl white button up are next, meeting the same fate as the overcoat.

“You think I can even fit in there with you?”

You fan him, “I’m sure you can.”

“I’m 6’2, my love.” He chuckles, you can see his bare shoulders jump when he laughs and catch a glimpse of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes before he turns away from you to continue to strip.

“Why’re you turning around? I’ve seen everything you’ve got.”

“You whistle at me like a piece of meat when I take my pants off.”

Fair enough.

Aki, now fully naked, dips his foot into the water to test its temperature. Chills crawl up his calf from the stark difference and each hair stands on end. He shudders through his teeth as both of his legs slide on either side of your hips.

You’re faintly frightened of the bath overflowing, its edge rising as steadily as Aki let his body sink into the water. The bath looks to be on the brink of spilling over onto the tile by the time he's waist deep.

His body melts into yours just as well as the water, the damp skin over his chest molds with your back like wax on top of a burning candle seeping from its edge. He’s as warm as the water surrounding your bodies, his ribs press hard into you and his heart beats through it, it rests at the closest it can to you. The rhythm of his pumping heart beats stridently in not only his ears, but yours as well.

“Your heart’s beating really quick. You ok?” You inquire.

He’s quick to answer, “Of course I am. I’m just.. amazed on how nice this is. You did a outstanding job with all of it.”

“Thank you,” you stifle a laugh, “I didn’t get all of what I wanted in here. Like, I thought rose petals would fit the mood I’ve got going but I didn’t get the chance to place them. They're actually still in our room.”

“I love it either way.” His voice is low, whisper volume as his chin rests on your open shoulder, his nose dipped in the side of your neck. Always so thoughtful. For the most part.

You do laugh this time, “You’d say that no matter what I do.”

He felt his smile lift, “Think of this whole thing as a ballroom. You’ve prepared every piece but forgot some food courses, and some appetizers, and some chairs but there is still a dancefloor and a chandelier overhead everyone adores.”

“Your point here?”

“A hall wouldn’t be complete without its chandelier. And that’s what you are, my love. My gorgeous chandelier.” His lips come down to softly kiss your shoulder, “So no matter what you prepared for me, I will be completely overjoyed because you prepared it and you are here to do whatever it is with me.”

The song, you'd completely forgotten you turned on in the first place, comes to a slow conclusion. The symphony of instruments fade into the silence and splashes of water and the last thing heard before it completely makes it's exits is the lead singer's high note, blending with it all.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

a/n: i'm so proud of that last piece of dialogue that i’m ending the fic here the song was "out of touch" if you were wondering

Feedback and Reblogs are Appreciated!!

#chainsaw man x reader #aki x reader #aki x y/n #aki x you #aki x gender neutral reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #poc friendly

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charlotte-official · 1 year ago

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Hey there!

Charlotte here, writer for a newspaper in Fontaine!

Y’know, the Steambird?

Well here I am! This side gig of mine is just like a sub segment of the Steambird, but exclusively here, on tumblr!

For all your Teyvat-official account drama and weekly shenanigans, tune in every SundayTuesday(or wednesday i have no idea im always late either way) for a post on how the week went!

Thanks a ton!

I hope to see you around~

PS! You can tune in and view all of our issues on the "issues!" tab at charlotte-official.tumblr.com check it out!!

(Ahem. So in other words, hey, yknow those Genshin official accounts? ex @the-wanderer-official or @sayu-official, well, for relatively inactive accounts like wanderer or albedo who don’t know what has happened and want to catch up on posting, I’m your gal! Also for normal people who don’t want to just read all those text posts. Anyway, tune in for summaries, special favorite excerpts of mine, etc. I take suggestions, so feel free to slide into the ask box!)

Also for the full Charlotte-official-steambird-summaries experience, I’d recommend going on the literal website. I decorated. It looks cool too I swear

11/11: As of November 11, I now do rp blog promo! I wouldn't say it would particularly do much, but always feel free to ask for it! I don't mind at all!

12/25: Merry christmas if you celebrate and happy holidays to everyone else!! ...Also I will no longer be publishing my Steambird articles on Sunday. I will be moving it to Tuesday. Following such, after my break of sorts(yikes piled with schoolwork) I will be officially returning tomorrow and swear to actually work on my outlines to provide the issues you all hold in a high regard (love for you all).

1/15/24: this is purely just for me but i have one other tag and its literally just hibiscus anon giving me information because my monkey brain can't keep up with everything. and another tag for just all informants in general. i just want you all to know you are all amazing i would be dead lying on the ground for the rest of my days without you all

#steambird specials #editor answers #question for the editor!#the steambird #steambird updates #blog promo!#the godsend we call hibiscus the number one informant because mod is number one procrastinator #charlotte's loveliest dearest informants

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stelly38 · 8 months ago

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Fifteen Questions

Are you named after anyone? No.

When was the last time you cried? Over the weekend, and before that, last Tuesday. Out of frustration.

Do you have kids? No, never wanted any human children. The only kids I ever wanted were feline.

What sports do you play/have you played? Never played any sport I wasn't forced to play. I don't have a competitive bone in my body. I used to like to watch NHL hockey, but its been years since I've tuned into a game.

Do you use sarcasm? Yes, regularly.

What's the first thing you notice about people? I don't know. I try to avoid people, so...

What's your eye color? Greenish?

Scary movies or happy endings? Both. I LOVE horror movies. I think my favorite genres are horror, gangster, period drama, and comdey.

Any talents? art/drawing, photography, writing, cursing, sleeping, holding grudges.

Where were you born? Canada

What are your hobbies? lately, writing. in general, travel; watching movies; the occasional artistic endeavor.

Do you have any pets? I've been a cat lady since I was born. I currently have 4 cats. That's our highest number at any one time.

How tall are you? 5' 4". Whoever was handing out height and boobs had nothing left by the time I was born.

Favorite subject in school? History, Art, Lit.

Dream job? Being a stay at home cat mom. I'm sick of working.

Thanks for the tag, @darklyhandsome!

I'll tag these folks to continue the game, no pressure if you don't want to: @londonista59 @anglophiletraveler @sawle-sister @i-am-still-khel @i-am-pinkie @msilverstar @yearnerforturner @flipperbrain-awakes @flow-it-show-it @sillie82 @baycityroller @rapha-reads @osmarinamo @trixiesol-blog

#asks #ask game #get to know me game

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three-drink-amy · 1 year ago

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Thank you for the tag @celaestis1 @clottedcreamfudge @cha-melodius @carlos-tk @inexplicablymine @alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @carlos-in-glasses @strandnreyes

As they walk out to their cars, all of them pleasantly full, TK takes his hand, swinging them between their bodies. Carlos pulls him in closer, wrapping his arm around TK’s shoulders. Carlos’s tolerance is pretty high, but the margaritas were pretty strong. Either way, he throws caution to the wind for a moment, happy to be with his boyfriend. They say goodbye to Grace and Tommy as they head toward their cars.

“Can I come over?” Carlos asks, leaning in close, pressing his lips sloppily against TK’s.

“Are you drunk?” TK laughs, but keeps him close, meeting him for soft, tender kisses.

Carlos shakes his head, wrapping his arms around TK’s waist. “Nope. Just happy.”

TK leans closer, his nose sliding alongside Carlos’s. “Me too.”

Before either of them can think better of it — and ruin the moment — Carlos closes the distance between them, kissing TK slowly, deeply, letting his hands run through his hair, letting his body press in close. TK sighs against his lips, opening up to Carlos, almost greedy for more.

On a random Tuesday night, they stand in the parking lot of a restaurant, making out against TK’s car like they’re teenagers who have to get it in before they go home to parents who wouldn’t approve.

They should stop. They should pull back and just go back to TK’s and do more.

But kissing TK like this is decadent, their hands holding them close, their tongues sliding together, their breaths mingling, bodies in tune. In TK’s warm embrace, he doesn’t even feel the chill of January around them. All that exists is the two of them.

No pressure tagging: @walkinginland @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @liminalmemories21 @bonheur-cafe @catanisspicy and whoever else wants to!

#wip wednesday

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wytfut · 2 months ago

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Covid is a live and well

As I stumble along thru life (thats everything, everyday).... last week I picked up covid for my very first time. Sigh..not a virgin any more...

No idea where/how/when..... but "boy howdy" I got it, and it hammered me.

Initially during the pandemic, I did due diligence by obeying the rules of engagement. Oh I wasn't good at it, but I did what I could. Even with my sloppy methods I didn't get it. Which in turn had me believing "I'm too good at this, to get it..." ..

.......

Information led us all to believe that the government had an SOP in place, and knew what they were talking about. Rules of engagement changed as much as Trumps advice to us all. Dr. Fauci the man in the know was whipped in public, .... his down fall being his speaking skills.

Examples in the early days sounded like a science fiction movie. I remember seeing a news interview with some guy, whos ends of his fingers had turned black (first and last time I had heard that example).

......

I knew several folks who lost their lives to this bug. So I realized it wasn't something to mess around with. Every loss was amazing, how quickly it took them. My 94 year old uncle was grading fields on Tuesday, and gone by Saturday (actual days don't matter now). It wasn't playing around, no matter what anyone believed .

Vac? no Vac? ..... covid really didn't care what your opinion was, she was random, and efficient

.....

I got all the covid vaccines. All of them.

Listened to many folks opinions about the vaccines. Good and Bad. I'll be honest, then and now, I still don't know if its the proper way to go with this battle. But I'll most likely continue... I don't have the answers..

The argument has been presented to all of us..... which is saying a couple of things. : Are we lemmings? and/or Is this natures way of culling the herd.

I think its applicable in theory.... just like the rules of engagement are in a sense "a theory".

......

Things I know:

It was horrible for 2 days. Something to the tune of influenza on steroids', with his big mean brother "fate" tagging along getting his kicks in. I'm on day 4-5 now, feeling pretty good, but on border of being contagious yet.

The medication Paxlovid seems to really work, but that dirty metal taste that is continuous, is wearing on my patience..... gag....

It truly does come on like severe allergies. I thought I had an allergy issue, as I had mowed a dry yard that very same day.

The fat guy in me, truly lost his appetite for 24 hours minimum.

I couldn't get warm one night. I couldn't get cool another. (I'm tired of flop sweat, so gross)

My Wife is my angel.... her real knowledge of this affliction most likely saved me a ton of grief. I so hope due to my nonattentive ways she doesn't get it from me....

I sincerely hope no one gets this from me.

I never lost my sense of taste or smell.

Here's an interesting one.... my legs quit hurting. Is it because I'm sitting around 24/7, is it covid reacting, is it the medication. Most likely my legs getting a rest.

......

My Wife unlike me, knows all the ins and outs of the rules of engagement of covid. I felt I too knew, but everything I knew was vague, and carried absolutely no weight in decisions. I depended on her to make all my decisions. And very happy I did.

Patti got covid just before Andy Latensers memorial service last December. I don't remember what grabbed her attention, but she felt she'd better test. And it was positive 2 times. She was very disappointed she couldn't attend the service. Amazingly, her symptoms were minimal at best. She didn't feel sick, and had nothing else other than a temperature.

As "they" say, it affects everyone differently. Many lives were lost that just didn't make sense, and others who you'd think for sure weren't going to make it.... it was a breeze. Makes no sense in this guys mind.

Just a guy being a guy, thinking he has out smarted life in general, ... but in reality doesn't know anything.

.....

best facts I could find:

you can be infected up to 14 days before showing signs

you can go back out in public 2 days after symptoms disappear or 2 clean tests.... basically 5 days after first symptoms

,,,

Looking at those 14 days.... I'm pretty much a home body, but wow, that was a lot of folks to look at. The morning before I realized I had it, I was at the geezers coffee, sitting tightly with a bunch of old guys. Laughing, telling stories, eating... not a care in the world. I most certainly hope none of them got covid. ....

I'd feel horrible....

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moodmusicmonday · 1 year ago

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Time for some June Tunes!

Happy (unofficial) summer! Whether you're hitting the beach, the campground, or your back yard, let's start putting together the soundtrack to your summer fun! ☀️

Here's what we need:

Title and Artist of the song

Title of your WIP; if it’s part of a series, include things like series title, part/chapter number and/or title

Choices Book/Universe (TRR, OPH, PM, TNA, etc)

Pairings (if there is one)

A link to your published fic (if you've already posted)

And this is how you get it to us:

Comment on this post (reblog or comment)

If you want to make your own MMM post with your own header (similar to SSS or WW), that is totally fine! Just make sure you tag this blog (@moodmusicmonday )

Songs must be submitted by 8:00 AM (CST) on the following Tuesday. Spotify playlist will be posted on Tuesday afternoon! I will also post a link to the playlist so you can take the songs with you.

Tags in the Comments: if you would like to be added/removed please let us know; if you have been overlooked, please be gracious and just let us know! We love you guys! Thank you for your support!

Also, thank you so much for the signal boosts! 💜

Now let's hear what you've got! 🎵🎶

#mood music monday #moodmusicmonday #choices mmm #spotify #choices mood music monday #choices music inspo #choices fanfiction #fanfic music inspo #choices fanfic #music inspo

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reachingforaspark · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Okay so, thank you so much for all the tags @fiona-fififi 💕

after I wrote up my summary for Temptation Tuesday of That’s what you get IE the Brothers in Marriage fic, I had to go work on it a little, so ❗ there you go, Temptation Tuesday proved too tempting 🤣

That’s what you get

The wait at the county clerk’s office is excruciatingly, even at seven thirty in the morning. Buck’s working his way steadily through a thermos full of coffee and a bagel with far too many toppings, looking like he’s still hungover. He could be, Chimney is pretty sure Albert still is, judging by the incoherent grunt that came from Buck’s couch this morning when Chim dropped by the apartment on the way to work.

“So can I see the certificate?” Buck asks.

“Keep your paws off it.” Chim draws the folder back, fending off Buck with a hand across the chest, like it will do something against Buck’s long reaching arms. The last thing this very important document needs is Buck’s garlic oil and cream cheese fingerprints before it’s even filed.

In truth, Chimney hasn’t looked over the certificate either. He’d tried, on Saturday morning, still half drunk on champagne and the joy of being Maddie Buckley’s husband. He’d gotten the paper halfway out of its neat waterproof sleeve, just far enough to see the bold typed Marriage Certificate stamped across the top, before Maddie’s- his wife!- teeth on his earlobes had been too much of distraction, and they’d rolled back into their hotel bed.

Buck pouts, slumping back in his chair, but it doesn’t last long before he’s grinning up at nothing. “Can’t believe you guys finally made it official.”

Chim can’t help but match Buck’s smile with his own, relaxing back himself. The giddy grin won’t leave, thinking about the kaleidescope of Vegas lights and Maddie’s beautiful face, flushed and lit up in pink neon in a Las Vegas midnight wedding chapel.

Nothing could dim this happiness.

“Our parents are going to be so pissed.” Buck tells the ceiling.

Chim winces, well there’s that.

“Buckley-Han!” The woman on counter Four calls.

Buck follows Chim to the counter.

“I mean,” Buck continues, “will the Lees be mad?”

“Hold that thought.” Chim tells Buck, then turns to the lady at the counter with a smile. Her name tag says Kathy. “Hi Kathy. Howard Han, filing an out of state marriage certificate.”

She look at them with disinterest. “Paperwork?”

Chim open his folder, spinning it and sliding it across the counter. It seems wild that a single piece of paper would make Chimney’s life better, forever. Kathy scans it over, holding it against some checklist for papers from Nevada, frowning all the while like she hates her job to high hell.

Chim taps his hands on the counter. Suddenly, he remembers the uproar and months of painful teasing about Bobby and Athena’s spur-of-the-moment courthouse wedding. He hopes the Lees don’t feel excluded. He and Maddie hadn’t intended to get married in Vegas, just a spontaneous Buckley and Han siblings trip, the kind none of them had ever gotten to take before, and the kind their little family unit had sorely felt like it had been needing, but one thing led to another, two tequila shots led to four, and then there they were, at the alter.

Surely the Lee’s are used to Chim’s impulsive behaviour by now. And they love Maddie and Buck. And Albert. Maybe they could have Jee break the news? No one could get mad at baby Jee. She could hold a little sign. Sorry my mummy and daddy got married without you, forgive them cos I’m cute?

“We’ll have a reception, invite everyone, and it’ll all smooth over.” He says to Buck decisively. “No one will mind about Vegas.”

“Any name change paperwork?” Kathy interrupts.

“Oh!” Buck says. “Now’s your chance to be an official Buckley!”

Chimney tunes Buck out, shaking his head at Kathy. Yet another conversation he hasn’t had with Maddie yet. But Chim would wear any name to be with Maddie forever.

“Buckley-Han sounded pretty good just then.” Buck continues.

“Maybe.” Chimney says. “We can decide later.” He turns to Kathy. “We can decide later, right Kathy?”

Kathy sighs and asks to see his ID. Chimney pulls out his driver’s license and slides it across the counter. Kathy asks to see Buck’s ID too, which has him fishing out his license with a confused frown, but he was their official witness, so—

Buckley-Han. Wonder if it’ll fit on the back of his turnout?

Buck beams.

Chimney realises he’s asked the last part out loud.

“Yeah, the station will have two Buckleys now.” Buck says, looking ecstatic at the thought of it, and Chimney doesn’t have the heart to correct him that technically Chim will be a Buckley-Han because, Christ, now Buck’s starting to blink really fast like he’s about to say something really sappy to Chimney. He can’t do that, because if Buck tries, he’ll start crying, then Chimney is definitely going to start crying—

Kathy smashes her stamp into the table hard, making them both jump. She does it again, then slides their IDs back over.

“You’re all sorted,” She says in monotone. “Congratulations, Howard and Evan.”

Kathy shuffles up her pile of paperwork then gets up, to the back, presumably to file something or maybe she’s just done with them, Kathy seems the sort to just get up and walk away when she’s done with someone, kind of terrifying apathy, really, and—

Buck swallows loudly beside him. Chim hears it over the ringing in his ears.

“Chim.” Buck says, very quietly. “Did she just—“

They both scrabble for the certificate Kathy just stamped and double stamped. Chim’s faster, but Buck’s got those long arms, and he and Buck wrestle with the papers for a second, scuffling until Chim stomps hard on Buck’s instep and he lets go with a swear.

There, vowels and consonants sloppily looped beside the name Howard Han — instead of in the witness signatory where it’s supposed to be— is the name Evan Buckley.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Tagging @inferno-ontherocks @redbelles @sluttyhenley and anyone else with WIPs they’d like to share!

#wip wednesday #Grace tries to write 9-1-1 #my wips #brothers in marriage fic #chimney han self care tag #this fic has a surprising amount of angst too

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