#if I had a dollar for every time one of those happened I'd have four dollars | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

things-about-cars-in-posts · 1 year ago

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Miata Mod Master Mᴉsɥlᴉsʇ

[I had to spell Wishlist upside down to keep the alliteration going]

So, here's my first original post in quite a while. Apparently, the last one was a whole hundred followers ago - immense thanks to all 400 of you!!! And also, Tumblr informed me I got 1000 likes and kindly generated a picture for me to thank y'all for them with!

Given that's 2.5 likes per follower, I assume they mean 1000 likes just on my original posts, which would track considering most of my posts are additions, and liking all of those either counts towards that tally as just one like to my original post, or if you liked it through a reblog potentially nothing at all, because maybe likes to reblogs aren't counted even if they're reblogs of my own posts. But don't think I'm a numbers-chaser, this is just me wondering. Really, the only reason I even look at the activity chart of my blog is because I started trying to make that line as straight as possible for giggles (and then some of my posts blew up and ruined it, ecksdee). The thought of someone having enjoyed what I wrote has me smitten every time I see it, and I can barely even comprehend the idea that it happened a literal thousand times. I still can barely wrap my head around four hundred people all having decided they actively want to hear more from me. (Usually it's the opposite, har har.) I love all of you for it. The freaks, the puritans, the children (wait I just said that OOH GOTTEM), the adults, the uncomfortably weird, the hyper-organized users that use different blogs for each one of their passions, the hyper-random users that reblog my posts right after diaper fetish art. (And if you thought that was some whiplash, imagine the guy who followed a diaper fetish art blog getting shown me.)

But this is just me buying time, isn't it. Alright alright, let's talk about the wishlist, beginning with its premise.

This is not advice. This is not a list that makes sense at all, really - most of these items are way far down the list of things I'd do with the money they cost and/or the effort they'd take. This is a dream, where those aren't a factor. Just like some people's dream car is a ten million dollar hypercar that was built directly into the bodies of five Middle Eastern oil moguls, my dream car is a Miata with exactly these bits. (And a Seven, but I really need to stop confusing y'all with them being tied for the favorite car top spot.)

This list is based on a note I started in middle school for the fun of it (which is hopefully understood as the driving motive behind this all) and gradually updated through high school and sort of left behind after that, having kind of run out of bits to add to it. It's split into six sections:

Exterior

Interior (i.e. cabin, trunk and engine bay)

Drivetrain (i.e. anything that plays a role in making the wheels spin)

Chassis and suspension (i.e. chassis and everything that connects the wheels to it)

Electronics (i.e. electronics/microcontroller-related features)

Miscellaneous

This will be a chance for me to check the prices of all the things I listed and, at the end of it, tally up their total cost and feel feelings about its enormity. But of course, we'll need to start with a thing that was not in the note, as it was a given to me: the base car. So that will be the subject of my next addition to this post.

Because I can't make this a single post. Absolutely no chance. Even just any workaround to the image limit being about a fifth of the length of this list would be a nightmare for me to execute and for y'all to navigate. And frankly, the length of the task would make me, if not outright give up, at the very least skimp on the kind of explanations and discussions that I must assume are why you're all here. So I will need to make additions to this post (in the form of a reblog, of course) each going over one section at most. But truth be, even doing one reblog per section presents those problems, so some sections would need splitting in a number of parts. Or I could go to the other extreme and made one post per item (or when appropriate group of items), which would allow me to expand upon every which one as little or as much as appropriate while still keeping a tidy presentation. But to do this I would need to hide all the information bar the name under a Read More, because if I put as little as one picture before it by the time I'm at the end of the list every time this post appears in your dash you'll have to scroll past some hundred pictures to get to the bottom of it; also, of course, this would mean this post showing up in your dash upwards of a hundred times - though of course you could just ignore it a bunch of times and when you feel like it go through all the parts you've not read yet at once.

Right now I'm leaning towards the one post per item approach, which would allow me to work towards the completion of this abomination in small daily steps rather than in age-long parts which would also help addressing your other submissions. But it's very hard for me to figure out what y'all would prefer, as it's kind of hard for me to figure out who would actually want to read through the entirety of this. So, y'all are welcome to leave your feedback in the replies or through this non-binding format poll.

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

#i would have set something like two or three days but since day and week are the only options week it is #tumblr milestone #thank you #i am pretty sure those were tags included with the post but you know what I feel them so let's leave them in #mazda miata #mazda mx-5 #eunos roadster #miata mod master wishlist

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dollarbin · 15 days ago

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Dollar Bin #49:

Songs of Love and Hate, Part 3

I suppose everyone has a childhood friend they love and came to hate.

I'd say Leonard Cohen did himself a disservice when it came to titling his wounded, staggering and titanic third record Songs of Love and Hate. It's not a binary record at all: every song's arrangement has its own individual flair and direction; songs like Avalanche, Last Year's Man and Love Calls You By Your Name contains the suggested seeds of love and hate, sure, but there's humor, longing, terror and empathy ready for planting within them as well.

And Sing Another Song, Boys... well, we'll need another post - or two - to get to the bottom of that fantastic track.

And so I'd suggest that the only song purely dedicated to Love and Hate on the album is its best known track, Famous Blue Raincoat. It's chock full of those two championed emotions but I'd say the conjunction slotted between them is the song's critical feature: how, Cohen asks, can we love and hate at the same time?

I don't know the answer. But I know how it happens. And I bet you do too.

We're here in a not quite ignored corner of the very public internet and the long ago object of my love and hate may very well read this so I'll shun all compromising specifics. Suffice it to say that we loved one another deeply and that we were side by side, supporting each other during so many of our vital transitory moments between childhood to adulthood.

He was my perfect friend, until he suddenly wasn't. I was the same for him. And shutting one another out of our lives at age 18 was a liberating and vital act for both of us.

Even so, the love we shared was not replaced by hate. Both emotions lived on. Vibrantly.

And so I cannot listen to Famous Blue Raincoat without reliving it all. The song is so rich: it takes the form of a letter written by a fictionalized Cohen to another man following an affair between the fictionalized Cohen's wife and the other man: his brother, his killer. What can L. Cohen tell such a person? What can he possibly say?

Well, it turns out that L. Cohen can say a whole hell of a lot.

Let's start with the music. As a kid I thought there was barely any music to be had on this record - Cohen struck me as a poet who called himself a musician. Wow, I could not been more wrong.

The barest of distant chimes paint the corners of the song's opening instrumental section: we know it's four in the morning before Cohen tells us in the same way we anticipate the time on a sleepless night when there are untold stirring out in the yard or the street just before we check once more the beside clock. Corlynn Hanney and Susan Mussmano's complimentary and building backing vocals sway and then groan and then hover over everything. They terrorize the piece.

The women's work is masterful; they merge into the embodiment of Jane, Cohen's fictionalized wife. She's having a terrible time while he sits up writing; her restless efforts at sleep and peace alongside the man she has stayed with but never truly recommitted to have her tossing in the sheets, pulverized by it all.

And when Buckmaster's strings enter midtrack they are a study in cosmic understatement; one cannot possibly overstate the greatness that is this song's arrangement.

youtube

And then there's the song's core relationship to work through: if the letter writer and singer is L. Cohen, who is his unnamed brother, who is his killer?

Well that, of course, would be Cohen himself. Cohen never had a wife named Jane, nor was he ever cuckolded by his nameless penpal. He's L.Cohen here, sure, but he's also the dude with the famous blue raincoat; he's writing here to himself.

You don't have to take my word for it. Here's Cohen himself:

"I had a good raincoat then, a Burberry I got in London in 1959. Elizabeth thought I looked like a spider in it. That was probably why she wouldn't go to Greece with me. It hung more heroically when I took out the lining, and achieved glory when the frayed sleeves were repaired with a little leather. Things were clear. I knew how to dress in those days. It was stolen from Marianne's loft in New York City sometime during the early seventies. I wasn't wearing it very much toward the end."

And so the record's core theme emerges alongside our previous discussion of Avalanche: Cohen's enemy in life is not a force of frozen, hurling nature or a dude in the dessert messing around with Scientology; his enemy is himself. Songs of Love and Hate's more accurate title would be Songs of Self Hatred.

Poor Leonard!

Happily, that's not the name of my record. I don't know that I'm too impressed with myself but I've got plenty of people I love and they love me right back, and I'm not filled with any real sense of self-loathing.

And I really do love my unnamed-for-the-sake-of-propriety childhood friend. I did and I do. But I also hated him for a time. I hated him as much as Cohen seemingly hated himself.

Thankfully, time passes; I didn't write any Famous Blue Raincoat-level letters to my old buddy, nor did he send me any of his own. Our raincoats got torn, sure, but they also just got donated eventually, at our wives reasonable insistence, to the Goodwill.

And so we both went clear. No, not in the dumb-as-nails L. Ron Hubbard manner. Happily, we both remain perfectly unconvinced that an alien look-a-like to John Travolta named Xenu nuked a bunch of his fellow aliens a few billion years ago and that we're still reckoning with the aftermath.

No, my friend and I went clear a far more straightforward (and inexpensive) way: we just got over it. Well, anyway I did; I shouldn't speak for him.

But I saw him for the first time in 20 years last summer. The love between was still there, even if it was solidly past tense.

And the hate? It was nowhere to be found.

#leonard cohen #scientology is stupid

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uboat53 · 14 days ago

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Well, at least some of it is probably going to happen, so let's talk tariffs. LONG RANT (TM) time?

CHINA

The elephant in the room and our largest trading partner. Trump has threatened (and is still threatening) to levy a 60% tariff on all goods imported from China. Not only is China our largest trading partner by a little bit, it's our largest source of imports by a lot (something like more than 1/8 of all of our imports come from China), so this is big. As best I can calculate, it's about 7% of everything we buy in the US each year (though that also includes services, so it's a much higher proportion of manufactured goods).

So 60% of the 2021 estimate (I'm going off 2021 numbers because those are what's available, it takes a while for each year's numbers to come out and be finalized/solid) of 655 billion in imports would be 393 billion dollars. Divide that among the estimated 133.6 million consumer units in the United States (basically households) and that gives you an average increase of $2,940 in costs assuming that all of those costs are passed on to the end consumer. And that's just from one of the tariffs!

BIG FOUR

The next four largest trading partners of the US are the EU, Mexico, Canada, and ASEAN, from which we import a bit over $1.4 trillion worth of goods. Together with China, these five trading partners make up more than 2/3 of all US trade and imports specifically. At various points in the last few weeks, Trump has threatened to put 25% tariffs or others on goods coming from these countries, but I'm going to go with his blanket 10% tariff promise because he's waffled on the others at various points; so keep in mind that this is the best-case estimate, it can easily be worse.

10% of $1.4 trillion is $140 billion which, divided among the consumer units in the US is $1,050.

THE REST

Taking away those imports, we're left with $977.3 billion from the entire rest of the world. As far as I can tell, this would fall under Trump's blanket 10% tariff, so that would add $97.73 billion or another $730 to our total of tariffs. Adding all of those together, that's $4,720 per "household" that would need to be absorbed by US consumers.

Of course, some of that would likely be evened out by a shift of production away from China and toward countries subject to the lower tariff and some of that would be evened out by consumers choosing to purchase cheaper goods, but there's only so much of that that can be done. Taiwan and South Korea, for example, produce over 80% of the world's semiconductors; if you need something electronic you're not going to have much choice but to pay the extra. So the total is likely to be less than my estimated $4,720, but there's only so low it can go. Economists have estimated between $1,350 and $3,900 a year in increased costs and I'd say that the upper range of that is probably most likely.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

And look, if it was only imports getting more expensive, that'd be one thing, but we also have to look at exports. Currently the US exports an estimated $1.8 trillion in goods to the rest of the world every year. It's extremely likely that other countries targeted by US sanctions would impose sanctions of their own on US products, making them less competitive abroad. A loss of even 1% of foreign trade would mean a hit of $18 billion per year to the US economy on top of the increased costs.

At this point it's probably useful to look at the case of Harley Davidson from Trump's first term. The EU imposed tariffs on the company in 2018 in response to tariffs that the Trump administration had placed on European goods. Europe was the second-largest market for Harley after the United States and the increase in tariffs from 6% to 31% made a pretty big impact on their bottom line. In response, they shifted production over to Europe in order to avoid the tariff.

That wasn't the end of it, though, because Trump immediately blasted the company for moving jobs offshore. Harley Davidson saw a significant and sustained decline in US sales through the rest of Trump's first term in office. In other words, the trade war not only led to an American company having trouble selling its products abroad, but their response to it entangled them in US politics which led to a decline in US sales as well. By 2020, Harley Davidson employed over 13% fewer people than they had in 2018 when the tariff came into effect.

Other countries targeted by our tariffs haven't responded with blanket tariffs in the past, they've responded with strategic tariffs aimed at high profile industries and calculated to cause maximum damage to US workers in key regions. It's not an accident that Harley Davidson, whose US production facilities are in Wisconsin and Pennsylvania and which is widely regarded as an American icon, was targeted in 2018.

In other words, not only will American consumers pay more for all manner of goods, American producers will find it harder to sell their products abroad and that difficulty will increase the more they are a recognizable American brand or with the proportion of swing-state workers they employ. Even worse, any company that tries to adjust their business to adjust to the trade-war runs the risk of finding themselves in political crosshairs that will hurt their sales in the US as well.

Ultimately, this will likely lead to job losses in addition to the increases of costs.

CONCLUSION

The average American will pay significantly more for the goods they consume if Trump follows through on even some of his promises for tariffs. Even worse, the resulting trade war is likely to cost significant numbers of American jobs and Trump's likely response to any company that tries to adjust for the new reality is likely to cause even more lost business and jobs.

Of course, we'll still have to see how much, if any, of this Trump actually follows through on. He has a history of talking tough and then backing off when it becomes obvious he'd lose, and this about as bad as it'll get. Still, it's the only actual economic plan he's proposed, so I'd be curious to see if he even has anything else.

Even without the tariffs actually being in place, though, the consequences have started. Businesses are acting like the tariffs are coming because they'd be stupid not to, and that has already started changing prices across multiple industries. Buckle up, the next year or so is going to be crazy one way or another.

#politics #us politics #tariffs #economics #long rant (tm)

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talltoontales · 7 months ago

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<-On a Dime->

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[Story 27 || Week 24]

Written: 06/10/2024

Prompt: "Kaboom" went the costal banana factory. "Splash" went the dozens of radioactive bananas as they landed in the ocean.

Prompt By: r/Accomplished_Dot9224 (Reddit)

[This is a story in the world of "Time to Spare" (02/17/2024)]

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"Some days, I really don't like being a superhero."

// // // // // // // // // //

You walk onto the rooftop. You see Luke Arling, A.K.A. the hero Streak, in his civilian clothes sitting on the edge of the roof halfway through a six pack of orange sodas. Luke hands you a soda as you take a seat next to him.

Now, don't get me wrong. Beating the baddies, helping people, fighting the good fight, I'm always down for. I've also been doing this for a couple of years now, and I know that sometimes the bad guys win one, and people get hurt. Those days definitely suck, but that's the gig. Gotta take the good with the bad.

But sometimes, it feels like I'm the only normal guy out here, relatively speaking. Most heroes are either in life-or-death mode twenty-four-seven, on a gloom-and-doom carousel, or kind of an asshole.

If I had a dollar for every time I had to meet someone for a team-up on a windy or rainy rooftop in the middle of the night, I'd have to start putting it on my taxes. And they always do that thing where once they're done with the conversation, they just disappear.

Side note, I can go from Miami to New York City in about thirty minutes, give or take. Yet, I still have no idea how I lose track of some of these guys.

No joke! One time, I had to team up with Spades for a high-profile villain situation. Reminder, he has no powers. He's just peak human, really smart, and has a bunch of cult money. While his cop buddy was doing his spiel, I kept my eyes on Spades the entire time, and the second, the SECOND I blinked, dude was gone! Drives me nuts!

You also can't trust some heroes. Not in a--

"...they might be secretly evil..."

--kind of way, more like--

"...they are WAY too ready to put a bullet in your back..."

--kind of way. I mean, I get it. It was for the greater good, it was a time-sensitive situation, and you knew I'd probably survive it, but a heads up before injecting me with a poison would've been nice, Alchem-bee! Had me tasting copper for two weeks! And don't get me started on--

~One~Rant~Later~

--and some of these guy's backstories are just...just too sad, man. I mean, It's not unusual for heroes to have a little baggage; the best ones do, but you get to listening to 'em after a while, and maybe it's just me, but I'm less sad about what happened to you and more surprised that you're still alive!

Not only that, but you chose to become a hero! If I went through half the stuff some other heroes have been through, I'd have burnt the world to ash and taken Haven and Hell along with it. Spiral went to therapy for about a month. Seasoned vet-level hero therapist, and at the end of it, the therapist had to temporarily shut down her practice because she needed therapy.

Now, I'm not perfect either. I'm no ray of sunshine, always smiling and junk. I've fought a few heroes. Had a couple of bad days after a loss. I mean, I got my powers after my sister's professor went nuts from testing on himself and blew up the school.

Now, I sometimes phase out of reality if I'm not paying attention. I've died twice and had to be told about the second time months after it happened, and I think two versions of my future self started some sort of multiverse war, which is concerning, to say the least.

But...I dunno, maybe I'm the odd man out. Maybe after all that's happened, the fact that I still see myself as just a guy trying to help is weird. I run around the world in a white and red jumpsuit with goggles powered by an energy that no one can understand.

In two years, I've been through enough superhero drama and shenanigans that some heroes think I've been around for waaaaay longer, but somehow, I don't let it get to me. I dunno how I do it, I just do. I bet some guys think I'm some kind of psychopath, an emotional time bomb waiting to go off, just one bad day from--

Notification pops up on Luke's phone. As he reads it, he begins to grin ear to ear.

Oh. My. God! This is the best thing I've ever seen in my life! Have you seen this yet?!

Luke holds the phone up to your face.

MAGS (GF): Guess who's baaaaack? <Int. News Alert // Beaches Gone Bananas> Mutant Fish have been seen battling various cybernetically enhanced primates on Dandi Beach, located on the west coast of India. Sources in the area believe that this is closely involved with an explosion at a nearby abandoned banana factory. The few bananas recovered before the battle have been confirmed to emit a strange kind of radiation. Luckily, the beach was closed for cleaning due to...

Oh, you know this has got Maniac Macaque written all over it. I knew he survived the volcano collapse somehow. You can never keep a weird villain down for long!

Luke starts texting Mag back before running off in a flash of light for a few seconds, returning in costume.

Hey, I ape-preciate you letting me ramble for, like, four hours. I peel-ly needed this more than I thought.

Another notification pops up.

Aw, Carp! Utopic's there! Guy's a wooden board, he's gonna waste a primetime pun situation! Look, I gotta split, but next time you swing through town, lunch is on me. Just no shrimp.

No pun, I just can't stand the taste of 'em.

Luke races down the side of the building. You look off into the distance, seeing a streak of white light speeding into the horizon.

\\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\

"Some days, I really LOVE being a superhero!"

. . . . . . . . . .

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story! If you have any comments, critiques, or criticisms, please don't be afraid to let me hear 'em (as long as they're constructive (or comical)). Also, if you have some spare time, check out my blog for more stories like the one above. Stay safe, drink plenty of water, and be kind to yourself and others. ToonMan, AWAY!

[Last Week's Story || Next Week's Story]

P.S. For the record, I know that the date for this story doesn't fit for last week, but I do have a story for last week. I just...lost the plot a bit.

I realized that the editing is gonna take a while, and my week's about to get not real great. So, I decided to get something down for this week so I wouldn't end up trying to rush a story out at 11 p.m. on Saturday.

If everything goes well, I should have the story done and posted early next week unless I walk into a complete catastrophe.

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imhereformr · 2 years ago

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brella- “you look so pretty when you smile” + [FLIRT]

(maybe like pre-season 1 or during season 1? idk whatever comes to your brilliant mind 💗)

Neither of those. Have High School party Brella first meet instead. Hope you still enjoy it 🧡💚

Stella Saule – most beautiful girl in school, richest girl in school, most fashionable girl in school, but maybe not the most popular – pushed her way through the crowd. It was, in her opinion, criminal that she wasn’t more popular, but apparently there was something about her sense of humour or, as Musa called it, her brashness that rubbed people the wrong way. Nevermind, she had her girls, so who needed the rest of them anyways.

Unfortunately for her, one of her girls also happened to be dating one of the most popular guys in school and somehow, she always ended up getting dragged to his house parties alongside her darling best friend. Bloom hated parties, so how she’d ended up dating mister popular football jock man Skylar Eraklyon was beyond Stella. Usually, Musa and Aisha would be dragged along, but the latter had family commitments and the former was out on a date with her dumbass jackass of a boyfriend. He’s not that bad, she claimed – whatever. Tecna and Flora weren’t partiers, so they never came. Which, tonight, left Stella all alone while Bloom was dragged away by her stupid boyfriend to be introduced to more people whose name Bloom would never remember.

Stella dropped herself onto one of the striped blue and white lounge chairs on the back patio of Sky’s mansion, which she found ridiculously large even by her standards – and her home had a ballroom, six guest rooms, two dining rooms, three living rooms and a servants’ quarters. She nursed the repulsive beer that she’d plucked out of a cooler – the only alcoholic option she had, and lord knew she’d need that to survive the night – as she watched Diaspro, miss head cheerleader and Sky’s ex, flirt with Pete, Stella’s ex.

It had only been two weeks since they’d broken up; how the fuck was he already flirting with other girls? Especially such heinous ones. Stella rolled her eyes, drank and scrolled through her phone, occasionally getting a text from the others asking how the party was. Bloom came by once or twice, but Sky always pulled her away. If Stella didn’t know any better, she’d think he was jealous that Bloom would prefer to hang out with her instead of him.

“Hi there.”

“Fuck off.”

“Wow. You’re friendly.”

Stella rolled her eyes. She was not in the mood for some jackass to hit on her. And yet, said jackass took the chair next to hers and leaned back. Stella stared straight ahead at her phone; she would pay him no mind. If he couldn’t get the very straightforward message of fuck off that wasn’t her problem.

“So, what’s it like?”

“What?” Stella questioned against her better judgement.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Stella demanded with an exasperated sigh as she dropped her phone in her lap.

“Being the most gorgeous woman to ever exist.”

“Seriously? That’s the best you can do?” Stella gave him the most unimpressed look she could muster and... fuck.

He was gorgeous.

Fuck him.

Broad shoulders, perfect square jaw, sparkling smile, deep chocolatey eyes, shiny brown hair, skin so smooth it would make a newborn jealous. He made Pete look like a dumpster. Stella forced her unimpressed glare to stay on her face solely for appearance’s sake, but she actually found herself okay with the idea of him continuing to flirt with her. Did that make her a hypocrite? Absolutely, but she didn’t care. His gorgeous ass could distract her from this misery.

“If I had a nickel for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have five cents.”

Stella grimaced.

“Are you a parking ticket? Cause you've got fine written all over you. If I had four quarters to give to the four prettiest women in the world, you would have a dollar. You must be made of cheese because you're looking Gouda tonight.”

“Oh. That... was awful, but I’ve not heard it yet” she admitted. She tried to maintain her uninterested demeanor, but she had to admit that there was something charming about him. She let her eyes roam over the backyard, hoping that Pete had noticed this delicious man flirting with her. She had been the one to break up with him, so she wasn’t particularly heartbroken, but it stung to see him already moving on. She needed to show him she was too.

“Awful?” He furrowed his brows. One of his hands found its way to his chest as he feigned offence. Stella tried not to notice how his arms flexed at the movement. She failed, of course.

“You couldn’t possibly think it was good.”

“Well, let’s see you do better then” he challenged.

Stella spotted Pete looking at them and gave him a wicked smirk. She returned her attention to her admirer, deciding that she was willing to play along. Letting herself slide down the lounge chair, Stella angled her body towards him. She used the arm of the chair to support her arm as she propped her chin onto her palm and gave him the sweetest look she could. “I'm not so good at holding conversations… is it okay if I hold your hand instead?”

He smiled at her. Oh God, that really was a nice smile. His dentist must be a magician. The man sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the chair, leaning into her. “They say Disney World is the happiest place on Earth, but clearly they've never sat next to you.”

“Are you an artist? Because you’re really good at drawing me in" she replied flirtatiously. If he wanted a pick up line contest, she would win. She'd heard them all.

“I hope you know CPR because you are taking my breath away.”

“I'd take you to the movies, but they don't let you bring in your own snacks.”

“When I text you goodnight later, what phone number should I use?”

Oooh that was a smooth one. She wouldn’t mind if he texted her good night. Or good morning.

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“If you were a chicken, you'd be Im-peck-able.”

“Oh... noooo” Stella laughed. He’d been doing so well. None of the lines were that good – except maybe the goodnight text one – but at least they were passable. She tried to reel in her laughter, but it was so bad, she couldn’t help it. She loved a good bad joke.

“So, uh... do you have a name, or can I just call you 'mine'?” he asked as she wiped away the tears that had started to form in the corners of her eyes.

“Are you only gonna talk to me in bad pick-up lines now?”

“Well, it seems to be the only thing that you’ll respond to, so” he retorted with a laugh. Stella laughed again. When she stopped, he was watching her with a smile that she couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t the charming one he'd been using on her before, it was more… genuine. “You’re really pretty when you smile.”

She almost brushed it off as another pick up line, but something told her it wasn’t. She smiled again, which he returned. He was really cute. And, for the first time since she’d found out she’d be accompanying Bloom solo, Stella found herself genuinely enjoying herself.

“Stella” she told him, extending her hand.

“Brandon.” His hand took hers and shook it. He smiled at her, his dark eyes meeting her own. She couldn’t help but notice that the smile extended into his eyes and there was something incredibly comforting about them. It was only after she realized they were still holding hands some minutes later that she spoke again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Brandon.”

#winx club #winx #winx stella #Winx Brandon #Brella #Winx Brella #Prompt #Oneshot

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tangent101 · 3 months ago

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This is what it's about:

When my parents got a house in the late 60s, I think their mortgage was $25,000 and they had an interest rate of under 5%.

My father worked at General Electric as a machinist, and worked piecework wages at first. My mother was a secretary. And my father made enough money that my mother could take a couple years between jobs when they'd inevitably lay her off because corporations in the 70s and 80s were as much bastards as they are today.

They had more than two cars, they had a sailboat, my dad bought various things he never used again like a surf sailboard. We weren't rich by any stretch of the imagination. But we were comfortable.

I don't have that. I have a van that's been broken for two years and that I'll likely eventually trade in for a new used car when I pay off enough debts to be able to get a car. The only reason I have a house is my grandparents died and I bought my uncle's half, and while my mortgage payments are lower than what a number of folks pay for rent in the city, I struggle to make ends meet. I lost my job nearly three years ago and drained my retirement savings in post-Covid America and was damn lucky to get a new job at the Post Office. And I'll be working there for the rest of my life, no doubt.

My cabinet has a bunch of mugs that are between 20 and 50 years old. I have a bunch of old dishes and silverware. All of my furniture is second-hand, much of it inherited from my grandparents or given to me by relatives.

I have had it easy compared to many in Gen Z. I am struggling to make ends meet, struggling easily as much as my parents did early in their life together and definitely far more than they were even after ten years together.

I've a cousin (first cousin, once removed - the eldest son of a cousin my age) who just graduated from college and they are struggling to find a job and living in an apartment with four other guys. This is the face of America's new youth - multiple roommates to afford a place to live. Oh, and they had it easy because their family were alumni of the college they went to. I don't know, maybe one of my cousins-once-removed will inherit this house once I die. And that assumes that the Trumps of the world don't seize all the property.

You can live off of raman and multivitamins and never have any "luxuries" in your life and squirrel away every dollar you ever make and then have it all sucked away with one illness or accident that your boss will insist happened on your time and refuse you workman's comp or the like.

I want to indulge in fun things. I want Millennials and Gen Zers and the new generation coming up to be able to indulge in fun things. I want billionaires to pay far more than they are, they can fucking afford it, if I were a billionaire I'd want to be paying far more because I could afford it, so that those who come after me can indulge and play and be human.

Is that truly too much to ask?

When I grow up I wanna be upper middle class.

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smokeybrandreviews · 1 year ago

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Speed Run V: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

I actually participated in Barbenheimer when it originally happened but found that i had way to much to say and the entire energy surrounding that event just kind of drowned out my analysis. I wanted to give that phenomena room to breathe because it absolutely deserved it. Barbenheimer will go down as a legit cultural flash point and it deserves every bit of that adulation. It's rare something so weirdly attractive, brings all form of society together in an effort to just enjoy. Barbie is set to hit streaming on September 5th so i figure now is as good a time as any to dig into what turned out to be two of the best films i have seen in years.

Barbie

If you would have told me that the Barbie movie would be the one to deal with existential dead, i would have laughed in your face. Yet, here we are, talking about a film that has done more for the feminine experience than any third wave feminist podcast to date. When i was watching Ben Shapiro burning Barbies in protest to this excellent film, i just couldn't help but laugh because that type of sh*t was the point. As a film, Barbie is easily one of the best. It has great direction, a brisk pace, fantastic performances, and a clear vision. It's messaging is never bogged down by shallow identity politics, as much as terms like "patriarchy" are thrown around but, let's be honest, of course a film about Barbie is going to focus on the female perspective. It's Barbie. What else would this film be about? Whether you like to hear about the realities of our world or not, the messaging in Barbie has rang true to the tune of a billion dollars at the box office and a number one spot for four weeks straight. Barbie clearly resonated with people across the gender spectrum and party lines so it's always odd to see people bash it for it's "feminist" messaging. Seriously, telling me you hate Barbie at this point is basically telling me you hate women without telling me you hate women. The weakest part of this film was Will Ferrell and his weird Mattel cabal of goons. You could have cut that sh*t right out of this film and nothing would have changed but whatever. Barbie is much, much, better than it has any right to be and it's weird people hate it for being exactly what Barbie has represented herself to be since the goddamn Sixties.

Oppenheimer

So the enheimer half of Barbenheimer was what got me into the theaters. Barbie had to grow on me but i was on board for Oppenheimer last year after that teaser. It was gorgeous and haunting and everything i never knew i wanted in a biopic of the man who created the Atomic Age. This film did not disappoint. Obviously, the cast as exceptional and weird that Best Supporting Actor can very legitimately come down to RDJ versus Ryan Gosling, but that speaks to the quality of both these films. That said, between Margot Robbie and Cillian Murphy for best lead performance of their respective films, I'd give the edge to Cillian. This man kills this performance, acting his ass off. You get a real sense of who Oppenheimer was during each phase of his life; A Stark contrast between before and after those bombs were dropped on Japan. Seriously, that ending was haunting. I've always subscribed to Oppenheimer knowing exactly what he had done. He knew exactly what it meant to drop that bomb. He saw what was coming and that exchange with Einstein at the end of the film was haunting. And he was right. I remember seeing the old footage of Oppy quoting the Mahabharata about how it felt to see his work succeed. The way his face dropped and his eyes glazed over, pulling that locked away memory forward. The say he very methodically spoke those words “Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” J. Robert Oppenheimer believed that of himself and Cillian Murphy absolutely embodies that energy in the back end of this film. Absolutely stunning performance and i cannot wait to watch it again.

#Barbie #Oppenheimer #Barbenheimer

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smokeybrand · 1 year ago

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Speed Run V: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Barbie

Oppenheimer

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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entities-of-posts · 3 years ago

Note

Statement of Madison Glover, regarding a strange deck of cards. Statement taken direct from subject January 13, 2010.

I've always been fond of card games. Even as a child, when I was left to myself without the comforting presence of my peers, I would pass the time by pretending to play games of spades or bridge with my stuffed animals. Usually, I would be playing alongside them, but every now and then I'd play a game where I was not a participant, but rather the director. As I grew older, this second type of game slowly began to eclipse the first, until it was the only way I would play on my own.

Of course, being so enraptured with cards meant that I became more and more isolated from my peers as time went on. When we were young they would play with me, but by the time I turned 12 everyone was so engaged with their Game Boys and Nintendos and arcades that I hardly had any social life at all. That only served to drive me deeper into my games, of course. Luckily for me, there were a few other social outcasts in my grade, and a few of them were even willing to play with me.

As I quickly discovered, playing games with other people is very different from playing by yourself. To begin with, it's not as easy to plan ahead when you don't know what your opponents will do. On top of that, you can't spend as long thinking about your next move when other people are waiting for you to finish. I'll admit, I was greatly frustrated by that at first, because I was used to having all the time and knowledge in the world to strategize, with no chance of my plans going awry. As I continued to play with my newfound friends, though, I discovered that there was a certain thrill to that uncertainty. I found myself creating more and better plans, trying as best I could to outwit my opponents. Sometimes I'd win, sometimes I'd lose, but it was all in good fun, and I look back on those games fondly. Even as an adult, playing cards and all the wonderful games you can play with them are still near and dear to my heart.

I'm not sure what drew me into the pawnshop that day. More than anything, it just felt like it would be right to visit. I'm not quite sure it was now after everything that's happened, but I can't say that I exactly regret it either.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt a pull towards one of the back shelves. I walked over to look, and immediately my eyes were drawn to a black leather deck sleeve with a silver clasp shaped like a spider. When I opened it, I discovered that it still held a complete deck of beautiful poker cards. Each card's face showed the suit symbols as little spiders placed around it, with the face cards having specific species instead. The backs of the cards were deep black, with a red spider silhouette atop a white spiderweb design. I knew instantly that I had to buy it -- I've never encountered cards nearly so gorgeous before or since. They were four dollars including the sleeve, which struck me as ridiculously inexpensive, but I had no reason to argue with such a bargain.

When I got home, I thought I'd play a game of solitaire to try out my new deck. I shuffled and laid out the cards, then spent a few minutes on what must have been the luckiest game in my life thus far. Every card I flipped up seemed to be exactly what I needed in that moment, and I quickly arrived at an easy victory. It almost didn't feel real, so I dealt out a second game. The exact same thing happened, with not a single card causing me difficulty. I definitely hadn't stacked the deck, so this happening twice in a row was somewhat disturbing. I ran through game after game, but the results never changed, so I eventually decided the deck itself must be good luck. It was getting late by that time, so I put the deck back into its sleeve and laid down to sleep.

I woke up to the feeling of hundreds of tiny legs climbing over me. My eyes snapped open, and in the dim light I could see the shapes of tiny spiders covering both me and my bed, skittering across me. I tried to open my mouth to scream, but I couldn't move a muscle. All I could do was lie there and let the spiders continue to torment me for hours until the sun finally rose. As soon as that happened, the swarm of spiders crawled away as one in the direction of my nightstand, then disappeared.

Once I regained my composure, I climbed out of bed and took a look at my nightstand to see if I could figure out where the spiders had come from. All that was there was my bedside lamp, the book on poker variants I'd been reading, and my new deck of cards in its sleeve, exactly where I'd left it. When I looked closer, I saw that the silver clasp of the sleeve was open, even though I was certain I'd closed it the night before. Beyond that, nothing was out of place in the slightest, so I decided that it must have been an episode of sleep paralysis and did my best to forget the terror as I went about my day.

Adulthood has its benefits and drawbacks, but one of the things I've been most pleasantly surprised by is that having a less common interest is no longer a recipe for inescapable isolation. While it took me some time to find them, I now have a small group of friends who come to my apartment each week to play cards with me. The day after my spider torment was one of our scheduled game days, and I was looking forward to playing with my new deck. Talia Rhein came over first that day, bringing a plastic box of her homemade cookies as usual despite my continued protests that as host, I was the one responsible for providing food. Abigaëlle LeBlanc and Jules Tremblay arrived a few minutes later with the specialized card games they always brought from home. I can't say that I prefer them to the ones you play with a standard deck, but a little variety is nice once in a while. Once everyone had gathered around the table and Talia's cookies had been set out so they were available to everyone, I slid my new deck out of its sleeve to show my friends, who gave the appropriate amounts of oohs and ahhs over it. After looking them over to make sure there weren't any marks on them, Jules suggested that we use my cards for a game of poker; a suggestion which everyone quickly agreed to.

I've always loved card games, but playing with this deck in particular gave me a strange sense of both dread and power, much moreso now than when I was simply playing solitaire. It was like the cards themselves were eagerly wrapping around my little finger, letting me control the outcome of the game however I pleased. I won the first three rounds and then, seeing the frustration on my friends' faces, decided to see if I could make it seem a little more fair to them. I could. The fourth round went to Jules with a high straight, then I encouraged victories for Talia in the fifth and sixth as a quiet way of thanking her for her baking. I took the round after that, then gave the final one to Abigaëlle so as not to leave her out. By the end of our time together, everyone was laughing and Talia's cookies were long gone. As for me, I was overwhelmed by the potential power of what had seemed like such a simple purchase at the time.

That night, I closed the deck sleeve's clasp, placed it on top of my book of poker strategies, and lay down with some trepidation. I didn't want to think about what had happened last night, save for a small hope that I would be spared a repeat of the previous night's torture. It was a futile one, of course. As I stared anxiously at my nightstand, unable to sleep for the terror I felt, the paralysis took me once more. Then, moving ever so slowly in the illumination of my nightlight, I saw the glint of silver that was the desk sleeve's clasp begin to move, the long spider legs crawling as if they were alive. When it had unlatched itself, that spider lay still once more, but its movement was only the opening play of this sadistic game. Thanks to my position, I was unable to look away as the army of spiders from the night before slowly started crawling out of my beloved new deck of cards, onto the nightstand, onto my bed, onto me. Just like before, I couldn't move, I couldn't open my mouth to scream, I couldn't even close my eyes or look away and pretend it wasn't happening. I was completely helpless as the spiders covered me.

Now that I knew the spiders were coming from my new cards, I could have gotten rid of them. I should have gotten rid of them. But there was something about that deck that made me unable to bear the thought of parting with it. Maybe it was how easily I could control the flow of my games with it, or maybe it was my own foolishness, but I couldn't even consider giving it up. I can't let go of it. The spiders come every night, and I can hardly sleep. When I do manage slumber, the spiders torment me in my nightmares instead. I don't know how much more of this I can stand.

I know that the wisest thing to do would be to give you the cards and walk away. I'm well aware of that. However, even given this perfect opportunity, I still can't bring myself to do it. But in case there might be a chance you would be able to help me, I'll leave one of the jokers with you. I won't need it to play, so I think that's a card I can bear to part with. If you can find anything at all that might end this torture, please, let me know. I can't mention this to my friends or they'll think I'm crazy. You're my only recourse, Archivist.

Thank you for listening.

…

I’d been looking for this one for quite a while. Ever since that… “lucky” find in artifact storage the other day brought it back to memory.

*the Archivist idly, but carefully turns a playing card between its fingers, alternating between examining the red spider in its white web on the black backside of it and the image of a joker with a thousand tiny spiders crawling out of his eyes on the frontside*

Though I suppose “chance” is a little hard to credit, when it comes to Mother’s designs.

I did know that deck couldn’t be fair. Agreeing to play with it was certainly one of the most idiotic things I’ve done…

Lots of fun, too.

…

They were young, when they came to me first. Only a few years older than some of my pupils now… I didn’t help them, of course. Spiders were, back then, as they had been for many, many years, my friends and allies… I wouldn’t have stolen from their plate.

I’m sure you understand that, don’t you?

*it calmly makes “eye” contact with the large spider perched on its hand*

I wonder, do you resent me for that? Is there something left in you capable of hating what you’ve become?

Don’t take this as guilt; I don’t feel particularly responsible for what happened to you. But still, you didn’t use to be such a bastard. Makes one wonder if you could have turned out different… but then again, untraveled roads are always such a frustrating, enthralling thing to muse about.

Let’s See… Talia, Abigaëlle, Jules; all either dead, or so deeply Marked they might have been better off with the first option. I don’t suppose you feel much guilt for that, either, do you?

No wonder the Fog still clings to you. Subtle… but I could See it still, the moment you walked in.

Well, this was quite informative; I did always think you were somehow familiar. And who would’ve thought this was why you hate video games so much - hilariously petty, it’s wonderful :)

Thank you for your statement. You gave it long ago, of course… but it’s aged like wine.

#statements #the Jack of Spiders

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straighttohellbuddy · 3 years ago

Note

i'd really like to hear about 5, 27, and 32 for the 35 fanfiction writer question game! if it isn't a game/i misinterpreted what you meant, i'm really sorry!

It is an ask game! Also I love you thank you!!

I'm putting this one first because I've wanted to talk about it for a while, and yeah it should probably be a post of it's own but here we go;

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I think there's a real art to being able to write X Reader fics, and I think the more you write, the more nuance you develop in order to weave a story around the reader's characteristics to make it inclusive while also personal. i think there's a conversation to be had about inclusivity in the YouTube x Reader community, and while the heavy prevalence of NB!Reader fics is amazing, we still have to look at what other biases we're inserting into our works. descriptions of, or moments regarding, the reader's skin tone, size, hair, clothing choices, family, etc, should be considered carefully if you're looking to make this as accessible as possible for the wide variety of readers. i appreciate people who specify if they're writing a particular type of reader (chubby!reader, or short-haired!reader, etc) because it sets a precedent for the fic, but if you go in without that caveat and suddenly the reader is being described as tanned or with long wavy hair or something, that breaks the immersion and alienates the readers who don't fit this narrow description. uh, also this is just a small thing, but when writing NB!Readers, don't forget about AMAB nb folks existing and being taken into consideration in your writing.

like i said, there's an art to being able to write around describing the reader, while still making the story feel personal. we just have to think about if what we're writing would make sense if we were not ourselves, if that makes sense???

also just personally i'd like to see more diversity in the people chosen for the representations of the read in IG/SMAU posts.

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

I actually don't have one definitive answer for this because I've been writing for a very long time so I have a few favourites for different reasons.

for this blog; once you say it out loud it can't be undone {Corpse Husband} | 17K. non-fatal hanahaki au ft. bes frend ethan gameplays. of course this is my favourite, have you read it? it's good!

Feelings are fair game for nine months out of the year, but God forbid you develop a crush during Hanahaki Season; three months of coughing up petals just because you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back? It’s a damn inconvenience. You haven’t had an active Hanahaki Season in the four years since you started YouTube, and you think that since you’re in quarantine, not going outside, not meeting new people, you’ll be fine this year too! Except that you start playing Among Us with a group of people you’ve never met before, friends of friends, including the elusive Corpse Husband, who’s kind, and funny, and may be flirting with you, but you’re not quite sure. The point is, you make friends with him not expecting much beyond a streaming buddy, but then you get talking more often, chatting and joking at all hours in DMs, and he’s calling you sweet nicknames on stream, and you wake up on the first day of your Season coughing up flower petals and cursing yourself for falling for a man who’s first name you don’t even know!

but also because i can and will plug my own shit

Reader Insert (also my Overall favourite rn); heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} | 72k. fwb-to-lovers, also the author clearly has an x-men hyperfixation. actor!reader.

When you’re twelve and you have a crush on your babysitter, your parents think it’s puppy love, think it’s cute, and you’ll forget about it soon enough. When you’re fifteen, and your former babysitter’s on TV in one of the UK’s most successful soap operas, and is still decidedly hot, all you can remember is the advice he’d given you, and how he’d let you win when playing videogames. When you’re nineteen and you score a supporting role in an X-Men film, the last thing you’d expected was to be acting opposite your former babysitter, and - as it turns out - romancing his character; he’s still decidedly handsome, and you’re definitely not a little kid anymore. He doesn’t even recognize you, and you know what? You’re glad.

OC Fic; Molotov Heart {Alex Summers} | 70k (ish). follows the sequel x-men trilogy and literally spans 20 years. ALSO CLEARLY THE AUTHOR HAS AN X-MEN HYPERFIXATION

Aoibheal Cassidy didn't hesitate to follow her big brother, Sean, when he's recruited by Charles and Erik, even if she's not technically a mutant (yet). By his side, she grows up as the youngest member of Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, but world won't wait for a girl to grow up, and her life is torn apart by war and disaster; things get worse before they get better. As the years pass, she realises she always ends up on Charles's team with Alex and Hank by her side, even if she's not the little girl they once knew.

and finally, purely canon fic: not from the absence of violence | Breaking Bad. 6.5k. au where jesse gets out of the business like he wants to in season 5, and comes home to find a teenage runaway living in his house.... actually its kind of a little bit of an oc fic but not the way my oc fics usually are.

Sometimes a family is one of the (former) best meth cooks in America, his two best friends who happen to be (former) meth dealers, a teenage runaway, and five million dollars. -- "...and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." - Richard Siken

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I feel very very lucky and very blessed to receive such lovely and kind comments on the fics that I write, but I've got two that stand out the most in my mind, and it's the comments @bingusmode and @marvelsmurphy left on the aforementioned once you say it out loud it can't be undone {Corpse Husband},,,, literally i would die for both of them. i reread the comments on that fic every so often because everyone is so damn lovely, but i just grin like an idiot and turn into that picture of kermit hugging his phone whenever i read their comments specifically. i love you guys

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

for my upcoming fic that i posted those memes about a few days ago; 'god's perfect idiot {Wilbur Soot}'

light-hearted streamer joins smp; shocks everyone with capacity for angst

I loved this!! feel free to send in more!!

#your local homosexual with no chill

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that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick · 4 years ago

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Summary: Winry sat in the optimal place to study in the school cafe for the entire fall semester. Then spring came, and suddenly some self-entitled twit who dressed like off-brand Gerard Way decided it was his territory. He was so not going to get off easy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k words of coffee shop/college AU with a side of enemies to almost-lovers

A/N: It's finals week, I posted this on Ao3 at almost 5am, and if the rest of the sentence didn't make it obvious, I'm writing from unfortunate experience. Not beta-ed or proofread, although I happened to see one thing to fix when I woke up this morning. Feel my raw power. Rawr.

It wasn't that big a deal.

It kind of really was, though.

Every Thursday morning during the fall semester, Winry sat in the same spot at the same school coffee shop. It was the spot sent by the entire patron pantheon of cram papers. Maybe one person didn't need an entire booth, but it was in the corner, and the tops of the bench seats had opaque plastic barriers that just so happened to be perfect for minimizing excess visual chaos. For the most part, there weren't loud conversations, and the jazz music that came through the speakers helped her tune out people ordering coffee. Add to that the fact that she could use campus flex dollars and not her own bank account that was begging for mercy, and it was the perfect spot to get papers done.

But apparently not this spring.

As soon as Winry walked in, she noticed him in the corner. Some emo wannabe guy on his computer. Probably on Reddit complaining about how women didn't appreciate the amazing pics he sent them on Tinder. Or at least, it was a fair guess based on the sour look on his face. Why did this guy of all people have to steal the holy grail spot? Ugh. She was still gonna get her coffee, darn it.

"You know the deal, Sciezska. Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer."

"On it! You paying in flex?"

"Yeah." She scanned her student ID and lowered her voice. "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

"Who's Ger—"

"The punk kid."

"Ohhh. I can try to get his number for you, if you want."

"No, he looks like a total tool! And not the kind I like dealing with!"

"Which means you think he's hot. I didn't think you were into that type, but you're not wrong."

"For the last time, no, Sciezska! He took my spot! And I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Lay off, it's eight in the morning. I said the only reason I even have a Tinder account is because my roommate stole my phone while I was going to the bathroom."

"Well, if you didn't want it, why didn't you delete it?"

"Eh, I figured if I really got sick of being single one day, it'd already be there."

"Never would have guessed you were single," Winry said dryly.

"Come on, it's way too early to be rubbing that kind of crap in. Who says I'm not fine with being single anyway?"

Sciezska timidly spoke up. "Medium roast with espresso and vanilla creamer?"

Winry thanked her as red jacket boy continued. "'Edward Elric, Bachelor.' Almost sounds as good as 'Edward Elric, Bachelor of Science.'"

"B.S. degree. Sounds about right."

"About time you stopped acting like I'm an idiot!"

Winry snorted. "That's not what I meant."

"Hey!"

"And with that, I'm going to go find some other spot to write my paper."

Edward, as his name apparently was, scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like "good riddance". Maybe the librarians wouldn't get on her case too much for bringing in coffee.

-----

A week later, Winry walked into the cafe, assuming the circumstances of the previous week were an anomaly. They were not.

"Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer," she grumbled and sulked in the direction of the corner seat.

"Hey, don't start with me again, blondie. I've had a whopping four hours of sleep and I can't promise you'll like what comes out of my mouth."

"We're at a coffee shop. Get some coffee. I can't help it if you're too hung over to be polite."

"Now look, genius. I did not stay up until 4 A.M. working on a stupid chem paper for that sadistic pyromaniac excuse for a professor just for some random chick to accuse me of being hung over."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

"Huh, interesting."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up where I left off with the same stupid ten page paper I started last night."

"Oh right. Sure," Winry stammered. "Listen, I'm really sorry I just assumed things about you. It was wrong of me, and I'd like to make it up to you, if that's okay."

Edward eyed her suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well...I could look over your paper once you're done writing it? I've got a paper of my own to write while I'm waiting, and I can sit right across the table here so you don't have to come get me. I won't try to talk to you or anything. Neither of us need that kind of distraction."

"Alright, alright. Get your coffee and sit down. The girl at the counter's been up there waiting for a good minute or two while you've been at confessional over here."

"Wait, she has?" Winry's eyes widened, and Edward laughed at her expense. He was kind of attractive when he wasn't scowling...wait what? She pouted and got up to retrieve her coffee. When Winry returned, she plopped down on the bench opposite Edward and opened her laptop. Peeking out from behind it, she added, "By the way, I'm Winry. I figured you ought to at least know the name of the person who's proofreading your paper."

"Well, Winry, you're the one who volunteered." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. The two worked on their assignments in silence, occasionally speaking up when necessary.

-----

Edward was in the corner again the next week as well.

"Hey, Edward! Mind if I join you for homework again?"

"Normally, I'd say no, but you didn't bother me too much last week, so you might as well." He turned away slightly.

"Great! Have you gotten your coffee yet? I didn't see a cup, and you got something the last two times."

"Eh, I haven't been here long. If you're going up and getting yours, would you mind ordering a caramel macchiato for me?" He asked, sliding his ID across the table.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be back in a sec."

She returned and slipped his ID back before pulling out her computer. "Do you have anything for me to look over this time?"

"Not this week. But if you have anything you need looked over, I can do that, too."

"Actually, I do, if you wouldn't mind."

"Winry, I just volunteered. Just send the paper to my school email. Mine's 'elricedwa'," he instructed as he proceeded to spell it.

"Medium roast and a caramel macchiato?" Sciezska called out.

"Coming!" Winry replied and turned to Edward. "I just sent it, so you should be able to start while I'm getting our stuff." Eyes glued to his laptop, Edward gave a thumbs up.

Once she returned with their drinks, Winry sat down and wordlessly set Edward's drink next to him.

"Thanks," he muttered distantly. His lips mirrored the words he was reading. Though his lips weren't plump by any stretch of the imagination, they were shapely. His steely concentration made the air leave Winry's lungs. To top it all off, the first rays of sunlight came through the window just right, hitting Edward's hair in a way that made it positively glow.

What was she thinking? Those were only the sorts of things people thought when they had a crush. She'd only had two positive interactions with him, including this one. ...well, maybe it was a crush. She could certainly do worse than someone with a questionable fashion sense. After all, he worked hard, and he got good grades, if the quality of his writing was any indication. Okay, fine. He was also drop dead gorgeous, if you could see past his clothing choices. Yeah, she had a crush.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"...no."

"Figures. I finished reading your paper. It's not bad, I just left a few suggestions for sentence structure. Now I am going to enjoy my caramel macchiato." He took off the lid and breathed in the steam with his eyes closed, nearly drooping into the cup in content. When he opened his eyes slowly, Winry was awestruck by the similarity between the color of his eyes and his drink.

"What?" Edward furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. At all. Nope."

"Okay." He shrugged. She reopened the document and went through his suggested edits. Gnawing her lip in concentration, she leaned forward a bit to settle in and tackle the editing.

"...hey, uh, Winry?" Edward gulped. "Are you going to drink your coffee?"

"Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Edward!" she smiled.

"No–no problem. And you can call me Ed, you know. Most people do. Except for that excuse for a professor that calls me pipsqueak. Can you believe he's my advisor? I mean, come on, I'm a grown man. I'm not that short."

Winry made a poor attempt at containing her laughter. "Okay then, Ed. Prove it. Stand up."

"Fine." He slid out of the booth and stood. Winry followed suit and appraised their respective heights.

"Well, I'd hardly call you tall, but you're at least taller than me by a few inches, for whatever that's worth."

Edward grinned as if he had won some sort of prize. "Time for shorties to sit down now!"

"Watch it now. You're not too far from that label yourself, mister."

They both returned to their positions in the booth and worked steadily for the next hour. At the end of that time, Winry closed her laptop. "Ed, are you okay? You seem distracted."

"ADHD. I'm always distracted," he dismissed.

"No, like, are you sick or something? You did get more than four hours of sleep this time, right?"

"No comment." Ed's mouth twitched. He mumbled barely loud enough to hear, "Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, I can drive you over to the health center."

"N-no. That's not it." He exhaled, then slid a napkin across the table. His hands trembled slightly. "Anyway, here's my number. In case you need me to look over a paper. Or whatever. I've got a class soon."

Winry blushed, but tucked the napkin in her laptop. "Thanks, Ed. See you next week?"

"Yeah. Next week."

-----

Winry: This goes with your major, right?

Edward: Blocked

#fma #fma fanfic #503 day #when i wrote it it was probably still 503 day somewhere #edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #fma sciezska #fma sheska #my writing #my fic #coffee shop au #college au

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dollarbin · 3 months ago

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Shakey Sundays #36:

Trans, Part 1

She was lovely.

It was the fall of 1993, our final year of high school, and she'd already had too hard of a life: no memories of her birth mother, an altogether lackluster father and a stepmother who was all mock kindness over hard edges, the resentment covert and steady.

We had come together at the dawn of high school, two sensitive kids from opposite ends of LA who met in a summer camp glory hole. That's what you call a crumbling spot of earth in goldrush country, formed a century or more beforehand by a single stick of hopeful dynamite.

I remember the two of us scurrying down into the near darkness with a few other kids, a box of surreptitiously swiped matches in tow. A four foot high and wobbly baby pine was beginning to block off the entrance, a pine that has since devoured the glory hole in its quest for strength and water. Today that tree is well over a hundred feet tall.

But 31 years ago it gave no protest as we lit all those matches, one at a time, and talked heatedly about God knows what. Joni says it best: that's how our time began.

We were just two kids, both a bit scarred, both a bit scared. We craved reassurance mostly; we listened to Love's Forever Changes while holding hands.

Years passed. We lived far apart and her parents did all they could to block the relationship but we still managed to see one another with some regularity as ninth grade turned into tenth, then turned and turned again until suddenly it was our senior year and we'd grown up together. I validated and praised her. She did the same for me. We listened to a lot of Leonard Cohen. She sewed me a flannel shirt.

And then, after all our years of promise and worry, I was suddenly done. Everything between us was revealed to me as too grown up, too heavy and troubling. What's more, I was in love, and for real this time, and with someone else, someone who showed me an adult future that was both brilliant and steadfast.

I was 17 years old. I wanted to be more than a good boyfriend. I wanted to be happy.

And so I had to let her terribly down.

There was no point in showing her my brand new, dollar bin, version of Trans when she showed up at my parents' house on that hot fall day for our long scheduled Dylan show at the Hollywood Bowl. Santana, ridiculously, shared the bill; the only thing I knew about Santana was that Jonathan Richman told his early audiences that listening to Santana records was a general waste of one's time. I believed Jonathan, of course. I still do.

But there she was on my doorstep, flushed with excitement, her two front teeth freshly chipped from a older-step-sister-saddled-with-too-much-responsibility accident in her grandparents' pool. She had no idea whatsoever what as about to happen.

Could I have spared her from that night? Could I have written her an honest letter or made a simple phone call explaining that I was so terribly sorry but that I had fallen in love with someone else?

Yes, I could have. And yes, of course, I should have.

But the simple truth is that I craved the drama. After all, I was listening to a lot of Trans and Another Side of Bob Dylan at the time: records full of self-importance, drama and manly vibes. And, after a childhood of being chosen last with a sigh for every social and athletic event, I was ready to do something audacious, cold and rash. I'd tell her that we were done in person. In front of all my friends. At a Bob Dylan show.

"It ain't me, babe. No, no, no. It ain't me, babe. It ain't me your looking for. Babe."

Good God: this story is awful, isn't it? Happily, I came slightly to my senses and chickened out, taking her instead, pre-show, to the Mexican hole in the wall down the street from my house for tacos and truth.

Listen, I said. I'm sorry but...

She was furious. Livid. I was selfish, she declared. I was stupid. I had ruined everything.

I listened. All her assessments struck me as reasonable. My teenage fantasies about how cool the whole thing was gonna be were obviously hollow and dumb. And so I finished her taco. It was the only useful action I could come up with.

And then I introduced her to Thom Moore.

Do you know who I'm talking about? We're talking Thom Moore of Moore Brothers fame. If that doesn't mean anything to you, go listen to this:

youtube

The reckless, way-cooler-than-Beck, north LA trip hot white man music he was making at that point is not available on YouTube. Which is stupid. This song is from a few years later, after GBV had largely beat him to the punch. But Thom was, and still is, the coolest person to ever befriend me. We haven't talked in 20 years or more now but, whatever: he's so cool. Hi Thom!

It was just supposed to be the three of us that night, driving to see Dylan in my parents' armadillo cake of a Ford Tempo, which responded to heat of any kind by simply turning off. Mid-freeway? Yeah, if it got too hot the car would just stop. I figured Thom would lighten the mood between the two of us and stop her from freaking out too much. But I had a long ago buddy named Matt who always knew how to upstage me.

(We're not talking here about my best buddy Matt, whose favorite Shakey songs are Homegrown, F%^&king Up and T-Bone, in that order, but another, long ago buddy, also named Matt. He was not a Shakey guy. Rather, he was into The Rembrandts.)

youtube

Yeah, Rembradts Matt was definitely not as cool as T-Bone Matt. That's just the way it is, baby. (And for the record, I did not make myself listen to the song above while writing this; I just pasted it in so you'd get a sense of the gentleman in question. So feel free to follow my lead and take a hard pass.)

And so, anyway, Rembrandts Matt, who had caught wind of my sophomoric break up plans for the evening, decided to do me one better by dumping his own long term, also-out-of-town girlfriend immediately before the concert as well.

But Rembrandts Matt did his dumping in even more spectacular fashion. Things were thrown. Blame was cast. My famous brother remembers juvenile fisticuffs occurring between them in the small hours of the night ahead inside a donut shop. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say that all the men involved in this night that I'm chronicling were obviously rather childish.

And so, rather than wind up driving to the concert with just my poor, suddenly-ex, ladyfriend beside me and a surely-he'll-pick-us-all-up wit like Thom in the back seat, my long ago buddy Matt's own far less poor, but also suddenly-ex, ladyfriend wound up in my backseat as well - she absolutely refused to drive with Matt. And my own suddenly ex-lady friend joined her back there, telling Thom that if he wanted to sit beside to the world's worst person he was welcome to the passenger seat. Those two ladies' indignation filled up my parents' Tempo like hot farts after pizza in a sixth grade bunkhouse. It was going to be one hell of a drive.

"What's going on here ladies?" Thom asked, spinning around to grin into their fury as I pulled away from the curb, steering wheel gripped like a life preserver. Thom, who was a new friend to me at that point, had never met either of the ladies in question before that moment. He had no real idea what had just gone down, but he was digging the vibes.

After getting the general gist of things through clenched jaws and unprintable words, most of which began with F's, A's and Z's, Thom started riffing. He'd once spent half an hour freestyle rapping in the very same car about squeezable canned cheese; he could riff.

"Listen: ladies! Take a step back!" he declared. Whenever he spoke it seemed like someone was beatboxing in support. "These knuckleheads who let you down tonight are surely insignificant blips in what will be two very long lifetimes of romantic opportunity! We're off to a Dylan show, right? Well, there's gonna be thousands upon thousands of lonely ass, equally dumb men there for you to choose from. I mean, come on! Here, let me angle the rear view mirror a bit so you can take a look at yourselves. Uncross those angry arms and take a look: yeah, that's it! You are both, I must say, rather fetching! I know plenty of guys - hell, I am one of those guys - who'd be all too happy to take the place of either of these - or both of these! - dopes by your side."

He cackled through it all, having the time of his life.

"Shut up Thom!" they both bellowed in response. They too had never met before that night but they already spoke in perfect unison, holding each other's hands and utterly bonded in cold, dark and shimmering, feminine fury.

I won't give you every last detail of what happened next - and, I promise, Trans does winds up central to this story (just relax already: this is Part 1 of what will be a few posts dedicated to Neil's mostly cool and bizarre record) - so let's hit fast-forward:

...there we are, sitting midway back from the stage beside a guy 25 years older than us; he's describing how his life was fundamentally changed in 1974 when he saw Bob perform Ballad of a Thin Man on solo piano. (My famous brother says there is no evidence whatsoever that such a performance ever occurred)...

...and there we are, trying to have a teenage picnic post show in the parking lot. Someone's mother has sent a chocolate cake with a big butcher knife for the slicing. But Matt's ex-lady friend is whispering again in the ear of my own ex-ladyfriend and then mine is taking the knife from his and brandishing it at me in a mock-serious manner than fails to come across as mock-serious but is instead rather terrifying. I whimper and retreat. To this day I do not tend to eat cake...

... and there we are, and it's well after one in the morning, and the two of us are standing on a street corner somewhere in Hollywood, fruitlessly ringing the doorbell of some family friend of her parents at whose house she is supposed to stay the night (because staying at my own house was forever out of the question). But the damn person won't answer the bell and it's cold out and so I give her my favorite flannel - not the one she sewed for me, that one was always itchy, but my favorite flannel - because what the hell else can I offer her of any value, and then the door finally opens and in she goes, still furious, and I know we'll probably never see each other again... and, oh crap: she's still wearing my flannel!

I arrived home around two in the morning totally demoralized. The night was supposed to have been epic, the kind of thing I'd boast about and include in my congratulatory memoirs some day. But Santana had played forever like one big Joe Freakin' Lala cover band and Dylan had sung Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again so incomprehensibly that I had only realized he what he was performing during the final chorus, and I'd spent the night so scared and so embarrassed and so, so, so deeply disappointed in myself. I was being a jerk to a lovely person. I had probably ruined her life.

At that point in my adolescence I pretty much only entered and exited my parents' house through my bedroom window. Doing so seemed like the cool way to do things and it exhibited the kind of cavalier independence from tradition and family ties which I craved. So I sighed and circled around back. It was time to hurdle inside and be sad and alone.

But my room was packed. Homegrown Matt was in there, not Rembrandts Matt. Plus there were 3 or 4 other of my friends. They were all wide awake, utterly uninvited and brimming over with joy.

Plus, Thom was there, working the turntable. And he had Shakey's manly panegyric for all things troubling, goofy and danceable turned up to 11:

youtube

Yes, it was true: I'd been a jerk to her. And yes, I'd let her down.

But I'd also done the right thing. And it was over. My room was now filled with unexpected joy and Neil Young. My friends had picked me first for their team.

And that's how I knew that everything was going to work out. That's how I knew that I was going to be okay.

And so was she. So was she.

#Youtube #shakey sundays #neil young #bob dylan #the moore brothers #Thom moore #Santana sucks #jonathan richman

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Uh so Billy aka Dwayne and I have the same birthday (June 23). I don't really like my birthday because I've never gotten to celebrate. I haven't had a party since I was a kid and now I just always spend the day sad and with no friends. If you wanna write something with the lost boys celebrating Dwayne and reader's birthday together, I'd really love it. (No pressure tho. I really love your blog and hope you'll have a great day ✨)

Aw, I’m sorry to hear you’ve not been able to celebrate your birthday for such a long time. Hopefully I can give you a little taste of a great birthday with the boys, and a very special (belated) birthday to you from myself and all of my readers, you are an honorary Fang Babe which makes you a part of a community that’s there for each other! If you ever feel sad, I got my DMs open 24/7 if you ever need to just vent up a storm! All are welcome.

Happy Birthday to You Both

Dwayne x Fem!S/O

Today was supposed to be special, yet the entire day everyone was so preoccupied with their own little lives that no one had even bothered to remember it was your birthday today. It was absolutely miserable. All the while your boyfriend Dwayne was currently tucked away at the abandoned hotel hiding away from the sunlight. Bursting into flames was certainly an occupational hazard. By this point the whole vampirism thing had come and gone, and while it did frighten you, nothing was more frightening than being without your dark crow.

Rather than stay at home to be ignored you opted to go out for the afternoon, browsing shops for a special occasion. No, not yourself. See, as luck would have it, June 23rd also held significance to Dwayne. Marko, one of the younger members of the coven, had told you two weeks prior it would be Dwayne’s birthday as well. You had to keep your own secret. Not at their request, but your own. Overshadowing his birthday would be dreadful, you hated the idea of taking it from him. Besides, no one remembered anyways.

Weaving through brightly lit shops, you pondered each piece wondering what would suit him best. Clothes were out, maybe a new skateboard? Just looking at the little white tags stuck to the back of them made you cringe. Okay, so that was out. You weren’t made of money.

There was an old mystic shop selling a handful of oddities, somewhere called Madame Medusa’s Mystical Boutique. A few interesting necklaces caught your eye, but one seemed to be directly calling you. It was a crow skull attached to a leather cord, bordered by two carved red beads on either side. Two thick black feathers were wedged between the beads. Gently you slipped it off the hook, running your thumb over the chilled, smooth surface.

“It’s a lovely item, isn’t it,” an elderly woman asked. Truthfully she startled you from behind the counter, almost making you jump a few good inches.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see-”

“Don’t worry dear, hardly anyone does,” she chuckled, tenderly plucking the skull from your hand. “Shall I wrap this up for you?”

“Oh- Well I wasn’t, I mean it’s nice but-,” you stuttered, but already she was shuffling towards the counter again. Boy pushy woman. You didn’t even know how much it cost, you weren’t exactly on a budget but you couldn’t be going on any big spending sprees.

“Hush now. He’s going to be waiting for you, somewhere nearby. I can guarantee that this is the one you’re meant to give him,” she insisted, wrapping the necklace under aged brown paper.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d like it but-,” you couldn’t help but trail off. How- How did she know?

The woman pushed the little baggie your way, giving a tender smile before she began to hobble towards a curtained room behind the counter.

“W-Wait, I didn’t even pay for it!”

She waved off your concern, looking behind her shoulder while she parted the curtains in her path.

“Consider it a present from those who neglected you. Take it to him, you’ll see..” And with that she vanished behind them, leaving you stunned where you stood. Silently you glanced down at the small plastic bag, almost jumping in place when a dusty old grandfather clock began to ring through the store. One, two, three, four, five, six. Oh! It was already six o’clock. Crap the boys would be up any minute!

It didn’t take too long to spot the gang of vampires sitting on the worn, wooden banisters talking amongst themselves. Dwayne was just as eager to spot you, sweeping between the boys and lifting you up in his arms. “Happy birthday, princess,” He gushed, planting tender kisses all over your cheeks.

“How did you know? I didn’t-”

“My bad,” Marko spoke up. He leaned back from behind Paul to wave your way, as if he were waving a flag of defeat. Damn. You weren’t even sure how Marko figured out your birthday in the first place, there was just no keeping secrets from that guy!

Dwayne set you down, although he carried a much more concerned expression this time. “Why keep it a secret in the first place, Y/N?”

You fiddled with the bag still clutched in your hand with eyes cast downward towards your feet hoping a good excuse could get you out of just admitting you’d rather play backseat. But, you didn’t. Not that you couldn’t come up with any excuses. Rather, you didn’t want to be sidelined even for your boyfriend’s birthday. It was yours too, and for the past several years it seemed like you were constantly being set aside so that other things could happen. Your sister’s wedding, that trip to Colorado your parents took, grandma and grandpa visiting, your brother’s soccer games- everything seemed to take precedence over the celebration of the day you were born. And worst of all is you never got your Sixteen Candles happy ending. No one would really recognize they screwed up. You wouldn’t be apologized to with tearful shock when your parents realized they forgot your birthday, your friends- if you could even call them that at this point- wouldn’t try to cheer you up, and there was no handsome crush ready with a birthday cake to make it all go away. It’s like Dwayne already knew your feelings because before you could get a word in he pulled you into a crushing hug. Your head pressed against his chest. Sometimes you forgot he had no heartbeat and instead only listened to him rumble when he spoke to you.

“Just because today is for me, doesn’t mean it isn’t for you too, princess.”

Those words hit you harder than you anticipated. Your throat felt as if it were swelling, dry with each labored swallow, and a tight pressure squeezed the bridge of your nose. Inevitable tears eagerly rushed down your while burnt cheeks.

Dwayne only held you in place. He never let go until you were the one ready to release him, wiping away those pesky droplets of emotion staining you. “Now, I was saving this for when we took you to the hotel…,” he began with his hand jammed into his jacket pocket, rustling around for whatever it was he needed. “But, I figure maybe you need it now.”

A thick banded ring of aged silver sat in his calloused palm, an oval cut of turquoise clasped in place by a weaving border. Veins of black and copper split through chunks of blue-green paths. Rather hold it out to you, Dwayne tenderly took your hand into his own to slip the hefty piece over your ring finger. It nestled perfectly in place and you couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, slinging your arms over his neck. He already knew what to expect. Iron arms engulfed your waist and lifted you up. His stubble scratched the edges of your mouth when you crashed your lips into his. The sensation was overwhelming. It wasn’t just that he got you this, it was what he had gotten you.

Dwayne had often told you myths and lore on lazy nights when the hunting grew slow and the hours were long. Once you found yourself admiring a very similar cut of jewelry decadently adorned with many fine cuts of turquoise, finding your curiosity piqued when asking him what the significance was to all these pieces. Why was it such a commonly used stone in so much jewelry, especially with Native American tribes.

“From what I can remember,” Dwayne thought back at the time, leaning over you to admire the pricey baubles kept protected under a thick sheet of glass “, my grandmother told me that every tribe has always valued it. I mean, they all have their reasons. It’s a powerful gem that carries protection, life and strength. I’ve even seen it change colors depending on where you find it. I hardly ever saw it though when I was alive, even back then it cost a fortune.”

But now, through one way or another he’d remembered how you admired them from afar, yearning to have a ring like that of your very own. The one to five hundred dollar price tags always scared you off whenever you’d come to find them in stores- at least, the real ones. For once you didn’t care how Dwayne had acquired your gift. Gift! Oh!

“Oh, hold on,” You interjected between kisses with the little bag presented before him. “I um, got you something too. From that crazy lady in the mystic items shop!”

A warmth spread through your chest watching him lay the necklace over, the skull placing perfectly atop his many others. It suited him perfectly.

The whole night was just perfect. You spent the entire time going on rides with the boys after they spoiled you for dinner, later dragging you to the hotel where you realized what Dwayne meant earlier. There were streams of colored paper hanging off the rafters and old piping, red balloons tied to the furniture, and a banner of paper reading out “Happy Birthday Dwayne and Y/N” written in big, red marker letters. You couldn’t even make a wish when they brought out a cake for the both of you. After all, what more could be asked? They had already given you the most perfect birthday you could have ever hoped for.

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whereistheonepiece · 5 years ago

Text

So @lesbian-space-ranger and I accidentally created a new Zosan AU that we’ve been talking about since last night. A note: half of this is me summarizing, half of it is pulled directly from Discord because Cas (lesbian-space-ranger) has such great ideas.

This is a long post. I don’t feel like putting it under a read more. So. Enjoy. Or keep scrolling. Either works.

So this post happened

These roles just came to me. Didn’t need to give it much thought because Sanji has the appearance and demeanor of a lead singer and I like the idea of him using his skilled hands to play piano at the same time.

I also watched the movie Rocketman earlier in the week. You know, that Elton John biopic. I adored it and it’s been heavy on my mind lately and I liked the idea of Sanji giving a high energy performance from the piano. (Sir Elton John’s music comes into play later.)

And as for Zoro, I find the bass and/or the beat the sexiest part of the music in a song and, naturally, I can see him rocking at either.

So I asked Cas if she had any other headcanons for this AU and this thing is too good to not share.

Yeah, so Zoro and Sanji are in a boy band with Usopp and Luffy. Luffy started the band. Luffy does guitar, Zoro is on bass, Usopp is on drums, and Sanji is on keyboard and vocals.

Nami is their manager. She works them hard and has taken a 40% cut of the profits because of the guys’ naivete and inexperience. But she’s why they took off. She booked their gigs at every venue she could manage, no matter how small.

They got their big break when Nami met Vivi, who’s a talent scout for the record label Baroque Works. Nami insisted that Vivi had to see the boys perform because they’re something else and Vivi’s heard that a thousand times, but she agreed because Nami is cute. Nami and Vivi are dating. Also, re Baroque Works: Crocodile looks like a sleazy music producer, doesn’t he? So does Doflamingo.

So Sanji is the pretty one, Luffy is the funny one, Zoro is the quiet/broody one, and Usopp is the smart one.

Zoro has a lot of deals with fitness brands, but secretly finds the famous life unfulfilling. This comes back later, so keep that in your back pocket.

Robin runs their social media. She’s so good at her job, running all of their accounts and tweeting simultaneously, you’d swear she had four sets of hands. Wink.

Franky does pyrotechnics/lighting.

Brook is their stylist.

Chopper was their first real fan. He and Zoro grew up in the same neighborhood and Chopper just always idolized him. He followed them before anyone knew their names. He was their hype man, saying encouraging things like "I know you guys are gonna be great!" He believed in them even when they didn't believe in themselves.

Usopp set up their recordings before they got signed because he’s savvy. And then Chopper would sell their crappy CDs. At these tiny gigs. Like coffeehouses and stuff.

Sanji can play keyboard because his parents forced him to play piano as a kid. They had this idea that classical music would teach him discipline and make him smarter. This is how he meets Zeff. Zeff’s your typical stern instructor, but he’s the first adult to ask Sanji what he actually wants and likes. Zeff sees Sanji’s not into it so he asks him what music he likes and Sanji tells him he likes pop, so Zeff gives Sanji a more rounded education. This includes Elton John because I say so. It did inspire me to put Sanji on keyboard, after all.

But other than being Sanji’s piano instructor, Zeff becomes the one positive adult figure in young Sanji’s life and he becomes something of a mentor figure for him. Zeff has a garden and he lets Sanji work in it with him. This garden is how Sanji gets his “little eggplant” nickname. Sanji pulls an eggplant out before it’s ready and it’s so small and pitiful and Zeff won’t let him live it down. Like, Sanji keeps in touch with Zeff even into adulthood and after he makes it big and he still calls Sanji little eggplant.

Zoro and Sanji are always doing that, "Kind of flirting, not really” thing on stage. Sanji is always like walking up to Zoro on stage and acting like he's going to kiss him but pushing him away at the last moment. And it's this huge mystery whether they're actually an item or not. This comes from Nami. Sanji and Zoro have this natural chemistry with each other that leads to speculation and Nami, knowing how boy band fan bases work, saw dollar signs. But it’s not just pragmatism on her part; she knows that one cannot simply go up to Zoro and Sanji and say “You obviously like each other. You should date.” So she makes money and helps her friends find happiness.

Usopp has speculation going on as well. People are always confused as to who he’s dating. Tabloids keep being like "Usopp dumped Nami and is now dating Luffy!" "Luffy Scorned?" "Luffy ditches Usopp and steals his girl!" And they just think the entire thing is hilarious. They collect headlines. The answer is Usopp is dating Luffy and Nami and Luffy and Nami just become really affectionate with each other after dating Usopp long enough. Also Nami is dating Vivi, like I mentioned, and sometimes Nami brings her on as a plus one.

Sanji and Zoro keep giving conflicting answers about their relationship status. Like they'll tell one person they hate each other and another person they're gonna get married someday. Sanji has to walk this fine line of being "in love" with all of his female fans and also "in love" with Zoro. Or not. Who knows? Like Sanji enjoys the attention but he really really plays shit up for his fangirls. This makes Sanji even more popular. Just picture pages upon pages of Sanji/Reader and “Zanji” fics on Wattpad. Nami is one smart lady. "I am the smartest, prettiest, most clever person alive."

Zosan getting together really is just a bunch of Fake Dating tropes. At first it really is just to get more press for the band. Nami schemes with Usopp and Robin to push them together. Robin's a social media genius and knows how to craft tweets and Instagram posts that fans will overanalyze.

Meanwhile eventually Zoro and Sanji admit to each other they have actual feelings and one day Usopp finds Sanji sleeping in Zoro's bed, both of them completely tuckered out. But they don’t know Nami crafted this. They just come clean and hope she won't be mad and she's like, "Yes! Finally!" and they're like "What?" and she's like, "I've been waiting for you two to realize you have actual feelings. Did you really think I'd just use you for profit like that?" and they're both like "Yes" "Of course"

Zoro’s mad at her for meddling. Secretly he’s grateful, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction and he’s yelling until Sanji grabs his hand and he just calms down.

And to bring Elton John back into the picture, just picture Sanji doing a cover of “Your Song” and uploading it online and thinking about Zoro. Naturally the comments are abuzz with people speculating that he’s singing about Zoro. And like. Onstage Sanji does his rendition and sends these small glances Zoro’s way, partially because he knows it’ll get the band a lot of attention, partially because that song is sweet and beautiful and it’s such a simple way to explain his feelings. (There is a reason why Moulin Rouge included it!!) I imagine this happens before they come clean to each other. Like, Zoro comes to him and is all “I keep thinking about that song you did...” And they go from there.

And eventually the band comes to its natural end.

Usopp goes solo and flourishes, working as a songwriter and a producer. He wrote the band’s songs and he’s had a drum kit since he was, like, ten and he can make his own beats. He’s not the singing type (though he is good at it and could reach new heights if he came out of his shell), so he’s the kind of artist who makes the beat and then gets super famous pop singers to feature on his tracks. But he also writes songs for other singers and is so good at it and produces other artists’ tracks. I also like the idea that he’s taught himself to play multiple instruments, but he prefers the drums/percussion. He totally played percussion in school and was in marching band. I was in marching band for one year. I loathed every second of it, but I know he’d be phenomenal in drum corps.

Luffy isn’t much in music anymore, but he keeps himself busy. He’s something of an influencer, the kind of celebrity who gets paid to wear fashion brands’ clothing. He’s also Usopp’s trophy husband, living off the money he made off the band. Usopp grew wise to Nami’s antics and made sure he and Luffy would live comfortably for the rest of their lives, even if Usopp were to retire. Luffy also is secretly a Buzzfeed journalist because it’s fun for him to write these hit articles and people not know it’s him because he’s writing on this super bland pseudonym.

And then there’s Zosan. They have a falling out after the band splits and go their separate ways.

Sanji quits being a professional singer because he’s tired of the prying into his personal life, but he still mentors and/or teaches. He has a string of girlfriends and finds no fulfillment in those relationships because the women are only interested in his celebrity.

And they aren’t Zoro.

Zoro tried branching off into commercials for fitness, but his heart wasn’t in it. He kind of takes up ranching on a whim and learns that he’s really good at it. He likes the physical labor, the quiet, being away from it all, nobody knowing his name. He doesn’t pursue anyone after Sanji because he feels like if it’s meant to be, someone will appear.

And Sanji does.

Sanji finds out where Zoro is through Luffy. So he makes his way to the ranch and finds Zoro and Sanji is all “Come back. I miss you.”

And there’s just a lot of soft Zosan content during Sanji’s visit. Sanji’s always been afraid of horses, but he’s not afraid when he’s with Zoro, and Zoro teaches him they can be gentle creatures, it’s just that you just have to respect them. (Ha. Get it?) Zoro takes Sanji on a ride and they go out and he takes him up the mountain and shows him how beautiful the view is. Sanji's watching the sunset and he's like, "Damn that's the prettiest thing I've ever seen." And Zoro is looking at Sanji and he says, "It sure is." And Sanji's like, "you're not... even looking." And Zoro's like, "No, I'm looking alright. Prettiest thing I've ever seen for sure."

More soft things like Zoro taking off his cowboy hat and putting it on Sanji. Them sitting by the fire, Zoro playing acoustic while Sanji sings. Whenever people see them they’ll ask them if they’re musicians and they share a knowing smile and say “Yeah. Something like that.”

And Zoro convinces Sanji to move out there with him. The others come to visit. Luffy and Chopper are obsessed with the cows and horses and the chickens. Luffy wants, like, eight pet chickens. Usopp is skeptical. Doesn’t believe Lu can look after a pet.

And it kind of ends there. It was us going back and forth, oftentimes out of chronological order, and so here I am putting it all together because it’s too good not to share. But it was a lot of fun.

#zosan #zoro #sanji #lusona #luffy #usopp #nami #robin #franky #chopper #brook #vivi #namivivi #long post #music au

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