#my grandmother had a cd

[todaysromano]

12.05.2023

Today, Romano heard a remix of a Christmas carol that made him upset.

[continuousmeowing]

spent like umm.. two and a half hours going through the attic (i was procrastinating) (i still have two unfinished projects due in two houra) and WOAH. i found some very very cool stuff!!

[foone]

AAA games? Pfft. Indie games? Double pfft.

I only play games from the alternate history where Hillary Clinton was elected in 2008 and banned all video games. You can only imagine how weird their underground gaming scene is. People like to call unlicensed games "bootlegs" but they've got actual bootlegged games! I've played games about helping your grandmother in hospice care realize she's a lesbian by reading Sappho to her, at 2am in a speakeasy in Baltimore. The cops raided it the next night, hundreds of Gamers were arrested. They posted pictures all over Friendster of the Baltimore PD destroying the arcades with axes.

I nearly got busted once because I was imaging old disks from a 386 and someone tipped off the gaming cops that there was a copy of Commander Keen in there. I had to prove that I didn't know it, I was imaging the disks blind and then indexing them later, and I would of course turn over any contraband to the proper authorities.

I was already on a watch list because I'd been known to have some gamedev-related activities pre-ban. They can't arrest me for making games back in 2007 when it was still legal, but they do want to keep an eye on me since I have the skills to break the law.

Anyway that universe's bootlegs are mainly PC games. Can't really have console games if there hasn't been a console release since the Wii/PS3/360 era. At one point Nintendo threatened to release the Wii SDK so game devs in the US could make unlicensed games, but that didn't happen as there were quickly no functional Wiis left in the US, except for very rare holdouts that never move. PC games are easy to distribute samizdat and hide on a USB stick or CD-R labeled "nickelback".

Japan's games industry is still going, so the later Nintendo and Sony consoles still exist, but Microsoft got out of the business of course. They sold the franchise to Sega who were hoping to release the 360 successor (the Xbox One in our universe) as the Sega Phoenix but it never materialized, either through their own financial incompetence or because of pressure from the US. There's a lot of international treaties that the US has pushed "and this aid only goes through if you ban games" clauses into. That would have been an official UN resolution if the USSR hadn't vetoed it. For once, thank God for the security council, eh?

I mainly get my gaming news through Japanese gaming sites (through a set of VPNs, since they're blocked at the border firewall), and some tor onion site run by a weird guy in Minnesota who is obsessed with documenting all the underground US games.

There's a lot being worked on, but it's always a tricky trade off. Too much attention and the police might be able to track down the creators, and it's basically impossible to fund underground games, as the VISA/PayPal etc funds get seized immediately. There's a whole task force for that.

Anyway one of the weirdest differences between our two time lines is that they've gone back and edited out gaming from a bunch of movies. Those that they can, of course. War games was just banned because they couldn't remove the tic tac toe ending. The Net just removed the scene at the beginning where she's playing Wolfenstein 3D, by recording some new screen footage and a new voice over. She's fixing a spreadsheet in the new edition.

(Yes, I've seen The Net from this alternate timeline. On Laserdisc, of course. I'm just that kind of person!)

They even edited Star Wars. You know that scene where R2-D2 is playing holochess with Chewie? They edited it to be a board game instead of holograms, because that made it too "video gamey".

Technically it's not illegal to show gaming in a movie, but it needs to be an 18+ film and you have to show the deleterious effects of gaming and/or the gamesters coming to a bad end.

This has affected films less than you'd think, to be honest. They were never great about showing video games even before they banned them.

Anyway, go have fun playing your AAA games with hundred-million-dollar budgets. I only play indie games made by people under a constant threat of arrest for their art.

[ariesjupiter]

Astro Notes: Degree Theory Part 3 ⭐️

✰ Often people who have a nickname can have Gemini degrees (3°, 15°, 27°) particularly on their Sun, Mercury, and/or Ascendant.

✰ Having a Scorpio degree (8°, 20°) on your midheaven can mean having a parent that works in finance.

✰ Those with Virgo degrees (6°, 18°) on the 4th house cusp usually have neat and organized homes and bedrooms. They’re the type of person to say “my bedroom is my sanctuary.” They could be focused on wellness and light candles, burn sage, have self-help books, and overall have a clean and minimalistic living space.

✰ If you’re a fan of crystals you may have some Capricorn degrees (10°, 22°) in your chart, particularly Neptune or Uranus or any placement with a water sign at a Capricorn degree.

✰ Those with Taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or Cancer degrees (4°, 16°, 28°), particularly in the personal planets, often have a love of cooking and baking. They can enjoy the feeling of making food for others. If the degree is on the Moon, perhaps their mom and/or grandmother(s) enjoyed cooking and baking or had a career involving it.

✰ People with a Leo degree (5°, 17°, 29°) on their Mercury are usually really good at word play and are overall creative in the way they communicate. An example that comes to mind is Sabrina Carpenter and her double entendres in her ‘nonsense’ outros. She has Mercury at 5°.

✰ A lot of people with Venus and/or Jupiter in a Taurus or Pisces degree (12°, 24°) can have big music collections of cds and records

✰ I’ve found that many people who are trendsetters have Uranus or Neptune at 0°, 1° (Aries), 12° or 24° (Pisces) or 29° (Leo).

[emmafrostdefender]

crush | logan howlett x female reader

hi everyone! i wrote this for fun. it'll probably turn into a series of small chapters while i write my more hefty logan fic. i hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: reader's kinda horny i guess, sexy man, based on crush by ethel cain, 1.5k words (i wrote this in like an hour)

You’d seen him around town. 

At the laundromat with the blinking fluorescent lights. At the dingy bar around the corner from the laundromat. At the gas station, filling up the tank of his red truck.

You never thought to say hi, never to engage with him in any way. 

He created such a stir when he first arrived. No one moved to your town unless something was truly wrong with them. Most of the men had leering gazes and dangerous intentions, but not him. Never him. You were in his vicinity frequently, but never once did he attempt what many others had. All failures, of course.

You lived contently in your grandmother’s old home, moving there after her cancer took a turn for the worst a few months ago. When she passed away quickly after that, she left the house to you and you decided to keep it. It still smelled like cigarettes, the stench burned into the walls and carpet, but the smell reminded you of childhood trips to Kansas. Those trips were scorched to the back of your eyelids, forever being replayed. Everything was the same as when you were a child; the small Mexican restaurant, the old movie theater, the arcade that closed seven years ago.

 Now, you sat behind the counter at the small antique shop you spent most of your days in. It was quaint, filled to the brim with every kind of knick-knack you could think of. There were crates filled with records and CDs, most scratched or completely unplayable. There were pieces of furniture, dusty mirrors, moth-eaten upholstery, chipped paint jobs, and broken hinges. The bookshelves that lined the walls of the store were stacked with books. You’d taken a few home in the past, knowing that they wouldn’t be missed.

And the clothes. There were racks on racks of vintage clothes. Most were out of fashion (even for the time they were made) or damaged. Still, you liked to play dress-up every so often. 

The job was boring and mundane, but it paid the bills. The family who owned the store didn’t seem to have time to keep up with the place, so you managed the inner-workings of it.

Today, you watched cars go by, wondering when would be the best time to cut your losses and close for the day. Some days you managed to get more than a few browsers, but today was not one of those days. You had one person come in around lunch, but they looked for about five minutes before heading out.

Your mind wandered as you watched people walk by the storefront.

You thought of him. The man you saw everywhere. The man who never spoke to you, not even to say, “Excuse me.”

The man that just walked through the front door.

Eyes widening, you sat up straighter and calmed your heartbeat that suddenly thundered in your ears. “Welcome in! Everything with a blue tag is sixty percent off today,” you said with a bright smile.

He simply looked over at you and then continued his perusal. 

You deflated. Harsh.

As he walked around the store, you felt like a live-wire. Every creak of the floorboards sent your heart spinning in your chest. You hadn’t felt like this about a man since you still called men boys. Being in your late twenties, that meant a very long time.

You grabbed a box of donations from the back room and moved to the floor to start stocking items on the shelves. You rationalized your decision to suddenly start restocking items after having a full day to do so by telling yourself that if you looked busy, he might feel inclined to buy something. You could nearly feel your nose growing by the second at that thought.

Moving through the rows of shelves and assorted items was second nature to you at this point, knowing where everything went in this mess of a store. You conveniently moved to the side of a shelf that viewed his aisle through gaps in the many items strung about. As you placed a silver mirror on the shelf, your gaze moved to watch his face on the other side of the rack. He was stunning.

You hadn’t had much time to analyze him; it was only small glances here and there in the time he’d been around. Now, you took your time. He was looking at an old book, bound in red fabric. It looked as if it had seen the bottom of a sewer. Luckily, he seemed to be making a careful inspection of the text, giving you enough time to look him over.

He was beautiful in a rugged kind of way. He looked like he worked with his hands; they were large and rough, with calluses around the fingers. His knuckles were prominent with sharp edges. You wondered what he did for a living. Did he move here to get away from city life? Was he a runaway circus performer? You internally smacked yourself in the head for the stupid thought. 

He’d probably make the circus look sexy, though.

He had a large figure hidden by a flannel and white t-shirt. His attire pointed to him being a worker of the land. A farmer, maybe. That would check out with the truck you'd seen him driving around in. Always covered in mud with logs of wood piled high in the back. 

His hair was a rich brown and you wanted to dig your fingers into it. You wanted to feel his beard against your skin.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You don’t have sex for so long that your brain goes fuzzy at the idea of a stranger’s beard scratching your neck. God. Get a grip.

You straighten your back and continue restocking things. Play it cool.

Soon, you fell into the rhythm of it, nearly forgetting the other person in the room. You moved to the bookshelves, loading more books onto the already strained wood. People really needed to stop donating things to you and start actually buying things. You’d be out of business by next summer. 

As soon as you realized you needed to go back to the stock room to grab another box, you heard a grunt behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. You dropped the box you were holding and faced the man. Your mystery man.

He was so close, you could smell him. He smelled like smoke and sweat. You felt yourself salivate.

You looked him in the eyes for the first time. “Do you need help?” You asked quietly, scared that he’d run off if you spoke too loud, like a wounded animal. 

“How much for this?” He asked, keeping your gaze. His voice was smooth.

You looked down to his hands, which were holding the book he had been examining earlier. “It doesn’t have a price tag?”

He shook his head. 

Now you felt like you were being held under a microscope. The way his eyes ran over your face made you go red; you hadn’t felt this flustered because of a man in a long time. 

“Okay, I can check at the front,” you said, keeping your quiet tone.

He just grunted again and followed as you led him to the register. You had a book of all the prices for things so that you could properly mark them. If you didn’t have the vague feeling that you were going to explode at any moment, you’d know off the top of your head the price of that tiny book. It was about the size of his hand, making you bite the inside of your cheek. 

You opened the book and searched for the page with book prices. When you found the page, you ran your finger down the list.

Small = $1.99

When you looked up at him, you jumped a little. He was looking at you with such intensity, you’d thought he was going to have an aneurysm. It made your cheeks flush again, but you cleared your throat and said, “It’s $1.99. With tax, it’ll be $2.30.”

He nodded, putting the book down on the counter as he reached for his wallet. You read the book title: Frankenstein. “I love Mary Shelley,” you said as you reached for a brown paper bag. 

He looked at you, his expression not revealing anything.

For some reason, you decided to keep talking. “It’s such a perfect analysis of ‘how far is too far’ in science and experimentation. I loved reading it in high school, I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you said, not particularly needing a response. 

He placed the exact change due on the counter and looked you in the eyes as he said, “Thank you.”

Your heart fluttered. “You’re welcome…” You trailed off, hoping to God that he’d tell you his name.

He thought about it for a moment. “It’s Logan.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you stopped by, Logan.” You introduced yourself. It would be nice to have another person to say ‘hi’ to on the street. And you imagined he was thinking the same thing.

His face didn’t jump into a smile, but it didn’t look as harsh as it did when he first walked in. 

And so began your crush on the stoic man who moved to town.

[ventique18]

MalleYuu modern AU but instead of a prince, he's the president of a textile and luxury formal wear brand. He comes to work everyday and decorates his office with fresh flowers, and his staffers just pass it off as his penchant for interior design.

But they don't know design is just his secondary reason. He actually sets off very early everyday for a few hours to chat with you, the owner of that little flower shop a few blocks off. He never fails to visit with a few trinkets to give you: sometimes it's coffee and pastries, other times they're tiny stone figures of imaginary creatures or cute animals. Occasionally, he would leave you CDs to listen to (who actually has a CD player at this time and age? Thankfully you do).

He later admits that the CDs are recordings of his own compositions and the tiny figures his own crafts.

"I would have given you flowers plenty enough to fill a room from floor to window, but I highly doubt a florist would appreciate such. Flaunting money and jewels would have been a terribly insincere way to court someone, therefore I could only offer you pieces of my hobbies. I do hope my feelings come across fine enough."

You thank him for his kindness and wear your usual smile. When he's left, however, you feel your knees buckle and you collapse to hide yourself behind the counter. You had an inkling, but you aren't bold enough to assume.

That fine gentleman said it himself: he is courting you. You tell your friend Vil about it, and he sighs at you in utter disbelief.

"A man visits you everyday, feeds you, gives you a good-bye gift each time, and you seriously think he's just asking for your help on what flowers to give his grandmother? Every single day? I genuinely feel sorry for that man."

You ask him what you should do. Should you give back a gift? But he looks like a rich guy; what could you possibly give him that he doesn't yet have?

"Isn't it obvious? What he doesn't have is you. Give him a little kiss and everything will work itself out."

You doubt Vil for a moment, but thankfully for you, he is never wrong.

When the handsome man visits the next day, you shyly peck him on the cheek in gratitude. He stares at you with eyes wide, trips on his words, literally trips on a watering can near you, and more things happen after another but he ends up not coming to work and helps you close up shop. He takes your hand and whisks you away to god knows where, but that's the least important thing on your mind at the moment.

All you can think of is how warm his hand feels, how fast your heart is beating, and how this could be the start of an exciting change in your rather simple life.

[outlanderskin]

The Thing About Rationality and Logic

Someone who was stopping shipping once told me that she was doing it because she was a very realistic and rational person and her life was based on logic. So I asked her if by that she meant that people like me live in fantasy or are irrational. So, I patiently explained that what made me a shipper was exactly logic, more than imagination or fantasy. Because the logical explanation for many events in S&C's trajectory would be that they are together, but they don't want the outside world to know that they are.

I'll cite some examples: when you have a best friend and someone in that person's family dies, what logically do you do? You see, we're talking about best friends, very close people who publicly say how much they value each other and are close. The logical thing would be for you to show solidarity, post condolences and behave publicly in a discreet manner, in solidarity with the loss of that person you love so much, especially because you (by logic) probably have known the deceased relative. The logic would be stay by your best friend's side, support the family. But what we saw in that sad august days, (showed ostensibly for us to believe) was something that no logical answer about "best friends/siblings" could explain. The only way to explain the narrative created in those days would be that they are two people with a cordial, but superficial, relationship and I believe that from what has been stated by the two all these years, not even the Antis deep down believe that they are not close. . Again I ask: what is the need to hide that you were supporting your best friend in an extremely painful moment in anyone's life? Many people (famous or not) do this publicly, because after all it is not a crime, it is the expected logical behavior. So... Why hide it? We know what really happened because this a logical thing, but the others believe firmly he was not there for her.

Let's move on to another point: the man of the year award (or something like that); How can you logically explain that you chose your mother, your best friend and your co-worker to thank, as the most important women in your life? You who apparently had many "girlfriends", who still gets along well with your discreet ex-girlfriend who lives on another continent, who has others close female friends, but didn't mention any of them along with your co-worker. I've seen several men receiving tributes and the Acknowledgments always include the mother, another older woman of reference and the wives, girlfriends, fiancées. The only time I saw a co-worker mentioned (and that was after his mother, grandmother and wife), was when the achievement was due to his work at the company, so it was logical to mention the department secretary. What would then be the logical explanation for that speech?

Something that also defies logic: if I have a best friend and that person is in a relationship, I will obviously include that person's boyfriend/girlfriend on my list of people with whom I am always cordial. I'm not going to publicly act like the person doesn't exist in my best friend's life. We have a wonderful example of how CD & LL treat each other's boyfriends/girlfriends and they don't hide it. This is how it is when we think logically.

Another little point where logic calls us: your male best friend might talk about a female artist with admiration...you don't need to tell him "behave", after all he's not your husband. The most you can do in the case of friendship is admire her or say you don't like her, never act like you're jealous.

Maybe it's just me, but I never went on my best friend's social media to complain because everyone in the photo was wearing a suit and he wasn't. I also never apologized or justified why he didn't wear a tie. I do this normally with my husband. Because it's logical for wives to do this.

These are just small points, where thinking logically justifies what we believe. So anyone who thinks that we are not rational, live outside of reality or do not have logical reasoning is mistaken, or has not yet stopped to think logically.🙃🙃

[the-californicationist]

Why do I hold onto clothes that I won’t wear? If I have them hanging in my closet, does it mean that I am still connected to the time and place I wore them last? They’re washed. Surely the dirt and sweat and tears and cake and ash from the birthday candles have all gone out of them. Surely only my memory remains. And yet, the shirt is still here. The one I stole from the bottom drawer in my friend’s dresser, the girl who isn’t my friend anymore. The shirt I got from the 5k that kicked my ass; the one that taught me that even after a year of personal training, I should return to my mantra — temet nosce. Know thyself. But not knowing as in funfetti is my favorite, even though I’ve never had it on my own birthday. Not knowing as in when I go to target for a pack of tampons, I’ll leave with a cart full of bags. Don’t worry it was a sale. Full to the top of that red basket of snuts and trinkets and oh so important necessities that I’ll find at the bottom of my bathroom vanity by Christmas. A closet full of singleton socks and novelty headbands that I’m not manic pixie enough to wear. The coat from when my father was in Korea. Not for the war. For something else. Who knows what? It’s a memory that isn’t mine. And yet still it takes up space here on the rung, forcing me to confront it every time I open the door. Knowing it’s there. Being able to feel the cheap chocolate brown silk and the quick embroidery. But the thought of a sudden fire, bright flames melting it away to nothing, literally makes my eyes burn with tears. The unbearable loss of a memory that isn’t mine. And all of the sweaters that I hoped would get their mileage, forgetting somehow that I live in east Houston, the land of concrete and strip centers, flattening anything that could even pretend to be a tree, an easy bake oven of a place, garish and scorching even in November. Is nostalgia the Marlboro of my generation? Did we get a peek at that exploitive heaven of the nineties only to discover that we do indeed reap what we sow. The reaping is a nasty business. The loss of houses. Hurricane Katrina. Temperature spikes. Snow in March. The sweater I bought from a beach front shack because I had nothing else to wear. How do you tell a fourteen year old that she should pack clothes when she has pictures and burned CDs and video games that she can’t live without? And if they were washed away, somehow their loss would be her fault. I should throw out these dresses. The one I wore to my grandmother’s funeral is too black. Too specific. The nylon body con hugged me as I read my trite eulogy, a love letter she will never read. A woman full of memories. Of finer clothes than mine. All of her socks had pairs. Where did she find them? Or did she banish the lonely ones? Did she have a heart to say goodbye to something when it served her well, it’s time on earth fleeting and yet eternal. Nothing leaves this blue speck, does it? And yet I cling to this screen-printed Gildan like it’s my own skin. If I put it on, will any part of me come rushing back?

[come-on-darling-honey]

gap year.

EMBRY CALL X FEM!READER

While working at the first beach souvenir shop to save up money in your gap year your childhood friend Embry Call picks you up and imprints on you... after not seeing you for four months.  

word count: 5.4k

warnings: explicit language, allusions to smut but no detail. All 18+ minors dni.

"Right sweetheart, I'm going to check out." Ms Call said, grabbing her coat. "Christ its pouring down." Her brown sneakers stopping at the front window.

I both laughed and sighed when looking out the front of the shop. It was pouring... and yeah, I absolutely didn't have a ride home. It didn't look like the rain was going to stop at any moment soon. Working in the first beach gift shop had many upsides... a steady income, a beautiful view of first beach and a serene silence that whimpers in the wind of the beach. But only two busses came by on weekdays like this at 8am just before my shift starts and then at 7pm. With my shift ending at 5pm and the pouring rain halting any attempt of walking all the way to forks from the reservation the future didn't look too dry.

"I'm gonna ask Embry to come pick you up when your shift ends sweetheart, don't say no. There's no way I'm letting you walk in this."

Oh Embry. It'd been a few months since I'd seen him last. He'd cut his hair and somehow grown half a foot in a few weeks. Being close friends growing up sharing shy kisses on the very beach that I now worked at... then not speaking for months. To say it was awkward would be an understatement. It had been a task to not face him in the past few months but going into the back, restocking the shelves and hiding under the desk had been doing me extremely well. He’d cut me off completely after all. And that hurt like a bitch.

"Don't let him go out of his way, I'm sure I can get Kim to come and get me." Kim was currently at the movies with Emily.

"Ah here he is now, Embry love you are not wearing enough layers!"

"Sorry mom." He laughed coming into the shop. shaking off rain from his hair lightly, his tan skin smooth and glistening. His cargo's slightly drenched and Ms Call was correct he only wore a shirt and a thin jacket. Really thin. Like see the outline of him, okay I need to not think about him. I don't think I can do that. Alright focusing on the key chain on the desk. It's kind of cute.

"So, Embry's picking you up at 5pm, when you lock up remember to turn the stereo off dear." She smiled leaving a confused Embry at the shop door.

"No please it's okay." I tried to bargain, avoiding Embry's gaze. And failing. His eyes widened and he couldn't stop staring at me. Ms Call opened the door and tapped his shoulder. He'd just stopped staring at me, and I'd decided to take to staring at the whirling ocean.

"I'll be here at five." I could hear the grin in his voice. Why was he grinning? Why did it feel as if I were being pulled to him. Busying myself with the cd player and hearing the door close and turning around I'd managed to catch Embry driving away, a strong smile on his beautiful face. Wait beautiful? No Embry is strictly within childhood friend category. But God. Look at him. It felt as if my feet were pulling me to him. I turned on the stereo, connecting it to my phone it started playing When I was all over her, by Salvia Palth. Such a beautiful song. That fit this rainy day but felt like someone had stuck their fingers in a stab wound.

After loosing sight of them I felt this strangest emptiness within my lungs. Like I was short of breath, and I had been my entire life, the feeling only rectified when I was with him. No, I’m being insane. Literally insane.

But haven’t I known this my entire life?

Hasn’t every innocent touch and childish giggle led to this? Hasn’t Embry always been that warm reassuring shoulder I could fall onto? The kindness in his smile. The reminder that there will be a better tomorrow. The first foxglove flower to grow in spring, signifying a good hearty summer.

Foxglove was what we helped my grandmother plant outside our house when we were six. I still think of the pale pinks and blue even in winter. Living with my grandma meant my income was really the only income but she would get checks every so often for her books. Writing books on plants and their medicinal properties for the past forty years had kept her going but having my stream of income had helped a lot. However, most of it goes into savings. College doesn’t come cheap. She’d talked about Embry a lot recently saying how I should ‘just go over there and see his face’ which now I wish I had done sooner but I’m not sure why.

Living on the outskirts of Forks her whole life my grandma had grown alongside the elders on the reservation, I was friends with their grandchildren. I met Embry through Jacob, my grandmother adored him. Highschool and middle school were strange, befriending some people in forks and then recounting everything to Embry on the weekend. I remember how my grandma would sit and braid mine, Embry and Jacobs hair on a Sunday morning every weekend in the summer holidays. I still can’t believe he’d cut his hair. It seems like he’s growing it out again which is good but why would he do it?

Three hours passed by slowly and gratuitously. Every minute pulling me along like it hates the next.

I was thankful for that, I guess. Then I wouldn’t have to face him so soon. Wouldn’t have to face what I felt towards him so soon. It should be that love I have held for him my whole life. Our love was a folk song. One that would be passed on the way it’d been passed to us.

When I was seven years old and the two of us went into the woods, we couldn’t have been more than half a mile into the vast wilderness, after climbing a tree I’d ungracefully fallen out of he’d held my hand the entire way home. It felt like it was just the two of us. We had started the journey saying we were going to Europe. On foot. Little bags with snacks and crayons. He’d braided my hair out of my eyes when I’d sat down, the broken arm causing a little too much pain for me. Telling me it wasn’t too far now as he kissed the tears of my cheeks. I can still feel his small hand in my smaller hand. It’d been a short walk, as we grew older, we’d walk and re-walked it over and over going further into the woods every time. It wasn’t a fearful place.

The people at my high school were afraid of it. I wondered if I would’ve been too if my grandma lived further away from it.

Time must have gone faster than I’d thought because next thing I knew the front door opens and Embry comes in. It’s raining even harder now. The ache in me had left, with all the warm air as he opened the door.

“Hey” he smiles. I feel calm. I wish I didn’t feel calm. I wish I could just throw thigs at him. Scream at him for ignoring me.

Instead of responding I realise I needed to lock up about twenty minuets ago.

“Shit.”

He called my name as I ran into the back. Locking up and grabbing my raincoat we wordlessly get ready to go. I come back and he’s watching the ocean. If I just ignore him as much as I can till, he drops me at my house maybe then he’ll realise how fucked up he’s acted towards me. Locking the front door, I prepare myself to run through the rain. Embry ran to the driver’s side and opened my door from within.

“I am sorry, you know.”

I don’t respond. I want him to know how I feel but for some stupid to God reason I can’t spit it out.

“There are some things I need to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you since it begun but I wasn’t allowed.” He continued. Not starting the car. “But after seeing you today I found out you are the only person I really can tell.” It warms my heart then burns me. How dare he. I stuff down any sweet feeling and spit up my pride.

“it’s been four months and you think everything will be okay now?”

“I know I hurt you but...”

“Just drive Embry.” I cut him off. Being alone never phased me, I’d simply go into the woods or sit in the garden, but I hadn’t had the heart to lately. All the flowers and the beautiful trees reminded me off him and it made me feel so weak. It had made me feel lonely. And I hated that. He knew I hated that.

So he drove. The beautiful winding roads and tall trees.

A cd started playing, I recognised it. The song Shrike, by Hozier played. One of my favourites. I dug my nails into my hands. I always think of him when I hear this song.

“Stop!” I shouted. Screeching, the car pulled to a halt. There on the road directly in front of us was a dog. German Shepard. It’d clearly been injured.

“Shit” Embry muttered, seeing what I had spotted before him. I couldn’t blame him for that the rain was so thick.

“Open the back doors and help me grab her.” I said, my heart leaping from my chest. Before he could say anything in return I ran out of the car. Abandoning all thought and getting soaked to the bone. I felt the freezing cold before I felt my feet hit the ground.

Getting closer I heard little whimpers from the poor thing. Its back left leg twisted in a grim manner I wish I could unsee. My hands slowly reached for her. Staying within his eyeline I stroked her fur. Trying to be as soothing as I could be. Embry had run over at this point. Soaked to the bone from the rain.

“I’ll pick her up, hold on.” And before I could protest because this German Shepard was clearly a two-man job, Embry had picked her up. Putting her in the back of the car I scrambled for the extra blankets I knew Embry kept in the trunk. They’d been the ones I’d lain on with him. The ones we’d carry all the way to the top of a mountain on our hikes, we’d sit on them for our lunch halfway through. It all felt like a blur no words between us both just the heavy breaths of two kids, terrified about the life of this small, beautiful creature in our hands, when we’d both gotten back in the car, I’d grabbed my phone from my bag.

“The vets are open; they’re staying open for us.” I heard a hum of acknowledgement as he sharply turned the car around. Without thinking and only wanting to calm him down I placed my hand on his thigh. Looking back at the dog.

“Give her a name.” He’d said his own hand on top of mine now.

“Dottie” I practically whispered.

“Dottie is a nice name.” He was quieter now. I looked at him and pulled my hand away.

The ride was quick, but it felt long. It was the pained whimpers from Dottie and the strayed moment of Embry and me.

There was a man outside the vets, no doubt waiting for us. He was medium built, his long dark hair tied into a braid at the back of his head. He couldn’t have been older than 45.

Running over to us, he and Embry got Dottie out of the car.

I’d ran to the front desk inside the building, explaining where we’d found her and that I’d take her in if needs be. The woman at the front desk was mousy and thin faced. She smiled and placed her hand on top of mine.

“She’ll be alright, you two seem to have found her rather quickly. Go sit over there with your friend and just wait.” She smiled, a thin lipped one. Her golden earrings shimmering in the static lighting of the vets.

I turned seeing Embry sat on one of the thin, white plastic chairs. Sitting next to him I felt all the air push out of my lungs. It’s like I collapsed into myself.

“That was an eventful ten minutes.” He sighed, breaking the silence.

“it really was.” Silenced filled us up again. Like a solitary leaf on the last day of Autumn.

“We should go to my house after.” He looked at me. Taking in my soaked figure, rain seeping through me. “It’s only five minuets away and well my mom wouldn’t forgive me if I sent you home soaking wet.” He joked, laughing abit. I laughed too, she really wouldn’t. “Plus, you have clean and more importantly dry clothes in my room.” He added, looking away from me. We both had spare clothes at each other’s houses. We had been best friends for almost two decades, of course we did.

“Fine.” Silence again and I cursed myself for being rude and curt when I saw his expression. Like I’d stabbed him. Embry had always felt everything so deeply, so unabashed. It’d always been true with him. He’d never lie about how he felt, even when he clearly wanted to.

“Look, I really can explain everything to you.” He breathed heavily, looking outside to the pouring rain, “You don’t have to forgive me for what I did but please here me out.”

“I don’t know what you could say to provide any reasoning as to why you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.” He was getting defensive now. So was I.

“You did, I have been alone. Four months. You have ignored me. You have gone out of your way to seem like nothing happened. Being your new friends little lap dog. I get it. People grow apart. But I mean fuck you left me completely.” I finished my little rant. Angrily and stubbornly, I stared at him. Refusing to be the meek girl who immediately forgave the boy for everything he did. I resented him for that. For the fact I was angry. Despite my longing and yearning. I was angry. He was silent, pain flashing across his face. It hurt to hurt him so clearly but sometimes people need to get their feelings hurt to know what they have done is not okay.

There’s always another way. And he didn’t choose that. I tried, calling him. Visiting him. Asking his mom when we were working. I eventually took the hint and gave up but that doesn’t stop the persistent pain I felt.

Standing up as the vet came back in, he said one more thing to me, “I didn’t leave you.”

I scoffed, hoping he heard. He literally did. I can’t think of any way he didn’t leave me. But deep down, past the anger and resentment I knew he was telling the truth. I’d felt it. I’d also felt like a raging idiot, but I felt it. I don’t want to be mean. I want to hug him and love him. But all this pain is embarrassing. It’s annoying. Growing up Embry was one of the only people I would cry in front of. I wanted to cry now. I didn’t really focus on what the vet said. Only really registering anything when we got back into the car. The radio turned back on, John Wayne by Cigarettes after sex started playing. I gave him this cd. Burning all the songs on it myself… with Jacobs help but still.

“I’m sorry.” I forced myself to say. “I mean what you did was shitty, but I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. you were right. I can’t just throw this on you.” He pulled into his driveway. “But I swear, this will all make a lot of sense. Just listen and ask as many questions as you want.” We ran to his porch.

“Mom! Can you bring us some towels?” We started shedding as many layers as we could before going in, we’d done this routine hundreds of times before. As kids Ms Call would get so annoyed at us for going inside dripping with water, saying we caused more trouble than we were worth.

She laughed when we got inside leaving the clothes on the safety of the porch.

“Look at you two, I swear you’re both eight years old again playing soccer in the rain.” Her smile was as warm as the house we were in. The smoothness of the hardwood floor beneath my feet was familiar and nostalgic. It’d had only been four months, but I could’ve sworn it was only yesterday Embry and I had skidded across these floors in our socks on a Saturday morning. Friday sleepovers were customary, it felt natural to be here on a Friday night. We started drying ourselves off, I only wore a t-shirt and the shorts I’d worn under my jeans for warmth, thankful for them. I used to wear little around Embry before this but since his absence and his… changes I felt intimidated. He was beautiful. No longer holding the softness of youth. He wore just his boxers, clearly unaware. Well, I was glad he was unaware. Going down the corridor to his room everything felt peaceful. The blue walls of his bedroom held so many pictures. I’d never seen this before. Some of him, Quill and Jacob. Some of Jacob and me. And lots of him and I. The one that stood out was me and him going down to the lake when we were kids, holding each other’s hands, his mom had taken it. That I knew. Seeing these up I looked at him, blushing he had clearly not thought about this.

“At least I know you didn’t forget me.” I joked as I went over to his computer. Spotify was already open, sitting down I searched for a playlist. He just laughed lightly and sat on his bed. It was a nice silence, sweeter than the one at the vets. Putting on one I’d made recently I moved over to his bed. I didn’t sit as close to him as I would’ve liked to, but his chest was so? Chiselled?

“Alright be honest have you been eating steroids because no human should gain this much muscle so quickly.” I poked his bicep, rock solid. What the fuck.

“That’s actually part of my explanation and no, no steroids have been ingested.”

Gold rush by Taylor Swift came on, I don’t remember adding it to the playlist. Embry must’ve noticed my light confusion.

“Oh, I added that to my queue before you got here” a beat of silence as I smile at myself, secret swifty. To be fair I felt like getting up and dancing to this song. It’s just so damn good.

“Should we get dressed or do you want to explain first?” I asked, wincing at how sharp the end came out. But he didn’t react how I thought he did. He started laughing. Like clenching gut laughing. “What?” I had started laughing too, not sure what we were laughing at exactly.

“It’s your shirt” He managed to get out through laughs. We’d both stopped laughing after a minute of heavy confused laughter. My shirt had a wolf, I’d got it for two dollars a few weeks ago and decided that it was horrendously ugly, and it was now my favourite shirt ever. It had a lone wolf howling at a yellow moon and all its teeth were blue. It was phenomenal.

 “What? This shirt is really cool! All the kids are wearing them!”

He’d started laughing again, I couldn’t help but join again. God it was such an ugly shirt.

“Not only is it just. Wow, so ugly but it’s kind of relevant to, like, what I have to tell you.”

Okay any theory I have has not only just been thrown out of the window but has been lost at sea.

“You started printing awesome t-shirts?”

“Oh, you wish.” He grinned.

“I do! Imagine all the free shirts I’d get!” This felt so natural. So… us. But then the air became serious as he stopped smiling and grabbed my hands. He was so warm, warmer than I remembered. Does memory minimise feeling? Was he always this warm? No winder he wore practically nothing to pick up his mom.

“Do you remember the old legends we used to get told about the tribe’s history and the cold ones?” I nodded, clueless as to where this was going. “Well, they’re true. Every single line. Completely and utterly true.” He no doubt saw the shock in my face. “The cold ones returned, and it forced some of us to… you know... phase.” He stopped waiting for my reaction. I couldn’t say anything. Furious at myself for believing him. Because I did. My grandmother had been talking to someone over the phone about the old tribal legends. I couldn’t stop my mind from whirling. I just squeezed his hand, hoping he'd keep talking.

“And, um, yeah it happened to me. And I couldn’t control it. Sam, the oldest one had taken us in and helped us transition, I guess. See I couldn’t be near you, any strong emotion triggered it to begin with and until I’d gotten it under control, I knew I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk hurting you. Sam had hurt Emily and he doesn’t forgive himself. But then I’d gained control over it. But I couldn’t bring myself to see you again.” He’d finished his word vomit. The lack of cohesion and the pained look in his eyes told me enough. His voice was just as naturally quiet as it always was, but the words came out faster and strained. Like he’d wanted to tell me this every day for months.

“Wait so” I took a deep breath in, regaining my focus and letting go of his hands. “You’re a… wolf?”

He nodded, he looked ashamed.

“Did it hurt?”

“I thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe and every movement was a strained scream.” He looked away. “It was like I was losing myself. That’s when I put up all these photos.” Looking around I couldn’t help but smile. “The memories became like an anchor to not accidently phase.”

The silence that consumed us was one I’d never felt before. It was pregnant with something.

“You said before that you never left me, what did you mean?”

“I kept going to your house,” I looked at him, confused. There’s no way my grandma wouldn’t have said something. “I was in the treeline. I couldn’t sleep, scared the cold ones were going to hurt you.”

“The Cullen’s, right?” I shivered at the thought. I’d been at school with dead bodies? Like living dead people, gross.

“Yes. But they’re gone now. I promise.” I didn’t mention him not leaving me, it felt calming. I hadn’t left his mind; he hadn’t left mine.

“So, why the change of heart?” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

“Do you remember the second part of the legend?”

It took me a few seconds. Thinking back to the bonfires Embry invited me and my grandma too growing up.

“Oh yeah imprinting but what does- oh. Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked heartbroken. Taking my shock as something negative. But I couldn’t really say anything. My heart was in my throat. Scratching and scarping my oesophagus. It felt like my lungs were filling with blood.

Suddenly, I felt like a small robin. Flying and soaring. A glamorous breeze guiding me home. The home was an open window, to blue walls and Embry. I was the tired snake sneaking into Eden to be with him. I was the tired coal miner coming home to his arms. We were the con artists, partners in crime that hid our love in the unspoken touches and glances.

“Do you want this?” I managed to push out of my throat. The idea of this being forced onto him made bile raise in my throat.

“I’ve always wanted this. Ever since we were kids. When I held your hand when you broke your arm. When we’d braid each other’s hair. When you would tell me random facts about plants and birds you’d picked up from your grandma. I’ve always been in love with you. I didn’t need to imprint on you to know that.” He looked at me, I fell into his eyes. If only this had happened a few months ago.

But I’m glad. Despite the pain I know that even without the imprint, I loved him.

“The imprint bond is whatever you want it to be. Please don’t feel forced into anything you don’t want.”

“But what if I do want it?” He froze, hopeful. “I’ve loved you forever. It’s stupid, annoying and painful but it makes me feel like the most amazing person in the world.” I don’t need to explain any further. I know he understands. Of course, he does, the only person that never just tolerated me, he always cared for me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner. It’s stupid and childish but I was scared that I wouldn’t imprint on you.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I’d just be glad to have you back in my life.” I practically whispered. The rain was lighter now. The tree outside his window swaying in the wind. Singing to the earth the song of him and I. His smile felt as graceful as the strongest deer.

After more explanations and more reassurance from me, Embry finally relaxed. After he told me about Emily and Leah, what had just happened between us seemed so tame. I couldn’t wait to see Emily again. She and I would be the only imprints. I didn’t like the idea of having to keep this from Kim. I’d have to see how Emily kept it from both of us. It hurt deeply when I thought of Leah. How her entire life revolved around Sam, after what happened. Especially considering the unquestionable grief she is going through due to her father’s untimely passing.

“Do you wanna stay the night?” Embry asked, drawing stars on my thighs as we laid on his bed. Nodding I turned to face him, foreheads touching.

“Do you want to know something sad?” I asked. He whispered a small yes to me, “I thought you’d left me and” I struggled to get it out, heart rebreaking at the memories. “And I thought all the love we had was a delusion, a fantasy. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, hand on my face as he started crying. I cried too. It wasn’t just sadness, we cried relief. It felt as if I’d been dusted off. Like some omnipotent being had picked me up gently, assuring me all will well.

I think I feel just as much as Embry does. I think I always have. Maybe that’s why I took this gap year. Of course, I needed to save up for college but… I could’ve just worked and studied. But I needed to be here. I feel so much. So all-consuming it becomes an amalgamation of thoughts. Love is the most confusing emotion. Like anger. The anger I felt towards him was the secondary emotion. All anger is. I was sad. I missed him like a rich man misses hunger. Like the bird misses the first flight. Like a deer misses the leaves every winter. I missed ferociously. I missed him with a vigorous anger of a wailing woman. I became a horror. The emptiness of waking on my own a Saturday was gone. I no longer felt hollow. I felt real.

The night was intimate touches, clumsy movements and immense love in a way we have never experienced before. Never imagined to cross that line of friend to this. By the end of the night we held hands and breathed heavily, Sesame Syrup by Cigarettes after sex being the last song playing before we drifted asleep, it was fitting. Even if neither of us smoke.

The next morning was so bright. All the rain had given the grass this sensational glow. Ms Call had called my grandma last night, no doubt the pair gossiping like excited kids. I felt at peace. My entire world had been recentred when I awoke in his arms. Getting changed into the jeans and sweater I had in his closet I silently creeped through to the kitchen. Getting closer I heard light music trilling through the small house. Ms Call was dancing around the kitchen as she made breakfast. Noticing me she laughed pulling me into her, we danced and cooked. I told her about Dottie, how scared I was. How weak she seemed. But that the vet texted me late last night that they had found her owner, an elderly man who had missed her dearly. She was home. Frail and injured but no longer scared.

Embry wandered into the kitchen confused at all the noise. His eyes heavy with sleep, movements soft and low. His smile gleaned as he saw us. Despite his downright horrible dancing skills, we both pulled him to dance with us. It’d been as if my absence echoed and pained Ms Call as much as it did her son. We danced all morning, after eating breakfast Embry and I decided to go down to Port Angeles to grab Ms Call some flowers and to get some more cd’s for his car. He had told me the acidic feeling he had gotten in his throat when he went to buy them on his own.

I was always a full person without Embry, but with him I was enhanced. I was lively and focused. My movements weren’t the sluggish lugs they had been. He was a homeland. The beautiful village that welcomed me when I was shipwrecked.

embry’s pinterest board

AN/: hello! this was an absolute joy to write! I incorporated a lot of my music taste and some vague background to the readers life. I am absolutely ignoring writing an essay for uni right now. I expect very little action with this, I'm not sure how many people will read for my best boy Embry:(

I do have a part two I'm writing to explain more of the grandmother and Kim's imprinting from Jared! In this Bella doesn't get back with Edward, sorry but I just cannot write for that I don't see any chemistry at all between them. I rewrote a bit of Shifter Lore for the tribe in this as SMeyer's is extremely insensitive and I hate strongly how she made them cut their hair. I basically dislike Smeyer. I have made a spotify playlist with all songs mentioned and other songs that remind me of you and Embry, lmk if anyone wants me to share it :)

My requests are open! I write for all twilight characters and some other shows :) Thank you for reading this far. I love you, eat well and have a good new year!

[sassenashsworld]

I remember, just a young teenager, a computer that today would be crashed by any calculator, under the attic of my grandmother’s house. I insert the Fallout CD into my drive and the installation begins. I, a lover of video games, from Colleco-Vision to PSOne, through Nintendo and the Sega of my friends, I fear what I will find. My friend who gave me this game told me that it was not like Daggerfall, much better. But that I had to be prepare to the worst. This same friend who gave me my English book of Bilbo the Hobbit. The application finally starts. Character choice.... Wait, it’s not like Diablo? I can customize completely? It must be like dagger fall, no matter really....

No, my choices, a wide variety of choices. I live myself through this first character... I live

Freedom

Freedom of thought

Morality

Action and consequences

Alternative ends

It’s...... I’m crying

I cry with joy

I have no right to speak, to live, to think in my life and suddenly I have an escape

Finally...

Thank you Fallout

Thank you Tim Cain

It’s all your fault, Todd

1 year since the 25th celebration of #Fallout and since... my life is upside-down

I have meet two wonderfull and incredible person, @chadfallout76podcast and Wes Johnson, I am about to finish my studio to became a new career, I am working on an incredible fanfiction project with @jasmineofthecommonwealth, I have a new community, peoples I think I can call my friends and I feel... less alone

Thank you, never enough thank you

Thank you @willinglyghoulified, @jasmineofthecommonwealth, @moths-in-a-sweater, @al3ssio97, @badastronaut27, @iamarti00, @space-kase, @nan4fallout, @atombonniebaby, @maccreadysbaby, @flowerpsyhosis , @rinasai, @tempestuous-tempest, @bleumanouche, @valentineenjoyer and to all of my 125 followers

Thank you to all of you

Thank you Fallout

[444m777]

15 years ago today…

I was roughly three months fresh of turning 17 years old. I felt indifferent about that number and sort of wished I could stay 16 a little longer but I knew I was getting closer to being considered an “adult” and in that case it was exciting because I would be moving abroad and living on my own once I graduated from high school. There was nothing really special about that day. I was home alone after school. Took off my shoes and just did what any regular-degular teenager would do, watch TV.

Aside from plotting how I’d ever make it to London without ever traveling that far before I figured one could dream like I always did. Like I had to because I had the kind of parents who did not like the fact that I was (still am) a Michael Jackson fan. They saw it as an obsession and basically it got to a point where I was “banned” from mentioning his name, listening to his music even though I didn’t own any CDs at the time. The only thing I had growing up as a little girl was the Moonwalker VHS tape and I almost destroyed it because I watched it a billion times for years. My parents would always make sure we had a movie night and as soon as they asked for suggestions everyone would butt in before I could get a word out, “WE ARE NOT WATCHING MOONWALKER! Anything but that!”. As a little girl that shit tore me apart.

My parents introduced me to the world of magic that is MJ. They showed me Thriller. And I innocently referred to the female ghoulish monsters as my grandmother (oops…🤪) everyone burst out in laughter. It was cute I was maybe 3-4 years old at the time. But when I turned 5 I was allowed to watch the whole Moonwalker movie and my own mother told me she regrets getting it and showing it to me. I was maybe 9-10 years old when she said that to me out of anger. She read my diaries at the time and saw all the newspaper clippings I had of Michael because they just wouldn’t let me buy any merch/CDs. And in it I wrote how I felt about him and how I wanted to be with him at Neverland Ranch. Mind you this was also the time where it was super uncool to be an MJ fan. Like, you’d get DISOWNED from your friend group, family etc. it was THAT bad. Coming from a Black Caribbean background. I virtually had no one to talk to about Michael. Hence, the diaries.

I, in some way, related to how lonely he felt. In my innocent child’s mind I just felt really close to him and I felt he would understand me better than my own immediate family would. Anyways, I CLINGED to my Moonwalker VHS tape until I somehow broke it from watching it a trillion times too much😅. My world SHATTERED. It was the only MJ thing I had before I got the newspaper clippings because of the allegations. Whenever we went to a music store or an airport that had a music store I wasn’t allowed in the section that had Michael’s music. I’d get dragged away. It was ROUGH for little fangirl me😕 I don’t know how I survived it. And I’m not even trying to sound dramatic but I was a sensitive, PAINFULLY shy, introverted and moved to tears EASILY kinda girl. I had (and still have) very BIG feelings and I had no one to help me navigate them. Maybe I’ll make another post about my journey as an MJ fan on a super tiny island and how I “made it work” but really I want to focus on how as a teenager I found out he passed.

Flipping through channels I came across a news channel that claimed he died. I immediately took it as a hoax and switched to another news channel and they didn’t report anything. So I remember pausing the TV (we had DVR at the time) and went upstairs to shower. I kept telling myself this was all a sick joke. I came back downstairs and pressed play and forwarded to real time and they said he really did die. So I did the one thing I thought was smart and decided that if CNN didn’t report he died then he didn’t and everybody from the smaller news channels were in on some terrible lie to generate views because of his concerts coming up in London. But I finally switched to CNN and it was written so boldly on the screen I wasn’t even sitting but something told me to sit because my body felt weak and I plopped down on the couch. It took a while to register and then I was hysterical. Home alone yet living with people who banned me from talking about him and getting caught listening to his music or writing about him. I had a secret stash of MJ related things. I had a friend who took her mother’s Dangerous cassette tape and borrowed it to me to listen. My sister’s best friend’s dad had the History Album and she gave it to my sister to give it to me. That’s honestly the one thing my sister did for me that felt super profound. Because she was also told not to fuel my “obsession”. She didn’t care for MJ but she wasn’t mean about it either. But we both lived under our parents’ house and rules and as a Black girl with Black Caribbean parents… let’s just say you don’t question or go behind their back if you know what’s good for you. Once just ONCE my dad let me buy the Dangerous dvd. We were at the airport and he was hesitant. I remember it like it was yesterday… “you KNOW your mother doesn’t want you getting anything MJ related! I’m not letting you buy this”. But at the last minute he still let me get it and he said “it’s just the music videos I suppose this is fine…” oh, how it was not. That got taken away too. So you see I had to hide whatever anyone could spare. I was not even allowed to read the newspaper at one point because my mother found I would cut out pictures of him. THE NEWSPAPER Y’ALL!!! If I needed the newspaper for school work I’d get it with pages removed. Or my mom would pull out the pages I needed.

Back to being a total mess on the couch… my parents came home and I wiped my face and tears. I remember opening the door. I figured I’m older now. He passed away. It should be okay to at least say something about it. I remember opening the door and I could barely get the words out. I said “did you hear the news about Michael?” And she responded “yeah… jammer”. I come from a Caribbean island that’s been colonized by the Dutch so we use Dutch words in our creole language, Papiamento. But the way she said jammer (what a shame) was in such a nonchalant I-don’t-really-care way. Her tone was evident. I almost slammed the door shut in her face but I let her hold the door and I ran upstairs and was hysterical again.

I remember my father coming up to check on me but he stood in the door way. I was just curled up in bed crying and he left me there. Both of them left me there. I was a mess for DAYS. WEEKS. I became depressed. And again, I had no one to help me navigate these very BIG feelings. And it pained me. I didn’t have friends who were MJ fans. So I couldn’t talk to them. All I heard at school was “good riddance” or worse. As an adult I realized I just wanted someone to sit with me. Hold space for me. No one helped me through it during 2003 to the 2005 trials. No one helped me through it in 2009. I had to do it on my own and it SUCKED! You’re either met with “but you never met the man!” or “he was XYZ anyways so why does it matter, he’s dead!”. I was a CHILD! No one thought “damn… this is having a huge effect on our highly sensitive daughter and she’s clearly depressed. At the very least let’s hold space for her” NOPE! I learned very young to keep secrets. To never share myself like that with people in fear of being ridiculed. I hid myself, my passions and my thoughts. Despite growing up and excelling in anything that had to do with art (because I wanted to be like Mike lol). I kept it a secret. My grades showed it but anything else I kept it from my family. My friends kinda knew but they didn’t know what or WHO the driving force was. Where the inspiration came from. I always had to come up with some other story or muse. I wouldn’t dare mention Michael in fear my mother would appear out of nowhere and would “discipline me” for saying his name. He was my real life Voldemort and in my tiny kid brain I had to defend him in my mind because there was no way I could go up against anyone else let alone adults. My family but mostly my mother really did a number on me…

I’m writing this to say that what my family did and how the world negatively responded left a stain on my soul. Turned me from introvert and shy to soooo painfully shy I didn’t want to leave my room. Didn’t want to express myself in fear of being asked where the inspiration came from. Ironically as an adult my parents have been asking me why I’m not being creative and for a very long time I wish I could tell them it’s because they snuffed that part me, ever since I was a child, out! They couldn’t nurture that side of me and chose to see my devotion as blind obsession.

But this year and even more so today I had a huge breakdown earlier in the year and I realized I wanted to express myself and my thoughts more and speak freely about Mike. Mind you, I moved out at 18 and lived and studied in The Netherlands, Indonesia and Thailand. Still I kept that part of me which was and is a HUGE part of me, a secret. I brought it up once with a guy I had a date with and like I said, BIG feelings kinda gal, I broke down crying talking to him about Michael. And I apologized profusely and figured he’d never want to see me again. And yet he held me and comforted me. He did the one thing I craved the people who loved me should have done when I was a child. I swore on that day I’d marry that man. I did not… yet. We’re still together 7 years later and today too and every day since he has held space for me. Allowed me to be the fan I always wished I could’ve been even if it was in private with him. He lets me talk about anything MJ like he’s a fan himself (he is not but he has an immense amount of respect for Michael). And he’s always encouraged me to reach out to the MJ community but like I said the trauma, and again, not trying to be dramatic but to be told as a kid up until I left the house that I can’t talk, listen, watch nor dance to Michael was like being told I wasn’t allowed to eat, was DEEP and it made me associate expressing myself as a bad thing, a dirty thing. Because liking Michael was seen as gross. So I never engaged online for fear of my mother somehow finding me on the internet. Yeah… it was that bad😖

But it wasn’t all bad. And I’d like to share more about that in the future😌. I’m done feeling like my mother or anyone else for that matter has a say in how I feel and how I choose to express my love for Michael. That man pulled me through so many things throughout my life. I know this is a very heavy and sad day. It’s really tough for some to see the bright side. Because Michael being alive was the bright side. Even if he chose never to show his face again in public but to just know he was alive, safe and in good health probably would’ve been more than enough for fans to handle than knowing he’s truly gone. Unfortunately, that’s not the case and his life ended tragically.

I still choose to use this day as a reminder to myself of his tireless yet bright FIRE that he had and how he went against the grains of racism and ignorance, and striving to innovate, to push the envelope and go beyond. The sky was never the limit. I, too, want to use that energy and look past my upbringing and connect with other likeminded fans/people and truly engage the way I wish I would’ve years ago after leaving home. No more hiding. No more shaming myself and most certainly no more apologizing for speaking about Michael. I’m doing myself a disservice and I want to honor his memory by keeping on with the force! 🕺🏾

I love you so much Michael and I miss you like crazy and I’m so grateful for your presence and your passion for sharing your gift and life’s work with us. I feel you in the air and especially in the trees and in the animals. You solidified my belief in magic and wonder. I am so damn happy I am breaking free from these chains and really celebrating you OUT IN THE OPEN WHOLEHEARTEDLY. To the fans out there struggling I have you in my thoughts. And if you ever, EVER need someone to talk to because it’s difficult to talk to anyone else out there, you got me. I don’t ever want any of the fans to feel isolated and stuck. Especially the younger fans. You are the generation who will continue to keep Michael’s legacy going. Not only that you are the future in general and young kids/people need to be protected, loved and guided. Not the opposite and especially not made to feel like your feelings are invalid. Your mental health is so important even when you’re a fan of someone whom you’ve never met. And it is equally important to talk freely and openly in a safe space without being made to feel like you’re a criminal.

Anyways… if you read up until here, wow, thanks! Sending you all lots of love, hugs and heehees💫

[galaxywarp]

The day after my grandma died, someone broke into my car.

I had lived downtown for years and never once forgotten to lock my doors as I went inside.

Except for that one time.

Except for that one time my grandma died.

And I don’t quite recall how I felt exactly as I picked up the contents of my glove box, thrown haphazardly about the driver and passenger seats.

They didn’t take my chargers. Or my Chicago soundtrack CD from 2002. Or my COVID vaccination card.

But they left me with something instead.

They left me knowing that the world would always have people waiting for the day that my grandmother would die so that I would forget to lock my car.

The world would always be waiting for my grandma to die so it could steal three dollars and fifty one cents from my glove box.

When I told my drug dealer this story he cried. But I didn’t.

Because I still had enough spare change left to give him to numb the rest of the night away.

[anchesann0]

Tadase is actually a Type 3 Enneagram

Hear me out.

In my last post (now deleted), I thought Tadase was a Type 2 Helper. Caring, supportive of others, gentle, etc. However when I rewatched the arc when he nearly lost Kiseki, his upbringing, and his motivations and fears, I realize he suited another Type much more.

The Type 3 Achiever.

Type 3 Achievers are motivated to be successful and fear being worthless/ unable to live to up to ideals. According to the Wisdom of the Enneagram by Don Richard Russo and Russ Hudson, Type 3s' form of success often are defined by their family, culture, or social sphere. This often makes them the "Golden Child" and often takes on roles in leadership to uphold this idea of success (which greatly correlates to why he's the King's chair).

Tadase's childhood and upbringing actually emphasizes this quite heavily.

In the book, it's stated that Type 3s, at an early age, learn what activities or actions were valued by peers and parents. Type 3s place their energies into cultivating these values for a sense of validation.

Type 3s often have a deep emotional bond with a guardian figure in their lives that they respect, often hoping for validation from this specific person. This leads to their subconscious trying to live up to these expectations from said guardian.

As part of the heart/shame triad, there is a desire of being loved, but feeling that he needs to earn it. Type 3s do it by upholding the world's definition of success & achievement.

This can be seen in how Tadase's grandmother and father prized good morals and were incredibly direct about what they want Tadase to become. Tadase seems to try to live up to his grandmother's expectations the most out his other guardian figures in his life. He keeps her calligraphy of "Ambition" in his room to motivate him and gives her flowers whenever he can.

However, in the Type 3s pursuit of values that others reward, they "lose" touch with who they are, questioning what they value or if they are living up to the expectations other set for them, much like Tadase's case when he doubts whether he can become stronger and live up to his grandmother's expectations. It is due to this doubt that he falls for the temptation of the Black Diamond CD that slowly corrupts Kiseki into an X-egg.

Another reason why he is Type 3 core is because of his core sin of "Self- deceit." Each Enneagram Type have a capital sin that they accidentally partake in. Utau's type 8 is the "lust" for strength, doing whatever it takes to get it, even if it means trampling others to have it. For Type 3s, it's deceiving oneself.

Type 3s convince themselves that they live up to this "Idealized image" and hide their insecurities of inadequacy. Kiseki is his idealized image of a strong person and this difference made Tadase feel that he did not deserve Kiseki.

This self-deceit is really evident in Tadase. He deceives himself into believing that he's not strong enough when in reality, it was his kindness that was the mark of a true king that people would follow.

He's deceived himself into believing that Amu and Amulet Heart are two separate entities. And he crushes on his "Ideal" version of Amu. (In a sense, this raises the debate other whether he liked Amulet Heart or wanted to be that ideal. In his own words, he said: "I've never met a a girl that cheerful, bright and strong.")

But nonetheless he often pursues the ideal, even in others. This is unfortunately & incredibly evident in how he views people negatively too. Such as...

Tadase unfortunately deals with Ikuto by the negative ideal image Tadase has of Ikuto.

Which brings me to his character arc and development to growth.

Stress to nine: In Tadase's pursuit of becoming stronger (which he deems as success), he creates stresses and conflicts within himself. This stress causes him to become complacent instead of continuously working to become who he wants to be. He had previously challenged his shy self to stand in front of crowds or get into fights to prevent it. However, when stressed, Tadase was ready to take the unhealthy 9s path of avoidance, avoiding the issue, letting them grow worse.

Back to 3: The way Kiseki is saved is having Amu remind him that the side he believes is weak (his kind side) is actually his strength. The acknowledgement of his own efforts and growth aren't tossed aside and this helps lead to his self-actualization:

Growth to 6: One of the other arcs that challenges Tadase is his confrontation to Ikuto after learning that Ikuto had been secretly staying with Amu, his crush. However, with proper support, Tadase was able to unlock (no pun intended) the path to Type 6. Having goals that transcend personal interest, bias, or deceit to face the difficult truth.

This is really interesting because he was always on the path to healthy 6 habits of thinking of others and committing to something bigger than himself, however he couldn't get there all the way until he really overcame... well, himself.

He does share Type 2 qualities, but I think I can say with confidence that he is Type 3 wing 2, sharing qualities and desires of both.

[scarisd3ad]

Writing Christmas lists - promptmas day 10

Pairing - Joel miller x reader, Sarah miller + mother figure!Reader

Warnings - none

Promptmas ‘23 masterlist

Main masterlist

Taglist

Sarah and I sat at the kitchen table with crayons scattered about on the table. “What about you?” Sarah asks as she looks up from the piece of paper sitting in front of her. As I try to think of reasons why I’m not writing a letter to Santa, my brain stops. “uh...grown up don’t have to write letters to Santa” I reply. Sarah’s brow furrowed together as she thought before letting out a quiet hum and an “Okay.”

Sarah then continued writing her letter. “Do you think Santa will get me a CD player this year?” she asks. I shrug “I Dunno.” there was already a bright pink CD player hidden away in Joel and I’s closet that I had picked up during black Friday.

We had already purchased a few Christmas gifts, which were more in line with Sarah’s interests, such as a new soccer ball, headbands, CDs, butterfly decorations, and a CD player. After receiving the letter from Joel, we planned to go shopping while Sarah stayed overnight with her grandmother this weekend. “What do you want for Christmas?” Sarah asks. The only thing I wanted was a proposal. Joel and I had been together for five years, but he still hadn’t popped the question. Every year, I had to deal with people asking me about it, making remarks like ‘Still no proposal?’ or ‘You’ve been together for all these years, and he still hasn’t given you a ring?’ It was frustrating and hurtful, especially when others would brag about their own proposals after only two years of dating.

“Um...I Dunno, maybe some jewelry,” I whisper.

After 10 minutes, Sarah finishes her letter. We package it up in an envelope and I promise to send it off that night. That night Joel and I sat in our bed with Sarah’s letter, reading it over.

dear Santa,

My name is Sarah Miller, and I’ve been verrry good this year! This is what I want this year for Christmas. puppy PUPPY! I really want a puppy. Please get me a puppy. Even if my parents say no, can you pleasseeee get me one!!! CD player and new CDs. new soccer things (soccer ball, net, cleats.) clothes. Lip glosses and eye shadow. The last big thing I want is for my dad to propose to my mom. He still hasn’t and I really really really want them to be married for real.

love Sarah

Joel chuckles as he folds up the letter. “god she’s telling all our business to Santa,” he mutters as he drops the letter in his lap. “soo...are you?” he rolls his eyes as I lean my head on his shoulder. “Maybe sweetheart.”

-

Taglist

@nezukos-number1fan @thatemophoenixgirl @gleefuleve @narryl0ver @syynnaaah

[average-transfem-robotgirl]

Do you Personally own any vintage electronics? vintage being...at this point anything pre 2005, tho if you have anything gerneally old/cool id love to hear about, or is it just too risky?

Most of my old tech was lost when my parents divorced, and I just haven’t had a chance to buy anything similar. I’d inherited a lot of my grandparents old stuff back then, so I actually had a lot of it! I had a vintage SNES, an old CRT television that I hooked it up to, an old analog clock that had a built in radio! The clock radio was broken slightly, as the antenna had broken off. I instead just had the wire that ran through the antenna, so I would tape it up to the wall for service. My father owned an old record player too, though he never played it. My sibling and I shared an old CD player from the 90s too, though we only had a few CDs. I think we had a shitty Taylor Swift CD from when she was starting out, a Veggietales CD from Chick-Fil-A, and a recorded church sermon our grandmother had given us. We also had a PS1, though I barely remember it.

Most of that stuff is probably in my father’s storage locker that he rents. Either that or it was reclaimed after he lost his house. I can’t be certain, as it’s been eight years since I’ve talked to him. I miss all of that stuff though,, I wish I had it still.

[kurokonobrainrot]

You asked and I shall deliver! Momoi for the ship tier list

Momoi ships tier list

I'm a AoMomo truther, If Aomomo has a million fans, I'm one of them. If Aomomo has one fan, that one is me. If Aomomo has no fan, I'm dead. (i lied, i will ship them in my grave)

First of all, the childhood friends to lovers ? Perfect. All their scenes in replace where it's like 'Momoi say she loves Kuroko but isn't she in love with Aomine instead?' EVEN AKASHI SHIP THEM ! I can't imagine that the guy who is so good at prediction would be wrong about them. And Kise ship them too (to be fair he also ship KuroMomo but still)

The CD Drama where Kise help Momoi to prepare her perfect date with Kuroko and Aomine is there. And the whole days it's very clear that he already act like her boyfriend, he know everything about her, says she is always beautiful, finish her food because he knows it's too spicy for her. Aomine's type is literally 'someone exactly like Momoi'.

I can't imagine a future where they don't end up together, maybe not in high school because they are so used to being together that they won't realize their feelings yet, but they will definitely get together at some point (Even their family ship them, her grandmother even sewed him a yukata for the summer festival).

For Akashi i already talked a lot about them but yeah AkaMomo is an awesome ship too.

KuroMomo is cute, but i'm gonna be honest with you, 75% of the reason i ship them is because their hair color looks so good together. Yeah i know it's a weak reason but baby blue and soft pink ? The aesthetic is flawless. And of course they are great friends too. And Momoi's crush is adorable.

I like MidoMomo for their friendship too, but what sold the ship for me was the Summer Festival chapter where Midorima comforted Momoi because she was worried that all the weird guys hitting on her made her a nuisance to her friends as they couldn't fully enjoy the festival.

MomoRiko who doesn't like rivalry ships? They saw each other as rivals and equals and treated each other as their most worthy opponent and in their interviews in Kuro Fes they kept talking about each other. Plus, they pay way too much attention to each other's bodies for it to be purely platonic. I loved seeing their duo in extra play.

For Imayoshi, Momoi's type is someone mysterious, and that applies so well to Imayoshi (he even hinted that he had ties to some shady people at one point). They are both very intelligent and work so well together for the team. I love all their interactions, even the most mundane.

KiMomo is really cute and I love their friendship, but I only ship them a little because they are perfect besties in my eyes. Same for Takao but I can't even ship him a little, maybe because they have less interaction?