#or having them posted in my fucking zoom window

[non-un-topo]

I think I made my MIL uncomfortable yesterday when I admitted I enjoy it when cishets get nervous about offending me lol

[sturnstars5]

i love you, i’m sorry-matt sturniolo

you and matt swore you were done, but are you?

warnings: fluff, swearing, happy ending

*there is a flashback in the story it’s in blue!*

empty. emptiness was what you felt. it had been two weeks since you left the love of your life, matt. you try to tell yourself, “well, it was his fault” or “i’ll be better off without him, it’ll just take time”, but nothing worked. you missed him.

you sat on your couch, something you had been doing more than usual lately, and stared outside through the window. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than overthink. you would replay the moments of you and matt’s breakup argument in your mind, like it was a movie on loop 24/7. and just when you would feel a sliver of joy, the movie would start again, leaving you to drown in self pity.

it was getting late, so you picked yourself up off of the couch and laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t exactly on your side.

it was about 1:30 am, and you were still awake when you heard your front door creak open.

what the fuck?

you sat straight up and froze, paralyzed in fear, not knowing what to to next. normally, matt would take control and go see what was happening, but he wasn’t there. he was gone.

you hear the persons foot steps get louder and louder until you hear them stop right in front of your bedroom door.

the door opened slowly, revealing a puffy eyed, sad looking matt.

he looked awful to say the least, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. his face was all swollen, his eyes bloodshot with dark bags under them. his face was glistening with tears, and his nose was runny.

“matt,” you say.

“i know, i should’ve called, im sorry.”

“you almost gave me a heart attack! do you know what time it is?”

“yes, i know, okay? i said im sorry.”

“why are you here matt, i thought we were over.”

“i know that’s what we said, but i cant stop thinking about you, about us.”

“matt,”

“i know, y/n, i know what i did was wrong. going to that party was a whole wrong decision in itself. but i still love you, y/n.”

“but matt, you pinky swore you wouldn’t cheat, and you broke it! how am i supposed to trust you now?”

“i don’t know, i just hope you can find it in your heart to give me one more chance.”

you think back to the night you found out about the party…

1:00 am, 2:15 am, 3:40 am, matt still wasn’t home. he said he was filming with his brothers, and you believed him. you called him, and he didn’t answer,m. you then called nick and chris, and they didn’t answer either. you give up, just telling yourself that their phones died, and you go scroll on instagram in your bed. nick posted a picture of himself and chris at a party.

where was matt?

you look harder, only to see matt’s lips pressed against another girl. her hands threading through his soft brown hair. matt was yours, so why was he with her?

matt arrived home, drunk, stumbling lazily into your shared bedroom.

“hey baby.” he says with a smirk.

“don’t call me that, matthew.”

“what the fuck is your deal, y/n?”

“this!” you say, throwing your phone in his face. you’re zoomed in on him and the other girl, matt looking at the photo. even his drunken state cant cover up the guilt and regret in his mind.

“who’s that?” he says, lying.

“that’s you, matt! who else would it be? you know what you did matt, and i know too. i’m not as dumb as you think i am.”

“it was just one kiss, so what? it was a party, and we were needy and drunk.”

“have you lost your fucking mind, matt?

“no i haven’t, but clearly you have, bitch!”

“i’m not gonna be talked to like this by my own boyfriend, so get out.”

“what?”

“i said, get. out. matt. we’re done.”

“come on, don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?”

“get out! now!”

“y/n?” you hear matt say softly.

you snap out of your memory, taking a second to focus back on reality.

“listen, y/n, i’m not asking for you to let your guard down again and take me back, i just guess i want you to know that i love you, and that im sorry.”

matt stares at you, his face full of desperation and vulnerability, and most of all, regret. a single tear rolls down his face, dropping on the floor as it falls off.

“do you promise to be loyal, matt?”

“yes, of course i do. i wont screw it up this time.”

“i’m serious matt, i cant take that again. i cant go through that again.”

“i promise.”

“okay then.”

“so, what now?” matt asks.

“do you wanna, maybe try again?” you ask softly.

“yes. i swear i wont fuck it all up this time.” matt replies.

you and matt hug, and for the first time in a while, you feel genuinely happy and loved.

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too matt.”

kind of a rushed fic but wtv!!

[icarusredwings]

Guys!! My wife left early for work so I have to tell you instead, GUYS!!

I had a dream that when the mansion was getting attacked Worst Wolverine was trying to protect those inside but Imagine the gremlins and they were trying to eat people I guess idk but they were also venomous and just weren't fucking dying because they were zombies? So fighting hoard after hoard it seems that he was doing absolutely nothing except getting bit over and over, to the point his helaing factor was starting to ware down a bit so as a woozy and exhasuted as well as panicking black out that he ussually has, He straight up abandons post despite charles calling for him to come back and that its okay, theyll figure it out together. You know, those sweet encouraging words that always were able to lure him back in this universe?

Well in HIS universe those didn't do shit for him because he's semi resistant to telepathy. He just gets in a car and zooms off as fast as he can, luring some of the creatures away but since he's having one of those moments where he dosn't know who he is (Stress Induced Temporary Amnesia).

Well he drives so fast and so far that he ends up not noticing but he crashes into a tomato sauce factory and lowkey the car explodes.

While everything is on fire and he's pushing through to get out of the building, There's a moment where one of the people who appear to be crushed sits up. It scares the shit out of him so he jolts only for them to reach a hand out and caresses his face. Logan has no fucking clue what to do and is this close to stabbing them when he freezes.

"I'm so glad you're alive. None of this was...was.." and she collapses.

It's at this moment that he remembers everything. Everything is his fault. He ran like a coward and now everyone he cared about was dead.

He still can't figure out though if it was the woman speaking, or if Charles had used his last breath to check on him. This thought haunts him nightly.

So now Logan gets freaked out by tomato jars and Wade will pick up on this and just throw them out the window. "That's for upsetting wolvie!! Yous stupid wannabe vegetable!"

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XX)redraft*

Revealing the Monster

Read part one here // Masterpost // Continued from here

Here's the tea, I am redrafting PART XX of this series and uploading it here, this is the canon - but I WILL POST THE NEXT PART TOMORROW!

The new part starts about halfway down XD

I am sorry, I wasn't happy with part XX! SO part XXI tomorrow, thank you for your time. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit was wary about following Ambrose down a very dark, a very concrete set of stairs. “If this is the fucking torture basement I woke up in initially—”

Ambrose waved the accusation away, as if it was daft for Kit to be wary. “It’s to the garage,” he told him, keying a code into the pin-pad beside the metal door.

Ambrose walked through the door and held it open, rolling his eyes when he noticed Kit still lingering at the top of the stairs.

“Come on.”

“I’m not going to willingly follow you into your torture dungeon.”

Ambrose blinked, tilting his head. “The sex dungeon is two floors down, Mallory.”

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.” [***RE-DRAFT STARTS HERE***]

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Kit breathed a sigh of relief. No police tape, no police, no anything. That meant there was nothing to worry about.

Kit smiled at Ambrose and slapped him on the back, walking towards the door to the locked ward. “See! You were irrational. Overthinking everything. Nothing’s insidious about Mentor. He was here the whole time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he did somehow magically vanish, there would be police and Superheroes and politicians here to interrogate him about what happened.”

“And if they just moved him down to the station to do that?” Ambrose asked, raising his brows. Kit’s smile dimmed a little, but it remained on his face.

“Too much risk. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

The door buzzed open after Kit waved to the camera and the pair stepped through. Kit walked his usual path to Mentor’s room, and only realised halfway there that Ambrose wasn’t following him anymore. He paused, looking over his shoulder for the villain, before turning after laying eyes on him.

Ambrose stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes blazing and his little finger twitching by his side. A muscle in his jaw clenched and tightened when he met Kit’s questioning eyes.

He swallowed. “This was a mistake.”

“No,” Kit said, coming to stand beside the Villain. “It wasn’t. He’s out of it most of the time anyways, Rosey. He probably won’t even recognise you.”

Black eyes flashed like two burning coals. “He’ll recognise me.”

Kit didn’t tell him that Mentor didn’t recognise Kit for months after his accident. Then again, he didn’t have to. Something smoothed out in Ambrose’s face as Kit remembered his first meeting with a stark raving mad Mentor, who screamed at Kit to get out and leave him be. Kit thought for a minute that Ambrose could see the memory, but quickly remembered that the ward was built of the same power dampening material as the supers-prison and power dampeners.

Ambrose swallowed. “Let’s get this over with,” he said through clenched teeth. This time Kit led the way beside Ambrose, and let Ambrose walk into the room first. Ambrose didn’t falter as he stepped through the door, black eyes settling on his father for the first time since he drove him insane.

Kit followed him in, leaning against the wall beside the door. Mentor was sitting in an armchair, gazing out the window when they arrived. He turned his head and locked eyes with Ambrose and didn’t even glance over at Kit.

The tension was palpable in the air, tied like a three-way noose over their throats as nobody dared breathe in the room.

“Oskar,” Mentor said softly. Kit’s eyes blew wide, glancing at Ambrose who stiffened at the mention of his name. Mentor recognised him? He— remembered Ambrose?

“Hello Father.”

Mentor grunted a huff of a laugh. Almost like a derisive scoff, but Kit had never heard Mentor make a sound like that. A sound so like— well, Ambrose. Kit didn’t dare move, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Mentor didn’t notice, or if he did, didn’t care, that was Kit was in the room too.

“Is that all you can say to me, boy?” Mentor demanded, his voice hard, like gravel grating against gravel.

Ambrose shrugged, but Kit noticed the tightness to his usual casual gesture. “I can say a whole lot more, but word on the street is you have trouble remembering things lately, old man.”

Mentor’s eyes were cutting. “I remember the important stuff.”

The words came like a sharp slap to Kit’s face, almost staggering him out of the room, but Kit didn’t move. He just stared, eyes burning at the man that helped shape him into who he was today. But this man he was staring at may as well have been an alien. This wasn’t Mentor. This was the cold father that Ambrose told Kit about. The man who looked like Mentor, but was a monster beneath skin.

“What are you doing here?” Mentor spat. “Have you come to take more from me, hmm? The breath from my lungs.”

“Well it would be a wasted trip if I didn’t take something from you,” Ambrose replied with the cold smile that Kit was so used to seeing.

What he wasn’t used to seeing was Ambrose flinching. Kit pressed off the wall, eyes wide as a cold, dark chuckle filled the room. An empty laugh that caused shivers to run down his spine and freeze him in place.

“You’re still good at talking, Oskar.” Black eyes met Kit’s across the room, aware that Kit had just seen him flinch at Mentor’s raised hand and it was like the world slowed down around him, his heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Then it was as if a switch flipped of indifference. Ambrose straightened, black eyes smiling as he faced his father again. He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, shifting his weight to lean on one leg and shot Mentor a cold smile.

“You’re still good at being a piece of shit, only, now you’ve exposed yourself to a witness.”

Mentor’s eyes narrowed and he got to his feet, turning his body to face Ambrose. He had only just turned when his eyes found Kit’s frozen blue ones staring as if he were a deer in headlights.

Mentor’s expression shifted into something softer, something kind. “Kit my boy—”

Kit’s eyes burned, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t.”

“This is-” Mentor began, gesturing between himself and Ambrose. “Family issues. They go back a long while.”

“I don’t care about your explanation,” Kit told him, shaking his head.

Mentor’s hard eyes looked between Kit and Ambrose, scrutinising. “What are you even doing together? Aren’t you a strange pair.”

“Not at all,” Kit said before Ambrose could even open his mouth. Kit stood talk, feeling Ambrose’s black eyes slide over to him as he commanded the space. “He’s helping me on a case. A new Supervillain.”

Mentor scoffed, folding his arms over his toned chest. “Have you considered him?” He asked, nodding his head to Ambrose.

“I have,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth. “But it turns out this new Supervillain has telekinesis. You wouldn’t happen to have an alibi for last night, would you?”

Mentor’s mouth fell open. Even Ambrose raised a brow at the accusation in Kit’s hard voice. He had never seen him so angry. It was very entertaining to watch, especially when it was directed at his father.

“I was here,” Mentor said, spreading his hands in a helpless shrugging gesture. “Obviously.”

“Can anyone corroborate that story?” Kit demanded, spitting venom at his old Hero and Mentor. Mentor glanced between Ambrose and Kit, his expression tightening as some understanding flashed across his face.

He rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand, kneading it into the soft flesh, letting out a disbelieving huff. “I can’t believe this. You’re seriously trusting this man over me, Kit? You're like a son to me.”

“Clearly I wasn’t,” Kit practically yelled, but he didn’t shout. His voice was surprisingly level despite everything. “Or you would have told me you had an actual son.”

Mentor’s gaze was cutting. “Surely you know what he did to me,” Mentor said, his voice a quiet fury. “What he did to our family, to this city! He—”

“Is Omen,” Kit finished, his eyes flashing. Mentor took a step back as if he’d been hit. Kit didn’t stop there though. “Yeah. I know. And I know he’s not a liar. So do you have an alibi or not?”

Ambrose was quite happy to let Kit take lead on this interrogation. It was true, Ambrose wasn’t a liar. If he said he’d torture you, he would. If he told you he liked you, he did. If he said he was Omen, he was. Something Ambrose didn’t think Kit picked up on, but was happy by the turn of events all the same.

Mentor was halfway through stuttering out a reply when a Doctor walked into the room, a clipboard in hand and already speaking. “Mentor, how are we tod—” Doctor, sensing the tension looked up and smiled at his obvious intrusion. He put the clipboard under his arm and stood taller. “Ah. Sorry, Mentor. I didn’t know you had visitors. Ah, hello Kit.”

“Doctor,” Kit replied not taking his eyes off of Mentor. “Can you confirm Mentor was here last night?”

Doctor’s eyes went around the room before bouncing back to Kit. “Uh, yes. I mean, CCTV and the hospital logs can probably. I wasn’t on personally, but as Mentor’s doctor today I can tell you there was no anomalies last night.”

“Great. Thank you,” Kit said, nodding at Ambrose. “That’s all we needed to know, we’re leaving.”

“No, wait—” Mentor protested, but Ambrose was already talking to the Doctor and walking back out the door. Kit turned to do the same when a hand was on his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Kit glanced back over his shoulder to see Mentor clinging to him like a desperate, old man.

“Kit…” he said with shining eyes. “M’boy. Please, let me explain.”

“You lied to me,” Kit hissed, finally letting the hurt shine through his features. “You told me, you— you made me feel special.”

“You are special, Kit, and not just to me.”

“Was I only special to you because I was strong?” Kit asked. Mentor hesitated. Kit pulled his arm from Mentor’s grasp. “You never saw me as a son. You saw me as a tool that you could mould and use to further your great image. Superhero. Saviour. Good charitable man,” Kit spat, tears springing suddenly to his eyes. “He even rescues orphans, the übermensch. Mentor: The great man.”

“Kit—”

“You were everything to me,” Kit said, his bottom lip trembling. “My only normal in the world. My family. My father. I worshipped you, and you used me!”

“Kit, please. Let me explain.” Mentor said again, pawing at Kit’s jacket. Kit recoiled, shrugging his hands from his shoulders.

“You have two minutes before I’m walking out that door.”

“In the beginning, yes, I wanted to be close to you because I saw your potential. Nobody else in that academy ever came close to you. You were extraordinary. I wanted a sidekick when I walked through those doors on the day of your exams, and instead I found a second chance.”

Tears streamed continuously from Kit’s red rimmed eyes as he listened, occasionally wiping them on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I found a son in you, and from that day onwards I decided that I wanted to help you. To give you the start in life that you deserved, not the one you were given. I patrolled the Rookery looking for you every night because one of the other kids told me you slept rough on the streets. I wanted to offer you kindness, and you had such hard eyes. It was weeks before I ever saw you smile, and when I did, m’boy, I swear the heavens themselves opened.”

Kit sniffed, his breath catching in his throat, taking in fretful breaths once he saw the glisten in Mentor’s eyes, and the tears welling up behind them.

“I never wanted to use you as some piece of equipment to further my image. I wanted to make sure you had bread, and safe water to drink. I wanted to give you a home.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” Kit asked, barely above a whisper. “Why… why- why didn’t you tell me you had a family? I would’ve understood.”

Mentor shook his head. “I had already left them at that time, Kit, and I was too ashamed to tell you. To tell you that I fucked up my last family. How could I tell you that? A child yourself when I was trying to gain your trust so I could help you, and the way you looked at me…”

The pair of them stared at each other, tears streaming down their faces the longer they spoke. “You saw something in me that I hadn’t seen in years, and it made me feel special, Kit. It made me want to be the better man you thought I was. To change, for the better, for you. For us. I thought it was my second chance when I met you, and I can tell you now for certain, it was.”

Kit looked away, afraid he might collapse if had to listen to any more of this. Mentor touched a hand to his cheek, thumbing away the tears, drawing Kit’s attention back to Mentor.

“Just please,” he blubbered. “Please say you don’t hate me. I will fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness, Kit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Kit didn’t say anything. He just stepped in and hugged his old man, wrapping his arms tight around him and holding him up when Mentor sobbed harder into Kit’s jumper.

“I’m sorry,” Mentor cried into Kit’s jumper, muffling the sound. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Kit held him tighter, trying to compose himself but there was nothing to be done except wait it out. Ambrose stood outside the door, leaning against the wall to his father’s room, downcast eyes staring unseeing at the clinically clean floor in front of him.

Kit stepped out after a few minutes, his tears dried but the red rimmed eyes gave him away. Ambrose stood, face impassive as he took a deep breath. “You good to go?” He asked.

Kit nodded dumbly. They walked to the exit of the ward, but Doctor shouted from down the hall and the pair turned. “Oh good, I caught you before you left. Here. I’ll walk you out.”

Doctor quickly caught up to them, half-jogging towards them with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. Shall we talk outside?”

Kit glanced at Ambrose before nodding. Doctor fell into step with them, flashing his keycard on the control panel and the doors to the locked ward opened with a beep. He pushed through them and held it open for Kit and Ambrose to walk out. They stood just outside the ward, Kit tilting his head at Doctor.

Doctor smiled at the pair, a handsome smile. He was a little older than Ambrose, his eyes crinkled at the edges when his smiled. His tan skin contrasted against Ambrose’s paleness to a stark degree that Kit would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so drained.

Kind green eyes found Kit’s. “I double-checked the log’s after you asked about Mentor’s whereabouts last night,” he said. “He was here all night, I can confirm with 100% certainty.”

“Okay, thank you Doctor.” Kit said nodding.

A copycat? Ambrose said in Kit’s mind. Kit glanced at him, but Ambrose was still looking at Doctor.

Maybe. Or maybe another telekinetic… Kit thought, pushing it towards Ambrose.

“Well,” Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “I hope that is everything you need?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you for confirming the alibi,” Kit said. Kit reached his hand out which Doctor took and shook it. Doctor turned to Ambrose as well, offering his hand which Doctor took with a smile.

“Nice meeting you.”

“Thank you Doctor,” Ambrose said coolly before withdrawing his hand and stepping away. The pair walked down the stairs, hearing the buzzer of the ward door open and close again.

“What now?” Ambrose asked. Kit ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I need to get my phone from my apartment, just to see if anyone’s been trying to call.”

“Right. Of course.” Ambrose said as they walked to the car. Sensing the stiffness in Ambrose’s body language, Kit kept quiet, not wanting to poke the bear, but feeling too bad to just remain silent and not say anything.

They got into the Wraith in silence. It was only when Ambrose turned the key in the ignition that he broke the silence. “It’s not your fault, Kit.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Ambrose turned his head to look Kit head on. The expression on his face would’ve floored Kit had he been standing up.

Ambrose’s eyes were like two rainbows, his eyebrows drawn low over them, his lips were curled up on his face, exposing his smile lines that usually looked so annoyed.

Was Ambrose smiling?

When Kit wasn’t even covered in blood or bruises or struggling to breathe?

“Really, Kit. It’s okay. I don’t have any ill will towards you. Just think of it like, we both had one good parent and leave it there. Okay?”

Kit nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Ambrose’s face went back to neutral and Kit felt like he could breathe.

Then his eyes narrowed as they pulled out of the parking lot. “What?”

“I just—”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I don’t think you should smile, Rosey. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ambrose almost hit the roof. “What?! My smile is charming.”

“I feared for my life. It is mortally terrifying. Do you smile at babies like that?”

“Babies love me,” Ambrose hissed.

Kit laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Actually can you drop me off at a therapist before we go back to my—”

“Oh yeah yeah,” Ambrose grumbled, turning the indicator on and taking off onto the main road. “Laugh it up.”

Kit did, and he felt good after it. The laugh smoothed everything out in his chest, unwinding the tension that weighed heavy on it and for a little, fleeting moment, he felt lighter than he had in a while. Ambrose turned the radio on.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie

[heartthrobin]

paint my sunset peach (1)

mechanic!eddie munson x farmgirl!reader

wc: 6.71k

warnings: reader is a little bit of a meanie, dirty sweaty eddie, hella pining, sunshine!eddie + grumpy!reader, swearing but otherwise pretty wholesome, limited use of y/n

an: i started writing this literally months ago and only finished it recently, super duper proud of it :))) this will be part one of a (probably) three part series. let me know if you want a tag in part 2 !!! i tried to tag all those who liked this post so thanks for the support - love you all <33

summary: the conveyer belt of mech-heads you dealt with on a weekly basis were nothing more than a side-show annoyance. but god, the auto-shop had never sent one with such round, wet brown eyes before.

part two

Before the auto-shop, on the corner at the intersection of Lovett and Harwood, was a Chinese restaurant.

The Red Lotus.

On Friday nights as a kid, daddy would drive into town and return with a steaming white bag of fried rice and dumplings. Sometimes, when they had in stock, he'd bring a single mooncake to share between him and you.

It was family run, the Zhou's. Three sons and a daughter.

They closed down right after you graduated, tired of the middle of nowhere-ness. The tractors rumbling loudly through town at six o' clock every morning, the shaky cell reception and the incessant knock of evening frogs on the porch.

Tired of butt-fuck nowhere Tennessee.

It stood empty for two years. Sometimes you'd pass it in your truck and remember them, other times you wouldn't even look.

But now, now it stood as a brand new garage. Or at least the tiny town's excuse for "brand new".

Daddy's friend, Mister Carl Abernathy, owned it.

He was a short stocky man, bald all over and you'd never seen him without a cold bottle of cider and the remnants of it’s sweat staining down his creased button-up.

You knew that only because he was always around: lots of things on the farm needed fixing up.

Weeds crept up into the tires of the tractors, age beat at the truck you used to move in and out of town - crates of peaches bouncing jovially over each bump.

Every time they needed a looking at, Carl would send over the bonehead of the week.

The same white pull-up would brake loudly outside the farmhouse door, always somewhere around nine: just in time to disturb your breakfast, and one of his latest recruits would hop out.

They’d lean haughtily against the large wheel of the dying blue tractor.

"Well, looks like we've got a problem on our hands here, hey little missy?"

They weren’t even worth the effort it took to roll your eyes. No shit.

The farm didn't make nearly enough from the weekend markets in bigger nearby towns, or the pennies of the townsfolk to afford new vehicles. So, you stuck it out with each caveman Carl sent your way.

And you were fine with it.

Mostly fine with it.

Sure, some of them were vulgar: they'd whistle at you or comment on your ass when you passed them working. Others could only succeed at making the vehicle worse than when they'd started, but it was your job to sort them out.

Could you have gone off with your high school friends to college? Sure.

Maybe.

But that’d leave Daddy all alone in that big house. You pushed away the thought when it surfaced to bug you.

Your mother had disappeared long before you knew her, exhausted - like the Zhou's - of being nowhere.

Maybe of being no one. Perhaps of being a no one peach farmer with the grump that was your daddy and a toddler zooming at her feet.

Either way, it didn't matter.

She had left and you remained to do the job, and that job included dealing with Carl’s mechanics.

At least it hadn't mattered, not until some morning in late summer.

The sun watched from high over the green farmhouse. It glared down, peeking over the edge of the porch.

You were fixed on the bird pecking at the already deteriorating grey window pane above the sink, overlooking the rows of colourful fields.

"You're messing, Cherry."

Cherry. Daddy had been calling you that since as far back as you could remember him talking.

You glanced at him across the table, where the spread of bread, eggs and jam had been lain, before you noticed where a long stripe of strawberry jam had run down the front of your black tank top.

"Listen now, you're gonna be fine with the tractor today?"

His voice was stern - probably too stern for such an hour of the morning, but you hardly noticed - swiping at the jam with your finger and nodding.

"No problems, alright?"

Daddy usually worked the tractor, but he was going to some meeting two towns over. He hadn't mentioned what about, but you were sure it had to do with the crippling financial state of the farm.

You nodded.

It's how you found yourself alone out in the heat of the midday sun.

The tractor rumbled beneath you, joggling over every rock and mole hill.

Every couple meters, you'd stop: climb off and pick at the peaches before tossing them into the crate. When enough crates were full, you'd load them onto the truck and move again.

You'd been at it, burning over your arms and shoulders, for what couldn’t have been more than a few hours when the tractor gave a sickening jolt.

Gripping the wheel and watching in horror over the edge of your sunglasses, your eyes followed the thick cloud of grey smoke where it began seeping out at the edges of the hood and disappearing up into the sky.

"No, no, no ..." you drew up the handbrake and leapt out the side onto the soil. The blue metal scalded the tips of your fingers where you threw the bonnet open before swallowing down mouthfuls of hot smoke.

It took five minutes of coughing against the side of the vehicle, another five kicking at the left wheel and at least another ten swearing at the sky before you dug your phone out from between the seats and dialled the number to Carl's auto shop.

It rung three times before his gruff voice carried across the line, "Abernathy Auto Repairs speakin', hello?"

"Good morning Mr Abernathy," your fingers pressed into the sides of your temple, working fruitlessly against the headache forming there. "I'm calling from the farm down Jasmine road—"

"Oh hey there, darlin'. What can I do you for?"

A squirrel rustled somewhere down the row of bushes. "Well, I'm out in the field now and the tractor has ... uh, given up on me. The ‘63. Need one of your men to come give it a start, or a look-over or—"

"Not a problem, not a problem at all. Are you far out? Whereabouts are you?"

You cupped a hand to shield up over your eyes, glancing back from whence you'd came. The house was but a speck of green in the distance.

"About two or three miles north west of the house?"

You could practically hear him nodding, a steady gulp audible against the line.

"Don't you worry about a thing, little darlin', I'll have one of my boys out there within the hour. Just hang tight."

"Alright, thank you kindly sir—"

But the line was already dead.

You glared at the phone.

Huffing loudly, you pulled yourself back up onto the truck - allowing the soft shade to gently graze over your face as you sunk back into the seat.

The warm wind rippled over the tops of the rows of greenery and you watched quietly, the irritation simmering to a low boil in your chest.

There was a quiet tranquility in being so far out from the house, shielded from the scorch.

Your boot tapped rhythmically against the console. Warm breeze brushed over your face again and you sighed, tilting your hat lower over your forehead. The lull of the quiet field allowed your lashes to fan closed over your cheeks. Before you’d taken note of the bird coming to perch on the roof, you were already asleep.

It was the loud rumble of an engine and the throbbing pain in your neck that brought you back to the world of the conscious.

You woke with a jump. Heart thumping against your ribcage in instant confusion. Your hat flew off your head and over the edge of your seat from where it had been blocking the light over your eyes.

Bringing a hand to your neck you whined loudly, the angle you’d been perched at doing nothing for the long term preservation of your muscles there.

You turned anyways, noticing the white pick-up quickly nearing from the direction of the house.

Frowning, you glanced down at time against the console. Three fifty-eight.

"Shit!"

You stuck your head out from under the shade of the tractor top to notice how low the sun has sunk in the sky. It was almost reaching the head of the hill in the distance.

The mechanic shouldn't have taken longer than an hour to find you, and subsequently, wake you. You quickly diffused yourself of blame.

Daddy was going to kill you.

Clambering off the side of the tractor, your hands found your hips before the car pulled to a wailing halt barely a few centimetres off from your knees.

Dust swept up around the truck, obscuring the view of the man that stepped out of it.

"Woah. Almost hit you there, doll."

Warm wind cleared the air and the figure of a young man stood in your field.

The words sitting on your tongue begging to be spat out were sucked straight back down your throat.

For a moment you forgot what you had planned to say at all.

The man's eyebrow cocked at you under strands of dark, curly hair falling carelessly from the skew bun atop his head.

Behind you, a crow cried in the distance. Your senses quickly returned to you.

Your fists tightened at your sides. "Where on god's green earth have you been?"

He looked taken aback.

"Well, I had some trouble finding the house," he smiled sheepishly, motioning to the farmhouse over his shoulder, "and then I had to phone Carl cause he didn't really tell me where—"

"So you're new then? Carl sent a greenie to come fix my tractor?"

Anyone who'd spent more than three days in town knew the farm down Jasmine road. Knew your farm.

A heavily ringed hand came up to his jaw, rubbing there and eyeing you in a way that made the hair on your arms stands straight up.

It was painfully unfair how handsome he was.

"New to town. Not new to fixing tractors." His voice was smooth, the curl of a grin peaking at you from the edge of his mouth.

Sucking in a deep breath - a feeble attempt at composure - you nodded once.

"Well, I've got a tractor and it's broken. And you're two hours late, so if you don't mind, I've got a job to do."

You turned violently on your heel, sure if you stood under his gaze any longer that you'd melt right against the soil.

The sound of the peaches tumbling out the crate onto the tractor split the air between you and him, and soon you were marching away from his figure - crate in hand - in pursuit of fruit further down the lane.

"I'm Eddie!"

You waved vaguely over your shoulder, electing not to bless him with an answer.

Carl was going to hear an earful from your father, you were sure of it. You plucked angrily at the fruits off the bush, tossing them a little too violently in with the rest.

It was quiet from the distance behind you, but you refused to turn to look.

Sure, you shouldn't be so surprised that one of Carl's idiots was nearly two hours late and got lost in a town that really only has two roads, but god, he'd never sent one with such round, wet brown eyes before.

The walk was long, each stop causing the crate to become heavier, and you worked hard to put the image of the mechanic’s black shirt - that he'd obviously cut the sleeves off himself - and how it clung to his chest with sweat out of your mind.

You didn't stop until a voice called from behind. At first it was soft, but it grew louder within a minute: as was the sound of footfalls.

"Hey, miss!"

He was jogging towards you, pieces of hair falling recklessly out from the grips of his hair tie to frame his red face.

Eddie only stopped when barely a few feet separated you.

"All done." He grinned, huffing around his smile. "She just overheated a bit, needed some water and a a couple valves disconnected."

You couldn't tell whether it was harder to hold his gaze or work to keep yours off of his chest.

"Right. Good." You nodded, leaning to lift the crate at your feet. "Then I'll be getting back to it."

It was heavy, almost too heavy if you hadn't lifted boxes like those from sunrise to sunset for the last eighteen or so years.

But the mechanic was clearly unconvinced, he swooped in closer to you. "Let me get that—"

"I'm fine—"

"No really." By now he was way too close, close enough that you could smell the undertones of a shower gel or maybe a cologne.

His voice softened, "Please. To make up for my tardiness."

It was hard to tell whether it was the sun making you so dizzy or his proximity, but either way, it forced you to nod slowly. "Fine."

Eddie took the crate from your hands, you ignored the rush of heat to your stomach as he grunted against the weight.

"Strong thing aren't you, doll?"

You didn't respond, eyes fixed on the giant blue tractor a couple meters from where you stood.

Silence rung, only the footfalls filling the space. You'd almost made it all the way back to the tractor without conversation before the mechanic decided to open his mouth again.

"I don't think I caught your name earlier."

You met his eyes, regretting it almost immediately when your knees threatened to buckle, "That's because I never gave it."

Stepping just close enough to take the crate from his grip, but avoid the drift of his cologne again, your hands brushed closely against his.

They were cool against your sweaty ones.

He was grinning again.

You stepped back, balancing the peaches against your hip before tilting it over the box attached to the end of the tractor allowing the round pink pieces to clatter down into its depths.

"Right. Well, what's your name then doll?"

But you were already clambering back up the side of the tractor into the worn leather seat.

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy."

He was leaning against the side of the truck now, you avoided looking down at him, something told you that you'd find those eyes blinking right up into your soul again if you did.

"So you think I'm pretty?"

Hot red blush chased up the sides of your neck over your ears, you prayed it wasn't discernible under the pink sunburn.

The keys jingled loudly as you slid them into the ignition and turned them violently. The vehicle jerked to life.

"I think your job is done. Good afternoon sir."

Before he could say another word, your foot had sunk down on the accelerator and the tractor was rumbling back down between the bushes again.

In your peripheral vision you watched how the mechanic stumbled back against his pick-up, narrowly avoiding catching his foot under one of the hundred pound tires, and the sound of an echoing chuckle fading as you plodded away.

-

The drive back to the auto-garage was quick. At least quicker than the drive Eddie had taken to find the farm.

His hands tightened around the wheel, twisting over the leather as he pulled to a park in the open spot across the street.

A ring of brown soil stared up at him from where he'd pulled at the handbrake with dusty paws.

"Shit ..." he wiped his hands down the jean over his thighs.

Eddie was used to the oil and the reek of grease, as if that wasn't already enough, but not the itch of farm soil up his nostrils and behind his ears.

He twisted the metal ring around his finger, a small grin playing at his lips.

But the soil wasn't so bad, he reckons he'd swim through a pool of it it to get another chance to watch the hot-tempered farm girl's hips sway when she marched away from him, just as you'd done earlier that afternoon.

The smile didn't leave his face as he climbed out the car, locked it and crossed the street whistling.

Eddie was almost completely used to the whir of the drills echoing off the walls and barely registered the creak of the lever that was raising a car near the back of the shop.

Carl was leaning over the reception desk clinking the bottom of his cider bottle against the wood and puffing on the end of a cigarette.

He waved vaguely down at the open ledger when he noticed Eddie nearing, "See here, extra two hundred dollars on a cheap fucking knock off for that AMC Eagle. You believe that, Munson?"

"Hardly, boss."

Eddie was halfway back to where he'd abandoned the engine on a red convertible before weaving across town to find a farm when the boss' voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold it, hold it. Where’ve you been? Didn't I send you outta here three hours ago?" He swivelled on the bar stool against the counter to face him.

The greasy palm that had been picking it's way under car hoods all afternoon reached up to rub against the side of his neck. "I couldn't find that fucking farm, did three circles ‘round the post office before I saw the sign for Jasmine road."

Carl surveyed him with a crooked brow. "They didn't teach you to read maps down in Indiana, boy?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He was about to turn back on his way, when the picture of your face glimmered at him behind his eyes, "Listen boss, the girl there. The daughter you said, what's her name?"

By then, Carl had already turned back down to the accounts. "What's it to ya?"

Silence rung long enough that Carl peeked back up at Eddie over the rim of his glasses.

Eddie shrugged bashfully. "Pretty thing."

Carl threw his head back, laughing loudly - Eddie always thought his laugh sounded like a dog barking.

"I've seen that look." He shook his head, lifting to perch his glasses on his shining bald head. "Too many of you boys come back from that farm starry-eyed. No hope with that princess, she don't like you mech-heads. Nope, not one bit."

"Ah, come on, don't you believe in love at first sight?"

Carl let off another crumbly chuckle, "Bit your head off, didn't she?"

"Sure did." He beamed like the cat that caught the canary, "Love it when a lady talks to me sweet."

A sweaty hand shrugged him off.

"Get back to work, Munson."

But Eddie wavered. "Just a name, boss."

Carl stared at him for a couple moments, clearly bored. It took a long slug of the yellow cider and a hard sigh before he spoke again: "Y/n."

The grin crept back up his cheeks. He tested the name on his tongue, finding it to taste as sweet as he knew it would.

"Appreciate it."

"Get back to that convertible before I fire you."

-

Eddie the mechanic had been firmly put out of your mind following the ruckus out in the field.

Sure, his puppy dog face had returned to you later that night as you lay in bed, but that hardly counted.

You'd forgone mentioning his tardiness to Daddy, electing to take the mild scolding instead.

By the time the end of the week had arrived, you'd just about completely forgotten the floppy haired man that had once graced the farm.

That was until Daddy rose the topic of the auto-body shop again.

He handed you the wet plate, you took it carefully - starting to wipe it down. The water sloshed beneath his hands, scrubbing hard at the soapy pan.

Bullseye watched up at you from where she was curled up on the kitchen chair, purring loudly. Outside the sky was turning deep lilac and the crickets were clicking loudly.

"Tomorrow on your way back from Madeline's, I want you to stop by Carl's."

Madeline's was the local - and only - grocer. You dropped five cases there every Tuesday.

Your hand stilled against the plate, "For?"

"I want you to ask him to spare a man, a good one. Just a couple afternoons a week to do some work."

Your father handed the next plate over carefully.

Confusion tugged at your brow, "Work? What work?"

"You're too curious for your own good, y'know that?"

Bumping your shoulder against his, the pot lid almost slipping from his wet fingers, you laughed. "Don't be difficult, what for?"

The old man sighed.

Some nights, with the evening hue seeping in through the window against his face like it was just then, you were reminded of how old he really was.

"I want to fix up the Cobra."

In the barn around the back of the house, sitting untouched and unmoved for almost twenty years, lived a 1965 AC Cobra.

The steel lid slipped from your hands, clattering against the floor. Your father jumped.

"You're fixing the Cobra!" You grabbed him by the arm, eyes wide in delight. "Is it for me?"

He offered a half-hearted stern look at you, leaning to pick up the lid before straightening out.

"Don't get too excited, she's a real piece of work and we don't know if she can even still be revived."

You tugged at the edge of his shirt, "But ... it's for me, right?"

"Well, your twenty-first is coming up and I thought you're old enough now—"

Just about strangling him, your arms flew up over his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you—!"

He sighed over your shoulder, patting your back with a wet hand. “Alright, alright. Just speak to Carl.”

-

Your drop-off at Madeline's had never gone faster.

Town was busy, as busy as it got on a Tuesday morning, and Abernathy's was no different.

You pulled into a spot down the line of other nearly identical pick-ups to your own in front of the shop.

At the front desk, where you were sure he'd grown roots into the stool behind it, sat Carl Abernathy.

When he looked up from a piece he'd been tinkering with, surprise twisted at his features.

"G'morning darlin'," he set the piece down, puffing around a lit cigarette, "What can I do you for on this fine morning?"

"Good morning sir," you set your hat on the counter, leaning beside it. "My daddy sent me, he's asking if you could spare a man for some work 'round by ours. Couple nights a week."

The little man's eyes screwed at you.

"What, may I ask, will he be expected to do?"

By then you couldn't stifle the grin any longer.

"He's gonna be fixing the Cobra."

The response seemed to delight the man as much as it did yourself, because he laughed loudly and slammed a hand down against the wooden desk.

"Your old man finally found some sense, hey?" He jeered, "I'm mighty pleased to here that, little miss, I really am."

You smiled, "It's my birthday gift. Twenty-first coming up."

"Twenty-one, hey? Well, I've got just the boy. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

Carl leaned dangerously back on the stool, you fleetingly wondered how he didn't topple over, before yelling over his shoulder into the depths of the shop.

"Munson! Get your up-to-no-good-ass over here!"

Not to say that you'd completely forgotten him, but you were still more than a little taken aback when the tall framed mechanic from a few days before emerged from under the hood of a pick-up.

"Boss—?" His eyes found you. They lit up like main street over Christmas. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Morning, doll."

Grease covered every inch of his arms up to his elbows which held the scrunched up ends to the black long sleeve he was wearing. He was dirtier than last you saw him and it made your stomach swoop dangerously.

"Him?" It slipped out before you had time to catch it.

But Carl didn't comment on your rudeness, instead he slapped a heavy hand over Eddie's shoulder and shook it.

"For sixty's models, this is your boy for the Cobra." The older man beamed at him, like he was telling you his son was a heart surgeon. "Hands like a magician I tell you."

The comment sent a icy chill down the back of your spine, it wasn't helped when the mechanic snapped a wink at you from under his boss' hand.

"R-Right, well, you can come by as soon as you want to start working. A couple hours a day, my daddy will pay you."

With his hair clipped back, you could make a clearer assessment of his face as he nodded to you. He had thick lips and a strong-set nose.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, doll."

The cheekiness in his grin was plucking at a nerve behind your eyebrow. "Think you'll be able to find your way this time?"

"I think I'll be fine." His hands sunk into the depths of his jean pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Left at the butchery and right down the road to my heart."

You scoffed, turning back to Carl. "Thanks Mr Abernathy. I'll let my old man know."

Not even sparing Eddie another glance, you grabbed your hat off the counter and turned on your heel back to the car.

He watched your hair sway under the press of the brown hat and where your wide shoulders glistened in the light beneath the straps of your overalls.

Only when the sound of your engine had disappeared down the street, did he turn back to Carl who was digging the end of a screwdriver into a metal plate.

"You're really an old romantic aren't you, boss."

Carl grumbled, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Eddie shook his head, chuckling delightedly, "Psh, "sixty's models"! As if Jacob couldn't get that Cobra running in a couple days."

Pulling another cider noisily out from the cooler he kept at his feet, Carl guffawed. "I sure hope it's gonna take you more than a few days, lover boy, cause that little miss doesn't seem too fond 'a you I can tell you now."

But Eddie wasn't fazed, "Don't worry, she will be."

-

Sure as the sun rose in the sky, two o' clock rolled around the next afternoon and a noisy white pick-up pulled into park in front of the green farmhouse.

"Cherry! The mech's here!"

You'd grumbled, reluctantly pulling yourself out from where you'd been perched under the cool shade of the back porch repainting worn pots.

Eddie was standing lost in the driveway when you found him.

He was dirty, obviously just from the shop, and you offered something short of a warm welcome, but he seemed unfazed.

"Car's in the barn 'round the back of the house."

"Well good afternoon to you too, miss." You wondered if his smirk had been permanently stitched there.

The toolbox rattled with each step he took after your pacing figure.

As promised, the barn stood nearly as tall as the house in a faded orange hue.

It was dark inside and the door creaked loudly where you'd swung it open.

There she sat in all her glory. The 1965 AC Cobra, in a fitting cherry red.

Eddie whistled lowly over your shoulder behind you.

"A damn shame hiding this beaut up in this dusty barn." He passed you, running his hand over the bonnet that glimmered even in the low light.

We can agree on one thing at least, you thought.

"I've got to go finish up," you motioned over your shoulder, "but, uh, if you need anything I'll be around. Just shout."

You'd already caught the edge of the door, halfway out, when his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"And what is it exactly that I should I shout, doll? Seeing as you still haven't told me your name."

You surmised him, considering only momentarily letting your name spill off your lips.

Hm. Not today.

"Doll works just fine, greenie."

Finishing off the pots was easy, quick. They stood lined up against the bannister drying while you busied yourself in the vegetable patch behind the house: twisting carrots and beetroots out from the dark soil as the sun sunk slowly lower in the sky.

The time had hardly occurred to you when the back door swung open, your father sticking his one foot down the step.

Keys to the pick-up dangled in his hand.

"Cherry, I'm running to Madeline's for some wood glue and another bag of nails. Need anything?"

Swiping an itch on your forehead with the back of your hand, wiping a long black stripe there, you shook your head. "Nothing."

"Right," he nodded and the door was already halfway shut when he tossed it open again. "Oh, and go make that boy a bite to eat. Damn skinny thing's been in that hot barn for hours now."

You sagged your shoulders childishly, voice coming out as a whine. "Must I really?"

"Yes, you must really."

And he was gone.

The fridge was a ghost town, spare for the never-ending supply of fruit and vegetable that lived in the bottom drawer.

Following five minutes of pursing your lips and staring into its depths, you conjured up a lettuce, cucumber tomato and sweet-chilli sandwich. It didn't take long to convince yourself into making another to satiate your own complaining stomach.

You hummed as you worked, pouring cool lemonade into two glasses, packing the food back into the fridge and rinsing off the butter knife.

The tall clock chimed jovially from the hallway when you shuffled out the back, two plates and two glasses in hand.

Your hip nudged open at the barn door and a wave of sweltering heat rushed over your face and between every tendril of hair on your head.

Blinking foggily into the dim sauna that was the barn, you were met with the only slightly browned back of one Eddie Munson.

The man was hunched over, head lost in the depths of the car's stomach and when he straightened out you just about swallowed your tongue.

His long black mane was in a messy ponytail at the base of his neck and his shirt had been abandoned somewhere by the right tire. Sweat was sliding down the side of his face like an open faucet.

"Hey," he smiled when he met your eyes, voice groggy and tired. The sound made the plates wobble under your grip.

"Hi—" you cringed internally, it was the most pleasant greeting you'd offered him so far. Why had it come out so ... awkward?

You motioned down to the plates, as if his eyes hadn't already found them. "I made you a sandwich ... didn't know if you were hungry or—"

The wrench flew from his grip down into the box where he tossed it and Eddie sighed. "Starving."

You handed him the plate, watching how his blackened fingers stained the edge of the plate and the rim of the glass.

He sat carefully down against an empty crate that had been abandoned by the wall, resting the glass by his feet and wiping his hands down the length of his thighs.

"Hot as hell in here." The mechanic mumbled before diving into the sandwich.

Letting his head fall back against his shoulders, he moaned loudly.

"This is fucking delicious." He commented around the mouthful.

You worked hard to swat away the blush reaching at your cheeks by nodding quickly. That sound would probably ring in your head all night.

"I should go—"

"You're not gonna eat here? I don't mind ..." Eddie eyed the sandwich you'd made for yourself in your hand, gaze flickering between the plate and your face.

Your mouth curled around a response, but you were beat to the chase.

"I know you probably mind," he interjected quickly, "but if you w-want company, I mean, you could eat here ..."

Pursing your lips, you surveyed him: long gangly legs spilling in every direction and rings clinking against the glass.

Would it really kill you to sit five minutes with him?

"No need to turn red, greenie." You resigned, kicking over another crate near the grate of the car before leaning down to perch against it. "I don't mind."

It was quiet for the first couple minutes. You focused on your sandwich, feeling his gaze flicker up to you every few minutes.

He'd practically inhaled the first half of the sandwich, but you noticed he was eating the second half slowly.

"So," he swallowed down a gulp of lemonade. "What were you busy with now before I forced you into sitting here with me?"

You picked at a cucumber that had fallen loose from your sandwich, teasing at the outer skin with your teeth.

"Very important work." Your lip curled at the corners, it seemed he noticed. "Fate of the farm depended on it. Guess now it'll have to crash and burn ..."

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

His amused look matched yours.

"Pulling carrots out the patch."

He leaned back, eyes widening theatrically. "Sounds exhilarating."

"You have no idea."

You bit into your sandwich again, finding the space suddenly more comfortable.

"Tell me," he pulled off a piece of tomato hanging dangerously off the edge of the sandwich, "How does a car this beautiful find it's way onto a farm in the middle of nowhere?"

Your chest pinched at the question.

"Y'know, just ..." you motioned vaguely towards the roof, "Aliens."

He caught how your gaze flickered from his to a loose bolt near your foot.

Okay, sensitive spot.

The bread was soft between Eddie's fingers, he set it down.

"I thought I saw some funny lights in the sky last night."

It was becoming almost impossible to keep his eyes off you, even for a couple seconds at a time.

You only nodded at his response, refusing to lift your gaze from the floor.

It was making his stomach churn, desperate for a couple more minutes to enjoy the view of your face.

There was a smudge of brown soil against your forehead where your hair fell over it, making his hands twitch in his lap, itching to reach out and swipe at your sun-kissed face.

"Just you and the old man then?" He pressed, reaching for his glass again.

You shrugged, "Couple creatures of the earth too. And the peaches, of course. Always the peaches."

"Peaches are good."

"Peaches are good."

"No boyfriend then?"

It slipped out of him before he had chance to catch it. He'd been dying to know since the second your figure had appeared to him beyond the cloud of dust out in the field.

You took your sweet time, examining him over the rim of your glass. He couldn't tell whether you intended to respond to him at all.

The weight of your gaze was making his head spin.

"'A course I have a boyfriend. Nights on a big farm like this get lonely without someone to warm the other side of the bed. Y'know?"

Eddie's heart sunk into his stomach.

The sandwich had suddenly lost it's appeal. He set the last couple bites by his feet. He nodded slowly.

"... Can imagine."

Blood was rushing past his ears loudly, he could feel it pooling around his cheeks: warming his face with embarrassment.

"He's actually around if you want to meet him?"

"Uh—" Eddie couldn't even formulate a half of a response before your head was thrown back over your right shoulder:

"Cowboy! Baby!"

Cowboy?

There was a thick confused silence where he wasn't entirely sure who or even if anyone would march through the door - he mostly hoped that you'd been lying and nobody was coming at all.

"Baby!" You called again.

Then he heard it.

The fall of footsteps. Someone was running towards the barn and getting quickly closer.

From out of the sunshine, bounding through the door, Eddie made out the shape of the largest dog he'd ever seen.

Four long gangly legs carried him across the small space, tongue swinging over the side of his jaw: he'd appeared so quickly that Eddie didn't have a moment to prepare before the hound leapt excitedly into his lap.

"Hey, boy—!"

He toppled back over the crate and the dog licked hungrily at the sauce around the edges of his mouth, he nudged Eddie's face with his giant snout before spotting the last few bites of the sandwich left abandoned and scooped it up in one long lick.

The distraction of the food offered Eddie the opportunity to sit straight up again, he could feel the hay tangling into the depths of his hair - but the thought dissolved when he picked up the sound you were making.

You were laughing.

The sound was making him drunk, he was sure of it.

It was made worse when he looked at you: head tilted to the side, leaning at the wall and calling the dog breathlessly between giggles.

Eddie could feel the tiny birds flying in circles over his head and his pupils turning to hearts.

"Cowboy, leave the man's food!"

But the sandwich was long gone and the dog had apparently lost interest in sniffing at the empty plate, returning to licking wet stripes up the side of Eddie's face.

"Sorry, he's just a pup." Your face had softened, giggles bubbling down to a sigh. "Hasn't grown into all his manners yet."

"A pup?" Eddie mumbled in disbelief, catching Cowboy behind his ears with a tickle.

Like a magic button, the dog collapsed into a puddle by his feet: panting loudly.

"Kinda looks like your boyfriend likes me more than you."

You leaned against your knees, head shaking. "I'm feeling a little betrayed that he hasn't even looked in my direction yet."

"It's my natural charm, what can I say. Attracts animals of all species."

Scoffing loudly, you shook your head. "Keep the traitor then. We'll see how long he lasts without me feeding him spoonfuls of peanut butter under the table."

Eddie briefly wondered how big of table existed in the kitchen beyond the window of the farmhouse to fit the monstrous animal at his feet.

"Aw, then who would keep you warm on cold farm nights ..." he flashed a toothy smile, "Winter is just around the corner after all."

"Well, in that case," you tilted your head back in false concentration, lifting your hand to count on your fingers: "There's Bullseye, the cat ... Rodeo, the other cat. A couple stray dogs sometimes walk in off the fields, maybe we could adopt a goat?"

Cowboy was watching you with his head in Eddie's lap, Eddie tilted his head innocently to the side. "No one else?"

"Nope ... none that come to mind."

You were smiling at him now, mischief curled into the edges of your mouth.

It was turning his insides to a molten pool of goo.

"Is that a smile I see?" He tried his luck. "Did I make you smile? Is a comet about to hit the state of Tennessee?"

You turned your head quickly, working to wipe the expression off your face, but not entirely succeeding.

Instead you stood up.

"Whatever, greenie." Leaning down to pick up your plate, Eddie was briefly exposed to the view down the front of your dungarees. He blushed again. "Don't you have work to do?"

Crossing the space quickly, you grabbed his plate from beneath one of Cowboy's pot-sized paws before clicking your tongue at the dog.

He clambered back onto his feet like a new-born deer, clearly still not entirely sure what to do with so much leg.

"I'll see you later then, doll?"

But you didn't turn back, disappearing into the light of the sun with Cowboy trotting at your heels.

"Maybe in your dreams tonight, pretty boy."

-

tags: 

@jokersgrf @anicosa-ironlung @sleepy-bunnie @pricelessemotion @sweetgladiatorfesival @eggo-segual​ @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @introvertedmouse @ctrlaltdel3te @multifandom-l0ver @inarinine @sillysteveharharhar @buckystwilight @hey-lucille 

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

If there’s one thing Casey McQuiston can do is write extra, post-canon, chapters

“God, she's happy. The weather is glorious, people are good, her motorcycle is sexy. It's one of those days when she is just explosively thankful to be alive and in love and gay in New York City.”

“Jane likes Wes a lot. He reminds her of the moody Bushwick boys she used to see at the quieter bars, the ones who only smoked cloves and complained they' d been born a few years too late to be a beatnik. It's the scowl, she thinks, and the air of perpetual malaise. And the mysterious gift for landing the hottest drag queens in the scene.”

“Jane has known she liked girls for a long, long time. Even when she forgot everything else about herself, she remembered English, Cantonese, and being a lesbian. It's never been worth fighting, not for anyone else's sake, but she did sometimes wish things were different. When she watched her dad trudge up the stairs at the end of a long day and into her mom's arms, she'd wished it was posible for her to know that feeling one day, to have a good woman waiting at home.

August is a good woman.”

“She'd always felt happiest and most loved when she was part of something bigger,”

“That night was the first time she ever slept with a woman. She remembers how revelatory it felt, like searching for a word in one language and realizing it only exists in another. Like her whole life she’d had this perfect thing inside her, this thing that had an exact purpose, that would make sense of everything, and she'd been looking for it wrong until that moment.

She wrote: I was on top of her, figuring out how many ways I could make her feel good, and I thought, "I like girls," which is pretty fucking far from groundbreaking for me, but my next thought was, "I love liking girls," and that was a thought i've never had before. I might have fallen a little bit in love with Ann then, the way I think you should fall in love with your first for at least one night. But I completely and permanently fell in love with the way it feels to make love to a woman.”

“The broader she tries to go, the less it's going to feel true. All these small, specific moments, this patchwork of a million faces and voices and hands and street corners and plates of food and songs and fleeting connections—she keeps trying to zoom out of them, but that's where she loses the details. Love is the meal, and love is the ingredients, and love is the whisk and the fire and the order in the window and the reason it came. She can't separate any part from the whole.”

“Life in the future isn't perfect by a longshot, especially not for people like her. There's so much that's still wrong with the world and so many reasons to look over her shoulder every time she walks down the street. But tonight, she's thankful for this. The scrabble forward, the good changes, and always, even now, a basement full of people who'll take her as she came.”

“But the longer she knew August, the longer she loved her, the more she understoad why those girls could never have been for her. Every one of them had only a piece of what she was looking for. A surly disposition here, a pair of glasses there—every girl she’d ever loved for a night or a week or a month had a shadow of August in her.”

“I was standing on a street that felt like home, she wrote, but I didn't have to hide my haircut or change my clothes to save my family from the gossip. It didn’t even matter if any of those aunties had something to say about me. Mom would never know. I loved it.”

“She wants to have the right words, the right attitude, the right gravity to be worthy of what people see in her, but some days she just wants to pick a stupid fight in the grocery store, and some days she wants to do nothing but learn to make a chocolate tart. She's only ever been one person doing what she had to do to survive. Just Biyu, just Jane.”

“Before the Q, Jane never thought she'd be part of any institution recognized by the state, least of all a wedding. Sure, she attended commitment ceremonies in basements and backyards, manned the patio grill while two boys from down the street slow danced under a magnolia tree and the washed-up hippie officiant burned incense to bless their union. Every time, the experience sang hot and sweet in her veins for days after, the way defiant acts of love between her friends always did. But every time, something told her this would never be hers. Probably, she figured, because she never allowed herself to stay with the same girl for more than a month.”

"You started saving for a ring—?"

"Right after I moved in, yeah.”

"If you ask Myla to explain electrical energy." Jane says, winking at the gleam that appears in Myla's eye, "the first thing she'll tell you is that it can't be created or destroyed. Love is like that too. It can be reshaped a million different ways. It can be as big and as impossible to understand as the universe, and it can be as simple as sitting on the other end of the same telephone line, not even saying anything. But in my experience, it'll never be small, and it'll never be short, and it sure as hell won't ever leave you. All it does is find a new place inside you to live, or a new channel to broadcast out of you. It carries you out when the house is falling down. It's the reason why anything good happens, and it's all those good things put together, the picture they make when you step back and really look. Love makes sense of everything. Love makes you real.”

[haevnlii]

how i make aesthetic scripts on (web/pc) google docs.

part 2 <33

~ darlinqsdomain

ignore typos i give up.

Last time, i did a lil tut on bundling/mixing images for an aesthetic doc — this post, i wanted to do tables (as i promised) but i'm also going to try fit in a second part to mixing images.

tables are super easy to deal with, on pc at least - but again mobile gd doesn't allow you to organise tables like web version does.

O1 / hiding one coloumn or row of a table / invisible tables.

this is super simple to do. just start with adding your table, obviously.

if you don't know how to do it, go to insert > table > select desired amount of rows/coloumns:

tables, when you add them, don't allow you to write in an empty space beside the table — you'd have to add another coloum to the side of the table you're writing on, and for the sake of the aesthetic ;; you'd probably want it to look invisible.

to do this, just select the line/border of the table you'd like invisible, then go to border width > 0px. (this is better than changing the colour to match the background, personally)

if you have for whatever reason have a lot to make invisible (or only want one border visible), you can just right click the table/table border > table properties > colour > change the px to 0. then from there, just changethe borders you want to your ideal size/colour. :)

and this can work however you like:

notes

Layering images on tables is super tricky. Sometimes using "in front of" or "behind text" options in a way "glues" them to the table ;; it's super hard to remove. It's easier to do on top corners. Bottom corners just extend the table's length unnecessarily depending on the case — but if your text fills in the extra space, you can still try. That said, it cannot go on the exact corners, GD fixes it to be inside the table.

You can have different sizes and shapes for each border. I like doing this for a paper/receipt type aesthetic sometimes 😭✨ The setting is beside the border size option (border dash)

You can change the background of the table by going to the table properties > colour. It changes the colour for one cell at a time so, if you have multiple cells (sections of the border) ... uh, have fun with that..?

You can now (carefully) decorate your tables however you want. You can add images beside them but be careful to not have GD fucking CLIP THEM TO THE TABLE MY FUCKING GOD-

but yea there's not much to say on it? it's a simple process ...

example from my hr script <3

O2 / bundling images 2.0

OKOKOKOK so now that that's out of the way, i want to do a continuation on the bundling images. you can do this to make any aesthetic you want. personally, i like to make gifs, personal "cutout" png images, etc. and layer them to have that collage bullet journal type aesthetic? 😭✨ it's time consuming to make it super pretty in the end, so if you like putting unnecessary effort into your scripts like i do, go all out.

examples ///

all of these are completely separate pngs and backgrounds bundled and layered with other pictures. you have to be careful with which setting (behind text/front of text/wrap text/break text) you use as putting "behind text" makes the image harder to select. i suggest putting "in front of text" for pictures you'd likely move more / pictures that should be on top of all the other ones.

if you're on windows... i use snip & sketch. i find the picture i want, then change the setting to "freeform snip" - this allows you to have the kind of cut-out paper look? as seen in the corners of my pictures above.

just zoom in (for better quality) on the pic then snip it to your desired shape.

and when you do, it'll come out as that - if you want, you can crop out the unnecessary bits if you accidentally got some in the snip. then you can add them to google docs as desired.

personally, these pictures go on the bottom of all the others as backgrounds / addons. so i usually use "wrap text" or "behind text". that said, i also advise you crop it (on google docs) to that there's space to select and move it, if you have too many images overlapping it. this makes it easier than moving every single image out of place to get to it.

to do this - again - just double click the image then crop it way out of its actual size until there's a piece outside all the other images you can just click to move it. not advised for the images using "wrap text" setting unless you intend to have it affect the text. 😭✨

help for this is in my last post (link is in the top of the post) but you can just go crazy with it now. 😭✨

notes

i use background removers (remove.bg especially)

pinterest is your best friend for these - keywords are tricky to use. personally, i use "minimalist tattoos", "chinese post bullet journal stickers", and just keep clikcing on images and going to similar ones until i get to the ones i want. why chinese? idk either but it just gets me where i want 😭😭

if you want to use circular, square, etc. - wrapped text (like this:)

i use mockofun !

for like- some of the text, though, i just make a random page in the doc, write it how i want, ss it then go the my bg remover - and then go back to my doc with it. yea...

and uh yea. im bad at explaining // 😭 please ask for clarification if you need it because i feel like i wasn't being very clear here.

to finish off-

additional keywords i use:

mail bullet journal stickers

(insert bug/thing you want) aesthetic

[optional description] washi tape [bullet journal/aesthetic]

[optional description] border [aesthetic]

[waxingrunes]

The only reason I created an account was to follow you and about eight others as I want to carefully select and whittle what my experience here is down to only what I explicitly enjoy. That being said I’m not confident enough to pull back the anonymous curtain just yet so this is what you get. Your Remus is popular and for good reasons but I wanted to stop by to tell you that as a cisgender male and a self titled Remus kin, I have a thing for your Sirius. He’s getting prettier and prettier., and I actually lost my bearings when you released the detention Sirius. Now I’ve complimented you and fluffed you up (: can I please kindlyyyy request you post that window of Sirius looking down at Remus on the couch? It’s from Moody moony, because I have the one where Remus is dipping forward to kiss Sirius as my screensaver and my boyfriend [as a Sirius kinnie] wants that one. Much respect and appreciation in advance please do not stop spreading Big Remus and Small Sirius propaganda.

God, thanks for this. This was exceptional to receive what the fuck. Thank you for supporting and loving what I put out. Successfully fluffed, well played anon.

Come with terrible news though, I fucked up when saving these pieces and cleared them all separately so now only the shrunken down versions exist. Below, is the only thing I can offer you and your boyfriend, which might be of no different quality than you zooming in, so I apologise. Lesson sorely learnt on my half. Hopefully I’ll put something else out soon that you enjoy just as much.

[bubblewonderabyss]

Mod talk Category: Quality of life

I know my way around the starbound workshop better than most so I figured I'd share the love and talk about the mods I have installed, the category for this particular post being quality of life, as that's probably the most universally liked one. Quality of life means anything that adds ease of access to certain features, new mechanics, or simply more variety

Are these mod recs? Not necessarily. Read carefully, make an informed decisions, and back up your save file beforehand if you do want to try some of them out. Happy modding!

Disclaimer: The lore compliance subcategory contains only my best guess, there's always a chance I missed something

"Extended block crafting" by HaxoFelyne Summary: Adds crafting recipes for 32 uncraftable blocks because fuck uncraftable blocks Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: Brains are the only really broken block in the game and this mod doesn not add them, so balanced Lore compliance: N/A

"Why is this not printable?!" by Cthonyxa Summary: Makes more items printable Usefulness: 8/10 Cheating?: Things like art and major artifact clues remain unprintable which makes sense Lore compliance: yes

"Hop On Shops" by Argle Bargle Summary: Adds platform collision to various outpost objects Usefulness: 2/10, good for immersion Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"More idle poses" by Argle Bargle Summary: Unlocks more combinations of arm, leg, and head positions at the character creation screen. Also applies to npc's. Usefulness: 8/10, starbound HEAVILY relies on its roleplay elements so this is super useful, I honestly have no idea why it's not in the base game Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Show item names!" by Silver Sokolova Summary: Shows the in-file name in the lower left corner of the description window Usefulness: 4/10, it can sometimes provide insight the game itself does not like the species tag, usually helps you deduce what mod the item is from, and can make building in admin mode easier. I just think it's neat Cheating?: It could be under some circumstances, like if an item is meant to be mysterious and the name gives it away for example. Lore compliance: N/A

"Shadow/Fenerox Crewmember Dialogue" by Achromatic Summary: Replaces the above species default dialogue with something more suited to their vanilla speech patterns Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Learn Blueprints on Scan" by (cat emoji) Summary: The outpost now sells a matter manipulator addon that allows you to learn the recipe of every craftable item you scan Usefulness: 9/10 Cheating?: It absolutely is, but it's arguably justified since blueprints are rare and some can't even be found through legit means like certain items in the lunar set for example Lore compliance: Seems like something S.A.I.L might be able to

"Wooden furniture reskin" by Bubblywandering (me) Summary: Makes the wooden furniture set slightly more visually interesting in my humble opinion. Twas originally made for personal use but some people wanted it for their game so I uploaded it Usefulness: Non-applicable, it's just a matter of taste Lore compliance: No?

"Tweaked Asra Nox Vanilla Sprite" by The Blasphemer Summary: Replaces Asra's portrait and character sprite with a slightly altered version Usefulness: I love most of the portraits in the game but Asra's portrait always gave me a weird vibe so this is a welcome alternative. Her character sprite is given visible sclera which is not in line with starbound's art style though so mixed feelings are mixed Lore compliance: Sure why not

"More Metal Wood" by LazerRay Summary: Makes those metal trees in snow biomes drop metal coated wood Usefulness: 7/10 Cheating?: Makes metal coated wood both farmable and available early on, this has no practical application thought, so no Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Extra Zoom Levels" by Patchumz Summary: Allows you to zoom out a couple extra times Usefulness: 10/10 if and only if you regularly screenshot your builds Cheating?: Yes, it allows unnatural levels of insight into what lies ahead of you. If you have self control you'll be fine Lore compliance: No?

"Varied Bounties" by Kais Summary: Allows max level bounties to spawn at stars other than fiery Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: Criminal stats scale with bounty level so not really Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Weapon stats" by Tripod Summary: Displays the stats of weapons (vanilla or modded,) including DPS Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: Nope Lore compliance: N/A

"Hat Mask Fixes" Summary: Fixes some hats so they don't block facial features such as beaks and beards Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: No lol Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Race Traits" by Oмεяυıп Summary: Gives the different species custom stats, for example florans have increased hunger and hylotl take longer to drown, can be turned on or off, most modded species are supported and you can toggle it on and off whenever Usefulness: 6/10, adds variety Cheating?: A few thorns and poison resistances here and there but otherwise pretty balanced Lore compliance: I'd say so

"Non-playable NPC Race Quests and Crew" Summary: Makes the nonplayable races give quests and become crew members naturally, with custom dialogue to match Usefulness: 10/10 why is this not in the base game?? Cheating?: No Lore compliance: Yes

"More Tenant Species" by NimbleJim Summary: Allows additional species options for tenants and corresponding dialogue Usefulness: 8/10, additional customization options are always useful Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla, species =/= interests lol

"Unisex [Novakid/Human] Hair" by (cat emoji) Summary: Just what it sounds like, all hairstyles are available for either body type. Note: There is an apex version as well but it's broken Usefulness: 10/10, it makes no sense for futuristic humans or living stars to give a shit about gendered hairstyles Cheating?: No Lore compliance: Arguably more-so than vanilla

"Diverse Weather" by gay moth aunt Summary: Adds new weather patterns and allows more types of weather per planet Usefulness: 5/10 adds some nice variety Cheating?: This increases the game's difficulty overall so no Lore compliance: The gravity fluctuation weather is a little out there but other than that, yes

"Novakid Codices" by jss2a98aj Summary: Are you salty that the only codex that references the novakid is just some hylotl missionary being racist (read: a missionary?) Then this is the mod for you! Adds a variety of novakid codices that can be found in novakid villages Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"I'd Like To Sit Here" by vampycat237 Summary: Adds an invisible 1x1 chair type object that you can place anywhere with platform collision Usefulness: 4/10, niche immersion usage Cheating?: No Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla, I guess

"Rogues Out Camping (and also the Miniknog)" by Refolde Summary: Adds bandit-style encounters of all vanilla species Usefulness: 2/10, variety Cheating: Makes the game slightly harder so no Lore compliance: Arguably more-so than vanilla

"Crew Size Unbound" by SerpentsBlight Summary: Allows vanilla ships to skirt regulations and have more than 12 crewmembers max Usefulness: 6/10 Cheating?: Absolutely Lore compliance: Yes (you monster)

"Corbent's Interactive Crew" by, you guessed it, Corbent Summary: Allows you to direct your crew (to a degree,) ups a few of their stats, allows them to swim, adds some dialogue, and some npc's will randomly ask to date you rather than you hiring them Usefulness: 10/10 Cheating?: Makes crew members somewhat better, but not too much better imo Lore compliance: Makes crewmembers say random dialogue lines instead of one, making them feel less individual :/

"NPCSpawner+" by Depression Hurts, Eat More KFC Summary: Allows you to create an npc of any species, color scheme, type, personality, and clothing Usefulness: 9/10, good for porting crewmates over to new player characters, skirting gendered hair style restrictions, giving certain npc's impossible color schemes, and putting an oc in the game without having to play as them Cheating?: Let's you get free crew members so yes, something something self control Lore compliance: Definitely not

"Job Offers" by this is a profile name Summary: Adds craftable tools that allow you to recruit any friendly or neutral npc for the indicated job, including merchants and other ordinarily non-recruitable npc's Usefulness: 9/10, we've all had that one merchant we really wanted to recruit but couldn't amirite Cheating?: Totally bypasses the need to do quests to recruit crewmembers for all the benefits thereof. You'll need good self control to avoid abusing this mod's power Lore compliance: Eh

"Ever[Frogg/Lana/Penguin]" by Star-X Summary: Makes the indicated outpost shops sell all their stock at all times no matter what Usefulness: 4/10, you could just be patient/find the relevant blueprints but eh Cheating?: Oh yes Lore compliance: No

"CityScaper - Building Made Easy!" Summary: Let's you build a colony prefab style, for a price Usefulness: Depends on who you are Cheating?: It's expensive as shit to use so I'd say no Lore compliance: N/A

"Item Frame" by Peassly Wellbott Summary: Adds an item frame bench where you can craft two types of item frames, one which shows the icon and one which shows items at full size. Works on both vanilla and modded items. Note: Some items will not display correctly Usefulness: 10/10, WHY is this not in the base game?? Cheating?: No Lore compliance: N/A

"Aging Alien Alcohols" by Lilegite Summary: Allows you to craft a fermentable version of drinks and a few other items which will eventually turn into alcoholic beverages Usefulness: 5/10, some utility but it's mostly just for fun/roleplay purposes Cheating?: Adds some non-perishable hunger-restoring items via set-it-and-forget-it means so it does have an effect on game balance, but only slightly Lore compliance: More-so than vanilla

"Sapling merger!" by Silver Sokolova Summary: Lets you create unnatural trunktype and leaftype combinations, what has science done! Usefulness: 4/10, it's just for aesthetics Cheating?: Barely even counts lol Lore compliance: It's just grafting right?…Right?

"Craftable Seeds NEW" by RevvEmUp Summary: Allows you to craft seeds out of crops, also adds some saplings (including a red apple one) and makes the three dye-making flowers, mushrooms, and thorn bushes farmable Usefulness: 9/10 Cheating?: God yes Lore compliance: It seems reasonable

"The Game Hunter" by Wellbott Summary: Allows you to turn entities into decorative objects, this includes npc's (you monster) Usefulness: 5/10, purely cosmetic but really cool Cheating?: No lol Lore compliance: You can do so many messed up things in starbound, what's one more?

"Weapon assembly" by alberto-rota Summary: Adds the weapon assembly station which lets you break down (most) randomly generated weapons into parts and mix and match them into new ones, also adds the weapon painting station which allows you to dye the parts individually Cheating?: In the sense that it makes your randomly generated weapons less random, but otherwise no Lore compliance: Yeah

"More Planet Info" by Erisss Summary: Shows the dungeons and biomes present on the surface of the planet, the underground remains a mystery Usefulness: 8/10, a time saver Cheating?: In the sense that it somewhat reduces the randomness factor Lore compliance: Seems like something S.A.I.L would be able to do

"Detailed Ship Encounters" Summary: Functions like More Planet Info but for ships Usefulness: 8/10 Cheating?: Reduces randomness Lore compliance: More or less

"Betabound!" by Silver Sokolova Summary: Adds outpost npc quests, re-implements scrapped bosses and their corresponding codices (but no other codices thank god,) adds a new tech slot and many new techs, lets you switch out your matter manipulator for any other digging tool, makes food stack, reskins a couple food items, adds many weapons, adds new tools and makes digging tools repairable, adds furniture crafted from high tier ores, adds new ores, adds more fuel options, adds more cooking recipes and alters the buffs of many food items, adds upgrade kits for weapons, makes it possible to copy books and even write your own, makes some weapons dyeable, lets you copy and craft blueprints, and adds some monsters. Be aware that it does alter random weapon generation and changes a few vanilla sprites though Usefulness: 8/10, makes your character more customizable Cheating?: Drastically alters the balance of the game in the player's favor Lore compliance: The boss codices reference explicitly non-canon characters and events, other than that it's perfectly fine

[cloneloverrrrr]

Hi,

I saw your post with the smut dialogue prompts. I’d like to request “Don’t be gentle with me-I like it when you’re rough” along with “That noise…keep making it.” With Darman with fem reader. If your not comfortable writing him I also love Howzer, Mayday, Thorn, Rex and recently Hound.

If you have time great. If not that’s fine too. 😊

Thank you 💕

@trixie2023 this took my soul, I forgot how much I enjoy writing for beautiful Hound🫠🫠😈😈

I hope you enjoy this little bit of filth with our fave Arf Trooper 🫶🏻🫶🏻

He needs more loving💁🏻‍♀️

Dividers by my boo @idontgetanysleep ✨🥰

𝗗𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗕𝗲 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗠𝗲 - 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘁

𝗥𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀:🔞 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘅 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 , 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘁

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1110

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗦𝗠𝗨𝗧, 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗼𝘁, 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆, 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗙 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝗣 𝗶𝗻 𝗩 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝘂𝗻𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗲, 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱

A dark twilight had fallen across the skies on your home planet of Coruscant. Less then an hour or so the sky was gloaming a red, orange,yellow and pink hue. Now it’s wake was vast inky black tranquility married to a poetry of glistening stars. It was the softness that called body and brain to rest, the night came as a reward of some sorts, a restfulness to calm one’s soul.

That was until the sound of your apartment doors whooshed open, a clank of a helmet as it clattered to the floor. A tall dominating presence lingered behind you, the air was still with mirrored breathing.

Hound stood behind you, gloved hands caressing your arms as his fingers trail up to your shoulders rubbing gently releasing any tension that had built up. You breathe a small gasp , this has your Sergeant smiling into the nape of your neck.

You watched the speeders zoom below your apartment the neon glow from the bustling streets below illuminated your face. Your hands guiding Hounds down to your waist.

“It’s good to be home mesh’la” he murmured into the crook of your neck, a damp trail of his salvia leads from the shell of your ear to your pulse point.

No words spoken only mutual desires burn between you both.

Clothes fell, lips and fingers traced the contours of each body, tongues flit against necks, nipples, stomachs. Heat pooled in the base of your stomach , Hounds sizeable length oh so desperate to stretch you to feel you come undone for him.

Hound backed you up to the large windows of your apartment , the sheer viole hardly covering the copulation between two lovers.

“Hound- stop… what if someone uh.. sees” you whimper out

Hounds dark gaze met yours , a smirk tugged at this lips, his long dark curls fell against his face. Your hand leaned over to push them out from his honey eyes.

He held your face and kissed you, lazy deep kisses , his tongue pleading for an entrance you happily accepted.

“Shhhh mesh”la… relax for me” he whispered groaning into your mouth. His errection grinding against your stomach.

So enthralled in this warm haze you fail to notice Hounds large fingers slide down your sides until a firm touch sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb pressed against your clit , two of his fingers tease your moist slit. Up and down dipping in slightly.

“Fuck- your so wet” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Your hips jerked against his touch , the cool glass brushed against your supple skin adding the shivers vibrating under your skin.

Hound gets down on his knees, his gaze never once leaving yours, he drags his nose up your thigh slowly, one hand continuing to rub deft fingers around your slit dragging your arousal across your labia and sensitive clit. On instinct your legs part allowing him better access.

“Oh Hound, stars- oh-“ you moaned.

A fog of pleasure clouded your vision. Skin ablaze.

A flat wet tongue pressed against your clit, one finger pumping away. Your hands grabbed onto his soft curls gently tugging pulling his head taught. Another finger added the pace becoming brisk.

“Don’t be gentle with me - I like it when your rough” he teased.

Your fingers became intertwined in his locks, you pulled his head taught grabbing at his hair harder , grinding yourself on his face as his tongue fucked you.

Your body spasmed your cunt fluttered, your stomach clenched the heat building threatening to take over. Your rolled your hips faster, pushing his face against your tingling clit. Hounds grip on your thighs was harsh, surely to leave bruises, a lewd reminder of this evening.

Heat coiled, your core exploded.

“Good girl , cum for me. That’s it” Hound growled , his filthy praises muffled by your convulsing cunt and the sounds of your panting.

Your breathing was shakey, legs trembling you fall back against the glass. Calloused hands rubbed up your thighs as he stands up. Chin lips and nose shining with your release. Eyes hooded dripping in desire.

Hound backs you into the windows once more flipping you around, your perfect naked body glimmering against the luminous lights of the city below.

“I’ll give you everything you’ll ever need pretty girl” dark hunger laced in his raspy voice.

The velvety tip of his cock stretches your dripping cunt , the tendons in his neck straining as he moaned, the way your cunt fluttered around him had him falling into an animalistic state of rapture.

Slowly hips slap against your ass, heavy fingers roll and pull at your nipple , the other clasped around your throat a thumb on your pulse point the index finger curled into your mouth. His chest heaved against your back, the harsh drag of his cock fucking into you brutally. You jerk and writhe at his touch the painful pleasure almost too much.

Broken screams, pitiful whimpers and the stutter of his name fall from your mouth. These sounds snapped something devilish inside of him.

“That noise …. keep making it” he moaned so fucking desperately.

He sucked on your neck pushing into you harder much rougher than before, moving his hand from your swollen nipple down to your clit. Rubbing firm small circles as he slammed into you. Harder and harder.

Your eyes rolled back, you let your head fall into the crook of his neck, wet squelching noises paired with his violent thrusts pants and moans engulfed your senses over took your mind. The pressure inside you pulled taught you came intensely coating his cock in your sweet cum. Your back arched into Hound his stomach muscles flexing as his pace faltered , more erratic.

A pained groan fell from his chest as Hound spilled into you, filling you with warm thick ropes of his cum. His fingers gently stroking your spine as he softened inside of you placing a tender kiss upon your each shoulder.

“I can’t get enough of you mesh’la” he whispers into the back of your neck, hands travelling across each dip and curve of your body. You hum quietly in response reaching a hand back you stroke his cheek and he melts into your touch. Your souls connect as one.

“My love for you knows no limits”

His words have you gasping as he picks you up carrying you to the fresher. A sweet wave of calm washes over you rippling like the mighty waves on Kamino.

A beautiful feeling nothing or no one could ever replicate.

TAGLIST- @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @hellhound5925 @kimiheartblade @cw80831 @hello-there-cyarika @dukeoftheblackstar @jules-1999 @justanothersadperson93 @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @eternal-transience-spice @n0vqni @dangraccoon @starrylothcat

Please do lmk if you want to be added or removed ☺️

[mediumtires]

It's two days into the summer break and I'm already going through vroom vroom withdrawals, so I re-read Seven Years then decided to nitpick season 5 of DTS. Seven Years is so stuck in my head (especially with last weekend's ass grab) that I started to wonder how Christian and Toto's relationship would affect DTS. Would there be a full episode about their relationship? Would they be more included in each other's episodes? Would Netflix try to get footage of the two acting like a couple? The only guarantee is that Tumblr would be analysis every interaction between the two because we already do that.

Also, I use Microsoft Edge over google so I thought you might find this funny.

The first thing they list is that he is a racing driver, not a successful team principal, a racing driver. :p

ohhh this is such an interesting take!

personally i didn’t make dts a thing in seven years because i just didn’t want to deal with the mess of it. it adds a whole other layer of emotional clusterfucks of being exposed to the wider public (outside of the f1 bubble even), even more cameras following them around the paddock, mic-ed up 24/7. there is a snippet i started writing after the whole “change your fucking car” business that i couldn’t even finish because the whole thing was so messy and i could not come up with a proper way to solve this because i was so embarrassed for them lmao.

but let’s walk for a second. let’s say their involuntary outing happens and dts are around for it all, i do think netflix would be a perfect vessel to promote lgbtq+ visibility and rights in motorsports and both pr teams would jump at the chance. obviously an outing like this is a huge fuck up marketing wise, nothing was planned, no one was prepared for it so they’d need to act quick and with netflix around, they’d have the perfect opportunity to angle the narrative any way they want. plus for netflix it would obviously mean Millions. everyone and their mother would watch the new season.

not sure they’d have a full episode. don’t think christian or toto would agree to this during some of the worst moments of their lives lol and in seven years i tried my best to not glorify or romanticise a shitty situation like being outed by someone else against your will. but i do think they’d both still want to be on dts, they enjoy the spotlight and the attention too much. in my mind they’d both show up to their netflix interviews smirking, a little ala “look at you and your lil cameras, i had a secret you couldn’t even imagine being true, you only know the things i choose to tell you, i’m in charge here”. to me that’s kind of a power move. i also think certain questions would simply be blacklisted so all we’d get would be ambiguous layered eye-twinkling comments about the rival team principal while touching their wedding rings. “oh toto slammed that desk *eye roll* yeah he’s so emotional *smirk*” or “christian has a big mouth, don’t believe everything he says, i don’t” or “singapore last year? yeah i think…. i think we won. did we? can’t remember, i was a little busy” but they don’t ever talk about singapore directly.

post outing i don’t think we’d get much husband material on dts. i tried very hard to write them as being private about their relationship and i still think that rings true, even post outing. there were instances where i thought it’d be significant and meaningful to them as a couple to show their support for each other a little more publicly (or maybe just a little less secretively) but those moments were about them more so than an act for the public or the cameras. in my mind they wouldn’t walk hand in hand through the paddock just because they can, not mid season on a thursday morning anyway. they’re professionals and they’re at work. but it’s a different thing when a netflix camera zooms in on them through a window and they’re having a quiet lunch tucked away in some corner of rb hospitality, or a brush of hands or a discreet smile when they pass each other somewhere and a camera is around to pick up on it.

so that’s my take! the most interesting angle to me though is how the public perception suddenly changes from seeing them as individuals to seeing them as a unit. it rewires your brain from “oh these two are fun, they hate each other” to “oh these two….. don’t hate each other. in actuality they…. they seem to love each other enough to be…. husbands. huh”

[schismusic]

Psychohistory and the eternal people: Russian Ark and my grandpa's demise

[Disclaimer: for obvious reasons, this post deals in heavy subject matters regarding family death, natural disasters, and (worst of all) potential spoilers for Aleksandr Sokurov's Russian Ark. Reader's discretion is advised.]

So, remember when in the Ferrari post I said:

"We were at my grandparents' for Christmas and as we drove through the town my father looked out of the car's window and saw an obituary with his last name on it. I didn't quite catch who exactly it was and how they were related to us - and rest assured they most likely were, it's an Abruzzo thing. As most of my family's deaths, as discussed on my Godflesh post, were on my mother's side, to see my father's last name on a mortuary announcement was a bit of a surprise, in that as you probably can imagine it's also my last name. It's a new experience which, in total frankness, I don't exactly hope to replicate soon."

…anyways, July 17th, 2024 I get a phone call around 7:15pm. Grandpa is dead. Not like we didn't know, right — I hadn't been sleeping for days just so I could be awake when the phone call hit. Kidney collapse usually takes between twenty-four and forty-eight hours to get your ass. Grandpa took five days. Could have been three but the pacemaker did its job, unfortunately (not being able to contain any sort of discharge liquid is, how could I say?, immensely painful and irreversible). I had been living alone for the past three days, surviving on an empty fridge and anything canned I could find in my parents' house, working on my bachelor's thesis. Sometimes I'd watch a movie or something. So I'm reading this book on digital cinema — photonumerical, rather, as in it's still shot irl by an actual camcorder and not computer-generated — and of course Sokurov's Russian Ark gets namedropped in there. It's only one hour and a half anyways, so whatever, I watch it while eating lunch, i.e. canned tuna and perhaps salad from some kind of fucking plastic package.

Russian Ark takes every available opportunity to destroy flatness and depth, mixing them up into indistinction. Since the camera is constantly moving, zoom-ins and zoom-outs lose the exact sense of dimension. Objects, people and locales in the frame get squished, morphed, moved, and this is especially evident in Sokurov's frequent closeups on paintings. Usually never shot head-on, generally favouring an angled view of their surface, moving closer or further, left or right, up or down, slowly zooming in or our, paintings suffer the same effect as the three-dimensional objects of the movie, and therefore become one with them, achieving a manner of three-dimensionality and motion. Custine's impassioned reading of a Flemish painted interior (a Rembrandt, if memory serves) underlines all these moving elements, or elements that should be moving:

"Rags… a dog… eternal people…"

And it's these eternal people who "live and go on living… you'll outlive them all". It's these eternal people who gain motion in this medium, as opposed to all the non-eternal people who remain for all intents and purposes confined within the ark itself. History is a trap and art is perennially tasked to find a way to escape it, whether it realizes or not. A psychological (psychic?) reading of history, not too far away from psychogeographical practices, could be on display here: and while it may be much easier to be psychologically influenced by, say, the way a place looks rather than the mythologized recollection of a historical figure, as it stands a lot of people still romanticize and/or fantasize about Julius Caesar or general Armando Diaz or Dante Alighieri. Why not Catherine the Great or Peter the Great or Nicholas II's children then?

Russian Ark is not a particularly accurate historical movie. It's certainly very concerned with aesthetic matters first and foremost — as in, it mostly cares for its scenes to stick the emotional landing regardless of who is being portrayed, most of the time: does Sokurov really expect me to get emotional for the Romanovs? — and its whirlwind nature makes it especially hard to know what the fuck is going on if you don't know much about Russian history itself, mostly because the movie often flatout refuses to make itself clear. But this last thing is no issue to me. This should come as no surprise to anyone who can remember what my all-time favourite movies are. Miami Vice (2006) straight up hates you, the viewer, and dumps kilos upon kilos of technobabble and contrived dialogue on your ass only to hit you later with incredible aerial shots of a motorboat — I'm sorry, I do mean a go-fast boat — crossing the sea, where two people are passionately looking at each other and all of a sudden the movie finds its punctum, its center of interest. INLAND EMPIRE needs no introduction, mostly because I wouldn't know where to start giving one to it. The Warriors is a Walter Hill movie and as such it hates talking. Una giornata particolare rests on quite specific knowledge of practices against political dissidents in fascist Italy, but also loves to make references that would be impossible to catch if you don't know anything about contemporary Italy either (my favourite is when it reminds its audience that Giovanni Agnelli was a senator under Mussolini, wherein in the current day the Agnelli family basically own half of this country's industrial strength, and change). Mark Fisher still said it best: "[…] as Deleuze says in The Logic of Sense, why, if superficiality is defined as lack of depth, is depth not defined as lack of surface?".

Right before the funeral, my mother remarked that my sister looks a lot like my grandpa in some ways. Of course, my sister wasn't exactly amused by that comment, considering she's a sixteen-year-old girl and he was an eightyfive-year-old man with five sons of his own, so my mom decided to delve deeper into that mentioning exact points of comparison (my favourite was the nose, notoriously massive for every person in my father's family) and then went on to say "oh, but look, Grandpa used to be quite handsome when he was younger!". As a Star Trek enjoyer, it was hard not to mention that "handsome is what you call old women" while throwing your drink on Captain Picard's lapel.

Russian Ark celebrates a place (the Winter Palace, in Saint Petersburg) just as much as it celebrates the hundreds of years of human beings within it. Aleksandr Sokurov, I'm willing to bet, did not personally know everyone who ever lived there; the same operation directed by you and set in a generic apartment building in your area would probably yield more personal results. Russia's history is turned into a recombining mishmash by the fall of the Berlin Wall, but if you think about it anyone has cataclysmic events that force us to reconsider and recatalogue, leaving us with a jumbled, freely-associated mess of data, events, information. This mess allows for new connections to be born. Associations previously thought inadequate, inappropriate or simply impossible are now the first thing that springs to mind. Details are lost to time, then found at the next cataclysm, traded for others. Alain Resnais called memory an "evident necessity", which automatically entails that the processes of memorization (which includes forgetting, distancing effects, etc.) are themselves inevitable, if painful. Why deny it?, he rightfully asks.

My mate F.'s house was declared unsafe to inhabit after the August 2016 earthquake. It stood empty for about a year or two, then got demolished in (I think) 2019. For a really long time, all you could see were bits and pieces of the original tiling in the kitchen, the ascending line of paint that followed the stairs, the master bedroom's wallpaper. Pressed two-dimensionally against otherwise whitewashed walls, they projected outward their original full form, yearned for it to me. All of their history, or at least all of the history I had made experience of, sort of manifested itself, unfolded at random, reminded me of an offhand comment I'd heard once, or of that one time that F.'s grandfather had made it abundantly clear that I should avoid Psychology uni. The guy had been a Marxist-Leninist militant in the '50s and '60s, so I can at least justify his distaste.

After the pandemic, it took them about three years to actually get the work on the house started. When I came to visit Grandpa in the hospital, last June, I took the time to pass by and saw that it actually had been structured. They're changing the layout of the whole house, thank God, because the original structure always struck me as surprisingly inefficient and contrived. When the house is back up, I know it will not be the same thing, because the places themselves where the memories had been will no longer be there. But there will be an echo of aunt L. stuck in the new living room's ceiling, a past version of F.'s parents calling at us to get ready for dinner from across an empty expanse where there used to be a wall, or a door, F.'s dad's PlayStation One hooked up to a TV right in the middle of what used to be a tiled floor.

The process of historicization isn't that far off, anyway. Mythologizing practices are inherent in historiography, both folk and academic. This one scholar specializing in Carnival rites of Northern Italy went near Brescia once, in the mid-1900s, and asked a middle-aged farmer about traditional Carnival rites currently in practice at the time. The farmer described the current rites, then added that "after the Council of Trent, Carnival has become much worse". Quite flabbergasted, as there was no chance in hell that the woman had received education about an ecclesiastic event that took place in 1545, the scholar asked the lady if she knew when the Council of Trent had happened, and her reply was: "It must have been when my grandmother was alive or when my mother was young, because I wasn't born yet". Russian Ark takes the next logical step: everything happens all the time. No strong narratives means you make up your own, for better or worse. We all live in a yellow submarine, or more precisely in Noah's Ark, and every one of our arks is shaped slightly differently. Mine looks like a mountainside two-floor house that's painted white, where a lot of people come for big dinner parties just about every weekend of August, where my grandpa is sitting on a plastic chair, lighting a cigarette, silently watching around, smiling at the beauty and bustle of life. How does that one Fellini line go, from the end of 8½? "È una festa, la vita…"

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

yknow, I really HATE the snide comments on posts about older learner or P plate drivers, here in aus, when they get into accident by simple error. like the other day, I saw a news story about a P plater who accidentally flipped their car onto its roof, while trying to practice parking at a busy beach (bc it was during a hot day).

however, no one had any like empathy or sympathy for the person, who was 30, apparently. "oh. they're a 30 YEAR OLD P PLATER????? that says it ALL doesn't it??? maybe don't be a deadbeat and get your licence earlier???" and "who can't park at a busy beach during a hot day???? did they NOT learn how to park at all during driving lessons??? take their licence away, they don't deserve to drive ever again!!!!" or "who the hell is a P plater AT 30??? get with the times and get your licence as a teen like a normal person!!!! so you're NOT a burden to everyone else!!!"

like im still to read the article. but I feel so much for this person. I only got my Ps in 2019.... at 23/24. I only got off my Ps last november (2022), at 27. I've talked on many posts about my struggles around getting my licence (ie too much anxiety and depression in 2011 and late high school- the perceived "only right time"- to go for my Ls and Ps) and troubles with driving teachers and uni and me having to pay for ALL of my lessons out of own pocket.... and also my parent never wanting to teach me.... bc I was too anxious for them as well, so you might as well just push all off on a driving school anyway.

so yeah me getting my licence was a fucking mess. I HATED myself for getting it so late etc etc. but even on my full licence, earlier this year, i made a stupid asf error right before I left my old job.

basically, a week before I left that job, I had a MASSIVE crash in my works private parking lot. I went up the ramp to the upper level for shade, bc it was a hot day and my car would be cooler at the end of the day (not by much, obvs, but a bit) than me parking on the bottom floor, away from everyone in the sun).... I accidentally scraped on side of my car on one of the concrete pillars. I panicked, stupidly really. what's a little dent on my car??? lmao. anyway. I reversed out of those pillars, trying to fix the position of my car. however, in doing that, I accidentally pressed the accelerator and went zooming (low speed but downhill, terrible combination) down the ramp, and smashed my entire back window, boot (trunk, for americans) and a bit of the right side panel of my car (which the repairs were kind enough to replace the entirety of actually).... also they had to bc thag entire back tyre was ripped off. my exhaust was leaking too.

obvs my old work sent me home that day (thank FUCK) , and I had a hire car through my insurance for nearly 3 months. I got landed with an extra $400 excess for being an "inexperienced driver" bc I'd only had my full licence for 5 months at that point, instead of 2 years. but it's just that easy to make a dumb fuckup mistake.

and no, when it came to learning how to park with both my parent and the driving school.... I didn't get much time learn. I did like 10 mins in one lesson with the driving school on actual parking in a parking lot.... bc that shit didn't matter in the P plate test... only the stupid asf kerb side reverse park (or whatever the fuck it's called) got assessed in the test.... and I fucking resented that SO MUCH.... bc it's the part I ALWAYS forgot the steps to and always did in like 20 steps, instead of the required 3 to 5. the end of test parking in the spot at service nsw (ie the dmv in my state of aus) doesn't get marked.

my parent just straight up refused to teach me parking (and pretty esp the curb side tbh). instead, they tried to tell me that middle-aged american and canadian men (most usually... and none of them were driving instructors- just randos) with go pros were a better resource to learn parking from.... when like THEY DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE FUCKING ROAD TO AUSTRALIA????? "all you have to do is watch that video before we go put to practice and swap it around in your head??? it's that easy!" no it's not???? how the fuck am I meant to reverse the direction in my head???? it literally makes fuck all sense.

moreover, I feel like it's just australia's laziness on having resources for learner drivers. like not one aussie driving school, while I was trying to get my licence, had instructional videos on how to do a reverse park, how to park normally, and how to do parallels parking. there was ONE British guy. ONE. and not even from australia. everything else was flooded by americans and canadians. like guys, I like you. but trying to learn how to park from Brad in a Walmart parking lot in Texas or mark in Omaha in a walgreens parking lot.... or Tommy from Saskatchewan or Ben from Ontario, both videos from a Tim Horton's parking lot (sorry, it's the only canadian brand that I know lol).... who are all driving and parking from the right side of the road.... DOES NOT help a very confused and anxious learner driver in AUSTRALIA who DRIVES ON THE LEFT, with learning how to park safely or well. under stress, or just even normally for me, it was IMPOSSIBLE to swap the direction around mentally, as I was actively trying to learn to park.

but my point is, the age of the P plate driver has NOTHING to do with the fact that they accidentally flipped their car while trying to park in a stressful situation. they weren't lazy or a burden for getting their licence late. the situation i crashed my car in wasn't even stressful... I was just an anxious, almost sleepless mess at that old job. I accidentally freaked myself out by slightly scratching my car bc I have shit parking and direction skills in that particular parking lot.

my age, 27, and the person in the news story's age, 30 HAS NOTHING TO DO with driving ability and apparently "needing their licence taken off them." I was practically forced to get my licence and buy my car (eventually) to be better considered for jobs.... since NO ONE wants to hire someone without a car and licence these days. like I was so lucky my old job was right across from a bus stop and that they hired me using the bus.

every other place I tried basically automatically tossed me out in the application stage, when I dared to answer "I use public transport" or "I don't have access to my own vehicle." even though HR at my old work kept telling me that employers can't assess or discriminate against that. but they do, ashley, they do. and I KNOW... esp since I've always been interested in doing events. and doing events work is IMPOSSIBLE without a car due to wack ass hours. also, I actively got denied a marketing internship in business college in 2014. all bc the bus took an hour and a half, instead of 25 to 30 mins by car. so don't you dare tell me that workplaces don't discriminate towards lack of transportation (even if they can't say it directly to the applicant) bc some places definitely do.

so I imagine that the above, and the other obstacles I've mentioned in this post, are what probably led to this 30 year P plater getting their licence so late (unless of course they got downgraded bc they had road offences.... but idk bc I still haven't actually read the article lol). but assuming the best of the person in the story, it was an honest, anxious mistake to flip their car while trying to park that day at that beach... like, okay. it's obvs not a small mistake; bc they did flip their goddamned car upside down....

but in stress, you can make stupid ass mistakes, just like I did in march..... and imo that doesn't call for someone to LOSE THEIR LICENCE and be thoroughly condescended to.... all bc some fucking asshole on the internet is all fucking rude about "OH A 30 YO P PLATER???? THAT SAYS IT ALL!!!! they were too lazy to do this important thing YEARS AGO as a teenager, and now they're making our roads unsafe with this!!!! rescind their licence now!!! they're entirely unfit to drive! or at least go back to driving school, darling. so maybe you'll remember your mistakes of safety!!!"

like, brenda or quincey. I highly doubt you've NEVER made a mistake while driving??? or accidentally hit someone???? or maybe you'd be like the middle aged lady I accidentally hit back in july, who tried to force me to stand in a busy local highway intersection FOR AN HOUR ON THE PHONE witb my insurance to report.... so she had PHYSICAL PROOF that I'd done it... bc she was thoroughly convinced that I was lying that I had insurance bc (A.) I dont have an insurance card like she dod.... bc im sure that's a legacy thing, and I've only had my car for a year, so that meant to her that I was a LIAR.... and (B.) I'm young, so then that automatically means that I'm a liar and will never report to insurance that I'd fucked up.... then this woman had the gall to report the incident 3 DAYS LATER (I'm assuming).... after INSISTING I had to do it instantly in front of HER EYES only for truthful reporting all while saying "you BETTER get this FIXED for ME bc my husband has just died".

like thanks, geraldine. but at this point, I don't fucking care about your dead husband. just let me report this accident in peace AT HOME AWAY from you, breathing down my neck saying every 2 seconds that "young people ALWAYS lie to me... so YOU'RE A LIAR and will dupe me out of my deserved repairs. repair it FOR ME NOW! YOU BETTER DO IT WHILE I WATCH, OR YOU WILL RUN OFF ON ME!! I KNOW THIS!!!!" but anyway. I digress. my point is that the people commenting on age sound exactly this rude ass woman, insisting that the older age of the P plater in this story has everything to do with the accident, and NOTHING to do with stress and anxiety around driving.

like ok. I'll admit picking a busy time to practice parking, probs isn't the best decision. but also. if you don't practice parking at busy times EVER, you're just never going to go anywhere during peak busy periods of the day.... much like I do. I never go to the beach in summer bc I hate jockeying for spots. I wait til like 4 to 6 pm to go do some shopping bc then I have less chance of accidentally hitting someone (a car obvs) while backing out.... and am more likely to have an empty spot to drive straight into.

I purposely pick the emptier outside parking lot at one particular local shopping centre, all bc I know if I park like shit (ie accidentally park over half into another spot) I can just leave it like that, bc I have fuck all idea of how to correct it tbh. as long as no one parks RIGHT NEXT TO ME, I'm fine lmao. and that's a problem in summer, when it's like 45⁰C (like 100+⁰F).... so I should really try to park in the overly busy undercover parking, for respite, when i get back to my car. I actively avoid ever driving to sydney bc of this as well. I'll never be able to handle sydney suburbia driving.... let alone the whole ass different beast that is CBD sydney driving is (lol im driving straight into the harbour to avoid any type of city parking and parking fees etc).

anyway yeah. I just wish people had more empathy and sympathy these days when people have a kinda dumb accident like this..... instead of instantly calling for the person to lose their licence.... and also insisting that its all to do with someone getting their licence much later than the perceived "correct and proper" time of 16 to 19.

[lsdunesarchive]

L.S. Dunes: Travis Stever’s yang to Frank Iero’s yin

Words by Ellie Robinson Photo by Mark Beemer November 17, 2022

Travis Stever talks a lot.

That’s not an insult – the 43-year-old New Jerseyan just has a lot to say, and virtually all of it is fantastic. He’s impressively storied: most would know him as the lead guitarist in Coheed And Cambria, but he’s popped his head through many a musical window over some three decades: side-projects include Fire Deuce, The English Panther, Davenport Cabinet and Zero Trust (per Wikipedia, but I’m certain there’s more out there), and he also played lap-steel on My Brother’s Blood Machine, the 2006 debut from The Prize Fighter Inferno, the solo folktronica project of Coheed frontman Claudio Sanchez.

Stever’s latest project is L.S. Dunes, a post-hardcore supergroup* I can only accurately describe as “every mid-to-late 2000s emo fan’s wildest pipe-dream come true”. Stever plays guitar alongside Frank Iero (of My Chemical Romance, and his own mountain of side-projects), while Anthony Green (Circa Survive, Saosin) sings, Tim Payne (Thursday) plays bass, and Tucker Rule (also Thursday, but for a short time, Yellowcard too) plays drums. I write “supergroup” with an asterisk because although L.S. Dunes are a supergroup, etymologically, when I interviewed Stever for Australian Guitar #151, he fucking hated that I called them one. 

Nevertheless, we got along like a house on fire, and I had a blast chatting with him about his new band and their debut album, Past Lives (out now on Fantasy Records). It was hard not to be engaged with everything he said: watching him wax lyrical about his impenetrable love for music, even over Zoom with our video link presenting him at approximately three pixels per inch, the glimmer in his eyes and wideness of his smile made it clear, Stever is living his dream. He’s just a kid that fell in love with rock ‘n’ roll, started jamming out for the hell of it – not to make bank, but simply because it was fun – and somewhere along the way, wound up turning it into his full-time gig (no pun intended). 

It doesn’t seem to have gotten any less fun for him since then, either. Usually artists with careers as weighty as his appear at least a little burnt out on the music industry. You can tell when someone’s passion is genuine, and Stever’s certainly is.

The proof in the pudding, for me, was just how goddamn much Stever had to say about any and every topic. Our interview in Australian Guitar #151, spanning five questions across a hair over 1,000 words, was cut down from a transcript about four times as long. His unedited answers to those questions ran a solid 600-850 words apiece – well over 1,000 for the first – and there were still a few topics that we had to shave off for page space. One of those was actually my favourite from the entire chat: the creative chemistry that L.S. Dunes unlocked between Stever and Iero.

I opted not to run with that in the printed story because what did make it to the page is a lot more relevant to the origin story of L.S. Dunes and how that led to Past Lives shaping up in the way it did – which is ultimately the story I wanted to centre. But I think what Stever said about his creative dynamic with Iero – and how they each pushed the other to venture outside their comfort zones – adds a lot to the narrative surrounding L.S. Dunes. It also adds a twinge of contextual colour to songs like ‘Blender’ and ‘Sleep Cult’, which makes for a more gratifying listen when you really stop to soak in and digest Past Lives.

Ultimately, I think one of the coolest things about the “supergroup” concept is how idiosyncrasy can germinate when two artists of similar mind collaborate. Both Stever and Iero come from backgrounds of punk, rock and post-hardcore – even if their writing and playing styles are quite dissimilar – but when they joined forces to form L.S. Dunes, they started writing music that neither ever thought they would. And that’s so fucking cool.

So below is Stever’s commentary on his chemistry with Iero, as well as a couple of other offcuts from my interview with him. I’ve included those as well because at a base level, as a fan of music at the end of the day, I love reading about my favourite artists’ plans for the future – even if they never come to fruition – and about how they feel in the lead-up to a major release. I know that latter topic is now entirely irrelevant, because Past Lives came out a week ago, but, like, fuck it, it’s my blog, I make the rules.

You should read the Australian Guitar piece before you hit the jump, because it offers some solid context on exactly what L.S. Dunes is, how their collective ethos plays into everything, and why Stever and I were even talking to each other in the first place – and because the latter two of the three questions here were asked after the ones printed in AG, and some lines might be a bit confusing without that context.

So we’re about a month away from getting our hands on Past Lives. How does it feel to be here in the home stretch? You know, you’re always going to feel a little on edge when you’re about to release something that you poured your heart and soul into, no matter how much you believe in it. It’s exciting, but at the same time, you can feel the the vibes of danger – the danger of exposing the art that you created with your brothers, you know? And knowing that people are going to judge it. But that’s the gig, right. That’s the game. You know people are going to receive it however they choose to – but I’ve gotten nothing but positive feedback from everybody I’ve showed it to, so that’s a good sign!

Being the two guitarists in L.S. Dunes, how did you and Frank coalesce in the creative process? It goes back to what I was saying before, how there was no expectation. It’s really intriguing, because we communicate with each other through the guitars. And we were doing it over streams, online, through email [and] text – and we just knew, as soon as we started sending each other ideas, that it was going to work. And then, you know, it was just as relieving to get into an actual room together and be able to know that the spark was there [in real life], too.

I’ve got to be honest, after working with Frank [on this record], I had to go back and revisit a lot of the things he did in My Chem, and even a lot of his solo stuff – not that I didn’t fully respect everything he does before, but you know, after you see a person in a new light, you understand their musical language more. And I am so honoured to be in this band with him. He comes up with these riffs that are completely different from anything I’ve ever heard before. They’re all over the map – because you can say, “Oh, he comes up with these, really awesome, like, edgy punk riffs,” but that’s not true. 

There’s a song at the end of the album that he wrote, ‘Sleep Cult’, where Anthony’s vocals almost have a doo-wop kind of feel. Frank had written that chord progression – that fingerpicking kind of thing – and I heard it while I was working on other guitars; we were in pre-production, getting ready to go over to Will Yip’s, and it was at the end of the session, we’d been working all day, and all of a sudden, he started playing this really beautiful chord progression. And so we recorded that, just as a rough little idea, but we wound up rolling with it. I just added some lap steel and some really delicate chords to it, just to give it a little nuance. 

There are numerous parts on the album like that, which I think are probably the best parts of it. Another one that started out with Frank – which is probably my favourite [track] on the album right now – is ‘Blender’. I don’t want to get too dorky about it, but you know, that song is a really good example of what it was like to work with him. I sent him the guitar parts, and he really liked them – I think he was already fine and excited with everything I’d laid down… Because you know, that can always be a touchy thing. I mean, he pretty much had a hole-in-one with the ideas I would send him, and I always loved what he was playing – but I was open to him switching whatever he wanted.

In this case, I had written all the guitars that I was going to play, which was based on what he was playing and what Tim was playing. There were no vocals yet. And I’m so glad that we took our time with that song, because at the very last minute, I just switched it up completely, and I wound up harmonising a lot of the guitars [Frank] was playing instead. It was a completely different approach. That’s one of the things I loved about working on this record – the amount of time we were able to take to really think about it.

I’m not going to speak for Frank, but I think he was probably able to step out of his comfort zone [on this record]. Because there’s things he played on it where someone would probably be like, “Wow, I’ve never heard him play like that!” And for me, that feels really special because I got to [work with him] on those songs. And the same goes for me – there are a lot of [parts] on the record that are very different to [the parts] I would usually write.

We’ve already gone way over time, but I want to wrap up by looking to the future: what are your plans for Australia, and what’s the vibe on a second L.S. Dunes album? Believe me, we want to tour everywhere we can. I can only hope that we’re able to bring [L.S. Dunes] over to Australia – that would be amazing. As for other material… I mean, like I said, there’s just been an endless flow of material. There’s no shortage of stuff that we’ve been sending back and forth, and we already have a lot of surprises up our sleeves. But I just want to pay my respects to the album we’ve already created before we move on to the next thing, you know? I think it’s important that we get out there and show people what we can do on the live end… When everybody’s able to! And if we were able to bring that over there to Australia… I mean, yeah, of course we will!

Past Lives by L.S. Dunes is out now via Fantasy Records – click here to check it out. The print edition of Australian Guitar #151 is out on November 28th – keep an eye out for that here.

[magdasabs]

My pleasure and kinda "duty" to tell about fun stuff as a long time Sweden fan ;)

Ok so this was before Julia had met Emma and before she'd signed for then Kopparbergs/Göteborg (the team later became part of Häcken when the club took them in). I think she was the only one left who played for a Stockholm based team. Nattis, Ippe, Anna Oscarsson and Tove Almqvist played for other clubs than AIK, Djurgården and Hammarby. Tove definitely did, she played in Linköping with Magda, Pernille, Frido and Stina among her team mates and then she went to Vittsjö. Ippe left Hammarby for Linköping after season 2017 and Julia left for Gothenburg in the summer transfer window 2018 (yes I googled it lol). So it was probably within this time frame their little travel mishap transpired. It also fits with when Instagram started with stories in 2016. This group was in the 2015 U19 Euro squad that won the gold and they were good friends already then. But it can't have been before 2016 because their little incident was shared in insta stories.

The four of them visited Julia in Stockholm (Johanna wasn't there, probably had a league game or something and Tove's best friend Stina wasn't even in Sweden). They'd went with Ippe to buy a new iPhone. Someone shared a story when they were on the subway train and Ippe unpacked her new phone. She made a huge deal of it of course lmao and was over excited. I kid you not, it was like "Omg omg omg!" and shrieks of excitement and joy from her. Tove sat next to Ippe and almost cried from laughter.

A while later Anna shared a story when they were at a platform and waited for the subway train. It was outdoors and I recognised it as the station Globen near the Globe arena (now named Avicii arena). They were laughing so much they bent forward and held their stomaches. All but Nattis who wasn't the least amused. She could be seen in the background standing with her arms crossed and a annoyed look on her face like "I'm so fucking tired of this bullshit".

Anna could barely speak when she asked Tove to come help her tell what had happened. And what had happened was they'd somehow managed to get on the right subway train - heading in the wrong direction. They didn't notice they were heading in the wrong direction for fifteen (15) minutes. They'd passed several stations before anyone reacted. The most hilarious is that everyone but Tove had lived and played in Stockholm for several years and had just very recently left for other clubs. Julia even still lived and played in Stockholm! As someone who doesn't live in Stockholm but has been there much, I can tell you it's fairly easy to find your way around the subway map in comparison to London where I've also visited.

When their subway train, this time in the right direction lmao, arrived Anna said "Idiots on world tour" about them. It became very fitting as this group went on vacations together regularly for a couple of years. Some were in the U23 national team and naturally got to travel to other countries together that way. Once Anna posted a story when she and Tove were at a player hotel. They were in a public area like the hotel lobby or near the dining room. Anna filmed Tove when she made a kick forward. Her flip flop flew through the air and almost hit one of the Dutch U23 players. Whoops. In a added story Anna had frozen the footage and zoomed in on Tove's face when she followed the flight of her flip flop towards the Dutchies. She did a funny caption to it but I don't remember what. Tove's face was priceless anyway as she watched her flip flop in horror. Of course the two of them broke down in fits of laughter afterwards.

Others have been called up to the senior national team for looks in training games or for competitive games and championships. At one camp Ippe was Anna's roomie. They were chilling in their hotel room laying on their beds. Anna checked her phone. An apparently very bored Ippe posted a story when she first had her back towards Anna. The collar of her Sweden training jacket covered half her face so you could only see her eyes. Then she quickly turned around and hit Anna hard on the arm or leg. Anna exclaimed "Ouch! Cut it out Filippa!" and hit Ippe back on her leg but stopped herself halfway so she wouldn't hit her full force. Then she returned to checking her phone and Ippe rolled back so she was turned away from Anna again. Still with the collar covering half her face. Through all of this Ippe didn't utter a sound. Didn't laugh, didn't giggle and didn't say anything. She just got an idea to film when she was being a little shit to Anna and wanted to do something eh creative.

The members of the Idiots on world tour have changed slightly it seems but the core group is the same. I think last time they as a big group of friends went on a December vacation after season was in 2019. Julia had met Emma, Anna hadn't met Matilda, Elena hadn't met Benni, Ippe had met Megan, Nattis was either single or with that male Djurgården ice hockey player, Stina was probably single as she had still to meet her bf whom she met after she'd moved to Gothenburg and she didn't move there until 2020.

And now with this recent boat ride the Idiots are on world tour again. Some of them will get to travel half way around the the world in less than one months time when Sweden fly out to the base camp in Wellington, NZ.

Thank you for taking the time to share all of that! It's really cool that you remember it

[northsaskhunter]

Things my dumbass daughters have done in the one year I've had them (not in order) :

- ate my watch charger

- tried eating my bear hide

- ate the hair out of the shower drain

- broke into the shower while I was using it

- refuse to let me close the window despite it getting down to almost zero at night because father we will scream if we can't sniff the outside sniffs

- pee'd in the sink. Three times (I took them out to my parents. They don't like leaving the house)

- pee'd on my bed, while I slept in said bed. I woke up because my leg was warm and one of them was scratching at the spot (happened the first time I took them to my parents)

- tried killing each other more than once. (All because I took them either to the Vet or my parents)

- stood on the top of my flat screen tv when it was mounted, seven feet off the ground. (How the fuck she got up there, I don't know)

- ran up my bedroom door and sat on the top of that (again, how the fuck?)

- scratch the carpet when their scratching post is deadass, four feet away

- tried to walk on the stove top after I had just turned the burner off

- ate two chicken breasts in one sitting (I airfried three. Two for me and one for them. had to share the second one)

- would probably inhale a whole hotdog if I let them

- dump their water dish out if its anywhere other than in the sink

- tracked toilet water down the hallway becuase my sister didn't close the toilet lid

- got pee'd on by my brother because he didn't fully close the bathroom door

- ran under my feet when I was wearing boots and got stepped on. She didn't learn anything

- sit in the bay window and stare at people going by

- the younger of the two tried to kill the vet after they got fixed so I had to go back and get her into the carrier. She proceeded to try to kill her sister so I had to borrow another carrier from the vet to get both of them home. (I am pricing out getting two slightly smaller carriers for future vet trips than the big one I have)

- hated each other for a good week and a bit after being fixed

- almost took my arm off because my sisters brought the little dog over to let them sniff. The cats did NOT want to be sniffed. I can still hear the screech that cat let out.

- how dare I have anything on the table or the counters

- how DARE I only put dry kibble in the food bowl. That food bowl is for food, not toys.

- they see anything that rattles, crinkles or skitters as a toy. Dry kibble is a toy that can be eaten after being batted from the kitchen down the hallway into the bedroom

-may currently be on a partial hunger strike because the grocery store didnt have the wet food I had been giving them. (The exact same brand except the one they liked was in a plastic container)

- refuse to eat any other flavour of wet food aside from "seafood"

- refuse to eat any type of kibble aside from iams or kitten kibble

- only sleep either between my legs or in the doggy-bed I have on my own bed. (They get flung often because I constantly move in my sleep)

- I'm like 80% sure one of them ate the empty tube my testosterone came in. It was on the counter and then it wasn't. I have swept and also checked in the vent on the floor and I still don't know where it went.

- do something bad and scatter the moment I stand up.

- almost took down my bedroom door when I had to lock them in there when I had a zoom interview

- rattle the closet door for hours on end when I'm trying to sleep

-pooped in the kitchen sink because I was taking too long cleaning the litter bin (deadass just put the dirty litter into the garbage when the beotch shat in the sink)

- knocked my fan off the bedside table while I was asleep. Fan ended up broken.

- Stare and scream at me through the glass door every day when I go to work even though they know I'll be back in six hours.

- stare and scream at me through the glass door every day when I get BACK from work

- take man-shits on the daily and stink up the entire house despite the litter box being in the farthest room in the house

- knocked my lava lamp off the mantle piece (thank fuck that didnt break)

- often knock the vent covers off the fireplace

- ate the corner of my Fallout New Vegas "New California Republic" flag

- only get sick on the carpets. Winnie's first time being sick was caught and I held her above the sink. She stayed away from the sink for the next few days because that was obviously the thing that made her sick

- knocked over a half empty pop can and stained the carpet brown

My girls, Winnie and Mary. (Winnie has all the toes)

I want to get a third one, a blonde one though, and name her Sarah.

having a cat is great. there's a small little animal wandering around. effervescent