#red schwinn

[onlyhappyvibes]

[ladykissingfish]

*Obito and Deidara at a motorcycle shop* Obito: Well, what do you think, beautiful? Deidara: I think no matter what you buy, you're gonna end up crashing it and splitting your stupid skull all over the pavement, hm. Obito: *sighs* I wish you weren't so against this. You know how long I've wanted my own bike, how long I've been saving for one? Deidara: It just seems a pretty stupid thing, "saving" to die. Obito: I'm not going to die! I'm super careful when it comes to riding. And really, there's no greater chance of me dying on a motorcycle than there is of me dying in the car with YOU, you speed demon. Deidara, indignantly: I don't drive that fast, hm. And there's a difference; if we crashed in a car, we have like a two thousand pound cage surrounding us to protect us. But with a motorcycle you're left vulberable and exposed. Anything could happen. Obito: *puts his arms around Deidara and hugs him* I appreciate how much you love me, and how concerned you are with my safety, my love. Tell you what; how about YOU pick out the bike I buy? Deidara: Me? Obito: Yes. That way you can be reassured of it's safety and quality. Deidara: And you'll stick with anything that I pick. Obito: Yes. Promise. Deidara: Okay, hm! I know just the one! *next week, at Obito and Deidara's house* Hidan: So where's this new bike that your old man got? I can't wait to see it, he's been talking about buying one for fuckin' forever! Deidara: He should be pulling up on it any second -- oh, there he is! *Hidan's jaw drops as Obito pulls up on a red Schwinn bicycle with a basket on the back and a large horn on the front* Obito: *takes off his helmet and he pulls up to the curb* Obito: Hey, babe, I'm home. *takes a bag out of the basket* Got us some take-out for dinner. Hidan:

[coneyislandbabey]

i only have eyes for you. -> g.dunne

WARNINGS: some profanities but nothing not expected in canon

SYNOPSIS: You bit Graham at preschool when you were three years old. The rest, they say, is history. word count: 3,471

TROPES: Friends to lovers, slowburn, hidden relationship

NOTES: Written for this request! Hope you guys enjoy :)

Y/N L/N: You know, I don’t remember the first time I ever met Graham. Sometimes it feels like he was always just a fact of life, that he’d always been there and he always would be. 

Graham Dunne: She bit me the first time we ever met. First day of Pre-K 3, and I stole the plastic giraffe she was playing with, and she bit me. I don’t know what happened, but by the time both of our mothers arrived at the school, we’d gotten past the biting thing and were best friends. 

1958

“Oh, Graham Cracker,” you sang, flying down the front steps of the elementary school, your hair, tied up in little red satin ribbons, streaming behind you. Graham was at the curb, pulling his red Schwinn bicycle carefully out of the bike rack. He had gotten it from his mother for his ninth birthday, and it quickly became his prized possession. It was shortly before Halloween, and you were sinking deeper into a Pennsylvania autumn, deep red leaves bigger than your hand falling in droves from the Maples in front of the building and twirling in the breeze around the figure of your best friend. 

Graham turned at his nickname, grinning and raising a hand to wave when his pale eyes lit on you. His curls had grown a little too long, unruly, you noted, caressing the collar of his brown corduroy jacket. 

“Walk home together?” he asked, once you came to a stop in front of him on the sidewalk. You adjusted the straps of your school bag on your shoulders, pulling the sleeves of your jacket down against the cold. 

“But you biked,” you said, motioning to the Schwinn. He’d had it for a good few months now, but it still gleamed like it was brand new. This didn’t surprise you– you often saw him sitting on the front stoop, bike leaning against his knees and a polish rag in his hand.

“I’ll walk it home with you,” he shrugged, and before you could respond he started down the sidewalk, leaving you no choice but to fall in step beside him. 

“I want to check out books on the Titanic tomorrow when we go, so you’ve got to help me find the good ones,” you informed him. The next day was Thursday, and the two of you had spent every Thursday afternoon since first grade at the library. Each week you had some new topic you wanted to read up on, and Graham, who was far less interested in even opening a book, seemed perfectly happy to follow you around the stacks, carrying your ever-growing pile of books for you as you scoured the shelves for the ones you wanted. 

“Titanic is boring,” Graham said. “You should check out books about sharks. Or raptors. You know, other things that like to bite.” 

“Don’t start with that,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “You bite your best friend one time, and suddenly it’s the only thing he ever talks about.” 

“I have a scar!” he shouted, waving his pale wrist in your direction. The scar in question was miniscule, barely a millimeter where one of your sharp baby teeth had managed to break the skin in the incident. 

“That just means you always have a reminder of me!” 

1961

“It’s not a big deal, goose,” Graham told you. Rolling your eyes at the nickname (“Geese like to bite, like someone else I know.”) you turned to where he was sprawled out on your bed, cheek squished against your blankets as he, in turn, watched you pace in front of your closet. At twelve, he had finally passed you in height, and considerably so. His hair was still a little too long and shaggy, but now it was a choice of style rather than his mother being too busy to take him for a haircut. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said patiently, turning back to the closet. “It’s middle school, Graham. I can’t walk in there looking like a lamb.” 

Yours and Graham’s first day of middle school was looming a few days in the distance, and you’d been worrying yourself sick over making the right first impression. You didn’t want to look too young, still stuck in elementary school, but you didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, either. You envied the ease at which Graham seemed to be making the transition; with his considerable growth spurt and the new, sharper edges of his cheekbones and jaw, he could still wear his usual corduroy pants and pullovers and still look older, new. 

“You’ll be the best-dressed girl there, whatever you choose,” he responded, and the authority in his voice almost made you believe him. 

“And what makes you say that,” you said instead, hand on your hip as you leveled him with a look. 

“You’re the best everything girl in this town, you oughta know that by now,” he attempted to shrug in his horizontal position. You turned back to the closet without a word, hoping against god that Graham hadn’t seen the blush blazing in your cheeks. More and more often lately, Graham’s words invoked that reaction in you. You brushed the observation away, collecting yourself before nonchalantly turning back to him. 

“If that’s the case, why don’t you pick out my outfit?” you asked. 

“If it means we can go do something else after, then sure,” he said, picking himself up off the bed. He crossed the room to your closet in two large, easy strides, peering at the options over your shoulder. 

“This one,” he said after a minute of deliberation, pulling a red pleated skirt and sweater set out, holding them in front of your face. “You always look best in red.” 

You took the hangers from him, taking in the nonchalant but sincere look on his face. You didn’t quite know what to do with these compliments that Graham gave so freely, at random. You were getting to the age where some of the kids at school were going steady, or at least copying what they thought their older siblings were doing when they were going steady. You were sure you didn’t feel that way about Graham. Mostly. You had no idea what it meant to feel that way, anyhow. 

“Well, red it is, then,” you said, hanging the chosen outfit up on your closet door. “Let’s bike downtown to get ice cream.” 

1963

“You promised me, goose.”

“I thought you were joking! That’s so much time and effort, and it’s summer.” 

You and Graham were walking a lazy, winding path through the neighborhood. It was an unusually sweltering June, and school just let out for the summer. You’d had absolutely no plans for how to spend the next few months, until Graham reminded you that, back in the winter, you had promised you would let him teach you how to play guitar. 

“Why would I be joking?” Graham asked, looking at you strangely. 

“I don’t know, because that kind of thing is going to take a lot of time,” you shrugged. It’s not that you thought that Graham didn’t want to spend time with you more. It’s just that things had changed. In some ways, you had always known it was bound to happen: you couldn’t be Graham’s only best friend forever. Over the last year, he had gotten a lot closer with Eddie Roundtree and Warren Rojas. You had no problems with them– you quite liked them, actually, both were funny and kind and always said hello to you in the hallway even though you yourself weren’t friends with them– but they took up so much of Graham’s time these days. You felt stupid about it, but the truth was you felt a little jilted. Jealous, maybe. You missed your Graham Cracker. 

And now there was this: Graham insisting on teaching you guitar. A skill that would require practice every day. Hours and hours a week. Inadvertently, Graham was pledging hours and hours to you over the course of these languid, humid months. You put up a fuss, but you knew that you would have agreed to whatever Graham wanted to do, just to get the time with him. 

“Okay, fine. If you want to so badly,” you relented, and Graham let out a little cheer. 

“I’ll give you my old guitar until we can get you something better,” he said. “Come over my house tomorrow morning, we’ll start right away.”

1967

“So, we’re really doing this? Forming a band?” 

You were sitting on the back steps of the Dunne house, peering up at the two Dunne brothers standing in front of you. Warren was sitting on the steps with you, Eddie standing on your other side and leaning against the railing. Over high school, Warren and Eddie had gone from being Graham’s best friends, to yours, too. They slammed into your life with a fun, somehow easygoing relentlessness, Eddie showing up to teach you how to play a song he loves on the guitar, Warren staying with you all night the first time you got high and it sent you into an awful panic attack. If you were going to form a band, you guessed that these four would be the best to do it with. 

“Yeah, why not?” Graham asked. 

“Hell, you’ve convinced me,” Warren said, dissolving into laughter. You shook your head fondly at him; he was higher than space. 

“Alright, let’s do it,” you nodded, locking eyes with Graham as a grin spread across his face. 

Graham Dunne: Oh, sure, I remember exactly when I realized I had a crush on her. We were eight. It was the dead of winter, last day of school before Christmas break. A huge snowstorm had swept through the night before, and I was waiting out in the cold by the bike rack so we could walk home together. She came out wearing this navy blue coat and matching hat, and she contrasted so much against all that snow. I mean, she was striking. I didn’t know what beautiful was, then, but I was thinking it of her. That never really left me, not the whole rest of the time we were growing up. 

Y/N L/N: I don’t think I ever knew I liked Graham as more than a friend, not even all the way through high school. It just never occurred to me that I could like him like that. He was Graham, my Graham, the little boy I had bitten when we were three and who had been my best friend ever since. My brain couldn’t compute changing the way I felt about him, even if my heart had already made up its mind. All that changed, of course, after we got to Los Angeles. 

“Hey, we’re going to the market, you wanna come?”  Warren leaned against the doorframe to the living room, Eddie and Karen idling in the hall behind him. You and Graham were in the living room, him stretched out across the couch watching television, and you sprawled on the floor on your stomach, flipping through a copy of Rolling Stone Magazine. 

“No, thanks guys,” you smiled up at them, before returning to your magazine. 

“I’m good here,” Graham responded, too. Warren shrugged, and the three of them headed down the hall. You kept your eyes on the magazine, waiting to hear the front door close and the van start up. 

As soon as you heard the van peeling out of the drive, you stood and practically tackled Graham on the couch. He laughed, large, calloused hands coming to grip your hips and steady you. Your knees went to either side of his waist, hands splayed across his chest as you looked down at him. 

“Graham Cracker,” you grinned, and he rolled his eyes at the nickname. Beautiful eyes, you always thought. Like sea glass, or tide pools, or the Pittsburgh sky on a perfect August day. Mesmerizing even when he was rolling them at you in exasperation. Especially when. 

“Goose,” he acknowledged, smirking at his own use of your annoying nickname. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting to it, instead carrying on with what you were going to say. 

“We’re alone,” you said, adopting the most innocent voice inflection you could manage. 

“That we are,” he nodded his head against the arm of the couch. 

“You gonna do something about it?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, pretending to think about it for a moment before tugging you forward by your belt loops. You laughed, head falling back even as the rest of you fell forward, and Graham began pressing kisses to the exposed ridge of your collarbone. You murmured his name, still laughing, and ducked your head down to capture his lips with yours, listening satisfactorily to the hum of contentment he let out. 

You had all made it out to Los Angeles about a month ago, and things had changed between you and Graham almost immediately. You don’t know what did it– the thrill of change, the possibility of your future, the brand new city– but suddenly you saw Graham in all his glory, not just your life-long best friend, but a man who was sweet and caring, bashful, strong, beautiful. Everything. He had always been everything to you, you just hadn’t been able to see it. And as soon as you could see it, there was nothing to stop you from attaching to one another and never letting go. 

You kept it all on the down-low, of course. Nobody else needed to know, and that’s how you both felt. The rest of the band catching wind of the change in your relationship would only lead to teasing, or them eternally poking their nose into stuff that really really was not their business. Keeping it just between you meant getting to revel in it alone, not to mention the inherent thrill of sneaking around. 

“Let’s go up to your room, hmm?” you said breathlessly, detaching your mouth from his just long enough to get the words out. 

“Sounds good,” Graham said immediately. In one swift motion, he stood from the couch, gripping your thighs and picking you up with him as he stood. You linked your arms around his neck, trying not to giggle like an idiot at the thought of how easy it was for him to lift you. Graham didn’t look it at first glance, but fuck was he strong. 

He carried you up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, tossing you on the bed and kicking the door closed with his foot. You sat up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as soon as he was close enough and tugging him down onto the mattress with you. Just as Graham’s fingers went to the button of your shorts, you heard the front door swing open and the low murmur of voices. 

“Honeys, we’re home!” Warren shouted and then laughed at himself. “Market’s closed, we’re going out to the diner instead.” 

You sighed, closing your eyes and flopping back against the pillow. Graham dropped his head, curls tickling the skin over your breastbone.

“They really have great timing,” you muttered, unable to stop the laugh that escaped you. 

“We could just tell them, you know,” Graham mused. “That way we could stay home and pick up where they interrupted.” 

“Oh yeah, do you wanna be the one to say ‘we can’t come to the diner with you ‘cause we were about to bone’, or shall I?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and Graham laughed, rolling over to lay on his back next to you. 

“Alright, you got me there. Let’s go,” he said finally, standing up from the bed. You followed him out the door, bounding down the steps ahead of him. A minute later Graham followed, joining the rest of you in the living room. 

“Finally,” Eddie exclaimed, “I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

* * *

Six months into living in Los Angeles, and you and Graham had gotten a little careless. Well, actually, you’d gotten way too confident. If the rest of your friends hadn’t caught you yet, you figured, there was little chance they ever would. And now with everyone working so hard all the time, it seemed that nobody had the time to stop and think about how the two of you sat practically on top of each other in the living room, or the way you were always standing flush against one another’s sides. The hints were all there, but no one was picking them up. 

“I want to take you out,” Graham said. The two of you were sitting on the beach, watching the sun dip lower and lower past the horizon after a long afternoon of surfing. Or, rather, of Graham trying to teach you how to surf, and you only starting to catch on right at the end. 

“What do you mean, Dunne?” you asked, turning to face him. His nose and cheeks were red with a little sunburn, the faintest spray of freckles cropping up in the area. His eyes were almost supernaturally light in the golden glow of sunset. 

“I want to take you on a date,” Graham said. “And a real one, not one where we just happen to be hanging out alone. I want to take you to dinner, I want to offer you my jacket when it gets chilly as we leave, I want to bring you flowers, all of it.” 

“Okay,” you said slowly, turning over the warm images it brought to mind. “Well, let’s do it. Let’s go someplace fancy to eat. I’ll wear a dress and those earring you got me– you remember, those gold hoops you gave me after graduation?– and I’ll steal your jacket and kiss you under a streetlamp and take you home with me. We can do all of it.”

Graham pulled you in close and you rested your head on his chest. He smelled like sea salt and coconut sunscreen and the briny breeze sweeping in from the dock down the beach. 

“If we do that, the jig is up,” he said after a minute. “They’ll find out.” 

“So let them find out,” you sighed. “Let them freak out, let them tease, because I know they will, but one day they’ll get bored of it and move on and all the while we can go on a hundred fancy dates. I want that for us.” 

Graham angled his chin down as you looked up, catching his eyes and the surprised, apprehensive look on his face. “You do?” 

“Yeah, what did you think? I know we’ve been sneaking around, but it’s not because I wasn’t sure of us. You’re it, Graham, you have been since we were three years old,” you told him earnestly. 

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for, like, two decades,” Graham said, laughing in relief as he pulled your face in for a kiss. 

* * * 

The date had been everything you ever imagined it would be and more. You wore a slinky red dress and matching heels, the hoops Graham had given you years ago flashing amongst the strands of your hair whenever the light hit. Graham took you to a beautiful restaurant, the kind with little lamps on each of the tables, where patrons smoked cigarettes from golden cigarette cases through mother-of-pearl cigarette holders. He draped his jacket over your shoulders on the walk back to the car, and, as promised, you kissed him in the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp. 

You came home, both a little drunk off of expensive champagne, Graham’s arm wrapped securely around your waist as you stumbled over the threshold and into the house. Everyone else was sitting in the living room when you got back, ogling you curiously as you walked in. 

“And where have you been?” Karen asked, the first to break the silence. 

“On a date,” you said simply. 

“With who?” Warren asked. 

The two of you pointed to each other. 

“Wait, are you fucking serious?” This came from Billy, who had untangled himself from Camila in order to sit up and process the situation. “The two of you finally figured your shit out?”

“Oh, man, I never thought you’d have the balls to ask her out,” Warren laughed, tipping his head back against the back of the couch. 

“Oh, shut up, Rojas,” Graham said, rolling his eyes. 

“I figured you’d been dating when I met you in elementary school,” Camila said, smiling warmly at the two of you. “I’m glad that’s finally true.” 

“Thanks, Cami,” you grinned. “Now, uh, we’ll see you guys later.”

You pulled Graham away from them and to the stairs, ignoring the teasing and jeers emanating loudly from the living room. 

[clever-name-change]

Doing this in one go because it's late at night and I'm bored:

Marvin (red-flag I know, I just find him compelling)

Mendel (I have a very complex love-hate relationship with this HIPPA-defying bastard)

None, they are all wonderful

Cordelia/Charlotte (they're both genuinely so lovely and complex and unfortunately get pushed to the wayside by the tight-knit family far too often)

Whizzer/Marvin (I'm a simple creature)

I literally could not pick just one under threat of death (I have been listening to "A Marriage Proposal" and "Days Like This" a lot this week though)

Maybe "Holding to the Ground" (it's still super good, it's just not one I've found myself listening to on repeat a whole bunch)

A Day in Falsettoland (there's no analysis for this, I just love it)

Everyone Hates His Parents (the one good thing Mendel did in the whole show was add those funky little adlibs)

"Unlikely Lovers" personally gets me every time, but "What Would I Do" and "Father to Son" are both pretty strong contenders imo

MARVIN!! I could literally talk about that bastard for hours (he means so much to me I literally feel sick writing this)

I would add the song where Mendel sings about being a shit psychiatrist back in (I'm kidding, I love the show as is, hating on Mendel is just a fav pastime of mine)

I subscribed to the notion that Whizzer was being wholly wronged by Marvin initially, but the OBC version of "The Chess Game" awakened me (I like him and his relationship with Marvin more now, because them both being flawed is infinitely more compelling than Marvin just being a douche)

ANY!! Especially anything that Marvin sings in (put me in coach, please please pl)

...Marvin (red-flag, I know)

I plead the fifth

Cordelia (I just want to talk to her and I wish she was more present in the show)

Jason throwing his Bar Mitzvah in the hospital with Whizzer (it's a simple answer, but that really was impactful for everyone in his inner circle)

Mendel (he may be a bitch, but he has killer harmonies)

Christian Borle probably (I've seen him the most in other things), although I truly do adore the whole cast

I actually have made most everyone important to me watch the damn thing...soo...(I showed them "The Chess Game")

Act One (I love "Falsettoland" but "March of the Falsettos" is a beast that for brevity's sake I cannot address in full)

Marvin. That's it. Ask me about him and I can talk for days. Also Mendel (although for entirely different - and slightly more hateful - reasons)

Gordon Schwinn from "A New Brain" (I think he would go insane instantly and I find that concept utterly hilarious)

...Marvin (red-flag, I know)

Jason and Whizzer (another basic answer from me, but Whizzer was so important to Jason and so incredibly influential in his formative years that I can't help but adore how he became an example of "healthy" masculinity for the kid)

"Don't make noise but Daddy's kissing...boys!!"

MENDEL (FUCK YOU MENDEL WEISENBACHFELD YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID)

Literally, everything that comes out of this fandom is instantly a favorite...soo...

I just love this show to a degree that is noncommunicable via coherent worse...so...GHAGUYGUSIHOAHIABIAHGWIIA FALSETTOS!!

The End!

[apothekosm]

❝ Who, in their right mind, thinks of themselves as being above the beasts?! ❞

Civilized people did. People with access to their higher reasoning, who took the introduction of 'thumbs' to their genetic codes as a calling toward something MORE than dragging grubby, nasty batches of bitches through the literal mud.

THOSE PEOPLE thought of themselves as elevated beings, and in doing so, often decided against resorting to violence upon being mildly inconvenienced.

Those people were fucking cowards, and the Doyenne of Drama did not truck with cowards!

❛ violence for violence is the rule for beasts. ❜

❝ People adore pretending that they are a prayer away from apotheosis, but you know WHAT, Bestie Hara?! ❞

Her aura was crimson. Rich, warm green red blood surged through her, letting her move faster, react quicker, lift more. More, like the Schwinn flyer bicycle she'd raised above her head, like a boulder, to be tossed at the unseasonably aggressive local rowdies who were making this brunch with @petitsdieu untenable.

❝ GOD, HERSELF, IS A VERY BIG FAN OF VENGEANCE! ❞

[molemanninethousand]

For the record right off the bat (to do which should still be reserved for Mr. J, by the way; fuck you, Rocksteady), I don't even like Harley Quinn very much at all; she's easily one of the most overused characters in anything. However, the main reason I felt compelled to use her again was because her previous appearance and depiction in Poison Ivy's battle with Audrey II is quite possibly the single most outdated and poorly-aged of any character in MERB's history, and much like DC itself with the character as a person, I wanted to redeem my use of her.

In hindsight, I easily didn't need a custom artwork for Wolverine's cameo, him being one of the most prolific characters in comics with the literal opposite of any shortage of official imagery for representing him, but I wanted to specifically use the design from his official ERB with Freddy Krueger as well as the specific posing to complete the Red Dawn reference. I also just really like having Fruzmig on board wherever possible; she's cool.

According to my correspondence with Harley's voice actress in this, Amber Schwinn, she had previously spoken as the character while working at Six Flags, and was eventually told to stop because the park wasn't permitted to use her in that specific context. That might very well make this the first time MERB has featured a technically official actor of a character, albeit only by the loosest of criteria.

This matchup was actually conceived as a royale before I decided to focus solely on these two, the would-be additional entrants not being scrapped, per se, so much as they were saved for their own battle down the line: the next in my plans as of this very posting; stay tuned...

[ghelgheli]

The Stuff I Read in December 2023

favourites in bold

Books

Calling a Wolf a Wolf, Kaveh Akbar

The German Ideology, Marx & Engels

The Dark Forest, Cixin Liu

Yuri/GL

Hanamonogatari, schwinn

The Moon on a Rainy Night / Amayo no Tsuki (Vols 1-2), Kuzushiro

Run Away With Me, Girl, Battan

Opium, Aji

Asashi to Satsuki, Fujita

The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn't a Guy At All / Ki ni Natteru Hito ga Otoko Janakatta, Sumiko Arai

Free Soul, Ebine Yamaji

Short Fiction

Yon & Mu, Junji Ito

A Day in the Life of Anmar 20X1, Abdulla Moaswes [strange horizons]

Muneera and the Moon, Sonia Sulaiman [fiyah]

The Center of the Universe, Nadia Shammas [strange horizons]

Honeydew Toxicity Event, Porpentine Charity Heartscape [link]

Palestine

Palestinian Anarchists in Conversation: Recalibrating Anarchism in a Colonized Country, Joshua Stephens [link]

Anarchist, Liberal, and Authoritarian Enlightenments: Notes From the Arab Spring, Mohammed Bamyeh [link]

Our Siege is Long, Esmat Elhalaby [link]

Anti-Zionism as Decolonisation, Lara Kilani & Leila Shomali [link]

What's the matter with the Israeli working class?, Daphna Thier [link]

Inside the Pro-Israel Information War, Lee Fang & Jack Poulson [link]

Refusing Genocide, Rasha Abdulhadi & Beatrice Adler-Bolton [link]

‘A mass assassination factory’: Inside Israel’s calculated bombing of Gaza, Yuval Abraham [link]

"Theory"

Western Marxism, the Fetish for Defeat, and Christian Culture, Jones Manoel [red sails]

On Contradiction, Mao Tse-Tung [marxists dot org]

The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Walter Benjamin

Other

Multimodal datasets: misogyny, pornography, and malignant stereotypes, Abebe Birhane, Vinay Uday Prabhu, Emmanuel Kahembwe [arxiv]

On Anthony Bourdain, Lz. A. [red sails]

The Myth of Man the Hunter: Women’s contribution to the hunt across ethnographic contexts, Abigail Anderson et al. [doi]

Monster, Terrorist, Fag: The War on Terrorism and the Production of Docile Patriots, Jasbir K. Puar & Amit Rai [link]

Deaths Pulled From the Future, Beatrice Adler-Bolton [link]

In The End We All Do What We Must: Universal Paperclips, Clicker Games, AI, and Agency, Sam Keeper [link]

[danteavenue]

Incarnate by Vivica Salem

Sun-kissed skin.

Scars the shape of stars rise like seraphs and burn red about the wrists.

There is no one left to bleed dry in the twilit street.

No one but her.

She is under the bridge tending to her skirts, mangled on a vine of barbed wire.

Besotted in amethyst, drawn to the man in the mist, she claims, “One day you’ll be endowed with my sins.”

He sinks his teeth into her taut flesh.

Swallowing the fountains of blood flowing from her neck.

The following day, the bicycle rack

(where they find her dead body) has no trace of her pink Schwinn. 

Every ounce, every drop of life and sustenance was drained from her.

The bicycle is stolen from its original thief at a gas station, and he, lusting for blood once more, remembers that the dead girl with the star-shaped scars was more beautiful than anyone he had ever known.

He retained his youth and candid good looks for 100 more years until an assailant resembling the cyclist with red and white wrists tore him open and left him on a dusty rose carpet, lifeless as the doll he was in his existence.

[onlyhappyvibes]

Schwinn speedster 3 speed

[ramenwithgyoza]

Broadway musical roles that i wanna see tenma tsukasa play. Not musical roles tenma tsukasa would play best (because he would put his best in every role regardless), but roles that fit his vibe

enjolras - les miserables

of course tsukasa would gun for the role of marius, but he fits the fiery leader better than pontmercy's silly ass

he would act well on top of that giant barricade prop. xylophone vest is a good look on him

red the blood of angry men (rui grantaire makes no sense either)

anatole - natasha pierre and the great comet

i wanna hear him hit that prolonged high 'for petersburg'. i know he cant play the violin but i believe in him

pompous little bitch

natalie natalie natalie you must love me or die

gordon schwinn - a new brain

petty petty petty petty. i wanna see him play ill petty bitch become a healed petty bitch

rui as roger doesnt work but it would be cute to do id rather be sailing

marvin - in trousers

marvins giddy seizures

roles i want tenma tsukasa to play but he cannot

chip tolentino - 25th annual putnam county spelling bee

i wanna see him sing my unfortunate erection and play jesus but sorry this role is only reserved for filipinos

bruce bechdel - fun home

a nice serious mature role is good for him too, but lets wait til he gets older. right now he is a son not a father

melchior gabor - spring awakening

i wanna see it but i also dont wanna see it. itll be like watching a car crash, you cant look away

[musical-failgirl-fight]

MUSICAL FAILGIRL FIGHT ROUND 1

you all know the drill. here we go. i used edit.org to make this

voting for this is based on who you think encapsulates the "girlfail" trope best - who is the messiest and most pathetic. i will reblog any attached propaganda beyond "vote [x]" and i will post any asks i get.

this is just for the funnies, please be civil. please do not make jokes like "ill kms if [x] doesnt win" or threaten anyone for liking [y] - they are upsetting and not in the spirit of the polls.

links to the brackets are under the cut.

Helene Bezukhova (Great Comet) vs Maria (West Side Story)

Delia Deetz (Beetlejuice) vs Persephone (Hadestown)

Trina Weisenbachfeld (Falsettos) vs Sally Bowles (Cabaret)

Brooke Rodgers (Goosebumps) vs Riley Williams (We are the Tigers)

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) vs Katherine Plumber (Newsies)

Rose Red (Ghost Quartet) vs Alana Beck (Dear Evan Hansen)

Eurydice (Hadestown) vs Veronica Sawyer (Heathers)

Sara McRae (Murder Ballad) vs Ruth (Pirates of Penzance)

Beatrix Campbell (Adamanti) vs Ariadne Minos (Ulysses Dies at Dawn)

Eponine Thernardier (Les Miserables) vs Nellie Lovett (Sweeney Todd)

Regina George (Mean Girls) vs Lee Green (Vide Noir)

Dr. Carmilla (Dr. Carmilla) vs Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg (Ride the Cyclone)

Judith Ford (36 Questions) vs Emma Perkins (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)

Natasha Rostova (Great Comet) vs Jutta von Sponheim (In the Green)

Harper Perkins (Don't Stop Me) vs Kate Monster (Avenue Q)

Mimi Schwinn (A New Brain) vs Madame Thenardier (Les Miserables)

[northgeorgiadogtraining]

What Should I Consider Before Giving a Puppy as a Christmas Present?

When I was little, I really loved Christmas.  Don’t get me wrong, I still love Christmas, but when I was super young, I really, really loved Christmas.  To get right to the point, I unapologetically admit that my childhood love of Christmas was a direct result of getting gifts.

As we all know, gifts are great.  Gifts are different than anything else because they are “quasi-surprises”.  We usually have a hint that we are getting something, but we aren’t 100% positive. Once we know we are getting something, we don’t know what it is. We may even see a box that we know is our gift, but we still don’t know what is inside.

I remember that on the Christmases when I was young, I got a whole bunch of really good things.  One year I got a red Radio Flyer Wagon.  That wagon was still around thirty years later and still worked.  One year I got a really cool fire engine. It had peddles and a steering wheel so I could drive all over the place. One year I got a new Schwinn bicycle.  That was great. I could now chase the ice cream man down the road.

The one thing that I never got was a puppy.  Come to think of it, not getting a puppy for Christmas was probably a good thing. You see, even though I loved all the stuff I got, after a few days, I stopped playing with most of it.  Much of the stuff simply ended up in the back of my closet. You can’t do this with a puppy. Puppies are a life-long commitment.

So, what is the correct protocol for Christmas puppies? Gift or no gift? Robin and I have a great dog training article that details everything you will need to know. Please read our dog training blog titled “What Should I Consider Before Giving a Puppy as a Christmas Present”.

https://northgeorgiadogtraining.com/what-should-i-consider-before-giving-a-puppy-as-a-christmas-present-suwanee/

[laughingblue12]

How It Should Be... According to Mickey

A 1951 Schwinn Spitfire like mine in 1963 when the world was golden. My bicycle was red. It was red and looked just like the ones that Captain Kangaroo had in his commercials that we watched on a black-and-white TV every day before we walked or rode our bicycle to school, across town a whole long seven blocks away. After school I could ride it out a whole mile and a half to Jack’s farm with…

[famouscenes5]

My Father bought me a Red Schwinn Cruiser Bike and my Mom got me my First Job at the A&P Delivering Groceries and Prescriptions throughout Bogota

I was Popular and Beloved in my Town and Invited to All the Parties/Picnics/BBQ's

[arcobalenomondovionlus]

Uso delle borracce nell’Evoluzione tecnologica della Mountain Bike

Le origini della mountain bike risalgono agli anni ’70 nel nord della California, Stati Uniti, dove un gruppo di appassionati ciclisti iniziò a modificare le biciclette da crociera pesanti per affrontare i sentieri di montagna. Queste prime versioni, utilizzate per discese ripide e terreni accidentati, furono conosciute con vari nomi a seconda della regione: “ballooners” in California, “klunkers” in Colorado e “dirt bombers” in Oregon. Joe Breeze, un costruttore di telai per biciclette, fu tra i primi a intuire il potenziale di queste modifiche e sviluppò quella che oggi è considerata la prima mountain bike.

Tra la fine degli anni ’70 e l’inizio degli anni ’80, le aziende di biciclette da strada iniziarono a produrre mountain bike utilizzando materiali leggeri e tecnologicamente avanzati, come l’alluminio M4. La Lawwill Pro Cruiser del 1979 fu la prima mountain bike di serie disponibile sul mercato. Il design del telaio si basava su un prototipo costruito da Don Koski utilizzando un condotto elettrico e un telaio Schwinn Varsity. Queste biciclette, vendute a circa $500, furono prodotte in una serie limitata di circa 600 esemplari.

La Specialized Stumpjumper, prodotta per la prima volta nel 1981, rappresenta un altro importante traguardo nella storia delle mountain bike. Con l’aumentare della popolarità di queste biciclette, figure come Randolph (Randy) Ross, vicepresidente esecutivo di Ross Bicycles Inc., dichiararono che le mountain bike stavano portando un cambiamento radicale nell’industria ciclistica.

Negli anni ’90 e 2000, la mountain bike è passata da uno sport di nicchia a un’attività mainstream, con un circuito di corse internazionali e un campionato del mondo. Competizioni come l’FMB World Tour e il Red Bull Rampage hanno ulteriormente elevato il profilo di questo sport, attirando una vasta gamma di appassionati.

Categorie e Design delle Mountain Bike

Le mountain bike si suddividono in quattro grandi categorie in base alla configurazione delle sospensioni:

Rigida: Mountain bike senza sospensioni anteriori né posteriori, dotate di pneumatici grandi e tassellati e manubrio dritto.

Hardtail: Mountain bike con una forcella ammortizzata per la ruota anteriore, ma con un telaio rigido.

Coda morbida: Mountain bike con perni nel telaio ma senza ammortizzatore posteriore. La flessione del telaio assorbe alcune vibrazioni.

Sospensione completa (o doppia sospensione): Mountain bike con sospensioni anteriori e posteriori, offrendo una guida più fluida su terreni accidentati.

Innovazioni nei Componenti delle Mountain Bike

Negli anni ’80, le mountain bike iniziarono a utilizzare sistemi di ingranaggi avanzati, con un numero crescente di velocità disponibili. Sebbene inizialmente fossero considerate impraticabili, le cassette a 10, 11 e 12 velocità sono ora comuni. I gruppi SRAM e Shimano hanno contribuito notevolmente a queste innovazioni, con il lancio di trasmissioni 1×11 e 1×12 che offrono una maggiore semplicità e leggerezza.

La geometria del telaio della mountain bike, con angoli critici come l’angolo di sterzo e l’angolo del tubo sella, influisce pesantemente sulla maneggevolezza e sull’efficienza della bici. Gli angoli più ripidi sono preferiti per la pedalata in salita e per una maneggevolezza più reattiva, mentre angoli più aperti offrono maggiore stabilità alle alte velocità.

Le sospensioni hanno rivoluzionato il comfort e la performance delle mountain bike. Dalle prime forcelle ammortizzate degli anni ’90 alle moderne sospensioni anteriori e posteriori, questi componenti hanno reso la guida su terreni accidentati meno stressante e più efficiente.

Freni a Disco e Design delle Ruote

I freni a disco, ormai standard nelle nuove mountain bike, offrono una potenza di arresto superiore rispetto ai freni a pattino, specialmente in condizioni avverse. Disponibili in versioni idrauliche e meccaniche, i freni a disco migliorano la sicurezza e la performance.

Le dimensioni delle ruote delle mountain bike sono evolute nel tempo, con diametri che vanno dai tradizionali 26 pollici ai più recenti 29 e 27,5 pollici. Le ruote più larghe offrono una maggiore stabilità e controllo, cruciali per le discipline tecniche come il freeride e il downhill.

Innovazioni nei Pneumatici

I pneumatici delle mountain bike variano in base alle condizioni del terreno e alle esigenze del ciclista. Pneumatici con diversi disegni del battistrada, specifici per condizioni bagnate o asciutte, offrono una trazione ottimale in varie situazioni. I pneumatici tubeless, che eliminano il rischio di pizzicature e permettono una pressione inferiore, sono diventati sempre più popolari.

Le mountain bike continuano a evolversi, con innovazioni che migliorano costantemente la performance e il comfort. Dalle sospensioni avanzate ai freni a disco, passando per le ruote e i pneumatici specializzati, ogni componente è progettato per offrire la migliore esperienza di guida possibile. Per i ciclisti di oggi, le moderne mountain bike rappresentano l’apice di decenni di sviluppo e innovazione, rendendo possibile esplorare terreni sempre più difficili con maggiore sicurezza e divertimento.

L’Importanza delle Borracce per i Ciclisti di Mountain Bike

Un elemento cruciale per i ciclisti di mountain bike è la corretta idratazione durante le escursioni. Qui entrano in gioco le borracce, che sono diventate un accessorio indispensabile. Le borracce, facili da usare e leggere, permettono ai ciclisti di mantenersi idratati senza interrompere la loro corsa.

Durante le lunghe giornate sui sentieri, le borracce si rivelano particolarmente utili. I ciclisti possono scegliere tra borracce di vari materiali e capacità, adattandole alle loro esigenze specifiche. Le borracce moderne sono progettate per essere facilmente accessibili e maneggevoli, permettendo ai ciclisti di bere senza doversi fermare.

L’uso di borracce non è solo una questione di praticità, ma anche di sicurezza. Mantenere un adeguato livello di idratazione aiuta a prevenire crampi e affaticamento, migliorando la performance complessiva e riducendo il rischio di infortuni. Inoltre, molte borracce sono dotate di sistemi di isolamento che mantengono le bevande fresche anche durante le giornate più calde, rendendo l’idratazione ancora più piacevole.

Le borracce sono disponibili in vari design e materiali, dal classico plastica al più avanzato acciaio inox. Alcune borracce sono dotate di filtri integrati, permettendo ai ciclisti di riempirle con acqua da fonti naturali lungo il percorso. Altre hanno valvole anti-perdita che assicurano che l’acqua rimanga all’interno anche sui terreni più accidentati.

L’innovazione nelle borracce continua a progredire, con nuovi modelli che offrono caratteristiche come la facilità di pulizia e la compatibilità con i supporti per biciclette. Per i ciclisti di mountain bike, le borracce rappresentano non solo un accessorio utile, ma un elemento essenziale per garantire una corsa sicura e confortevole.

In conclusione, le borracce sono un componente fondamentale dell’equipaggiamento di ogni ciclista di mountain bike, fornendo idratazione immediata e mantenendo alta la performance durante le escursioni. Con la continua evoluzione delle mountain bike e dei loro componenti, anche le borracce si adattano e migliorano, diventando sempre più efficienti e indispensabili per gli appassionati di questo sport.

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[thebibliophilevigilante]

Jason raised his eyebrow at her quip about him stepping in. Was she essentially saying he’d be a backup choice...to himself? He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I could rock your world so hard, Hood wouldn’t even be a blip on your radar.”

Except...he...would be, because he was Red Hood? What?

“I don’t know. A lot of women swoon over Nightwing. He has a cult following, probably from all that spandex he wears. Supposedly, it makes him more ‘aero-dynamic’ or some shit. I think he just likes accentuating his assets.”

He mulled over her speculations of Red Hood. Ordinary man? Sure, if ordinary men often were brutally killed, then resurrected by some miracle and had to dig out of their own grave. Afraid of commitment? Not for the reason she was thinking. Abusive? No. Doesn’t do his laundry? Okay, it had been a hot minute, but he was planning on doing it that weekend. Broke? Financially speaking, no. Mentally? That was another story entirely.

“I can most certainly blame that guy. He was trying to play the hero and swoop in and shoot his shot. Lucky I didn’t shoot his fucking kneecaps, the prick.

“What makes me different from most people is that I’m real. I can be genuinely sweet, but don’t get it twisted. I’ll put you in your place when you need it.” There was a playful glint in his gaze as he murmured that last statement. “Just like...I can see through this ‘innocent flirt’ routine with your gorgeous doe eyes. I can be a gentleman to a point, but you’re playing with fire. And you know it."

Her fingers danced through his hair again, distracting him from that train of thought. He really couldn’t remember when someone last doted on him like this. Typically, he kept people more at an arm’s length. With Madison, it was different. He could tell.

Full lips turned into a pout at her statement. “I couldn’t have lost that many points,” he sassed. “By the way, that douche said that he ‘had a bike, too.’ $10 says it was a 10-speed Schwinn. At least my Honda has an engine that hits all...the right...spots.”

Might have been a bit bold, but fuck it. He had to compete against...himself now, apparently.

“C’mon. I know the best place for fries. They’re slightly battered and crispy on the outside while still being fluffy on the inside. Luckily for us, it’s on our way to the last stop.”

When it comes to getting intel, there are several ways to go about it. One could ask politely, or ask the right questions to eventually draw information from their target. There is intimidation, threatening your target and demanding the information in exchange for remaining unharmed. Then there is incognito surveillance, appearing inconspicuous and melding in with one’s environment just listening and watching.

The current session was the latter.

A raven-haired man with a blanched tuft in his bangs kept his teal eyes trained on the book in his massive, calloused right hand. His left swirled his take-away cup absentmindedly. He was reading words, but they weren’t registering in his brain. His focus was more concentrated on the conversations around him, and what information he could gather before his next patrol.

The first three rules of real estate are location, location, location. Burnley Brewhouse definitely had that, especially for Jason Todd. It was conveniently placed right on the very edge of Burnley, practically at the juncture of where Crime Alley and The Bowery neighborhoods started (which were all Jason’s domain). By day, the neighborhood was full of regular citizens, students and tourists. By night, the whole area was crawling with denizens of the dark wheeling and dealing for their own personal gain and vices while putting others at risk.

Jason brought his cup to his mouth for a sip, his eyes flicking to the counter where two men with heavier builds were waiting for their order. One had a rough 5 o’clock shadow, the other a scraggly, unkempt blond beard, both wearing holy jeans and beat-up leather jackets. He recalled seeing them once during a patrol a couple of weeks prior, skulking around by the Freight Yards. They were definitely up to no good then, and could offer him decent information in the present. The barista handed both of them a take-away cup, and his eyes quickly glanced down to his book again, his peripherals watching as they meandered around to sit at a table caddy-corner from his in the back corner of the shop.

“Terry was telling me about that new candy order he has coming in,” 5 O’Clock muttered lowly to his friend. “Said it should get here overnight, and we can distribute to the stores first thing in the morning.”

Scraggles ran his nails over his beard as he listened. “Loaded with sugar? Y’know these kids can’t get enough of their sugar.”

“He said it was everything needed from the inventory list. He said he has his pal Molly coming in to help with the shipment too.”

There was a small pause before, “How many donuts did he get and where from?”

“11 for the crew. I think he said they’re from Declan’s over on 14th Street.”

Jason had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Those two idiots were blatantly discussing a drug drop in broad daylight just as if they were talking about a regular candy store shipment.

He switched the book to his right hand as he snagged a napkin from the holder and a pen from the table. He scribbled a note to himself, writing the characters’ names from his book, followed by “PG 11, DL 14.” He knew his own shorthand; the character names were to keep up appearances. “PG 11” would remind him the drop was scheduled for 11, and “DL 14” would remind him the ship would be at Dock Bay 14.

His attention went back to his book as he brought the pen to his lips, teeth nibbling on the retractable plunge as he appeared deep in thought. He was about to tune back into 5 O’Clock and Scraggly’s conversation when the cafe’s entry bell rung.

His eyes flitted to the door to assess the entrant, and he froze. A young brunette with piercing dark eyes was glancing around, looking for a place to perch herself no doubt. She was breathtaking, and certainly unlike any other person he had seen come in to Burnley’s. As she turned to the counter, he couldn’t help the large grin that danced over his face. First he got lucky with the tip-off. Would he be lucky enough for that gorgeous girl to sit anywhere within his vicinity?

@rpwiththelilflower