#soldes sac

[charmedcleric]

ROLAN MY LOVE WHAT ARE YOU DOING

[shiftythrifting]

This just seems... unnecessary

(ok I just looked up the website and it's about a golf ball holder shaped like a scrotum 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Oh god not MySack merch!

[ninzied]

sunshine

a childhood enemies to lovers au. 500 word drabble for @hgejfmw-hgejhsf.

“I don’t know, Bug.”

He’s exhausted as hell from the flight home after a grueling finals week. He doesn’t want to make small talk with people he grew up with only to spend the last four years seeing how much they grew apart. It’s pretty much the worst thing he can think of right—

June says, too-casually, “Henry will be there.”

Scratch that. It just got even worse.

Obviously Alex has to go, now.

He hasn’t seen Henry since halfway through middle school, when the Fox family moved out of state. Mister fancy-pants “Oh, I’m on the cul-de-sac” Henry, who always had the cooler bikes, and out-sold Alex at every Girl Scout thing they went to with their sisters. Henry, who was good at everything and got along with everyone. Everyone, that is, except for Alex.

Henry, who’d stayed friends with Pez down the street, is exactly how Alex remembered but worse. He’s too fucking tall. His shoulders are so broad they’re borderline ridiculous. He—

“Alex.”

Fuck. His voice got even deeper. Fuck. Alex scowls.

“Charming as ever,” Henry remarks. At a pointed glance from Pez, he clears his throat, then adds, “Taller, though. Unless we’re speaking relatively, in which case—”

Is this guy for fucking real?

Alex opens his mouth.

“Henry’s the same, though, right, baby brother?” June butts in. “Remember that camp photo? The one where you said he looked like sunshine?”

“Can you not?” Alex objects. “Like he thinks the sun shines out of his ass, is what I said.”

“No,” says June, “I don’t think that was it.” She turns to Henry. “Pretty sure he kept it, by the way.”

“June,” hisses Alex. “How do you even know about that?”

Henry’s blushing. The stupid sun is in his hair again and he looks so unfairly fucking pretty that Alex wants to— wait. What?

Oh. Alex kind of forgets to breathe for a moment. Oh.

“Right, we’ll leave you to it,” says Pez. He takes June by the arm.

Henry shifts. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was always too panicked by your evident dislike of me to not act like a total knob when you were around. Suppose that hasn’t changed either.”

Alex swallows. “I never disliked you. I just. Always figured you thought you were too good to hang out with me.”

“My gran did think that,” Henry admits, looking sad. “She was very strict.”

Alex remembers the general shape of her, a grim shadow in the curtain whenever he rode his bike too-close to their cul-de-sac. “Was?”

“She doesn’t get a say anymore.” Henry looks at him. “Does that, erm. Mean you wanted to? Hang out?”

“Did you?” Alex counters.

If Henry had pigtails, Alex could’ve pulled those and not been more fucking obvious.

“Yes,” says Henry, simply. “Perhaps we could start now? Make up for lost time?”

“For the record,” says Alex, “I really, really didn’t dislike you.”

Henry’s flush deepens. He’s smiling. Fuck. “For the record,” he says, “I kept that photo, too.”

[legallybrunettedotcom]

‘Instead of nightclubs I want a 24hr library with hot chocolate stations, a dessert bar, coffee machine, big comfy chairs and beanbags, blankets, dogs welcome, just people who want to spend the evening reading alone, together, peaceful, a cosy fire, plants, an indoor waterfall.’

Setting aside the muddled list of amenities, which seems intent on joining a Hobbit Hole with a Gulf State airport and a Midlands university library constructed in the 70s but renovated somewhere around 2010, there’s something fishy going on here. What we’ll call the fantasy library envisions — as numerous commentators have pointed out on Twitter — a space for people with the people taken out. People are ‘alone, together, peaceful’, but the purported ‘togetherness’ appears to manifest more as a ‘leave well alone’ attitude. The public space sounds more like a series of private spaces tacked together at the seams — like a suburban cul-de-sac, or a traffic jam full of SUVs, each entirely enclosed from the interference of the outside world, ensconced in its own conspicuous consumption of TV, music, or books. It’s a neoliberal version of the public space as individualised, privatised, packaged-up and sold back to us as an approximation of community, one which rests on a troubling distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them’.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Honey

Honey

Sweet, viscous liquid food, dark golden in colour, produced in the honey sacs of various bees from the nectar of flowers.

Flavour and colour are determined by the flowers from which the nectar is gathered.

Some of the most commercially desirable honeys are produced from clover by the domestic honeybee.

The nectar is ripened into honey by inversion of the major portion of its sucrose sugar into the sugars levulose (fructose) and dextrose (glucose) and by the removal of excess moisture.

Honey is marketed in several different forms: liquid honey, comb honey, and creamed honey. Sometimes the predominant floral type from which the honey was collected is indicated.

Liquid Honey

If liquid (strained, extracted) honey is desired, additional supers are added directly above the brood nest.

When one is largely filled, it is raised and another is placed underneath.

This may continue until several have been filled, each holding from 30 to 50 pounds (14 to 23 kilograms), or until the nectar flow has ended.

After the bees have evaporated the water until the honey is of the desired consistency and sealed in the cells, the combs are removed, the cells uncapped with the uncapping knife, and the honey extracted.

The removed honey is immediately heated to about 140 °F (60 °C), which thins it and destroys yeasts that can cause fermentation.

It is then strained of wax particles and pollen grains, cooled rapidly, and packaged for market.

Comb Honey

In production of honey in the comb, or comb honey, extreme care is necessary to prevent the bees’ swarming. The colony must be strong, and the bees must be crowded into the smallest space they will tolerate without swarming.

New frames or sections of a frame with extra-thin foundation wax, added at exactly the right time for the bees to fill without destroying them, are placed directly above the brood nest. The bees must fill and seal the new comb to permit removal within a few days, or it will be of inferior quality.

As rapidly as sections are removed, new sections are added, until the nectar flow subsides. Then these are removed and the colony given combs to store its honey for the winter.

Creamed Honey

Almost all honey will granulate or turn to sugar.

Such honey can be liquefied without materially affecting its quality by placing the container in water heated to about 150 °F (66 °C).

Liquid and granulated honey is sometimes blended, homogenized, and held at a cool temperature, which speeds uniformly fine granulation.

If properly processed, the granules will be extremely fine; the honey, which has a smooth, creamy appearance, is referred to as creamed honey.

Floral Types

Some honeys are sold by floral type; that is, they are given the name of the predominant flowers visited by the bees when they accumulated the honey.

The beekeeper has no way to direct the bees to a particular source of food but through experience learns which plants are the major sources of honey.

Different flowers produce different colours and flavours of honey. It may be heavy-bodied or thin-bodied, dark or light, mild-flavoured or strong-flavoured.

Most honey has been blended by the beekeeper to a standard grade that can be supplied and marketed year after year.

Different regions in California produce distinctive honeys:

Orange Blossom Honey: Sourced mainly from Southern California's vast citrus orchards.

Sage Honey: Harvested in the coastal areas and foothills.

Buckwheat Honey: Found in Northern California, with a robust, molasses-like flavor.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: References ⚜ On Beekeeping ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Chordata - Ascidiacea

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Ascidiacea is a paraphyletic class, so I am also including Thaliacea here. Ascidiacea, commonly called “Sea Squirts”, and Thaliacea, commonly called “salps”, “pyrosomes”, and “doliolids”, are tunicates: invertebrate chordates whose larvae begin life as free-swimming, tadpole-like larvae with rudimentary brains, light sensors, a dorsal nerve chord, and a notochord, before they metamorphize into their adult forms.

Adult Ascidians are sac-like, sessile, filter-feeding animals. They feed using two tubular openings, called siphons, through which they draw in and expel water. Some species live as solitary individuals, some are social, while others replicate by budding and become large colonies of zooids.

Thaliaceans are thought to have evolved from ascidians. Rather than settling down, they are free-floating throughout their entire lives. Salps move by contracting, similarly to jellyfish, straining phytoplankton from the water. They have a complex life cycle, in which one generation of solitary individuals reproduces asexually by producing a chain of tens to hundreds of individuals, which are released from the parent at a small size. The next generation consists of a colony of salps (called blastozooids) remaining attached together while swimming, feeding, and growing (see gif below). This generation reproduces sexually, first maturing as females and later transforming into males. Older chains of male blastozooids will fertilize the eggs of younger female chains. Growing embryos are called oozooids, and eventually detach from their parent blastozoids, to feed and grow as the next solitary, asexual generation.

Due to their soft bodies, the ascidian fossil record is scant. The earliest confirmed ascidian is Shankouclava shankouense from the Lower Cambrian, but they are likely older than that.

Propaganda under the cut:

Tunicates are “Olfactores”, meaning they have a more developed sense of smell and are more closely related to vertebrates than they are to lancelets. These are our closest invertebrate relatives.

The family Pyrosomatidae (image 3) has cylindrical or cone-shaped colonies of hundreds to thousands of individual zooids reaching up to 18 m (60 ft) long!

Due to their filtering capacity, some species are sensitive indicators of polluted water.

Sea squirts are the natural prey of many animals, including nudibranchs, flatworms, molluscs, rock crabs, sea stars, fish, birds, sea otters, and humans! They are eaten in Japan, Korea, Chile, and Europe (where they are sold under the name "sea violet").

[kohanakonohana]

noteからの翻訳です。日本語の方はぜひ末尾のリンクから向こうへ。

The silkworm makes a cocoon to protect itself when it becomes a pupa. The length of the thread that is ejected while swinging its head in a figure eight motion is said to be as long as 1,300 meters or more. 1,300m or even longer in some varieties.

The raw silk I usually use to weave kimonos is a thin, fine thread, and those threads I usually use to weave kimonos is made by twisting 10 strands of 7-grain yarn. In other words, it is the thickness of 70 cocoons.

When drawing raw silk, cocoons are boiled and the protein (sericin), which is like glue that holds the yarn together, is broken down and drawn out. The figure of eight(8) is the secret to prevent tangling in the middle.

So. we could find a silkworm or moss after we pull and take a long thread from inside. (They will not become adult silkworms, though, because they are boiled.

Raw silkworms can be boiled, or the amount of work required to take the thread from them is limited. Recently, we have been drying, freezing, salting (salting method), and steaming (steaming method), etc., to produce raw silk. In short, it is necessary to prevent the silkworms from leaving their cocoons as adult worms.

Because …silkworms first hatch in cocoons, but they have to make a hole in the cocoon they made themselves to get out.

For the time being, they finish their transformation into the form of a moth inside and tear the skin of their chrysalis, the silkworm then breaks through the chrysalis skin and expels an enzyme called cochonase, which is produced in the organ called the bird's crop sac.

The moth then breaks through the chrysalis skin, and exhales an enzyme called cochonase, produced in the organ called the bird's craw sac, to soften the sericin at the exit, then emerges from the chrysalis by pushing its way through the threads.

Furthermore, when it comes out, it also produces urine, or water, which is called "moth urine". and coloured and stains the inside of the cocoon. The rest is the skin of the shed pupa, which also sticks to the inside of the cocoon.

The silkworms hatch and the quality of the cocoons changes,

The quality of the cocoon changes and raw silk cannot be obtained. The enzyme does not break the thread itself, but the cocoonase is alkaline, so it does not do much damage to weakly acidic fibres.

However, cocoonase is alkaline, so there is no small amount of damage to weakly acidic fibres. Nevertheless, at least some of the silkworms have to be made into adult worms, because the silkworm eggs for the next cycle cannot be obtained.

The cocoons from which raw silk was not obtained, and the rest from disease, or the cocoons that did not produce raw silk, cocoons that were too small because of disease or poor growth, and so on.

It is Japanese culture not to waste such things. The cocoons are boiled, the sericin in the paste is broken down, and the pupal skin is removed as much as possible, and the result is cotton-like material known as "mawata".

Mawata sheets

The "tsumugi" thread is made by stretching and twisting the cotton, either by pulling it out or twisting it, or neither, or both. Then, fabrics woven using the tsumugi thread is called tsumugi weaving.

The left is raw silk and the right is tsumugi yarn spun by myself.The texture is different. Such is the case even with purchased products.

To be precise, the silkworm's thread is called "kibiso"

The silkworm's thread is made up of three parts: the beginning part, called kibiso ; the long, long raw silk part; and the end part, called "bisu".

Both kibiso and bisu have different textures from raw silk, and sometimes only these parts are collected and sold as separate yarns.

The beginning of the spit is still unstable and the end is the residue of the body, so in essence, I have heard that they are made slightly differently...In the case of the easily recognisable coloured silkworm cocoons, the hard yellow-green outer part is the kibiso,

The bis has a light yellow-green raw silk part inside, and the bis is slightly yellowish white.)

The bisu ends up looking leathery and unravelling…

Those different textures remain in the mawata, so, even if you try to stretch them out homogeneously, it is sometimes impossible to do so. That is the true nature of the knots that remain in the silk threads.

Kibiso (left) and bisu (right) of wild silkworms.(Silkworms ones do not peel so much)

In the end, what I wanted to say was that thread is a gift of life,I think it is lovely that the thread is born out of such a sense of waste.

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away

Mature 18+

Summary: By 2025 in an alternate dystopian future, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC Chapters: 1/? WC: 3.6K+ Warnings: Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, oral, p in v, slight age gap, sex worker, uncut, sci-fi science-y biology nonsense, cussing, etc. A/N: This idea popped into my head because who wouldn’t want Elvis to be alive right now? Enjoy this sci-fi/dystopian take <3 Kind of a long one but so much detail had to be crammed in. Likely shorter chapters in the future lol Next Chapter

The Washington D.C. lab was as cold as most of the minds that filled it. Melody wasn’t brought up to be emotionless but when the country was turned over into the hands of one man and the government bent over to follow, much of her life had changed as she knew it. So she put on the facade of being a loyal subject and obsessively studious. Melody wasn’t much of a fan of anything to do with structure and working out of an office, so she focused on majoring in STEM. The only way she felt her mind could be stimulated in the way music, television shows, and movies did for her was by being on her feet in a lab.

Melody chewed on her bottom lip as she flipped through the notes on the tablet. As the underling to the head biologist, she was meant to double and triple check stats and findings on the subjects. That’s what the people in their vats were meant to be referred to--subjects. Not human beings or real people. Lately, the older she got and the less naive she became to the government’s rule, Melody quietly questioned if she could live with herself. Since she joined Truman Labs last year after six rigorous years of higher education, she put on a show of doing what she was told and doing it better than anyone else who came before her. Melody’s eyes drifted over one famous face after the other, recognizing a few and others not as much. 

Checking the queue of who was next to fill the empty columns was nothing abnormal. Her eyes drifted over the list of five new names, using her index finger to scan each paragraph describing the traits attached to the subject. The bottom of the list and final name stated ‘Elvis Presley’ and his specimen number ‘EP3577’. Melody had heard of Elvis Presley, sure, but since the government regulated the Internet since she was a teenager, delving into older celebrities and music was based on physical media she could obtain. 

In the following months, Melody bit her tongue and did as she was told. Elvis’s DNA was collected back in his Army days, she read, the notes describing how his specimen was obtained were as simple as that. It was the company’s way of assuring there was more DNA to spare if need be. A short clip, to her surprise, showed a young Elvis Presley in black and white getting his hair cut on a military installation that stood today. Melody was taken by the sadness that crossed his face and the smile he put on for show. 

The weeks carried on until the sac surrounding what could appear to be a fetus grew rapidly within its vestibule. Melody watched and monitored him as the weeks grew into months and he was a full-fledged young man of about twenty to twenty-one years old. That’s how the government and the world liked them. Each celebrity was youthful and spry so they ultimately had a long enough lifespan to be useful again. Melody didn’t know what it was about him that stuck out to her besides how handsome he was. She had seen plenty of handsome men and beautiful women come through the lab. Knowing he died at forty-two may have affected her or it was the commercials broadcasted as of late promising to bring him back to the stage. 

She hated it.

She hated knowing they would soon keep him under lock and key the same way the real Elvis had been. That’s what her grandmother who raised her was able to convey one of the nights they met for dinner.

“Now, baby, we shouldn’t talk much about Before. I don’t mind it. They already know how excited folks are about Elvis returnin’.” Her grandmother said.

“Yeah… I was just curious.” Melody offered. Her grandmother had no clue that she worked for Truman Labs. Only that she’s a scientist with an okay-paying job that helps her get by on her own to afford an apartment and modest car.

“He was just eccentric. One of the first White boys that brought flavor and rhythm to America’s attention. Back then,” she clasps her hands over her bowl of food. “Similar to now, you weren’t supposed to be gyratin’ and swingin’ your hips on TV. It was lewd. I’m surprised they want to bring him back at that age.” 

“Do you still have some of his records?” Melody asked, stirring her food nonchalantly.

“Of course, baby. Go on and listen to whatever you like. Finish up your food first, you’re a growin’ young girl.”

“Grandma, I’m twenty-five years old,” Melody laughed.

“You’ll always be my baby. Now hush and eat.” Her grandmother dismissed, causing Melody to smile.

That evening she reacquainted herself with Elvis Presley’s music and gratefully enamored with the vinyls of Elvis simply talking or being interviewed. His southern drawl was much thicker than some of the southern twangs Melody encountered in the metropolitan area. 

She softened for him a little more, hardly noticing it once she was back at work.

The following week, Melody was checking vitals as necessary but lingered on Elvis a while longer. The application displayed everything from Elvis’s heartbeat to statistics of survivability. The lead biologist, Randall, wandered over to her side and crossed his arms over his chest as he peeked over to the tablet. He was pushing forty or already well into his forties. She wasn’t sure. The gray hairs among the brown strands and his bushy mustache threw her off. He was lean and tall, a bit too wiry for her liking. Melody knew when he was nearby because he always sprayed too much cologne. 

“You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?” Randall, leaned over to whisper jokingly.

“Ha, ha. I’m only being cautious so months of our hard work comes to fruition,” she glanced over to him and then back to Elvis. His genetically blond hair was spliced into being as black as his mother’s. It was insisted upon to save costs on his appearance. Melody watched his floating and bobbing figures, a couple of tubes connected to him swishing in the life-sustaining substance.

“It’s okay to like him. Every girl your age back then did. More or less. The world will be happy to have him back.” Randall nodded, looking up at Elvis. She screwed her mouth to the side while debating what to say and what not to.

“What about his family? Doesn’t he still have relatives that are alive today?”

“Some, but who would speak out against the regime? They’ll end up with a bullet between their eyes before someone intervenes on a family’s behalf.” Randall lowered his voice.

“Right,” Melody answered tersely.

“Are you alright, Mel? You’ve been tense lately.” Randall asked, crinkling his brows.

“This is just…important. It’s nothing more than the usual stress. I’m okay.” She nodded.

“Well, don’t be afraid to let me know if you need to put in some leave. Give the rest of these freeloaders something to do.” Randall said, clapping a friendly hand on her back. He left to check on the said freeloaders and Melody felt her shoulders drop as the tension left her. 

The day came when the five subjects would be transferred to the Training Wing. Melody was anxious about the entire process. The Training Wing could be stringent and border on abusive, from what she heard. Each celebrity clone needed something in particular about them ingrained into them in a small amount of time. Truman Labs was manufacturing nature versus nurture. In the past year, she learned that some things were just ingrained in every person. Sure, they had to be retaught how to play an instrument or act but they picked up on it like they were born to do it. 

One of the other scientists pulled the switch down for the specific group to be drained, a yellow light flashing above his head to alert what was happening. Melody couldn’t stand still, pacing and attached to the tablet as she checked the vitals of all five persons. They slowly lowered to the bottom of their tanks, a few crumpling where they ended up and unable to walk if they tried. Elvis was one of the few that started to come to and open his eyes. His hair hung in his face and he raised a hand slowly to wipe it from his forehead. The awaiting training teams dressed from head to two in white scrubs stood by with five gurneys, two to one. The first few doors were opened with a hiss as they began removing tubes and strongarming the subjects, loading them up onto the carts and strapping their soaked forms in.

Elvis’s head rolled when he was on the cart, his eyes landing on Melody as she stood back. Her full lips parted as his strikingly blue eyes focused on her and his unstrapped arm hung off the gurney as if reaching out. That was strange as the subjects were usually too disoriented to acknowledge what was going on but there he was focused on Melody. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes back to the tablet, checking his vitals. Elvis’s heart rate had gone up and by the time she was looking at him again, he was using what little strength he had to bat off the training team members. 

“Do you have a sedative on hand?” Asked one of the escorts, a stocky woman.

Melody was distracted by Elvis’s eyes holding her gaze, impressed by how much he shoved against the hands trying to wrestle him down. The whimpering sounds he made tugged at her, stabbing into her gut and up into her heart. There was that uncomfortable feeling again, seeing him as a person and not a lab rat. Melody nodded distractedly once she regained her internal composure. The tablet was left on a desk as she walked over to one of the few refrigerators that held all sorts of drugs and syringes on hand. Melody made quick work of drawing the sedative up into a sterile needle and approached Elvis’s gurney, plucking at it to clear out any bubbles. 

Elvis seemed to calm down the closer she got to him until he saw how sharp the needle was. He made a sound of discomfort, cringing as Melody gained in on him and turned over his arm.

“It won’t hurt too much,” she told him gently. “You’ll sleep,” Melody said, hoping he understood enough. Injecting the sedative, Elvis looked unsure and the space between his brows crinkled. His expression changed within seconds, his face relaxing until his eyes rolled shut.

“Thanks. He’s one strong son of a bitch,” said the same woman. “I thought they hardly knew what was going on at first?”

“Me too,” the male training member cosigned, exhaling a deep breath.

“Yeah, I don’t know. That was new for me, too.” Melody whispered, bringing a hand up into her hair and scratching at her head.

The first few days were always the toughest for the subjects when adjusting to their bodies and their unusually developed minds for their age. It had been just over six months since they were processed in a tube to where they were now under watchful eyes and cameras recording their every move. Elvis had his own housing as they all did. In some form or fashion, the apartment-like housing quarters were meant to replicate where they lived when they were that age as much as possible. The notes labeled his living space simply as ‘Audobon’ for the street he lived on back in nineteen-fifty-six. Every inch of the living quarters was paneled by two-sided glass that Elvis couldn’t see through but any observers could always watch him from room to room.

Melody observed as his caretakers and teachers filtered in and out over the days and weeks, teaching Elvis how to dress and carry himself. His guitar lessons were scheduled here and there in between and his speech therapist would usually follow. He was doing well besides the slight stutter he had grown accustomed to. But, the collective notes reassured her it was very characteristic of him after all. Any other free time was focused on what Melody called 'The Brainwashing' where a VR headset with subliminal images displaying the past of the real celebrity was given to the clone after they were sedated for up to an hour a day. Sometimes music or movies were played over the speakers too while they slept.

Elvis and Melody had yet to see one another directly since he was strapped to the gurney. As was protocol, Melody checked on the subjects solely for their vitals and acuity. Admittedly, she couldn’t wait for the day to come to encounter Elvis for herself. When the day did come, the steel door to his housing clicked as the large bolts holding it in place were unlocked after approval for entry was gained. The stethoscope around her neck felt heavy. Melody held the tablet at her side. She bumped the blood pressure cuff in her lab coat pocket, nervous to meet Elvis though she had long since come to terms that most of the celebrities weren’t who they were made to be. It felt inauthentic to her either way and yet Elvis filled her stomach with butterflies.

Melody stepped inside and waited for the door behind her to shut. Another heavy clunk and she was locked in with Elvis. From what she had observed, he grew used to his circumstances though he sometimes lashed out at the staff when he didn’t quite get his way. He was genetically a Presley--it was fitting. Melody followed the sound of guitar strumming and playing, finding him in his bedroom lying back on his bed in the same fifties garb he would have worn with the guitar atop of him. She knocked at the door out of politeness, shuffling into the room. Elvis lifted his head suddenly, jumping as he looked over to her. His eyes went wide as he moved to sit up.

“You’re that lady from the-the lab? Where they took me from,” he said warily though he appeared awestruck.

“I am. I’m Melody and here to check on your vitals. Is that okay with you?” She shuffled, clasping her hands together and the tablet against her stomach.

“You told me before that shot wasn’t gonna hurt any,” Elvis said, moving his guitar to his side on the bed. “You lied ta me.”

Melody didn’t know what to make of him, squinting just as a smile grew on his face. Her lips parted in thought before she found herself laughing.

“I’m sorry, but I had to be sure you stayed calm. It’s all protocol we have to follow. Not somethin’ I necessarily wanted to do.” She pressed her lips together, amused. 

“Mm, I see. I’m gettin’ used to it, the pokin’ and proddin’,” Elvis said playfully. 

Melody crossed the room humming in return, placing the tablet on the bed. She drew out the blood pressure cuff from her coat pocket and stood in front of Elvis. His socked feet were flat on the floor, his back straight as he let his hands lie in his lap. Melody grabbed a hold of the left sleeve of his button-up shirt to begin rolling it up.

“I’m sorry you’re bein’ poked and prodded,” she amended.

“Most of ‘em aren’t as pretty as you,” he tried as he looked down at her hands. “Otherwise, it’s, uh, not so bad.”

“You are just a baby, you know that?” Melody laughed as he raised a brow. Elvis might have looked twenty-one but to her, he was just a boy.

“Not where it matters,” Elvis smirked.

She should have known to expect it but to her knowledge, Elvis never openly dated Black women. Melody narrowed her eyes and didn’t respond, focusing on the task at hand as she finally got the cuff around his arm. The earplugs to the stethoscope were brought up before she took the bell and pressed it into the nook of Elvis’s arm. His eyes never left her while Melody honed in on his pulse and squeezed the pump to the cuff. Elvis’s free hand began to wander, lifting until it settled on her waist. Melody jumped, unable to bat him away while she watched the seconds tick by on her worn wristwatch. She never thought to take any of the warnings seriously about how much he enjoyed touch and attention. The job should have been mostly in and out. 

That was how most of her visits went and she wanted to be less entertained and inviting to Elvis’s woes and whims, but he was unbelievably personable. His charisma was that of the original Elvis who died in seventy-seven. For the benefit of making Elvis into Elvis, the lab as a whole and inspectors didn’t seem to mind when he grew fond of someone. In their notes, everyone appeared to agree it was for the better that Elvis remained a lady’s man through and through. 

Then came the time for Elvis to be given the first woman of many that he would come to encounter within the lab alone. After a few months of running jokes about watching Elvis touch himself, Melody put her feelings aside for the sake of following rules. A year was coming up since Melody first synthesized Elvis’s DNA and she came to like him and borderline possibly love him. The latter was something she struggled to admit even to herself. As was custom to the rock stars Truman Labs created, there were women on hand and hired as was the norm for the New Age. Agencies of sex workers contracted with the government and most favored working in the biotechnical field strictly for the chance to bed a celebrity. 

Melody could have thrown up. She knew somewhere around this age that Elvis slept with a woman for the first time but she didn’t see why it mattered. When men were in control, it didn’t have to make sense. She guessed it was like they took pity on the male subjects to validate their collective horniness. She was on the evening shift that night, grateful to be mostly alone apart from a couple of others who made the arrangements to provide protection and essentials for a romantic evening. Anyone else was in the Security Center monitoring. 

She roamed around to the glass window that peered into Elvis’s bedroom where a thin but curvaceous woman with a pixie cut dressed in a tight black dress befitting of the fifties era was leading him by hand. Elvis was slack-jawed, a tent bulging in his trousers. Melody tried to refrain from being jealous when they were on the couch watching a movie together and Elvis made the first move, tipping the woman’s chin in his direction to kiss her. She didn’t blame either one of them. 

But why did she feel that way? 

The woman--going by Jenny--pushed Elvis down onto his bed and he grunted, staring up with wide eyes that only a virgin could convey. “I-I ain’t never done this before,” he said.

“Oh, I know, honey. I’ll be real sweet to you. I promise,” Jenny said, her voice buttery and recognizably southern.

Then she was kneeling between Elvis’s legs, rubbing her hands up his pant-covered thighs. Melody swallowed as she forgot about the notes she was meant to be taking as she had done a hundred times before. Jenny reached up to unbutton and unzip Elvis’s pants as he perched himself on his elbows. Elvis released a shaky breath as he lifted up his hips while Jenny wrenched his trousers and underwear away. His uncut cock sprung free and Jenny cooed at Elvis warmly. The way he was trembling, Melody was sure he wasn’t going to last any longer than a few minutes and that meant they would have to book her again. 

Melody groaned as she rubbed her brow, forcing herself to move to a different spot. She wanted to tell herself she didn’t need to look but her eyes were on them again. Jenny was quick since by then her lips were wrapped around Elvis’s length and she bobbed carefully. He held the base of his cock for her, his opposite hand gentle on the back of her head. Melody froze, watching his face convulse and change with every movement. 

“Fuck, baby, you keep doin’ that and I’ll… I’ll come,” Elvis grunted. Jenny made obscene mouth noises as she pulled off of him and his cock jumped as cool air met wet skin. 

“It’s okay if you do. But, I guess I can stop.” Jenny smiled, pulling back. Elvis breathed out in response as if he was relieved to hear it. “Do you have a condom, sweetie?” She asked.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. One second, honey.” Elvis sat up, reaching down into the pocket the pants pooling around his ankles. He dug free a shiny, square blue wrapper that Jenny took as she stood. She moved skillfully, tearing the plastic and removing the condom. Jenny rolled the rubber on familiarly, moving with ease over top of Elvis to straddle him with her dress and heels on. 

Elvis braced his hands at her hips, watching her with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that caused an ache deep below Melody’s belt. Her heart was racing and she shivered, hoping the attention from every other observer assigned to Elvis that evening was on the couple. Melody was gripping her tablet hard enough her hand was starting to hurt before she noticed. Elvis’s head fell back as Jenny sunk down onto him, eventually lying flat on his back as her hips bounced.

Melody cleared her throat, suddenly sure she had all the notes she needed and could later review the recording if necessary. Elvis’s eyes opened again at some point and he turned away from Jenny to look toward the window he couldn’t see out of. Melody paused again, wary that he could see her somehow. His top lip curled as he moaned out and he shut his eyes again, his hands sliding under Jenny’s dress by her hand showing him where to touch her. Melody turned on her heel to return to her desk in the lab.

“Oh, my God,” Elvis hissed, his voice echoing into the hall over a speaker.

Melody was screwed.

[rassicas]

do you think inkfish would sell their ink as pigments and dyes

for normal expelled ink, i have a hard time imagining it being a useful thing that average inklings would sell. like they produce so much of it, it wouldnt sell for much, i could more so imagine ordinary ink being donated. maybe it'd have to be processed in a way for it to be useful and clean as a dye, or any other product for that matter. would it have to be extracted directly from the ink sac? would it be akin to donating blood or hair or something? or is the ink they just shoot out of their body at ease fine. even easier than donating piss LOL either way i think if an inkfish were to sell their ink as a pigment itd have to be processed in some way to give it value, which would make it something not literally every inkfish on earth would bother with. like we know for sure there's concentrated ink used in the respawn points, that has to be ink that's been processed into a product. but specific to your question... There's this bit from the Sally and Hara Wataru interview from haikara walker...

Hara: Lately, I’ve been into deep sea ink, and the way it glows is completely different. It was hard to come by before this, but recently a new route opened up making it easier to get a hold of. That’s why there’s more people who are drawing with fluorescent ink.

this could imply there's a deep sea species that produces ink, which id imagine would have to be processed to be sold as a usable pigment. Or its a wholly artificial product, but since its sourced from the Deepsea (the "new route" that opened up) i doubt it. i personally imagine vampire squids could be the source since they produce a glow in the dark mucus( that technically isnt ink, but close enough i guess).

[abalidoth]

what is cosmere? (is that what its called?)

The Cosmere is a big, interconnected fantasy universe that is the setting of most of the works by the author Brandon Sanderson. The cool thing about his books is that each series is contained to its own world, and you can read any of them in isolation without realizing you're missing anything, but if you read them all you get a sense of the larger plot happening behind the scenes as those worlds start to collide and things cross over.

Brandon's magic systems tend to be very rule-based and well-defined, with a lot of twists being characters finding interesting ways to use those rules of magic. This lends itself well to the crossovers, because all the magic systems (as different as they are) share the same underpinning principles.

Here's some quick rundowns of different series and standalones in the Cosmere:

The Stormlight Archive

Planned ten-book series, currently four books are out.

A massive sprawling epic about the world Roshar, that's hit by a hurricane about every four days, and all the life has adapted to survive that environment. Knights Radiant -- superpowered individuals with a close bond to a spirit -- are starting to re-emerge in the world after being absent for centuries.

Because there are so many characters, this is where a lot of the character fandom tends to focus their efforts. I wouldn't recommend starting with it, though -- the first book alone is a thousand pages. I'd wait until you have a sense of Brandon's writing. But it's very good.

Mistborn

One trilogy (completed), one tetralogy set a couple hundred years later (completed), two trilogies some time in the future.

One cool thing about this series is that it follows one world (Scadrial) from a vaguely Renaissance tech level in the first trilogy, to 1920s in the second series, and eventually 1980s in the third and space-age magic in the fourth.

The magic itself is very intricate and all woven around metals -- there are people called Metalborn who can ingest metals and burn them in their stomachs to get different effects, including super-senses, strength, and Magneto-ish metallokinesis. That last bit makes the gunfights in the second series particularly fun.

The first book is a heist novel about robbing a thousand-year-old God-Emperor blind. It's a pretty good place to start, although it's a pretty hefty novel to start with.

The Emperor's Soul

I'm putting this one in a different category from the rest of the one-offs for a very good reason -- it's, in my opinion, the single best place to start reading the Cosmere.

It's a novella (just over a hundred pages) about a forger named Shai who uses magic to rewrite the histories of objects. She is captured by the government of an empire to reforge the soul of their Emperor, who has been left braindead after an assassination attempt, in the 100 days before the mourning period is over.

It's a fantastic meditation on art, a cool introduction to the way Brandon writes both characters and magic systems, and Shai herself is one of my favorite Cosmere characters. If any of this sounds at all interesting to you, I recommend you check it out.

One-offs

Brandon has also written a bunch of one-off novels in the Cosmere.

Elantris: His first book, and the one that my tattoo is from. About a prince who is affected by a dark transformation and thrown into a city of fellow undead, and the princess betrothed to him who arrives just in time to be told he died. Good, but suffers from some first book issues, pacing problems, and weird plot cul-de-sacs. Set in the same world as The Emperor's Soul, although there's basically no crossover.

Warbreaker: About a world where souls (Breaths) are bought and sold, and used to animate objects to do work, ruled by The Returned, living gods who require a steady dose of Breaths to live. One of my favorites, and an essential if you'd like to get into the crossover-y parts of the cosmere, as it introduces a bunch of elements that show up later (Especially in Stormlight)

Tress of the Emerald Sea: The first of his wildly successful Kickstarter project books, it's a fairy tale style story about a girl who braves a sea of bubbling, deadly spores to rescue the man she loves. It's lovely, especially if you're into a more Diana Wynne Jones kind of vibe to your fantasy. Probably a pretty good place to start!

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter: The third Kickstarter book. About a shrine priestess who stacks rocks to draw spirits, and a man who paints the nightmares that roam the streets of his city to banish them -- they become trapped in each other's places and must learn about each other's worlds to survive. This is currently my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE cosmere novel, oh my GOD it's so good. I'm not sure it's a great place to start, as a lot of the conclusion might feel a bit rushed if you don't have a good feel for the vibe of how Brandon writes magic, but honestly it might stand alone just fine even then.

The Sunlit Man: Fourth Kickstarter book. I haven't read this one yet.

Novellas: There are a bunch of novellas and short stories, some set on worlds we haven't otherwise seen, some set on Roshar or Scadrial.

If any of this sounds good to you, I recommend you give his writing a shot. He's one of my all time favorite writers (the tattoo should prove that, lol) and the Cosmere fandom is by and large wonderful and welcoming. I've made many lifelong friendships there.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-six of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon takes the bag, then peeks inside it with a puzzled little frown. Tim, again, makes a note to buy him more stuff. Kon is gonna expect presents every time he sees him, by the time he’s done with him. Because Kon deserves nice things and also–well–

Well, actually . . . okay, it’s not actually going to be necessary for Tim to get Kon a present every single time he sees him, admittedly, just . . . well. He wants to, he guesses. Wants Kon to feel valued for once in his fucking life, since as far as he can tell no one has ever actually gone to any effort whatsoever to make him feel like that. Like–ever. Not even once. 

If Tim maybe spoils him a little in the process, well–that’s only balancing out the bullshit, isn’t it? 

“Oh,” Kon says, his eyes widening a little in surprise before he frowns in confusion. Tim continues to notice the eyeliner. It’s just a little bit smudged, like maybe Kon’s still learning how to do it right, and it’s also low-key triggering an emotional crisis in Tim’s entire fucking everything, to be honest. “What's . . .?” 

“I mean, it’s a couple of things?” Tim says, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward about his gifting decisions. Choices. Choicisions. “I don’t know if it’s very, uh, romantic, but . . .” 

“‘Romantic’,” Kon repeats in the exact same awkward way he did “flowers”. Tim only doesn’t curl up and die by sheer force of will. 

“Yeah,” he says. Kon stares at him for a long, intent moment, then looks back down into the bag and pulls out the fat little plastic bag of Hawaiian-import gummy candies on top of it. Tim will take any excuse to get calories into him at this point, even if it’s just candy. Chocolates probably would’ve been more date-appropriate, but when he was looking for popular Hawaiian candies, these ones kept coming up. 

“I haven’t seen this brand in months,” Kon says, looking bewildered. “I didn’t even know they sold it on the mainland.” 

“They do not,” Tim says, trying not to look embarrassed. “I ordered it online.”

And also paid for expedited shipping to make sure it’d get here on time. 

“Oh,” Kon says, his cheeks turning just a little pink as he ducks his head and smiles again. Then he glances back down into the bag with a puzzled little frown and tilts his head. “. . . is that a Switch case? What’s that for?” 

“Because there was too much packaging to make you lug around all night but putting a loose Switch in there seemed like a bad idea,” Tim replies reasonably. It’s the Lite, because he still doesn’t know if Kon has either a TV or any real space for one in his room, so Kon can’t possibly worry about it being too expensive like he did with the phones. And even if it weren’t the Lite, it’s still not the OLED, so he thinks he’s doing a great job with the self-restraint, personally. 

“You got me a Switch?” Kon says. Tim continues to not know how to explain how much money he intends to spend on him, so just shrugs.

“Just the Lite. I got you the turquoise, since it doesn't come in green. And an online subscription, so we can play together,” he says. He hasn’t dug his own Switch out in a few months–too much else to do–but he figures if doing that gets Kon to accept the gift and gets him closer to apartment/cul-de-sac territory, it’s not exactly a burden. “I wasn’t sure what kind of games you were into, so I got a few different ones. They’re all in the case, it’s got interior pockets.” 

“I–you–” Kon fumbles a little, then turns red again. “You really wanna play together?” 

Tim wants to throw a lot of people off a lot of roofs. Hard. Just so hard. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I do.” 

Kon gets even redder and shoves the candy back in the bag, looking away. 

“Thanks. That'd be, um–cool,” he says. “Uh–ready to go?” 

“Uh, there's one more thing in there, actually,” Tim admits, a little embarrassed by said thing but also not wanting Kon to miss it and accidentally throw it away later. It's silly, but . . . he doesn't know, he'd just thought it was kind of cute or whatever. 

Maybe “cute” isn't really a Kon thing, but he seemed to like the goat okay, so . . . 

“There is?” Kon peers back into the bag, then digs in through the tissue paper with a curious frown. “What's–oh. Huh.” 

He pulls out the chunky little plastic figure at the bottom of the bag and blinks at it. It's a Superboy toy, not because Tim was deliberately looking for a Superboy toy to give him but because the coincidence when he'd tripped over it had just seemed–fortuitous, he doesn't know. 

“It's a Duplo toy,” Tim supplies. “I mean, it was licensed so I assume you got paid for it at some point, but the set it's from came out while you were off-grid and I don't know how much your manager ever kept you in the loop on those things anyway, plus you said you didn't know what Duplo even was so when I found it I figured you didn't have one. The actual set came with, like, a few different hero characters, but it's sold out and I don't think they've done another run. I just found that little guy being sold solo on eBay.” 

“You got me a toy of myself?” Kon asks, giving him a wry look. 

“Superman's looked stupid,” Tim lies, because he would sooner burn his wallet than buy Superman merch at this point, never mind that he knows the money all goes to either various accredited charities or the Justice League. “Though I guess Supergirl's or Steel's would've been okay. I don't really know how close you are to them, though.” 

“I would say ‘not at all', probably,” Kon says, turning over the toy in his hand and peering more closely at it. “‘Duplo'? So like . . . the kid toys you were talking about at the museum?” 

“Um, yeah,” Tim says. “I mean, you don't really own any childhood stuff, right, so . . . I don't know, I figured why not?” 

“You're a Gothamite, man, you should've gotten me Bat toys,” Kon says, ducking his head with another smile. “Batman wouldn’t approve.” 

“Batman's just an urban legend,” Tim pretends to believe. Kon laughs.

“Please, that's just what you guys say to cops and tourists,” he teases. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Tim says. “Or make any comments on how incredibly inaccurate any nonspecific bat-themed superhero toys that've been commercially produced may or may not be.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kon asks, laughing again. It's that still-unfamiliar bright laugh that Robin's never gotten out of him, and Tim feels some very weird ways about it. Like. Several very weird ways. Many very weird ways. So many. 

Fuck, he's in deep here. But that's not news, so whatever. If Tim had ever once in his life gone to any effort whatsoever to avoid trouble he wouldn't be Robin and Bruce would be an even more vengeful and unhappy asshole who never talked to Dick and probably the Joker would be dead, which would admittedly be a single specific improvement but otherwise would suck. Like, really suck. 

Tim is gonna be a supervillain someday, yeah, but that's a rational decision that he's deliberately making, not a “driven by personal trauma and tragedy” grief response. And Bruce would be absolutely miserable as a supervillain, anyway, plus he'd never be able to convince Dick to go for it and then Dick would have to fight him and it'd be awful and Alfred would never make any of them post-patrol cookies again, which would immediately make this the worst possible timeline. And then someone would have to go trick the Flash into fixing it all and–look, it'd just be very complicated and unnecessary. So being Robin is just a better idea all around, really, and also saves the timeline from any speedsters happening to it. 

Again. 

“I just thought it was cute, I don’t know,” Tim says. “He’s got his little earring and leather jacket and stupid smirk, what can I say, I was endeared.” 

“‘Endeared’, huh?” Kon says with a grin, holding the little figure against his chest. 

“Oh, downright smitten,” Tim deadpans. Kon laughs again. 

“Nerd,” he says in obvious and unexpectedly fond amusement, which reminds Tim of him telling him to kiss him in the department store changing room and gives him a little bit of that whole cliché “butterflies in the stomach” rush. Or possibly batarangs, from how they feel. They might be batarangs. He forces himself to not look weird or sappy and just shrugs. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Anyway. Now I’m ready to go.” 

“Where are we going?” Kon asks curiously, and Tim smiles at him. 

“Somewhere nice, like I promised,” he says. Kon snorts, but doesn’t do anything to hide his own pleased smile. 

“Sure, whatever,” he says as he drops the Duplo figure back into the gift bag, still smiling. “Keep your secrets and lead the way, babe.” 

“I can do that,” Tim says, and then reaches out and catches Kon’s free hand to hold while they walk, lacing their fingers together. Kon turns red again and really smiles at him. His hand still feels too-soft and immeasurably strong, even though Tim knows for a fact that the TTK does more heavy lifting than Kon’s actual muscles do, or even can. No matter how the Kryptonian physiology is or isn’t coming in, the TTK is always gonna be stronger, Tim’s pretty sure. It’s not like it’s not going to get enhanced by the yellow sunlight absorption and the process of Kon’s physical maturation too, after all. 

But anyway, more importantly, he finally came up with a date idea he thinks Kon might like, so . . . 

Well, if Kon doesn’t like it, there’s backup ideas. But–he thinks Kon might like it, at least. It’s kind of weird, but so is Kon and so is he and so are their lives, and also there’ll be a gift shop to buy him stuff at. 

Tim is going to buy out that gift shop if Kon actually likes this date. 

Once Kon's done making fun of him, anyway, which he is definitely gonna do when he realizes what Tim is about to use a fake ID to do. 

. . . maybe he can just pretend to be eighteen, actually. Kon never did read that report he wrote up for him; he doesn't have any way to know how old he actually is. 

Eh, no, that's too weird and also would be annoying to remember without an associated cover. Fuck it, Tim will just live with the teasing, he guesses.

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

New to the Neighbourhood

AN: Inspired by a conversation with @hernightsky over these photos 🫶

Pulling up on the driveway you took a moment to look up at the house in front of you before getting out, soaking up the moment you were finally moving in to your first home. You felt excited but a little overwhelmed with how quickly everything had happened and now you’re on your own, no more mum and dad there to help you 24/7 but you knew they would only be a phone call away. You’ve never lived by yourself before and now you have an entire building to play with! You had chosen a new build and had been involved with all the decisions regarding furnishing the property before you moved in; it was in a new residential area, a close with terraced houses in a square around the cul-de-sac. Everyone had brightly coloured flowers in their garden, wreaths on the front door and the neighbours seemed super friendly when you came for viewings.

“Smile!” shouted your mum suddenly jolting you out of your daydreaming about where you were going to put everything, spinning around you grabbed the SOLD sign out of the ground and held it excitedly for a photo in front of your home before slotting the key into the front door for the first time. Your parents immediately created a line from the van to the doorstep - your dad unloaded, your mum ferried and you put the boxes in the rooms they belonged in. Neighbours came and went wishing you well while welcoming you to the neighbourhood, one even made you cups of tea as you hadn’t found the kettle yet.. you knew you were gonna love it here. Your parents stayed overnight to help you unpack and settle in, the next day they left after helping you set up your bills and direct debits. You ordered a food shop and got to work with putting your own stamp on the property, driving to a homeware store and picking up the paint and wallpaper you’ve had your eyes on for months.

Sitting in the middle of your newly painted bedroom you worked well into the early morning to finish, you started to remove the rollers from your hair when you heard a familiar rattle outside. “Shit!” scrambling to your feet and throwing your robe on, you swiped the rubbish from the surfaces into a black sack and desperately tried to make sure you got outside before the bin men left, throwing the front door open in a hurry to see they had already turned the corner and were driving away. “Fuck!” you shouted into the morning sun, annoyed that you hadn’t thought to check when the rubbish was collected beforehand. Hearing a cackle come from a distance you squinted to see who was laughing at you, “they come every week yknow!” a sarcastic voice called from the other side of the close, shielding your eyes from the sun to see a figure standing in their driveway. “Yeah” you replied begrudgingly with a limp smile and a roll of your eyes, throwing the bag to the side of your garden before making a deflated walk back into your house. As soon as the door slammed shut your reasoning returned - your neighbour was right, they do come every week, no need to be upset about it.. it just felt like you failed your first task at being a home owner. Your dad always used to take the rubbish out, it was something you didn’t have to think about and it’s not your fault you didn’t know what day it was. 

Calling out to Alexa to play your favourite radio station your anger soon floated away with the sunrise as you finished doing your hair and make up, hanging clothes in your wardrobe and picking an outfit out for tonight. Your friends were coming over for a house warming party and you had been keen for it to be a gathering with not too many people, you didn’t want your carpets getting ruined already! But your friends insisted they had to christen the moment the first of the friend group moved out of their parent’s house. You’d been saving up since you were 18 and because England has awful mortgage rules it had taken you over a decade to finally get enough for a deposit. So they’re right, you do deserve to be celebrated! This is a milestone not everyone achieves in their lifetime and you had worked incredibly hard to get here, especially on your own! 

Turning up the music you danced around your near on empty house, cracking open a bottle of wine and finally feeling calm enough to collect the rubbish you’d dumped earlier in exhaustion. Opening the door to pick the black bag up you noticed it was no longer there, looking around to see if anyone had moved it the same neighbour from this morning approached you. “I put it in mine!” pointing to a wheelie bin next to her garage then proceeded to tell you how you can order one too from the council’s website; then I don’t have to remember to put the bins out – genius! You thanked her for the information and was about to close the door but she carried on talking to tell you about the recycle days, the nearest shop for milk, gave you the local window cleaner’s number and where not to park as some neighbours are territorial over parking spaces. “Ahhh, that may be a problem. I’ve got friends coming over for a house warming tonight” you pondered, touching your hand to your chin wondering where everyone was going to park. “Get them to car pool or use the bus, there’s a stop just around the corner. If you need to you can use my driveway, I’ve got work and won’t be home tonight” she smiled during her offering. Thanking her profusely you finally went your separate ways. 

Some of your friends stayed over that night and as they were leaving in the morning your neighbour was returning home from work, giving a small wave to each other in passing your friends turned around to look at where your attention had turned to. Watching the woman unload her car with a large duffle bag, you and your friends ogled the mysterious blonde from across the road. “She looks so familiar!” one of your friends said as everyone else agreed. “We chatted yesterday and the whole time I was trying to figure out why I recognised her” talking quietly so you weren’t overheard by the stranger. “Maybe we went to school with her, could have been the year above us?” shrugging at your friends guesses you finished saying goodbye and that you’d see them soon, waving them off you entered the house to do the last bit of tidying they’d left you with.

Later on there was a knock at the door, opening it confused to see your new neighbour standing on the doorstep. “Hey! Just thought I’d bring something to officially welcome you the neighbourhood” she said with a friendly smile and handing you a bunch of flowers with a card. “Thanks, you didn’t have to but I appreciate it” you responded a little taken aback at her generosity; you didn’t think people still talked to their neighbours these days, especially a new person! “I’ll have to find out the vase from one of these boxes” you chuckled, knowing full well you didn’t have one - nobody had ever bought you flowers before! “Oh! You can borrow mine!” she said and before you could contest the offer she was already sprinting off back to her house, barely gone a minute before returning with a simple glass vase. “You have to snip the ends at an angle and pull the leaves off before putting them in the water” she must have sensed that you’d never arranged a bouquet in your life, probably obvious by the way you were holding them like a new born baby that had been reluctantly dumped in your arms. “There’s a sachet there to put in the water too, makes them live longer” she smiled but you could tell she was now anxiously waffling. You thanked her and swiftly closed the door, keen to not take up anymore of her time.. or yours. You don’t know this woman and if you didn’t cut her off who knows how long you’d be standing out there talking! You arranged the flowers in the borrowed vase in the kitchen and displayed them in your front room window so they were visible to everyone outside, walking through to the hallway your fingers tore open the envelope, trying to catch something that slipped from the card before it fell to the floor.

Hey [insert name here]

Welcome to the neighbourhood! 

Here if you need anything! 

Rachel x

PS. here’s a number for your wheelie bin so they don’t get mixed up! 

Noticing she had scribbled her phone number at the bottom that became visible as the number sticker slipped out of the card, ‘I never would have thought of this’, you thought as you left it on the sideboard in your porch and went upstairs to run a bath. Flopping back onto the sofa an hour later and switching on the TV, mindlessly flicking through channels as you reread the card, your hands already holding your phone punched in the number Rachel had written.

Y: “(y/n)”

R: “Huh?”

Y: “Insert name here… it’s (y/n)” 

R: “Ahh, hi (y/n). Do you know nets are see through when you have the lights on?” 

Your eyes bulged out of your head as they suddenly flicked towards the window, scrambling in panic to pull the sofa cushions over the top of you. Coming from shared accommodation you had been so excited to get your own house and be able to walk around naked with no worries in the world that you had forgotten to pull the curtains! You’d dropped your towel when you were walking down the stairs and had been flicking between the kitchen and the lounge fetching snacks before your evening Love Island catch up. Laying on your sofa frozen with anxiety wondering how you’re going to move anywhere with no clothing in sight you took to slithering off your sofa and onto the floor, pencil rolling over to the boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet. There has to be clothes in here somewhere! Finally feeling something fluffy and knowing it was the new blanket for your bed, you wrapped yourself up like a burrito and hopped over to the window, seeing Rachel at hers waving while in full fits of laughter. Wincing at your incredibly stupid mistake you snapped the curtains shut in embarrassment and sunk down the radiator onto the floor again - what a way to announce your arrival! 

The next day you were hurriedly leaving for work, your alarm hadn’t sounded you awake and you didn’t have long to get to your job. Rushing out of the door in a chaotic whirlwind you pulled on your jacket and zipped up your bag when you looked up and saw Rachel working out in her garage. Your face quickly blushed red as you turned and slammed the door of your house with you still inside it. How can you live in a neighbourhood where at least one of your neighbours have already seen you naked in the first week of living here?! Peeping out of your porch window to see her sitting on the weight bench with her phone in her hand.. now is your time to run for it - when she’s distracted! Locking your door as quietly as you could you tiptoed over to your car, closing the door with a sigh of relief that you hadn’t been spotted when your phone pinged making you jump. “You know you can’t hide from me forever” turning to look out of your window to see her subtly tilt her head up to the sky with a nod of acknowledgment and disarmament, you sent her a nod back in awkward recognition before driving away. You spent your shift searching for new houses, ones far away where nobody would know you as the naked neighbour! “Is it too soon to move?” you asked in the cafeteria which was met by laughter from your work friends after telling them what had happened. They reassured you that it must happen to everyone at least once in their lifetime and told you to suck it up.

Arriving home to see Rachel’s car was gone you decided to start working on your front garden, safe in the knowledge that you weren’t going to bump into her this afternoon. Sitting cross legged on the grass and digging holes for flowers soon burned the hours away as you pottered around your garden making it look as lovely as the rest of the neighbourhood, you were able to relax knowing that Rachel doesn’t usually return home until the next morning and figured that she must work night shifts. That was until she did return home, much earlier than you were expecting! You had finished your garden and was laying on the newly laid grass gazing up at the sky when you heard the hum of a car drive into your close, sitting up to see it was Rachel and quickly flopping back down, closing your eyes hoping she’d think you were asleep.. or dead! Hearing the car door slam you held your breath in anticipation that she wouldn’t notice you but instead you heard footsteps getting closer along with small pitter patters, only opening your eyes as a you felt a tongue lick your face to see a small dog staring at you with its head tilted. “Who’s this?” your voice turned high pitch at the cute little floof eyeballing you. What a way to break the ice, she’s an actual genius! “Dexi, she seems to like you” she said sitting down on the grass next to you. “Look, it’s not a big deal and getting caught out has happened to all of us” she said trying to make you feel better, plopping the small dog in your lap to stroke her. Raising an eyebrow to question her statement, “really?” you asked, wondering if your friends were right that it does happens to everyone. “Well.. no, but isn’t it a good thing I told you so it didn’t happen again?” she laughed to herself, once again making your cheeks turn red in cringeworthy embarrassment. “Err.. I guess?” For all you know, there was only one person that knew what had happened, doesn’t mean anybody else had seen you and this woman seems like she wouldn’t gossip about it to others in the area. You spent the afternoon chatting on the lawn and playing with Dexi, the embarrassment was soon forgotten as you spoke about anything and everything. A few hours passed when a delivery lorry pulled up in front of your house and unveiled your new bin, Rachel was quick to her feet to collect it for you, wheeling it next to your garage and asking where your sticker was that she got for it. Pointing to the inside of your porch, “may I?” she asked while holding the handle, nodding at her in encouragement before entering your home and grabbing the sticker from the cabinet just inside the door. Crouching down to press the sticker firmly onto your new bin, she stepped back to admire her work and to soak up the adoration for her help and thoughtfulness. You spent the rest of the afternoon talking about why you both moved to the area, how long she has lived here, your mutual love for Love Island and all things reality TV. “What school did you go to?” you finally plucked up the courage to ask, assuming she came from the area. “Not one round here” she chuckled, inquisitive of why you would ask that. “Hmm, me and my friends swear we recognise you from somewhere! We thought maybe it was from school?” you laughed nervously desperately trying to rack your brain as to why she looks so familiar. The blonde shrugged her shoulders and swiftly excused herself after that, citing she needed to feed Dexi. 

A few days passed you were making your dinner when the vase Rachel had leant you caught your attention on the draining board, looking out of the window to see her garage door open you decided to pay her a visit. “Hey! I forgot to give your vase back!” calling out as you approached the garage before popping your head in to see her counting reps under her breath as she lifted the weight bar, reaching 50 before stopping to talk to you. “Sorry, would have lost my place if I stopped” standing up to straighten out her top. “You didn’t have to bring it back, you might get more flowers one day” she said approaching you, scratching the back of her neck in a slightly awkward manner. “You’re the only person that’s ever bought me any so I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon” you laughed nervously. “Ya never know though” she shrugged but took the ornament out of your hands, “believe me, I know” you insisted before excusing yourself as dinner was in the oven. Rachel asked what you’ve got so told her you had enough for two if she fancied it; accepting the offer cautiously, she’ll come over after she’s showered.

The doorbell rang as you went to answer it to Rach standing on the doorstep waving a bottle of wine around with a goofy grin. As you finished dishing up dinner, she took herself on a tour of your house even though it was exactly the same layout of hers. She noticed you still hadn’t unpacked everything and studied the words written on the carboard boxes – ‘costumes’, ‘plants’, ‘photos’, along with a few others before making her way to the lounge. Picking up the photographs displayed on the mantlepiece she studied them carefully, chuckling to herself at the one of you and your friends all dressed up in whacky costumes at a bar crawl in another country. You came in with dinner spotting her admiring your photos, “I need this story!” she exclaimed excitedly as she came to join you at the table. You ate and spoke about your girls trip to Vegas and how you came to be dressed up as a giant pea then moved to the sofa for this evening’s Love Island. Rachel told you how she’d lived in America for a bit and told stories about her time there whilst sharing the bottle of wine between you (and by share, she had one glass and you had the rest!) You watched the latest episode together, discussing who your faves are and who you think are snakey and after the programme finished Rachel said she had to leave early tomorrow so shouldn’t stay much longer. “Early shift tomorrow then?” you asked as you accompanied her to the front door, “something like that, I gotta go to Brighton” slipping her shoes back on you asked if she’s staying away tomorrow night. “No I’ll be home, probably pretty late though so don’t wait up for me” she winked in a jokey manner but it still made you feel a little flustered as she waved goodbye.

Over the coming weeks you and Rachel became closer friends, she had come round to help you unpack the rest of your boxes and had helped paint and decorate your spare room. Running around B&Q like children taking it in turns to push each other on the trolley turned into a bi-weekly activity to choose the bedding, lighting and paintings to add the final touches on the room. It had become a regular evening ritual to watch Love Island together when she was home and you found yourself missing her when she was away for work. You certainly didn’t think you’d end up being firm friends with one of your neighbours so quickly after moving in but you were grateful for the familiar comfort of someone you get on so well with on your venture alone.

Waking up late had become a frustrating habit of yours lately, it seemed that since moving out your routine was all over the place, once again rushing out of the door to get to work in time. Only this time, you’d forgotten something.. realising after the door slammed behind you that you hadn’t picked up your keys! Just like you did a few months ago when you moved in, screams exited your mouth and travelled up towards the sun coupled with your foot landing heavily onto your front tyre in frustration then sulked over to your friend’s house, ringing the doorbell hoping Rachel was awake. It didn’t look like she was as when she answered the door her hair looked dishevelled like she’d just woken up, Dexi under her arm whined for cuddles from you as you told her what had happened and asked to borrow her phone. The blonde invited you in and unlocked her phone for you to use as she went to get dressed, Dexi stayed with you as you stroked away the anger. While you waited for your mum to finish work to bring you the spare key she offered you a cup of tea, leading you out to her much bigger garden than yours to drink it. “Omg you have a hot tub?!” and just like that you’d forgotten your earlier woes. Walking up to admire the pool you dipped your hand inside to feel the warmth, spotting something else in your sight. “What the fuck is this this?” looking at a small looking pool with ICE written on the side. “An ice bath” she giggled watching you from the patio. “Why on earth would anyone need one of these?!” backing away from it like it was a deadly disease. “It’s good for you! Especially after working out!” she insisted. “Ah well, that explains why I’ve never heard of it then!” you laughed. “I could do a few sessions with you?” her words caused your face to screw up, that line reminding you that she really doesn’t know you at all. “I’ll just take the hot tub thanks” you said angelically as you sat back at the table with her. “Come over later then? Your mums here” looking at the alert on her phone that someone was at her front door. 

“Am I underdressed?” you asked as Rachel opened the door to you in shorts and a shirt that was open and showing your bikini clad chest. Shaking her head with a smirk, “nah, you’re perfect” stepping aside to let you in, “you can jump in, I’m just watching the end of the football”. Deciding to wait for her you sat down to watch the end of the game, asking who was playing and making your lack of football knowledge very well known. As your friend shouted “offside!” at the TV a look of confusion wiped over your face, you had absolutely no idea what the offside rule was no matter (how many times someone tried to explain it to you – you just didn’t care enough to understand! “Who do you support then?” noticing Rachel took a while to pull her eyes away from the match to answer you, “well, Villa obviously – we live here!” she laughed, not bothering to ask you the same seeing as you’d made your disinterest for the game clear. You wondered why she was watching Chelsea v Tottenham if she doesn’t support them but didn’t dare ask, you didn’t want to be annoying so decided to go jump in the tub instead. Playing on your phone until Rachel made an appearance in just her bikini and shorts, quickly looking away after catching yourself looking her up and down hoping she didn’t notice. She did. “You can’t be awkward, I’ve literally seen you naked!” she laughed at your blushing again. “Don’t remind me!” your hand found your forehead in dismay, you’d actually forgotten that this is how your friendship started! “Didn’t fancy this one then?” she joked while sinking into her ice bath. “Nah I fancied the hot one” choking on your drink a little realising the sentence could mean the hot tub or Rachel, both were true regardless! “Who won then?” changing the subject quickly. “Chelsea, do you really not like football?” she asked. “I just don’t get it.. I went to the women’s final at Wembley last year though” you smiled, thinking that fact might interest her. “Really? You?!” she questioned with heavy sarcasm, she couldn’t imagine you at a match after everything you’ve said this evening. “Well my friends wanted to go and I thought why not, I didn’t have a clue what was going on but it was cool we won!” finally excited you could converse on something she was clearly interested in. “Yeah it was, I was there too!” she said, joining you in the hot tub. “Oh really, small world!” noticing a smirk on her face as you said that.

You’re not quite sure how the next part of the conversation started, she must have been trying to fill the silence.. to you it felt natural, being comfortable in silence with someone is truly a tell tale sign that you’re close with them but Rachel mustn’t of felt this way. “Have you seen the stars out here yet?” shaking your head in response to her random question. Being so far out from the city she said that you can see so many stars on a clear night, she loves sitting out here at nighttime watching them and gets sad when it’s cloudy. You shared your love for the moon, you’re a night owl and was excited at the prospect of seeing it more clearly. Looking up to see the sun setting you asked how long it takes for the stars to come out, kicking your feet out underneath the bubbles not realising her feet were out too as they grazed together. “Oh, err, sorry!” Rachel could sense your nervousness as you suddenly splashed your legs underneath you to sit them crossed. “It’s okay” the famous little smirk of hers shone through on her face - the one where the corners of her lips turn downwards slightly but the inside of her mouth smiled, an expression that is totally unique to her. Moving her arm around the back of you and balancing it on the edge of the tub she effortlessly scooched closer at the same time making your heart beat faster, trying to control your breathing hoping she wouldn’t notice it had accelerated into sharp intakes of breath.

Your weeknights had turned into a regular combination of Love Island and hot tubs, weeks passed by where you and Rachel’s friendship had grown closer and closer. Always in one of your houses together except when either of you had work, you’d even let Rach try to teach you the rules of football – she found a method to explain it in a way that makes sense to your brain.. it was either that or the fact you actually wanted to listen to the words coming out of her beautiful mouth.

Wolf whistles echoed around the block as your neck snapped to turn to the only place they could be coming from. It was the hottest day of the year and you were outside washing your car in your casual summer attire – an oversized check shirt that fell lower over your legs than the little denim shorts you’d become accustomed to in this weather, you’d unbuttoned your shirt in the heat and it was now barely hanging on to your arms. When you dried the water droplets on the bonnet so you could see your face in it you turned to lean up on your car like all the hot girls do in the music videos, your foot leant up on the grill and your arms folded as you looked over to Rachel standing in her garage door frame. Your tongue poked into your inner cheek before sliding out the corner of your mouth in a suggestive manner spotting her bare shoulders and arms you could hardly contain yourself. The flirting had become an expected part of your days and even though neither of you had ever said anything, it was obvious that there was something between you. “You done your work out yet?” you called over to her, watching her shake her head teasingly before replying to you, “why, do you wanna watch?” turning her back to face you as she loaded up her bars with weights. The offer was irresistible, especially as you knew ice baths and hot tubs always come after work outs! “Mayybeee” your word elongated as you swung on the door frame to the garage in a giddy way, watching her lie down on the bench as she started her reps and waiting for her to invite you in.. not that you needed permission anymore! Rolling out your chair for the hour you plopped yourself onto the exercise ball and wiggled your bum around as it moved across the floor. You’ve always had trouble sitting still but the bounciness of the ball kept you entertained for a while as you flicked through your phone. “Why don’t you work out?” she asked through heavy breaths as she neared the end of the reps on her first station of the day. “Why would I want to do that on purpose?” you answered bewildered as to why anyone would voluntarily put themselves through that. “So your body is strong?” was one of her reasons before listing off a few others. Giving in to her petty argument you decided to give her what she clearly wanted, “babes if you wanna watch me sweat you just gotta say” your voice turned cocky as you waltzed over to the treadmill at the opposite side of the room, noticing she moved stations to where the dumbbells were which was conveniently in front of a mirror so she could watch you.. even though she insisted she wasn’t! You can always feel if someone is watching you whether your back is turned or not and decided to play with her a little, taking your shirt off and throwing it into the corner of the room as you picked up pace. Rachel was watching you intently through the mirror, fixed on how your ponytail bounced with each step or how your shorts had risen higher up your legs.

You felt Rachel approach you from behind, coming to the side of the machine and leaning her arm up onto the display. “Do you like women (y/n)?” she asked maintaining eye contact as you continued to run. Her eyes tried to fix on yours like she was trying to read what you were going to say before it’s even been said, unable to avoid flicking between your face and your bikini clad chest bouncing in time with your pony tale. Biting her lip at the thoughts in her mind of wrapping her fist around your hair and pulling those shorts off of your cute body. “Are you dumb?” your tone sounding a little more harsh than intended, “I’m literally on this thing in a fucking bikini waiting for you to throw me across this room!” Rachel snorted at your sudden explosion of honesty, “so that’s why you don’t work out! You’re a pillow princess!” she teased causing you to slam your hand onto the display to stop the treadmill, letting it slip you off the end with your arms folded. “Say that again, I dare ya” you egged her on by getting up in her face as you said that, willing her to take you and take you now! If not to the bedroom at least to be dumped in the hot tub! She’d barely batted an eyelid when her sudden movements caught you off guard, throwing your body over her shoulder she pulled down the garage door and carried you up stairs, slapping your butt then threw you down the bed, pinning your arms to the mattress beneath her, “that’s why I work out!” her cocky voice made you wince, releasing months of worked up sexual tension in a night of passion.

A few days later you were putting your bins out when you heard drilling come from the other side of the block. “Oi oi!” calling out as you approached the garage, Rachel appeared within seconds holding a drill in one hand and leaning up on the frame with the other. Blowing the tip of her drill like she’d just shot someone with a gun. “Hey sexy” she leant down to kiss you with as much passion as you shared the other night, “come for round two have ya?” smirking as she pulled you into the garage. “Are you gonna put that down first?” cautiously nodding towards the electric tool still in her hand. As she bent down to place it on the ground your eyes were drawn towards the wall where she had been hanging things up. Spotting your gaze fixed on the frames her breathing stopped in anticipation of the next thing to come out of your mouth. Your eyes glanced from shirt to shirt with DALY written on the back of every single one until your brain clicked all the pieces together. “Rachel Daly! “That’s why I recognised you! That’s why your shifts are all over the place!” your hands clapped over your mouth as her facial expression stayed neutral waiting for you to finish gawping. “I prefer people get to know me before the footballer” she said with nervousness tinged in her words, “I prefer people get to know me before they see me naked!” you laughed, slapping her shoulder which showed absolutely nothing had changed. “Tell me about them” taking her hand and standing in front of the first shirt with her, the one that looked the most faded and aged. “You’re actually interested?” her arm draped over your shoulder, using her other hand to softly swipe the beach wavy hair from your eyes. Looking up at her you nodded enthusiastically as she started to talk about her life you knew nothing about, “well this one is from Leeds, they were my first team when I was 15..” she started her story which lead well into the night, you listened intently the entire time, intrigued with the life that she had felt compelled to keep hidden.

[ifwebefriends]

I am not the same person I was before seeing this scene in particular (Major Spoilers for The Sign!!!!!!)

[Video ID. A clip from the Bluey episode “The Sign,” Lazarus Drug by Megan Washington is playing which drowns out all other sounds and dialogue. Bandit looks sad as he’s about to open the drivers side door to the family car. Chilli is in the front passenger seat also looking sad. She looks at Bandit just as gets a call on his smartphone and silently excuses himself to take it. The phone conversation starts as Bandit walks around to the other side of the car from the front. He continues to the sidewalk a few yards away from the car. Chilli looks at Bandit right before the phone call ends and Bandit puts down his phone with a surprised look on his face. He slowly walks to the large “For Sale” sign in the front yard before ripping off the big yellow “Sold” sticker, which confuses Chilli and gets the attention of Bluey and Bingo in the car, Bingo with a raised brow looking confused. Then Bandit turns to look at his family in the car, contemplates for a moment, then dons a determined expression. He then turns back to look up at the “For Sale” sign with clenched fists as we see the sign tower over him, casting a shadow. After a moment, he looks level at the sign and then fiercely grabs the sides of it as Chilli, Bluey, and Bingo look on in shock. He starts to gradually pull it out of the ground with all his might with clenched teeth, a furrowed brow, and a slightly quivering lip. After he finally gets it out, Chilli, Bluey, and Bingo stare at him, eyebrows raised and mouths agape. As the lyric “as I start to break into a billion pieces” plays, Bandit looks backwards, turns a bit, hobbles backwards a bit, and then throws the sign into the middle of the cul-de-sac with what seems like a yell, looking down angrily at it. Zoomed in, Bandit pants for a moment before Chilli tackles him to the ground when the word “shatter” is sung in the song. From an aerial view, Chilli and Bandit are on the ground and Chilli seems to be crying into Bandit’s neck while he grins, putting a hand on her arm. End ID]

[beritall]

It is the year 2054. Male contraception finally made it through the clinical trials and is now commercially being sold. It's price fluctuates because it has to be cheaper than the market selling price of a newborn.

You ease yourself into the bed, making sure not to tear the brittle mattress material. Your carcinogen-free subscription ended a few months ago and now your matress' secretes harmful compounds into the already stale air. It doesn't need to, but it turned out that people are willing to pay for a cancer-free mattress so the manufacturer put them in. You can even pay with newborns, making the mattress usage somewhat of a circular process.

The composite waifu laying next to you is unrecognizable. The site you got it from used your public brain profile, analyzing your entire psyche with AI to ensure you get a sexual product that precisely caters to your personal sexual niches. Sadly you didn't delete the part about your traumatic childhood parental issues properly and the big tittied composite organic laying next to you doesn't stop complaining about how "bad of a choice it was to become a TikTok tradwife and sell the 18 kids béfore the newbown market boom, because thats just poor investment". The composite resembles nothing really. Classic AI obesity. It got fed too much of it's own content and it has lost all semantical and visual connection to meaning.

Accepting that you spent all your company scrip on the darn composite you decide to go down on it anyways. The contaception switch in your balls needs to be flicked first. Impregnating a composite waifu is regarded as copyright infringement. It is heavily enforced because the AI guild is the last remaining functioning Union. You flick it through the skin of your sac and it links with your brain implant. You remember Eunich Premium expired again and it reminds you that you have to watch three ads before your balls can turn off. You don't understand any of the ads. Theyre catered to the fucking composite, who due to your preferences, is french. The chip in your brain makes your mouth dictate the ads to the composite laying next to you. The composite listens to the advertorial, nods when hearing some great deal and whips out a tablet to order two pizza's with none pizza left beef.

You still haven't had sex.

[goldenstorm0]

ok controversial(ish) vintage fountain pen: I like Wearever pens

If you don't know, Wearever was a fountain pen brand who made a ton of cheap third tier pens.

But they made a ton of pens that highly vary in quality. The most common and shittiest pen they had was the Pioneer. Plastic pieces of shit, they made millions and sold them for basically pennies. They're practically considered disposable, even though they are either lever fill or cartridge fill. You will find them everywhere, warped and distorted and cracked. They are the go to when you are learning how to restore fountain pens because it doesn't matter if you break it. You can find another one and try again.

Right now I have a Pennant in gray, but it looks grey-green to me. It's practically mint, just a couple scratches from storage and very light use. Only problem is that it's been gutted, no sac or pressure bar, but hopefully that should be fixed soon. What it can do is show off the feed

It's see-through! That's neat! I like it! I am a simple person who like simple things like unique feeds! They are called c-flow feeds, because you can see the flow. That's kinda silly but it's cute and I like it

There is still is dried ink stuck in it, I usually only use water when I clean pens but I might have to get some specialized cleaner. And I know its a gimmick to up sales, it doesn't really do anything, but dammit I think it's neat

What I really want to get one day is one of their early pens, a De Luxe or a Zenith

source for top 2 pics , source for bottom pic

There sadly isn't too much info about the early days of the brand, or at least compared to more popular brands. I'd love to find out more but I have no idea how to go about researching that. But I do want to get one with a gold nib, and tbh it isn't too hard, I just... want that gold nib and reinforcement. I use to have one while not realizing what it was, and now its gone. So I'm back to hunting for a new one. And honestly I'm not hunting too hard, but if I run across another, I'm snatching that shit up.

[whoiwanttoday]

Today is, if you can believe it, the 12th anniversary of my blog. Which is sort of nuts because that would make me old and while my body is breaking down and I am tired all the time and it's weird how different foods bother me now that never used to, I am actually not old. My friends have largely gotten old, my family keeps getting older, yet I remain vibrant and youthful and hip and with it. It's weird. I am posting Charli XCX because in celebration of my blogiversary she announced a new album last week and released her first single and as such has been much more present in the world because that goes hand and hand with promoting a new album as a popstar. I often think about her statement that the two most important things to being a successful popstar are being young and being hot. It's that sort of thing that makes me love her, she has always had this ironic detachment mixed with metacommentary and almost satire of pop culture. Except of course, it isn't satire because it's stuff she tends to love as well. Anyway, we all know I think she's a tremendous talent and over time it seems like more and more people have come around on that, as I like to point out I got True Romance in the bargain bin but eventually I had people on discogs offering me $500 for her mixtapes. Still a cult favorite I guess but the cult is significantly bigger. Think Jonestown as opposed to those three weird dude that lived in that cul-de-sac a block away when I was a kid. Anyway, with all these anniversary I post some stats for the people who care, which is literally @femalecelebrityoftheday and @kat-eleven because he likes numbers and she likes girls, so between the two of them this picture is their ideal.

Charli has been number one since about the start of the pandemic. For years it was Kate Upton and Katy Perry changing places but what I have learned over the years is that a lot of this is a matter of, "what have you done for me lately". I didn't think it would be that way going in but largely none of us are the unique, free thinking people we think we are, we're easily influenced by the world around us and this fortunes have risen and fallen with greater popularity and to be honest with the marketing pushes around celebrity brands. Miss Mosh was pretty solidly in the top 10 once upon a time and likely still would be if she was still a working model but again, out of sight out of mind. Most of the top 20 has been in the top 10 at some point but Amber Heard was the third most posted person after the first year of this blog and guys, you might have noticed her name isn't even in that picture there and it's simply because that was a once upon a time thing that quickly cooled, no doubt in part because she became less famous for movies and more famous for tabloid drama which generates different interests. Which really is the main thing i have learned with all of this. Celebrity culture is fascinating but these aren't real people. That might get me some backlash and I am not trying to dehumanize anyone but Charli XCX is not Charlotte Aitchison and either one of those people are not someone we're seeing through anything. I think great artists indeed put part of themselves in to their work but we don't know them, we know the portion of them that they are showing us. You mix in celebrity culture, which is not art or artists but brands and marketing and you are being sold something. We are attached to an idea or an image and if you want to really examine this I would argue who and what you like says more about you than them. I don't have a greater point here I suppose, other than to simply state it. I like Charli XCX a lot, I like her work, but none of this is real in the sense my friends (who are getting so fucking old somehow) and loved ones are. It's for fun, don't lose sight of that. Today I want to fuck Charli XCX.