#still not feelin like a 20 year old adult

[koi-does-emotions]

sssiiiggghhhhh. sometimes i try to apply a Hobby to an oc but i cant think of anything that isnt just Something i do (read: art or writing or something vaguely within the area of those 2. or gaming. i guess) because i dont fucking. get out. at all. and i havent like. Done that at all. and then i get sad. this is sad. fucks sake. most of my formulative memories are on the fucking puter which is very hard to translate into an experience to talk about with someone who doesnt already know what the hell im talking about

[micamone]

thows this ^ down onto the pile, then slides this other one out of my pocket and lets it unfold down to the floor like a wallet with all those spaces for pictures filled up

did one of these for fun

(this is the one I used)

[posttexasstressdisorder]

So yeah...it's November...

We have not been given time to process the freak-ass crazy shit that happened in October, and a lotta freak-ass crazy shit went on.

Not sure why, just feelin' the need to report/vent while I sip coffee out here on the tumblr front porch with all the other old tumblr geezers.

Phase 2 of "Octember" has begun in a mix of good/weird/painful shit to work through. A lotta ghosts. Felt both Char and Kyle intensely the last few weeks: my two Gemini Ghosts. They're here but they're not here, and part of you wants them to stay and part of you wants them to leave you alone.

And yeah, money is still front and center in that assortment of emotional intensity. Much gratitude and thanks for the help that has gotten the rent and electric bill paid for yet another 30 days (you know who you are!).

My calculations this month were just a tiny (and ironic) amount off. After the dust settling, thinking I'd gotten it all considered, I ran through the numbers this morning before I left for the credit union, and saw I'd shaved it a little too close and after all was said and done, I was gonna be (drum roll please) $1.16 overdrawn. lulz.

No worries, I thought, being the resourceful hobbit I am I remembered I had a roll of quarters in the murse (what I call my patagonia shoulder bag) for laundry. Peeling off $1.25's worth of quarters, and laughing valiantly with the teller, I asked her to put that in with the roomie's half of the rent and bills.

Total came to a "lucky number" in her culture, and so I didn't think anything of it and got my rent check printed out and came home. Thought I'd (just to be sure) re-check the acct, much to my chagrin I'd mis-read the amt it was gonna be OD'd and hadn't put in quite enough quarters. So I'll head back over there tomorrow and deposit another quarter and laugh with the teller again. I don't wanna be overdrawn by ELEVEN CENTS. Handy dandy visual aid:

Yeah, I laughed, but goddamnit I am so fuckin' tired of the stress of this. The self-inflicted big lady ringing the bell paradin' yer ass around screaming "SHAME! SHAME!"

And then you just shut up and figure out what to make for dinner with what you have left on the eve before you go to the store.

October this year was a hard month on the planet. Lots of thin-veil coincidence/hoo-do shit, lots of miscommunicated things with roomies, with people while out, communication was hard, still is, but it seems to have lightened up some. Almost like gravity is getting stronger and pulling on us all more. Collective angst, personal angst, community angst, all of it just rushing up and saying hello at once.

One big angst for me has always been my fucking TEETH. My parents both had notoriously bad choppers, I know mine have been in need of workin'-on for awhile. I hadn't been to the dentist (before this round of visits) in well over 10 years. I had no insurance for most of my adult life, so I just never thought about it, unless something broke. Had several "It's cheaper to pull than fix" decisions about 20-25 years ago, and lost several back-teeth along with root canals and crowns on what was left. In short, a hot mess.

I have had Medi-Cal since I got into a wreck 3 months after i moved here (7 1/2 years ago), and just never thought that it might cover dental, since no other "insurance" I ever had in Texas ever coverd it. So once I figured out I can get my mouth looked at and worked on for nothing, I started the appointments a few weeks ago.

All of this leading up to this past Monday the 30th, when I got both the updated Covid jab and the current-season's flu-shot, and then went and got my mouth wrenched on and drilled and vacuumed and what-notted for a solid hour. Things have definitely progressed even in the last ten years. I thought I was looking at another surgical molar removal, but no!

They were basically able to use some kind of polymer that they put on and then the assistant pulls the trigger on a UV light-pen to "cure" it, and they do that several times, and completely rebuilt a broken tooth, and frankly, I'm amazed. It feels like the original tooth before it went south, and very little to no pain. And they numbed me up better for that than the last fucking oral surgeon who cut out my lower right back molar back in Texas did.

So a mix of crazy up/down shit, and then trying so goddamn hard to get the money thing right, and then still fucking it up, but comically inept. New-old tooth rocks, they want me back in April to do something else, and I'm fine. They told me to use a "hydropick" and I just looked doc and assistant in the eye and said "there's no money for things like that, I'm "I-brush-with-baking-soda-poor", and the assistant left and came back with a toothbrush, some floss, small bottle of mouthwash, and a little plastic syringe to use with warm salt water to flush the spaces under/between the crowns.

So mouth happy but goddamn, I have been sore for the last few days. Jab site almost done hurting, tooth as well, but muscles not quite recouped from the "Dentist Chair Death Grip"...I put my whole body into it and basically seize up and close my eyes and let them have their way with my mouth.

"Just lie back and think of California, dear!"

[ho-ku-o-five]

Kongeriget Danmark

Here is little DenNor oneshot based off the headcanon I have about how the Nations live amongst their citizens and how they must change their persona often in order for them not to be discovered as the immortal country personifications that they are, which is a pretty dark concept if you think about it.

Denmark gets too attached to his human neighbours and struggles with the knowledge that he will always outlive them all. Without Norway by his side, he wouldn't be able to cope.

-------------------

"Nation Persona Registration for Kongeriget Danmark: STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL"

Denmark stared at the document on the desk in front of him, his pen hovering just a few centimetres from the page.

The Danish National Day had been and gone a just a few days prior, on the 5th of June, and although he had been expecting that he would wake up to find the thick brown envelope sealed with the red wax seal from his government on his doormat any day now, that didn't mean he was prepared for it. 

It had been 10 years since he’d last had this form lain out in front of him, and it had been just as hard back in 2010 as it was today.

In order to keep their existence somewhat unknown from their people and ordinary citizens, the Nations must change their identity regularly if they wanted to live among humans to avoid suspicion. Denmark couldn’t imagine a life away from his people, away from his neighbours and community, away from everyone and simply hidden away on a large piece of land all alone in a draughty house, and so he’d always chosen to re-register himself and play the role of an citizen since the 1800’s when it first became an available option to him.

Each government had their own way of doing this and so it could differ from country to country, but the Prime Minister and cabinet of Denmark’s government liked to keep it simple. Every 10 years around the 5th of June, or Denmark’s ‘birthday’ as it was sometimes coined, was when it was time for Denmark to pack up his things and re-invent himself.

He threw down his pen and his head fell into his open palms, sighing heavily.

At present, he was Mikkel Jensen, a 30-something year old Danish man who worked for the electricity board and lived on Maglekildevej in the small city of Roskilde, or at least this is how he was registered and this is what he told his neighbours.

Now, Denmark didn’t hate the responsibility of being a Nation Personification. He was good at his job and his role and in fact he rather loved it, sometimes working for 12 hours or more at a time to support his government. He even hadn’t minded the Viking days or the Kalmar union, even though he did still hold many regrets from that time in his long life. What he hated, truly hated, was the minor inconvenience of immortality. To the average person, 10 years would seem like a relatively long amount of time, but to Denmark it was like the blink of an eye. It felt like only yesterday that he bought this house and Lars Løkke Rasmussen was his prime minister.

Rising from his chair, Denmark walked over to the window and leant on the window ledge. He looked out at the street past the low fence of his front yard and at the house across the road. In the 10 years he had lived here he had got to know his neighbours and the humans that ran the local businesses around him.

Jette and Askel lived across the street in the house that he was looking at. It was a pretty house, all white plaster with a beautiful rose bed in the front garden. They had a baby girl last year, and Denmark had taken them a cake a hamper full of toys and outfits for the little newborn in congratulations. Then there was Eva the friendly bar tender in his local bar. She’d recently got engaged to Bo from the bakers. Denmark had bought them a bottle of Moet in celebration. He would miss them all, but the person that he couldn’t stand the thought of moving away from this time was Lillebeth, the elderly lady who lived directly next door. Denmark did everything for her.

Although he lived alongside his human citizens and had relationships with them, he tried his best not to get too attached for them and go as far as making friends with them, but Lillebeth had captured his heart pretty much as soon as he’d taken the ‘sold’ sign down in his front yard. He’d moved to Roskilde from Copenhagen in the summer of 2010, just after he’d left behind his life as Magnus Jensen, a high rise office worker, and became Mikkel. Denmark liked to keep the same last name and the same initial of his first name each time it came to re-register, not wanting to completely re-invent himself to the point he was unrecognisable from his previous human persona.

On the day Denmark had moved in, Lillebeth had been struggling to bring in her bags of groceries from her car. He hadn’t hesitated to go and help her, despite being exhausted from carrying heavy boxes and furniture to and from his house all morning, part of him genuinely wanting to help an old lady, and the other part of him happy for an excuse to get to know his new neighbours. She invited him in for a coffee and a sandwich that afternoon in thanks, and Denmark found comfort in her right away. He had always longed for a mother or grandmother figure, and Lillebeth turned out to be just that. As the years rolled by, the two had become quite the pair. In summer they would garden together and share Limoncello, Lillebeths favourite tipple, over the fence, and in the colder winter months Denmark would walk with her to the shops and back to make sure that she didn’t slip on the ice. All the while however he knew that he was just making things worse for himself as he knew he couldn’t stay in Roskilde forever.

Tearing his eyes away from the window, Denmark brought a hand up to his cheek and wiped away a tear that he hadn’t realised was rolling down his face as he was deep in thought until he felt it drip onto his collarbone. In a haze, he walked into the kitchen and set the coffee machine brewing, looking around the house. It suddenly felt cold and empty. In his lifetime, Denmark had seen many a movie and read many a book written by humans about the gifts of immortality. Vampires, Witches, even teenage school children were often written as immortal as if it were some kind of divine quality. He scoffed as he thought about it. Who in their right mind would want to live forever? To be devoid of friends, of family? Sure, Denmark had the other Nordics and the other Nations, but nothing would ever be able to fill the hole in his heart where his own family and children should have been.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d started again and how many people he’d left behind over the years, and at times cursed himself for not choosing to live as a recluse and only interacting with other nations and a select few humans in government like some of the other nations did. In his appearance Denmark could pass for a human between his early 20’s and up to late 30’s depending on how he dressed, and over each of the 10 year personas he had repeated pretending to age so many times. Each year that passed he would change his looks slightly, cut his hair a little differently and lose and gain different interests just to really make it believable to the humans around him that he was a man going from a young adult to mature adult, and it was exhausting. He’d run out of hobbies and interests at this point, and had no idea who he was going to be next.

His eyes stung and his lungs burned as he tried his best to hold back his misery, but he couldn’t. Burying his face in the crook of his arm, Denmark slid down the counter and landed softly on the kitchen tiles, sitting with his back against the cupboard and just wept. The sound of his body wracking sobs filled the house and he could feel his throat becoming hoarse. The coffee machine beeped above him on the side and there was a knock at the front door, but Denmark was in no state of mind to care, wanting nothing more than to just scream out in anger. His mind was turning dark, and he could think of nothing other than wanting to throw himself off a cliff or hold his head under the bathwater just long enough to slip away than to go through another 10 years of silent torture, but he couldn’t do that to his people.

Denmark was so detached from the world around him at that moment in his wave of sorrow that he hadn’t heard keys jangling in the lock of the front door or the calling of his name, and hadn’t realised the was someone else in the room with him until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He looked up, startled, fighting to slow his tears and blinked blurry eyed into the face above him.

“Norge…” he choked out as a gentle hand brushed the hair that had fallen flat around his face away from his eyes. Denmark struggled to sit up, but soon stopped and instead leaned into the familiar, warm figure as Norway didn’t relax his grip around his shoulders.

“Shh, I’m here.” Norway said, and Denmark could feel the rumble of his chest as he spoke. The two of them sat in silence for a short while as Denmark worked on slowing his breathing and just let Norway hold him. For as long as he could remember, Norway had always smelt the same, and being wrapped in his embrace and breathing in the faint scent of saltwater and fallen pine needles was the closest thing that Denmark would ever feel to being home.

“I had a feelin’ you would’ve had your forms already.” Norway spoke again, his voice as soft as ever, and finally released Denmark from his embrace. He uncrossed his legs and stood up from the kitchen floor, then extended a hand down to Denmark and pulled him to his feet once he’d grasped it. His eyes wandered over Denmark for a moment, lids heavy, as he stood before him, a foot taller, with his broad shoulders slumped and his eyes red and swollen.

Compared to Denmark’s, Norway’s government were a little more lenient when it came to him living amongst humans as the Nation that he was. There was no set deadline in which Norway had to re-register, as long as it was within 20 years of him having previously done so. He knew by now that Denmark had to re-register every 10 years, and that each time Denmark found it harder and harder. Norway’s bosses also knew this, and so he had worked over time the past week to allow some free time to visit Denmark. He’d had to miss out on Denmark’s celebrations on the 5th of June as well as Sweden’s the day after, but after a brief chat, Sweden understood and would rather Norway spend the coming days with Denmark as he packed up his house and sent in his re-registration forms than to get just drunk with him as they could do any other year.

In the last 25 years or so, Norway had gone from Sigurd Helgeson, to Nils Isberg, then to his recent name of Lukas Vik-Olsen which he had registered to two years ago, and currently resided in Tromsø. He was worn out from working so hard the past couple of days, but he was glad that he did it.

Denmark wiped his runny nose messily on the sleeve of his sweater and looked sheepishly at Norway, already feeling a little better at having the one person he loved more than anything in the entire world standing before him.

“They came this mornin’. I’m just so tired, Nor. I can’t start again, not yet.” He said, and his voice came out as just a strained whisper.

Silence fell between them once more as Norway leaned towards Denmark and reached up, cupping his face in one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. His thumb brushed against Denmark’s cheek, and Denmark leaned into the gentle touch, wanting to cry all over again at the way Norway looked at him with such love that he would never tire of no matter how long he lived.

“Do you wanna talk through your plan with me? I can stay for a few days. You’ll be okay, I promise.” Norway said, and nodded to his suitcase that stood by the front door, his jacket and shoes messily discarded beside it from where he had rushed to Denmark’s side upon entering.

Although reluctant, Denmark trusted Norway and knew that eventually he would be alright. Living among humans wasn’t all bad, in fact majority of the time he loved it, and once he’d got settled into his new life he would soon start to feel better.

He nodded as Norway slid his hand away from his face, “Getting my passport re-done is the easiest part, I just need to think of my next name. I mean, I’ve got an idea but…” Denmark mused as he turned to the coffee machine and took two mugs from the shelf behind it, reaching all the way to the back to dig out the large one that had always been Norway’s favourite.

“Well you know I’ll take your new passport photo for you, if you want.” Norway said, taking the hot mug of coffee that Denmark had poured as he passed it to him and curled his fingers around it.

The pair walked into the living room. Norway took a seat on the couch and Denmark set his coffee down on the table, disappearing into the study for a moment and then returning with the brown envelope. Denmark was in no state of mind to make any solid decisions right now about his re-registration, but running over his thoughts and voicing his worries with Norway would help his mentality. Sitting down heavily next to Norway, Denmark laid the envelope on his knee and slid the contents out again.

“Y’know,” Norway began, blowing softly onto the hot coffee in his mug in a vain attempt to cool it down, “I’ve always liked the name Matthias.”

Denmark glanced at Norway out of the corner of his eye. No matter where he found himself, or how much he might despise the curse of his immortality, as long as the Kingdom of Denmark had the Kingdom of Norway by his side, he would be alright.

Now, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Matthias, huh?”

[fearlessbeauty13]

This my first blog on this app so apologize if I’m not doing something correct ( but I’ll learn )

The subject I want to hit on is FASHION but not JUST ANY FASHION - not what’s “ socially acceptable” … forgot to state I live in Sweden But I was raised since I was 2 in Houston Texas till 20 tears old ( another story for another time) bc if it was up to me .. I’d still be home in the South babyy!! But if don’t live in Sweden, people are so quick to judge and lord do they have shit to say.. yet they still with the same hair style they had since the 80s and SCARED to actually show them selfs.

I’m so happy and feel so blessed because I don’t care what.. if you ain’t help Pay my bills, raise my son all that good stuff … then honestly I love that you talking about me and keep me name known ! Miss Texas Aka Diamond ( no I didn’t give myself that name ) but Miss M.Monique babyy and if you do help me with any of those, then I know you love and accept me for the person I be and never judge.

Excuse my adhd rambling 😅 but it’s all real trill points made. What I want to stress is BE YOU! Why are people so scared to dye their hair ?? I’m natural red head, not ginger but some type gold that I was always told from hair stylist to family and friends never to touch bc it supposedly so rare 🙄 … Boring… hehe so I went straight black hair… then that got to boring so I used a product to fade the color then added purple … then that got to boring so I went ahead and put turquoise color and pink so I was looking like a hot mess bc I was doing it myself for the first time thinking I’m some professional color mixologist😅😂 BUT you LEARN from your MISTAKES!! And now I faded and bleached ( put a little to much stress on me hair using L’Oréal bleach. … should of stuck to manicpanic bleach … not saying L’Oréal bleach is bad but for my hair I and from what I’ve learned is you should of stuck to the same products.

Now I have this beautiful pink/peach and some back purple color - my mermaid look and I love it!!

I’ve got compliments and that’s Great, I’ve got looks like I’m crazy and that’s cool - to each it’s own but my favorite was the younger generation ( the young adults in there 20s - that age you finding YOU ! ) and I’ve had so many come up to me, how they live the color but how I’m not scared or worried and noticing there howling back so being able to give young adults both girls and boys to be them and it a supposed to be friend is embarrassed or negative … then baby let them go !!!

I’m also tattooed up. And ofc I get right away judgements but give me 2 mins and you’ll feel stuiped / bad for pew judging someone . I’m not punk rocker or metal ( but if that’s what make you feel you then do it ) I had a punk skater stage at like 16 but we go through stages . Now I sometimes customize my own clothing but I can go from sporty - adidas , Nike’s or whatever from top to toe . Change to chill with my lyle Scott hat and sweater , dress up in that little black dress to dresses that are so sweet and “Innocent” summer dresses . Shorts and my main love body Suits in all types !!

So don’t ever feel like you have to be what people want or except you to wear or be , act whatever it he case might be. And please if for example 4 of your best friends like that style but you not feelin it… then don’t!!! And I can’t stress it enough to my young ladies and boys ( queens ) or whoever even ones in my age. If whoever can’t accept you for being you. Then bye bye !!

Sorry this blog was a little scattered and went off my main points but I felt these points are so important and especially in this time when 16 year olds have pressure to look like like us grown adults with lip fillers and all that ! NO BABYY!!! Atleast wait till maybe 27-28 of age to do any face design - BUT ONLY AND AS LONG AS YOUR DOING IT FOR YOU! I myself do some face design but I started at age 29. And for my own securities.

Well for now ..: be true to you! Have fun ! And most of all @FearlessYourself baby

Follow me on Instagram - fb and if you really struggling then please message me, I might take a week ( i try my best to reply fast ) we can have a one on one Zoom meeting and first is free. I wish I could always be free but single mama and I need to pay are way . But my heart is in it and I study psychology, work in healthcare and in September going further with my degree.

Thankyou for reading and follow me !

Again @fearlessyourself <>< insta @miss_m.monique_13

[brittle-bone-gabe]

Bitter Cold

Summary: Richie just wants to cuddle; Eddie is feeling especially playful.   Pairings: Adult Reddie (Richie x Eddie) Read on Ao3: Here 

Chicago wasn’t a stranger to heavy snow falls, in fact, it normally started snowing in the middle of November. Richie Tozier has spent many winters alone in Chicago in his apartment, but now it was his first winter with his boyfriend Eddie in their small house. Since Eddie moved in, there were blankets. Every. Fuckin’. Where. At least three blankets scattered around the living room, and a mountain of blankets in their bedroom. His excuse was that he got way too cold in the winter and the blankets were a necessity, also that apparently Chicago was a lot colder during the winter months than New York. Richie couldn’t help but roll his eyes whenever his boyfriend went on a rant about how the cold affects the human body negatively. Something something... weaker immune systems... something something... reduced blood flow. Who knows, Richie stopped listening when he couldn’t catch up with his fast speech patterns, especially since he had just woken up when he started his ramblings. 

Richie came home from the store, he had to shovel his driveway first before he was able to get out. It was almost 20 degrees outside, but Richie was only wearing his leather jacket, no gloves, no boots, but a thin hat that Eddie insisted he’d wear before leaving. Well, he would prefer if Richie actually dressed appropriately for the weather, but Richie claimed that: “it didn’t look cool,” which made Eddie want to smack him. “I mean, you can’t catch a cold from simply not bundling up, but when you get cold, your sinuses get dry and that makes bacteria hang on, making it easier for you to get sick,” Eddie had explained to his boyfriend as he was following him around the house as he was preparing to go to the store. In the end, Richie went out and Eddie stayed home since he didn’t want to get too cold, even though Richie offered to warm the car up for him. 

Without thinking, Richie entered the house without taking off his shoes, so he wandered into the kitchen with handfuls of plastic bags while tracking in a bunch of snow with him. To be fair, he was exhausted, not sleeping too well anymore and wasn’t thinking when he plopped the bags on the counter. He had no idea what was going on with him, but he was always exhausted during the day, like he could pass out wherever he was, but the moment he goes to bed with Eddie he was wide awake. When confiding in Eddie about this, he had suggested that it was just seasonal depression, it was normal and a lot of people had it this time of year when the weather was starting to change. No... no, no. He was Richie Trashmouth, he doesn’t get seasonal depression. It felt silly, but when Eddie mentioned that he also had seasonal depression it did make Richie feel a little better about it.

“You’re home!” Eddie said happily, walking into the kitchen. 

Richie gave him a small smile with a nod, suddenly feeling exhausted again. “I’m home,” he said. 

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck, bringing him in for a hug. Richie hugged him tight, bringing him in close, closing his eyes as he could feel himself melting into Eddie. The small wave of sadness he had entering the house vanished once he heard Eddie. The hug? Completely turned his mood around. 

“You feelin’ okay?” Eddie asked once they pulled away from the hug, still holding on as they looked into each others eyes. 

“Sleepy,” Richie admitted. He smiled when Eddie reached up, pressing a slightly cold hand to his face. 

“This’ll pass, I promise.” He pecked his lips before moving around him He stopped dead in his tracks, a twisted look on his face. He let out a loud yelp, confusing the hell out of Richie. 

“What’s the mat-”

Eddie looked down at the floor then to Richie’s feet, seeing he was still wearing his snow covered shoes. “You fucker!” He shouted, “my socks are wet!” 

Richie was confused still for a moment, but then a huge smile was plastered on his face before letting out a laugh. Eddie had stepped in melted snow. That. Was. Priceless. He pressed two fingers to his lips, watching and listening Eddie rant about how he fuckin’ hated having wet socks, that it was worse than death, in fact, he would rather fuckin’ die than have wet goddamn socks. 

“Babe, you good?” Richie couldn’t help but ask, laughing even harder when Eddie threw him a death glare. 

Eddie flipped him off with both hands. “I hate you. I hate you so fuckin’ much, you absolute douche bag.”

“Oh, I think you just gave me some new material,” Richie said half-jokingly as he pulled out his phone, writing something down in the Notes App.  

“I will fucking blast you on Twitter if you use this in your stupid shows, I swear to god!” 

“Oooh noooo,” Richie started sarcastically, holding either side of his face, “blast me on Twiiiiter? Where eeeeverybody knooows you’re my boyfriend?! Pleaaase, don’t do thaaat.” Eddie reached down, pulling off his socks before throwing them at his boyfriend, who yelped loudly, moving back so the dirty, wet socks wouldn’t touch him. “Why are you like this?!” 

“Why am I like this?! Why did you track snow through the house!” 

Richie slumped where he was standing, trying to get back on Eddie’s good side. “Because I’m tiiiiiired,” he said dramatically, “we should cuddle on the couch with your overbearing amount of blankets.” 

“Hey... they’re not overbearing. They’re needed.” Richie rolled his eyes. “They are! I have poor circulation!”

“Because you’re old?” 

“You’re older than me!”

“By a year! ...Are you joining me or not?” Richie asked, standing in the doorway to the living room, looking back at Eddie who had his arms folded across his chest. “C’mon, Edward.” 

Eddie tilted his head to the side, glaring at Richie, who had another smile on his face. He hated it whenever someone called him Edward. It reminded him of when his mom would call him that when she was especially angry with him. It was rare when she would call him that, but once, when he was 14 he sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to meet up with the Losers, where they drank all night, the majority of them got drunk for the first time that night. When he loudly tried sneaking back into the house he got caught by his mother, being called Edward when his mother smelled the cheap alcohol on him that Beverly Marsh had managed to sneak out of her dad’s dresser drawer. He was grounded for almost a month with little contact with the outside world besides going to school. However, when Richie called him that in a playful way he didn’t mind too much, in fact, he thought it was kinda funny. 

“What did you call me?” 

“Ed...” he trailed off, trying to read his boyfriends face, “...Edward.” As soon as the word left his mouth, he had to sprint out of the kitchen as Eddie began to chase after him. 

Richie plopped on the couch, laying across it as he grabbed one of the blankets, covering himself with it. Eddie moved on the other side of the couch, laying down so his legs were laying across Richie. This reminded them of the time when they fought over the hammock. The time. They always fought over that damn hammock, and every time one or the other would climb in it, trying to force the other out of it. Eddie always would lightly kick Richie in the face when it was his turn to try to knock him out of it, making sure that his glasses fell off each time. 

“Why don’t you just say you want to cuddle me, Eds,” 13-year-old Richie had mocked Eddie when the smaller boy was trying to force himself in the hammock while Richie was trying to read a comic book. 

Eddie’s face had turned red, backing off quickly. “I don’t want that, dipshit,” he defended himself, folding his arms across his chest, “just move. It’s my turn.” 

“I just got here!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, looking at the watch on his wrist. “You’ve been using it for almost twenty minutes!” 

“Boo-hoo! Nobody else is here to back you up! Time is fake.” He straightened out his comic book dramatically, readjusting his glasses, preparing to pretend to ignore Eddie who looked grumpy. 

Eddie grabbed Richie’s comic, throwing it over his shoulder as he tried grabbing his arms so he could pull him off. They started slapping each others hands away. In the scuffle, they ended up accidentally holding hands. They looked away, faces red, but not letting go of their hands. Eddie had backed off first, grabbing the comic that he threw, holding it out to Richie who took it. 

“Just...” Richie started, his face still red, “I’ll... read it to you if you want... We can share the hammock.” 

Eddie’s head jerked up, looking at Richie trying to see if there was any indication that he was messing with him. “Really?” Richie nodded, scooting over a little so Eddie could squeeze in next to him. 

He was hesitant, but climbed in next to the taller boy, scooting in next to him so he could see the comic that he was holding up. Long story short; Eddie ended up falling asleep while Richie was reading to him, not long after that did he manage to fall asleep too. 

“Stop kicking me!” Richie yelled from under the blanket that was still covering his face.

“Don’t call me Edward!” 

“I’m sorry, Eduardo. ...OW!” Richie yelped when Eddie managed to kick his glasses off his face, getting lost in the blanket. 

“Fuck off!” Eddie grabbed the other end of the blanket, pulling it up over his chest. “This is as close to cuddling as you’re gonna get, asshole.” He had folded his arms underneath the blanket. 

Richie raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side with a shrug. “I’m still under a blanket with you, so... win-win?” Eddie’s face turned a bright shade of red. “Have I mentioned how-” Richie stopped mid-sentence when Eddie stuck his feet underneath his shirt, his cold feet pressing on his chest. “STOP! STOP! YOUR FEET ARE COLD!” Richie shouted, squirming where he was laying. 

“Oh... I wonder why, Richard.” 

“Stop, stop, stop!” Eddie moved his feet, “I get the point!” They looked at each other for a moment, staring each other down, waiting for someone to do something fucking stupid. “Just a fair warning, Kaspbrak, if you do that again I will fuckin’ tickle your feet.” 

“I will leave your unfunny ass.” 

“Yeah, I’m so unfunny, right? That’s the reason you ask me to make you laugh to cheer you up? Because I’m... so unfunny?” Eddie dove for under his shirt again, pressing his freezing cold feet on his stomach. “Quit touching me! Your feet are cold!” He grabbed Eddie’s ankles, reaching under the blanket having no mercy when tickling him. 

“St-stop!” Eddie said in between laughs, squirming and kicking to get free. “I’m sorry! I’ll stop! I’ll stop!” 

“No you won’t! You say that just to get my guard down!” 

“Richie! Richie! I’m gonna have an asthma attack! Stop!” 

He let go of Eddie, going underneath the blanket, crawling up until he was in between Eddie’s legs. Both of their faces turned extremely red as Richie was holding himself up by his palms that were placed on either side of Eddie’s head. They stared into each others eyes for a moment, until Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck, bringing him down until their lips met. In the heat of the moment both men took the time to help each other take their shirts off, throwing it across the room as they continued to make out on the couch. Richie had his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, holding him tight against him the best he could. The cold air that managed to slip its way into the house made both men shiver, but their body heat was keeping them from freezing. 

Richie had pulled away, leaning down, nipping Eddie’s neck and shoulder, smiling as the man underneath him started squirming. He absolutely loved when Richie did that. It was rare when he did, but by god he felt like he was over the moon.

Richie pulled away, looking into Eddie’s brown eyes, seeing how needy he was getting. 

“Okay, I’m gonna take a nap,” Richie said suddenly, confusing Eddie. 

“You- wh-... what?” Eddie stammered as Richie let out a yawn, obviously trying to hide a smile. “You are such a fuckin’ prick!” 

“Night night, Eds.” Richie plopped down on Eddie, who let out an oof at the sudden weight on him. “I did tell you to get your cold feet off me,” he pointed out, eyes closed but that same goofy smile on his face as his ear was pressed against Eddie’s chest. He reached up, tracing the stupid tattoo he had gotten when they were drunk one night in Vegas that was plaster on the center of his chest. 

Eddie readjusted so he was more comfortable laying on the couch, one hand on Richie’s bare back, his other hand stroking his hair. “I hate you,” he said lovingly. 

“I hate you too, Eds.” 

Since they were both suffering from seasonal depression, cuddling like this was nice. They both needed it. Another thing; normally Eddie was the little spoon, having it switched up actually felt great. He wanted to make Richie feel good, especially since he hasn’t been feeling his best lately and wanted to help. He kept planting small kisses across Richie’s forehead until he knew he finally fell asleep. Eddie grabbed another blanket that was on the floor in front of the couch, wrapping it around them before falling asleep himself. 

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 4: Squib Load

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

I was too busy working on my thesis last week and getting sick this week to upload this chapter.  The fic is already written, but it takes time to post, especially since I sometimes edit while I’m posting it.  But!  It is here.  And things go from bad to worse...

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Squib load (noun): a firearms malfunction in which a fired projectile does not have enough force behind it to exit the barrel, and thus becomes stuck

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

              Stan paced anxiously by the side of Ford’s bed, glancing at Ford every now and then.  Ford was sleeping peacefully, his chubby, cherubic face particularly angelic.  Stan scowled.

              He has no right to look so relaxed when he did this to himself.  Why the hell did he eat that plant?  He knows better than that!  Hell, I know better than that, and I’m a dumbass.

              “Yer bound to wear a hole in the floor like that,” a voice said.  Stan spun around.  Fiddleford had returned from his house.  He handed the plastic bag he was holding to Stan.  “That oughta fit him.  Yer lucky that I’m a bit of a hoarder.  Children’s clothes are expensive.”

              “I know,” Stan mumbled, thinking back to some of the price tags he’d seen at the mall, what felt like years ago.  “Why didn’t his clothes shrink with him this time?”

              “The cause was dif’rent,” Fiddleford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Yeah, I got that, Fiddlenerd.  I’m complaining, not actually asking a question.”  Stan set the bag down next to the bed.  “It looks like he’s done shrinking, at least.” Stan looked at Ford again.  “No clue how old he is now.”  Fiddleford crossed over to the bed and sat on the edge. He stroked Ford’s hair out of his face.

              “I can’t give ya an exact age, but he looks to be ‘bout three.  Maybe a young four or an old two.  Depends on whether he was larger or smaller than average as a child.”  Fiddleford looked at Stan expectantly.  Stan shrugged.  “Well, the range of old two to young four ain’t exactly an easy one.  If ya thought he was difficult ‘fore, he’s goin’ to be extra difficult now.”

              “Why did that plant do this to him?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford let out a heavy sigh.

              “I don’t know, and I won’t until I get a chance to observe it more closely. Unfortunately, Stanford was the one who knew biology.  Combine the fact I ain’t that knowledgeable in the first place with the current state of my mind and ya wind up with someone tryin’ to shoot with both eyes closed.”

              “You figured out what was going on with the energy whatever,” Stan protested. Fiddleford shook his head.

              “Stanford collected most of that data hisself.  And it was regardin’ a machine’s impact.  This time, it’s a plant’s impact.  My knowledge on plants is strictly from growin’ up on a farm. That plant wasn’t alfalfa or an apple tree.”  Ford made a small noise and rolled over.  Fiddleford smiled faintly.  “These are terrible conditions, to be sure, but I’m a sucker fer a cute face.”  Stan sat on the edge of the bed as well, watching Fiddleford watch Ford.

              There was no doubt that Fiddleford was a loving, caring father. He radiated an aura of gentleness while he looked at Ford.  Stan felt an ugly jealousy unfurling in his chest, thinking of his own childhood.  Dreading the sound of heavy footsteps on stairs, being ignored until he succeeded or, more often, screwed up.

              Why is this hick who looks like there’s a chicken nesting in his hair a better dad than I got?  Fiddleford looked up.  He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

              “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “No, just-”  Stan looked away and tried to fight back his sudden irritation.  “Just thinking about when we were this small before.”

              “Ah.”  The sound was small, but full of understanding.  Stan looked back at Fiddleford.  “I ain’t privy to the details, but Stanford told me a few things ‘bout his – your – parents.”  Fiddleford gazed down at Ford.  “I forget sometimes that not everyone had a ma and pa that took care of ‘em as well as mine did.  When ya grow up with somethin’, ya tend to not realize that there are folks who don’t have that thing.”  The jealousy that had arisen out of nowhere began to settle into a low simmer.

              Right.  The reason why he’s a good dad and Pops wasn’t is because this guy actually cares about other people.  And he had a good dad, so he had someone he could copy. It was like a stone had been tossed into Stan’s stomach.  It’s for the best I haven’t had kids yet.  Maybe I shouldn’t ever.  It’s not like I had someone who could show me how to do it right.

              “What’s in the past is in the past,” Fiddleford said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  Stan snorted.

              “Sounds like something someone who had a good past would say.”

              “Or it’s somethin’ someone would say if they’re beginnin’ to learn the hard way that they need to find a healthy way to move past negative events,” Fiddleford said sharply.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              I touched a nerve, didn’t I?  The urge to keep pushing was strong, especially since Fiddleford had been strangely specific.  Stan fought back that urge.  Don’t. If you push him, he might leave. And if he leaves, you’re stuck with three-year-old Ford and no idea how to take care of him, let alone cure him. Stan frowned, a stray phrase that Fiddleford had mentioned earlier suddenly catching his attention.

              “What did you mean by your ‘current state of mind’?” Stan asked. Fiddleford stilled.  “You’ve mentioned it before.  That your brain isn’t what it used to be.”

              “That’s private, personal business,” Fiddleford said tightly.

              “Not really, if it’s gonna make curing Ford more difficult.”  Stan had touched another nerve.  Fiddleford’s jaw clenched.

              “Then it serves him right, ‘cause his actions ‘re what led me to it,” Fiddleford growled.

              “So it has to do with whatever happened between you and Ford,” Stan said. Fiddleford nodded reluctantly. “What was it?  Bad breakup?” Stan joked.  Fiddleford completely froze, every muscle tensed.  Only his eyes moved, darting back and forth like a bee trapped inside a room.  Stan could practically hear the gears frantically turning in Fiddleford’s head. Finally, Fiddleford relaxed.

              “No.”

              “…That’s it?  That’s all you’re gonna say?  ‘No’?”

              “What more do ya want me to say?”

              “I want you to tell me what happened with you and Ford.  And why it might make curing him more difficult. You might have a beef with him and I do too, but he’s still my brother, okay?  I want him to get back to normal!”  Stan began to pick up steam as he spoke, physically shaking by the time he bit off his last word.

              “Fine.”  Fiddleford carefully pulled Ford’s blanket higher, covering Ford’s shoulders.  “I’ll tell ya.”  His voice was soft but firm.  He looked up at Stan, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.  “But only if ya tell me in turn ‘bout yer own issues with him.”

              “Hell, no,” Stan said immediately.  “That’s my business.”

              “It’s only fair fer you to share with me, if I have to share with you.”

              “Your shit is relevant to the situation!  Mine isn’t!”

              “So you don’t think that there’s even a slight chance Ford might use whatever bad blood is between the two of ya as a weapon?” Fiddleford shot back. “He’s a toddler.  Toddler’s aren’t exactly known fer their self-control, and honestly, Ford wasn’t particularly good at that as an adult!  He’ll get frustrated at some point and use it against ya, to get ya to back down or hurt yer feelin’s ‘cause he’s upset he can’t stay up past eight!  It might not be relevant in the same way, but that don’t mean it ain’t!”

              “You goddamn fucking-” Stan started.  Ford let out a loud groan and began to move.  Stan and Fiddleford froze.  Stan belatedly realized that his voice had been getting louder, as had Fiddleford’s.  Fiddleford seemed to have come to the same conclusion.  Once Ford stilled again, Fiddleford got up.

              “Maybe we should have this conversation in the living room,” Fiddleford said quietly.  “A toddler is one of the worst people to wake up from a nap.  A toddler who will wake up and know he’s not supposed to be one?  Bound to be even worse.”

----- 

              Stan entered the kitchen.  Fiddleford looked up from the papers scattered across the kitchen table.  Stan held up the bottles he had found.

              “Time to get liquored up!” he said cheerfully.  Fiddleford raised his eyebrows.

              “You can.  I think I’ll avoid imbibin’ fer a while.”  He pointed at a cup sitting next to him, likely leaving water rings over everything. “I’m fine with my water fer now.” He looked back down at the papers, frowned, and picked one up.  “I don’t need to mess up my mind with alcohol.  It’s a bit like a hamster in a wheel as it is.”

              “Suit yourself.”  Stan opened a pantry and grabbed a glass tumbler, then poured amber liquid into it from one of the bottles.  He picked up the glass and sniffed the liquid experimentally.  “Hmm.  Smells like some fine whisky.  Ford’s got good taste.”  Stan joined Fiddleford at the table.  Fiddleford set down his piece of paper.

              “So.  Tell me about yer history with Stanford,” Fiddleford said, nonchalant.

              “One sec.”  Stan gulped down half of his glass of whisky.  “All right.  Ford and I were best friends when we were kids.  Mom would call us ‘joined at the hip’.  We…”  Stan trailed off.

              You don’t need to spill the whole thing.  He doesn’t need to hear it.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “But when we were in high school, Ford made this science fair experiment. All of a sudden, colleges were looking at him like he was gonna solve world hunger or cure cancer or whatever. He decided that he wanted to go to one of ‘em.  I was pretty pissed, ‘cause we always planned on doing stuff together when we were finally old enough to leave New Jersey.  And I went to go yell at his experiment about it.”  He managed a weak laugh.  “Like that was gonna help.”

              “Better ‘n yellin’ at Stanford,” Fiddleford said, his tone carefully neutral.

              “Not really.  I bumped a thing, something fell, and the damn machine broke.  I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t.”  The memory filled him with a hot, pulsing shame.  “That screw-up screwed up his shot at going to a fancy school out west,” Stan finished.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “I knew he was bitter ‘bout not gettin’ to go to West Coast Tech, but I never knew why he didn’t go there.”  Fiddleford rolled his eyes.  “He complained about it all the time at Backupsmore.”

              “He- wait, you went to college together?”

              “We were roommates.”

              Oh my god, they were roommates.

              “Even if he got into West Coast Tech, I doubt he’d have enjoyed it.  That school might be years ahead of the general population in terms of technology and science, but it’s way behind in…how should I say it?  Social progress.”

              “Sounds like you have experience with them.”

              “A bit.”  Fiddleford took a drink of water, his eyes stormy.  “I got in.  West Coast Tech accepted me to their engineerin’ program.  But then they found out somethin’ personal about me.  Don’t know how.  Maybe some spiteful feller from my high school told ‘em.  But it don’t matter.  Once they found out, they decided they didn’t want to be associated with my ‘lifestyle’.”  Fiddleford etched quotation marks in the air, a distinctly sour look on his face.

              “They couldn’t rescind my acceptance over it,” Fiddleford continued. “I mean, they could’ve.  But my ma was a lawyer ‘fore she married my pa, which they knew, ‘cause I mentioned it in my cover letter.  So they knew I’d make a stink over it.  Them backin’ out on their decision to accept me over a rumor.” Fiddleford swallowed.  “A rumor that was true, but I didn’t confirm it to ‘em. I ain’t always wise, but I ain’t dumb, neither.

              “They didn’t want to deal with the bad press, so they quietly changed the rules fer financial aid.  When I first got in, I qualified fer all sorts of grants and scholarships. Practic’ly a full ride.  But after they changed the rules, I didn’t qualify no more.  And without financial aid, I couldn’t go.”  Fiddleford downed the rest of his glass.  “They effectively shot me in the legs.  Didn’t kill me, but wounded me enough that I couldn’t go on.” Fiddleford’s voice broke. “Absolute horseshit, the lot of it.”

              “I’d agree with that,” Stan said solemnly.  Fiddleford sighed.

              “Anyways, I doubt Stanford would’ve thrived in an environment like that.” Fiddleford shook his head.  “Never mind.  Was that the end of yer story?”

              “…Basically,” Stan said.  Fiddleford took off his small reading glasses and busily rubbed at them with his sleeve. “I don’t know how that’s gonna help you clean those.  Your shirt’s even dirtier.”

              “Hmph.”  Fiddleford set his glasses down on the table.  He locked eyes with Stan.  Without a thin layer of smeared glass covering them, his eyes were a bright shade of blue, something that took Stan by surprise.  He wasn’t completely sure why it startled him, but nonetheless, it did. “What happened when Stanford’s machine was broken?”

              “Ford got pissed.”

              “And yer father?”

              “Even more pissed.”

              “What did he do?”  Fiddleford’s questions weren’t purposeless.  Each one was sharp, short, and thought-out.  A chill ran down Stan’s spine.  Fiddleford knew there was something Stan wasn’t saying.  Something Fiddleford was determined to find out.

              “Why do you care what my dad did?” Stan snapped.  “It doesn’t have anything to do with- with anything!  Back off!”  Fiddleford’s mouth straightened into one flat line.  After a moment, he leaned back.

              “I mentioned before that Stanford told me a bit ‘bout yer parents.  Not a lot, but enough to know that yer father would not have reacted well to this.”  Stan was silent.  “I don’t consider myself a busybody, but-”

              “You’re doing a pretty good job of pretending to be one, then.”

              “Am I wrong?” Fiddleford pried.  Stan scowled.  “Am I wrong in that somethin’ particularly awful went down that day?”

              “I don’t need to answer any more of your questions!” Stan thundered.  “I said I’d tell you why Ford and I weren’t on good terms.  I did, so I’m not gonna tell you anything else.”  Fiddleford held up his hands placatingly.

              “All right.  I’ll drop it. Fer now.”  Fiddleford looked down at the spreading water ring from his glass. “I s’ppose it’s my turn to share my bad blood with Stanford.”

              “Damn straight.”  Stan leaned back and took a swig of his whisky.  “Talk, Fiddledork.”

----- 

              “That’s essentially what happened,” Fiddleford said.  His mouth was dry from talking for so long.  “Both to make things…tense between Stanford and myself, and to leave me in my current state.”  Fiddleford’s shoulders drooped.  “I’ve felt scatter-brained before, but nothin’ like this.”

              “Huh.  I get it now,” Stan said thoughtfully.  Fiddleford was too weary from the weight of his decisions to respond energetically. He picked up his glass of water.

              “Get what?” he asked.

              “Why you and Ford used to get along so well.  You’re both dumbass geniuses.”  That startled Fiddleford out of his tiredness.  He slammed his glass down on the table and glared at Stan.

              “Excuse me?”

              “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m a dumbass, too,” Stan said airily.  He ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “But I’m not the kinda dumbass who makes sci-fi villain weapons, I’m the kinda dumbass who licks a metal pole in winter.”  Stan shook his head.  “How the hell did you think it was a good idea to make something that would erase memories?  That’s like, the plotline of half of Ford’s favorite books.”

              “Being able to erase traumatic events would revolutionize treatment! Think of all those folks with PTSD-”

              “Look.  I’ve been through plenty of traumatic shit I’d rather forget,” Stan said.  His voice was level but firm.  “There are things that haunt me.  But forgetting ‘em would mean I- well, if I don’t have my memories, I’m not me anymore.  And isn’t that the same problem you’ve got?  You used that thing on yourself and started forgetting and now you’re not the same guy that got into West Coast Tech.”

              “To be fair, there have been side effects from prolonged use,” Fiddleford said. “If I had worked out the tweaks more before beginning to use it-”

              “Maybe you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Stan finished.  “But maybe you would.  I stand by what I said.  Everyone’s got things they wish hadn’t happened, or that they could forget happened. Erasing them, though, changes who we are.”  Stan was silent for a moment.  He looked out the window, his eyes mournful.  “I don’t always like who I am.  That doesn’t mean I’ll try to become someone else.  I don’t know how to be someone else.  I barely know how to be me.  Y’know?”  A heavy silence filled the room.

              “Yer quite the philosopher,” Fiddleford said finally. Stan shrugged.

              “I think a lot.  Not enough to be like you or Ford, but my head isn’t completely empty.”  He cracked a small grin.  Fiddleford managed a weak smile in return.  Quiet footsteps sounded in the kitchen.  Stan and Fiddleford looked over.  “You found the clothes,” Stan said to Ford.  Ford looked down at himself.  He was wearing bright red shorts and a white T-shirt that Fiddleford remembered having a lizard on the front.  The lizard wasn’t visible at the moment, though.  “Your shirt is inside-out,” Stan said helpfully.  Ford scowled.

              “I’m aware.  My coordination is currently lacking.”

              “Tots aren’t really known fer their gracefulness,” Fiddleford said, in what he hoped was an empathetic tone.  Ford rubbed his eyes.

              “‘Tots’?  I take it I’m a toddler, then?” he asked, his voice shaking.

              “Looks like,” Stan said.  He seemed to be taking the tactic opposite to Fiddleford’s.  Rather than keep Ford calm by commiserating, he appeared to be downplaying the seriousness of the situation.  His voice was light and cheerful, like the latest wrinkle to occur could be smoothed out easily.  Fiddleford nodded slightly, appreciative.

              Stan might try to deny it, but he has very good instincts.  Children pick up on the emotions of adults and will mirror them.

              “What brought about this development?” Ford asked.  Stan got up from his chair and crouched down in front of Ford.

              “You ate a weird plant in the woods.  Lift your arms.”

              “Why?”

              “Why did you eat the plant or why should you lift your arms?” Stan asked. “I don’t know the answer to the first one, but the answer to the second one is so that I can fix your shirt. C’mon.  Lift ‘em up.”  Ford did as he was told.  Stan slid off Ford’s shirt, turned it outside-in, and put it back on Ford. Through the process, he was gentle and careful.

              “Do you not remember the plant?” Fiddleford asked Ford.  Ford rubbed his chin, an action directly contradicting his current youthful appearance.

              “No.  Do you happen to have it?  Seeing it might jolt my memory.”

              “It’s in the lab,” Stan answered.  Ford nodded.

              “Excellent.  I’ll need to run some tests on myself anyways.  Two birds with one stone.”

              “Oh, hell no,” Stan said firmly.  Ford’s eyes widened, taking Fiddleford aback.  He’d expected a scowl or frown.  Ford seemed less angry than startled.

              “What?  Why?” Ford whined.  Stan stood up.

              “You’re three.”

              “So?”

              “Your lab isn’t safe!  There’s all sortsa weird, dangerous stuff in there.”

              “Stanley!”

              “Calm down, gents,” Fiddleford said.  “Stanley, Stanford’s right in that more tests need to be run on him. Stanford, Stanley’s right that it ain’t really safe fer ya to be in the lab.  Yer too lil to do any experimentation anyways.”

              “I beg to differ,” Ford muttered, crossing his arms and looking away.  He let out a small squeak as Stan picked him up. “Hey!”

              “Fiddlesticks, think you can run the tests on him?”

              “I can do my best,” Fiddleford said hesitantly.

              “Your best is gonna be better than mine,” Stan said.  “Let’s go get those tests done.  Then…I dunno, maybe we put Ford down for a nap.”

              “No!” Ford protested.  He squirmed in Stan’s arms.  “Put me down!”

              “I thought you didn’t wanna be put down for a nap,” Stan said snarkily. Ford stopped squirming to glare at him.

              “That’s not what I meant and you know it!  I can walk downstairs myself!”

              “I’m not gonna risk it.  Those stairs are steep.  I don’t want you to trip and break your nose.”  Fiddleford watched the bickering with some amusement.  It wasn’t quite the same as an argument between siblings, which Fiddleford had plenty of experience with.  But it also wasn’t quite the same as an argument between a parent and child, which Fiddleford also knew well.

              Whichever fightin’ it’s most like, it’s kind of cute.  Though that might have somethin’ to do with the people who are arguin’.  Fiddleford flushed slightly.  Now what did I mean by that?

              “Fine, dad,” Ford grumbled, giving in.  Stan was facing away from him, but Fiddleford could still see him tense slightly.  “You can carry me down the stairs.  But I refuse to be carried all the way to the lab.  I can walk to the stairs.”

              “Sure,” Stan said quietly.  He set Ford down.  Ford immediately set off, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Fiddleford got up and walked over to Stan.  He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  Stan startled.

              “Somethin’ wrong?” Fiddleford asked softly.  Stan looked away.  “…All right, I won’t push it.  But ya seemed mighty tense just now.”

              “It’s probably nothing,” Stan muttered.  “It’s- Ford’s never called me ‘dad’ before.  Even jokingly.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “But he was joking, so yeah, it’s- it’s probably nothing.  I’m probably just a bit on edge about all of this.”

              “It’s understandable fer ya to be on edge.”  Without thinking, Fiddleford squeezed Stan’s shoulder reassuringly. Stan eyed him.

              “You’re a bit touchy, aren’t you?”

              “My apologies,” Fiddleford mumbled.  He removed his hand.  “I’ll grab what I need to.  You bring Stanford down to the lab.”

----- 

              By the time Fiddleford arrived in the lab, Stan had found an old blanket and covered the large window through which the portal could be seen.  It was a challenging task, in that he had to do it one-handed, with Ford constantly trying to break free of his hold.  Now, Ford ambled around the lab, standing on his tiptoes to try to see over the edges of counters and mumbling to himself. Stan couldn’t quite make out all of Ford’s words, but he recognized a few as frustrated swears.  Ford’s cussing was incredibly endearing as he puttered around in the distinctive toddling gait of a very young child.

              “Sorry ‘bout the wait,” Fiddleford said, finally arriving in the lab, carrying a cardboard box.  He looked around.  “Why haven’t ya turned the lights on?”

              “There’s a light switch?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford reached a finger out and flipped a switch that Stan had seen before but assumed turned on some sort of death ray.  The lab was filled with light.  Fiddleford glanced at the window tensely.  Stan was relieved to see his face relax.

              “I see you’ve hidden that bad decision.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan shrugged, passing off the action as inconsequential to him.  “It hasn’t done anything good so far, so I figured, why stare at it?”

              “Very sound logic,” Fiddleford said.  He flashed an appreciative look in Stan’s direction.  “Stanford, c’mere.  Let’s get you all tested.  Sooner we’re done with that, the sooner you can have lunch and take a nap.”

              “I don’t need a nap,” Ford protested, but he toddled over to Fiddleford obediently.  Fiddleford set the box on the ground, got down on his knees, and pulled a device that looked like a grocery store scanner out of the box.  “By the way, how long was I unconscious?” Ford asked. Fiddleford moved the scanner up and down Ford’s body.

              “A coupla hours,” Stan answered.  “Not too long.”  He glanced at his watch.  “We went on a hike around nine, you passed out around ten, it’s noon-ish now.” Ford’s stomach rumbled. “Fiddleford was right about lunch. We need to get some food in you. Any requests?”

              “I’d think somethin’ not too strong,” Fiddleford said.  He looked at the screen of the scanner, his face grim. “Toddlers should be restricted to blander food.  Maybe somethin’ like chicken nuggets or mac ‘n cheese.  Do either of those sound good to ya, Stanford?”

              “Either one should be fine.”  Ford craned his neck around to try to look at the scanner’s screen as well, but Fiddleford put the scanner back in the box.  “What were the results of that?”

              “Odd.”

              “Odd how?” Ford pressed.

              “Yer no longer givin’ off the energy of a dif’rent dimension.  Yer cells seemed to have realigned with this one.”

              “That’s good, right?” Stan asked.  Ford rolled his eyes.

              “Duh, dad,” he scoffed.  Stan’s chest tightened.  Fiddleford looked up at him.  Their eyes met.  Fiddleford nodded slightly.

              He thinks it’s weird, too.  For weeks, Ford never called me ‘dad’, even though I acted like one.  But since he turned into a toddler, he’s called me that twice.  Jokingly, yeah, but what if he starts saying it seriously?

              “On the surface, yes, it’s good,” Fiddleford said carefully.  He removed another item from the box.  Stan squinted.  It looked like a pair of tweezers.  “I’ll see ‘bout testin’ some of yer DNA.”

              “You don’t have much experience with that,” Ford said.

              “I’ve seen you do it plenty of times.  I think I can figure it out.  And if I can’t, I can always ask ya.”  Fiddleford plucked a strand of hair from Ford, who let out a small yelp.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  It’s not a pleasant feelin’, but I figure it’s better ‘n blood samples.” Ford paled.

              “Yes.  I prefer this over taking blood samples.  Needles…” Ford trailed off.  He shivered violently.  Fiddleford’s mouth pursed in concern, but Ford’s reaction didn’t surprise Stan.  He remembered well his brother’s childhood fear of all things medical.  As a medical anomaly, he was in and out of doctors’ offices near constantly, and not just to try to fix something.  Filbrick used to brag about the number of studies they’d been paid to have Ford participate in, back when Ford was too young to protest being treated like a lab rat.

              “Needles suck,” Stan said, trying to take some of the focus off Ford.

              “No disagreements here,” Fiddleford said, feigning cheer.  He took out a third device from the box.  This one looked like a cross between a satellite dish and ray guns on the shows Ford used to watch.  Like with the scanner, there was a screen on it directly facing Fiddleford.  “This is the last test I’ll be runnin’ fer now.”

              “Really?  There are so many others!” Ford said.  “You haven’t even taken my vitals, for one.”

              “Well…”  Fiddleford set down the satellite dish-ray gun.  He pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead.  “You feel fine temperature-wise.  Hold out yer wrist.”  Fiddleford silently took Ford’s pulse.  “Heart rate is also fine.”  Fiddleford placed his hands on his knees.  “There ‘re plenty of other vital signs, but those two are the ones I’d be most concerned ‘bout.  I can listen to yer breathin’ ‘n whatnot later, but ya seem fairly healthy to me.” Ford’s stomach rumbled again. Fiddleford managed a small smile. “And ya sound pretty hungry, so goin’ through this as fast as possible to make sure ya get to eat soon is a good idea. Let me get a quick readin’ on ya and then Stan can take ya upstairs fer some lunch.”  Fiddleford held up the satellite dish-ray gun again.  He pulled the trigger.  There was a flash of light.

              “Well?” Ford prompted impatiently.  Fiddleford nodded slowly, staring at the gun’s screen.

              “Yer givin’ off a bit of magical radiation.”

              “Wait, Ford’s magic now?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford tilted his head one way, then the other.

              “Yes and no.  I’ll need some time to properly interpret these results, but just goin’ off what I see here, it looks like Ford has a slight magical aura.  Prob’ly from eatin’ that plant in the woods.”  Fiddleford playfully poked Ford’s nose.  Ford wrinkled his nose in response, eliciting a small smile from Fiddleford.  “Go on upstairs and have yourself some food, okay?  Once yer done with lunch and yer nap after, I can go over these results with ya if ya still want to.”

              “Okay.”  Ford looked over at Stan hopefully.  “Mac ‘n cheese?”  Stan nodded.

              “You got it.”  Stan strode over to Ford and picked him up.  To his surprise, instead of attempting to wriggle free, Ford settled against his chest.  He began to head upstairs.  “And this time, I won’t even make you eat a vegetable with it.”  Ford beamed up at him.

              “Thanks, dad.”  A lump appeared in Stan’s throat.  He choked it down and forced a smile.

              “No problem, Sixer.”

[singledadchronicles]

It’s an Introduction

Hello All Who May Someday Stumble across the Tumblr,

This is going to be my introduction. First and foremost if you feel like reaching out, you can call me M. I am currently 28 years old, divorced, and have a young child. I was married for just short of 9 years to someone who told me on her way out that she wished we never would have gotten married at all, it ruined her life. I am going to post a lot of stuff on this blog that I won’t even tell my family about. Real feelings I have had, do have, and day to day thoughts. I’m not usually one for introspection but I do find that I need to be to move on with my life.

I am also going to try and stay away from talking badly about my ex-wife. I loved her and even if for what ever reason she didn’t love me back I won’t speak negatively about her. I promised that to myself so that my daughter will not think anything less of her mother. So that extends to here on the off chance that someday she grows up and stumbles across this blog and begins to read about her dear ol’ dad. 

I guess I can give some more information about me. I am from the Mid-West area of the United States of America. I am a Conservative leaning Libertarian. My blog will not deal with politics or anything in that realm so please don’t hold that against me. I am a veteran, having served just 20 days shy of my five year mark with the Worlds Greatest Navy, USN. I am a proud veteran and served with many great men and women during my time.

Better background now on why this blog will go on. I am a single dad. I know there are single dads who blog, vlog, tiktok, youtube, run websites, what ever. But I think for the most part my experience is unique. I married my wife when I was 19 years old, twenty two days after she graduated high school. She was 18, I was 19, and I knew from the first moment I kissed her that I was going to marry her. Maybe that was my mistake. We moved to the town where she would go to college and I worked for a pharmacy as a shift supervisor. Around September 2012, I was only making about $500-$600 a month and we couldn’t survive, I asked for a raise or to be trained for promotion two days before the company came out and said the max salary for a hourly employee was now only going to be $.50 more than what I was already making.

I was in a recruiters office the next day. My ex-wife and I were infatuated with one another. In March of 2013 I left for bootcamp and A-School. When I got my orders to my first duty station my ex left school and moved with me. She gave up her dream because I wanted to provide for my family. Of note, I begged for her to stay and complete her degree. Two years would seem like nothing if she could come to me with her degree and then we could both really work on careers we were enthralled with. She refused and moved. I don’t blame her or hold it against her, it is just what happened. 

I will be honest about myself too. I am not an easy man to deal with. When I get angry or upset I need time to cool down so that I don’t say something I do not mean or something in a hateful way that was not meant in that vain. My ex-wife however is a get the problem over quick  and get past it type personality so we clashed a lot. We NEVER laid a finger on each other. But we were not mentally good to one another. I can take my blame in that. I was a young guy and I did not have great control over my emotions. I still at 28 struggle (Part of putting this blog out here) to control my emotions. But through it all we fought for one another more than we fought with each other. 

We struggled for three years with infertility, we tried to be a if pregnancy happens it is meant to happen couple so no protection was ever used after we got married. We found out in early 2014 that my ex had PCOS. We fought that battle together. She took injections and we had to have a schedule of when the best time to have a baby was. After three failed attempts of IVF (We got pregnant once but the baby was not a “viable pregnancy” and we lost that embryo after 8 weeks) we took a break. Again we said if it was meant to happen it would happen.  So in late 2014 we told the doctor that we wanted to do an aggressive treatment, that this would be our last shot before we looked into adoption. IVF and infertitlity are much harder mentally than anything else and my ex and I were worn out. Thankfully that “Last ditch effort” paid off and my ex got pregnant. We welcomed my beautiful child into the world in 2015 and she has been the light of our lives sense.

In 2016 thought my own personal tragedy struck. On October 3rd of that year I was changing my child’s diaper at my parents house on leave from the Navy in between duty stations. I was transferring to a base close to home and was very excited. Suddenly I felt a pain in my stomach and asked my dad to take over the diaper change (he never changed grandbaby diapers) he saw something was up and jumped in as I took off for the restroom. I sat down on the toilet and next thing I knew I was on the floor of the bathroom looking up at my dad and he was asking if I needed an ambulance. My reply (according to my dad) “Yeah I think so cause I have no clue how I got down here”. I tried to get up but pain shot through my body again and next thing I knew I was surrounded by paramedics and they started to tell me to relax I was having a heart attack. To just keep breathing and that I was going to be fine. 

I waited in an emergency room for pain meds, so long that I apparently got so frustrated I snapped one of the handrails off the bed. They refused to give me pain meds because they thought I was just a junkie trying to get my fix (It’s in my charts that the refusal for medicine was because I was showing physical signs of being an addict). At the first hospital I was treated until midnight (approximately 15 hours) like I had pneumonia. The doctors could not figure out what was wrong with me. I was taken to an ICU as my oxygen levels dipped and it was at midnight that the doctor on staff looked at what is called a lipase level and saw that it was over 13,000 (Normal lipase for an adult male is between 40-50) and had me medevac’d to a different hospital so that I could be taken care of. 

What I actually had was Necrotizing Pancreatitis. Basically my pancreas was revolting against my body and trying to kill itself and take others with it. A massive revolt against my body. I remember only three things that happened next. Getting to the second hospital and having them not give me pain meds again until they assessed my situation, a doctor telling me that I could die and asking if I had a living will to take care of my wife and daughter, and that same doctor coming back and asking who had permission to make any calls on my behalf. The last part I raised my head what I could and pointed at my dad (who was with me this whole time) and my wife. They video recorded that so if anything happened they had evidence. 

I spent the next 14 days in a medically induced coma. When they finally brought me out of it it took 9 nurses and two doctors to take out my breathing tube because I was fighting them so much. I can say I spent 90 percent of the next year of my life in a hospital. I missed my child’s first birthday and barely got out of a hospital in time for their second. Also during 2016 my ex-wife’s mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer. So my ex was not only dealing with me being in and out of the hospital but also her mother. 

I’ll talk about her mother more in another blog post. She was an amazing woman.

It was at this time thought that I think my world really started to spiral. I was told I would no longer be able to serve in the military (right as I had really felt I was getting the hang of it and wanted it to be my career). My medical retirement took a little over a year to process and finalize and I was retired 20 days short of my five year mark in the Navy in 2018. That was the first time I felt really lost.

My ex-wife became an esthetician around this time and I became a stay at home dad. Anyone who knows me would tell you that this is not in my nature. Not that I don’t want to spend time with my child, but I have always seen myself as the provider, the patriarch, and the “Man of the house”. You may not like it but it was how I was raised and it’s a value I still hold.  Fuck off if you don’t like it.

So I started a management job at a retail company and whenever my ex wasn’t working I was. This was probably the start of the deterioration of our relationship. We started seeing one another just long enough to argue, eat, or have sex. It was one of the three, period, the end. We went on like this for a little under a year.

In December of 2019, 7 days before Christmas, as my ex and I woke up to go to school (we had moved back to where she had started college so she could finisher her degree and I could do my degree as well) she looked me in the eyes and said “I don’t love you anymore...I want a divorce.” At that moment I felt like it was out of nowhere. I yelled, I cursed, I felt betrayed, abandonded, and hopeless... I went to class, took my child to school, and for the next three days came home to a woman who didn’t want to be with me anymore and wasn’t willing to let me try and fix anything. She had made up her mind, and had a million reasons why. Her biggest being that she didn’t love me anymore and she couldn’t put her child through to parents pretending to play house.

Now here I am, 6 months post divorce (we separated the weekend before Christmas and our divorce was finalized the first of January), trying to figure out dating as my ex wife begins her plans to move in with her new boyfriend and start her new life. I am still single, still depressed, and still not over her. I’m trying to be, and my ex and I have an exact split schedule for our child. We probably have the most legit 50/50 custody of a child ever and that’s really nice.

This blog is to help me move on, to express my feelings somewhere, where I don’t have to be afraid of telling the truth about myself and what I am going through. This was the introduction of what could be a very fun experience for me. Lots of stories and even some more background to come. 

Thanks for Reading,

M

[sneek-m]

“Feelin’ Good ~It’s Paradise~” by DA PUMP [Expression, 1998]

When Da Pump first released its music video for “U.S.A.,” Japan’s news media described it as dasa-kakkoii, a descriptor that roughly translates to “lame-cool” which also caught on a brand as the promo clip became viral. The term nicely summed up the men who were clearly years, if not a full decade too old to be wearing the apparel that defined cool for today’s youth, but somehow still willed themselves a unique touch of cool through sheer determination.

The more the group performed its surprise hit on TV, dasa-kakkoii became more of a badge of honor. The “corny uncles wearing Supreme” image associated with that term represented not so much a desperate attempt to recapture youth and, given Da Pump’s relative pop-music irrelevancy for some time, once-experienced height of fame. “U.S.A.” instead looked like a fine example of arrested development behind a band of once-teens whose own sense of time lagged behind the rapid course of reality. That looked to be a truer image considering that 20 years now passed since the group’s debut single, “Feelin’ Good ~It’s Paradise~,” and the current group looked nothing close to its original teen-filled line-up.

The music of “U.S.A.” is also driven by that sense of arrested development. The production alone takes the group back specifically to 1992, the release year of its original source material. Joe Yellow’s Eurobeat sound already echoed a very outdated music trend of Japan, but its revamped lyrics took it back even further by curating a list of items that once represented an idea of cool in another lifetime. Disco balls, the pompadour, convertible sports cars: Da Pump’s reminiscences shouted nostalgia not only through the retro Western cultural imports itself but also the perspective at which the group glamorized them.

After spending a year with current-day Da Pump who wore its own stunted growth as a main part of its new identity, it’s intriguing to revisit its debut single “Feelin’ Good ~It’s Paradise~” and find a teen boy group doing just the opposite. A familiar voice can be found in the record, and that voice is a young Issa Hentona, the only original member left in today’s lineup, who’s 19 by the time “Feelin’ Good” first hit stores. “Now I want to be your man,” he passionately sings in the opening lines, a lyric which its sincerity gets drawn out further as it gets deeply processed via vocoder.

Whereas 2018 Da Pump reverted its perspective back to their golden youth, 1997 Da Pump tried to show a more adult self as much as possible. In the process of doing so, the group only appeared more juvenile. Dasa-kakkoii can actually be applied to “Feelin’ Good” as well but through an inverted lens: the members have yet to be old and mature enough to fit the swagger and stylistic flairs they try out like a costume. It’s best evident in the rap sections, not only through its amateurish execution but also its sappy earnestness flowing from discovering the feeling of first love for the first time. Though it’s also apparent in Issa’s first lines, before that “I wanna be your man” line: “Ore honto ni ketsui,” he goes, and it reads like he’s reciting a teen-romance movie script with that ore pronoun barely befitting him.

Da Pump is revisiting their own past as well as the massive success of “U.S.A.” has allowed the group to re-introduce the past hits to a whole new batch of fans who perhaps never knew of them prior to the viral video. On top of releasing a new best-of album, THANX!!!!!!! Neo Best of Da Pump, they have been squeezing the older singles in their TV performances before they inevitably break into “U.S.A.” Their 1998 single “Rhapsody in Blue” introduced the group’s set last winter for the annual FNS Kayousai broadcast, and “Feelin’ Good” was played for the October episode of NHK’s Uta-Tube.

There, Issa and gang appear as though they can finally tell the feelings that inspired “Feelin’ Good” justice. They can now confidently claim a lyric like “when I was a brat, I was so blind” that their younger selves could not faithfully deliver. All the unknowns now feel told from a lived-in experience. Instead of Supreme beanies and bulky sneakers, Da Pump performed the song in a uniform all-white suit. They finally seemed to appear their age to sing about a classic theme in pop. Then the Eurobeat synths started to blare and they return to the present to give the crowd what they want.

[dork-with-a-uke]

what's up my dude? how are you? i'd love for you to rate every song on pray for the wicked, just share a penny on your thoughts, which songs and/or pieces of lyrics are your favorites etc

hello my dude. i am aware u sent this in over a week ago and i’ve been meaning to answer but fact is, i’d started writing abt those songs in my journal and never finished. so i got around to finishing writing that, and i will now transcribe it (with additional comments) for ur enjoyment. im so glad u asked me tho thank u ily. 

here we goooo

1 - (Fuck A) Silver Lining

honestly, this one threw me tf off when i first heard it. no pretty introduction, this song goes straight to mf third base. grew on me though. back then i didn’t know this song was the first one off the tracklist (duh), and that makes the “to the old and to the new, we dedicate this song to you” at the beginning even more meaningful. this album, to me, is both past, present and future, with the acknowledgement of the past being v important to me bc it had never really happened before. as b said in a livestream, this record is “very honest in a way he hasn’t been”, and i think it translates. 6/10

2 - Say Amen (Saturday Night)

bold to put two bracketed songs in #1 and #2, brendon. bold move. i immediately liked this one more, when both were dropped at the same time. kenny and nicole’s (and dan’s!!) vocals are forever ingrained in my mind bc of that bbcr1 live lounge. i can’t wait to hear that high note live. ball kickin’ good. 7.5/10

3 - Hey Look Ma, I Made It

this song makes me so proud of how far he’s come. something about the melody, i think. “If you don’t know who you can trust, then trust me you’ll be lonely” is such a great line. strength in vulnerability, in the willingness to rely on others. i like it. also, i couldn’t believe the “boo-hoo” was an actual line when i first listened to it. people have mentioned how they disliked the bit when dillon comes in, but i think it adds an interesting twist. granted, the song could’ve done without, but it adds a more “modern” dimension to the song that symbolises his life rn, yknow? first the little kid w the cardboard guitar in front of the mirror, and now the grown man in front of thousands of people. idk. 7.5/10

4 - High Hopes

was pretty meh about this song ‘til i heard brendon perform it acoustically on the release stream, and then on that sirius xm live sesh? i think. felt like it all made sense then, the original, emotional meaning of this song came through the guitar strings. the cocky lyrics became hopeful prayers. this song is so much better stripped down, both instrumentally and emotionally. been trying to cover it (in vain so far. i’ll get there one day.) studio - 6/10 // acoustic/live sesh - 8/10

5 - Roaring 20s

man, this one’s the one that finally let me let out the breath i’d been holding for the first four songs. the one that almost made me cry of relief, because i always get so goddamn anxious when one of my favourite artists release music. roaring 20s, man. it has all the extravagance of being a young adult with the refinement of being in ur early 30s. the hook, the chorus. anD THE BRIDGE?? this song could be on a fuckin movie. also, the line “roll me like a blunt cause i wanna go home” is So Fucking Iconic, but can almost make me emo at the end when he says “i wanna go home”? how does he do it. and, like i said. 

But it’s Lord of the Flies in my mind tonightI don’t know if I will surviveLighters up if you’re feelin’ meFade to black if you’re not mineCause I just need a sign or a signal inside [give me a siiiign, i wanna belieeeeeve]

THE FUCKIN BRIDGE. dont say u cant imagine a concert room full of lighters swaying from left to right.  9/10

6 - Dancing’s Not A Crime

started writing this when the song wasn’t on yet and wrote “one of the ones i like less out of the non-single tracks.” well, safe to say i was Wrong. amazing beat, great brass in the background, and a tinge of nostalgia for some reason. i feel like panic tends to do that easily. happy music with a dash of “fuck, those were good times after all.” or maybe it’s just me. panic makes me feel nostalgic. it is known. for some reason, i love the line “I’m like MJ up in the clouds.” also “And if you’re night crawlin’ with him // I won’t take it lying down” KDFJHKSLJFHS 8/10

7 - One Of The Drunks

god, i love this song. the opening “welcome to the club” is so friendly, like it’s a Cool thing but u realise throughout the song that the club aint fun at all. that, followed by brendon’s solemn tone, the softness in his voice, you can almost picture his eyebrows lifting as he croons or smth. the “uncomfortably numb” will always make me feel some kinda way, i think. 9/10 bonus .5 for “i saw you lift that fuckin sax up to the microphone, and i fell in love”

8 - The Ryd Overpass

fuck, this one almost made me cry, for all the reasons you’d expect. the “someone still loves you” hit me so, so hard. he says it so cockily but it’s such a vulnerable confession? the entire vibe of the song, man. smugness mixed with longing, this shared complicity of a secret rendez-vous. everything in this screams ryden. the parallels, the little references. the slurred bridge, as though he’s drunk. “everything about you is perfect” hHHHHHHHH 10/10

9 - King Of The Clouds

eh. still not crazy about this one. this is the one single fucker that made me doubt the entire album days before the release (hence the almost-relief cry) it feels unfinished somehow, lacks drums & bass. i did think it felt rushed, and then brendon revealed that it almost didn’t make the album. to me, it shows. it’s his favourite, though. probably for a reason. 4/10

10 - Old Fashioned

if you ever wondered what a keysmash irl looks like, look no further. here is a very good specimen of me losing my shit. this entire song is just. reminiscing. seventeen years old. how it was great. swallowin’ and shit. hm yes. like i said up there, 10/10

11 - Dying In LA

this track was so perfect exactly where it was. bless brendon for liking slow tracks at the end. this song was catharsis, was release from all the emotions from the rest of the album, it was so perfect. the line “every face along the boulevard is a dreamer just like you” hit me right in the chest because it’s so true. this song is about someone whose dreams didn’t come true and it hurts me so much. the birds at the end made me cry the first time i heard the song because they kinda snapped me out of the trance i was in. goddamn. i can’t rate this one. heart out of ten. 

[stardusttkachuk-main]

Pre-Christmas Catastrophe

Title: Pre-Christmas Catastrophe

Pairing: Ambulance Officer!Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Warnings: angst, graphic descriptions of car accident, fluff, mentions of pregnancy

Square Filled: Ambulance Officer!Sam

Prompt: White Christmas

Summary: AU Y/N is out finishing her Christmas shopping on one particularly snowy day. It’s smooth sailing until she’s coming home when her car slips on black ice. Luckily for her, she’s got an ambulance officer as a fiance who just so happens to be working that night.

A/N: Written for @spnaubingo

This is Day 21 of 25 Days of Christmas. Check out the full masterlist here!

A winter wonderland was the only way you could describe the view outside the window. You wanted nothing more than to run around in it, like you were a kid again, or fall down into the tufts of white and make snow angels, soaking your jeans and mittens without a care in the world. It was beautiful.

You had just a few errands to run before Christmas day, and it was fast approaching. You needed a few more gifts for Sam, and Sam insisted you get a gift for Harley, your two-year-old black lab. It was off to the mall for you.

The snow was thick as it came down, but it was still light out. You weren’t worried in the slightest, having driven in the snow every winter when it came. You slipped a little getting down the street, but caught yourself quickly, the four-wheel drive of your car making it easier to get down the snow packed road.

Pretty soon, you were on the highway, cautious but still reaching speeds of nearly 60 in some areas. The snow wasn’t sticking yet, and with all the cars passing, it kept the roads fairly clear. There were some cars that had to have been going 80, just flying down the fast lane and past everyone in their sights.

You took your exit, the mall crowded but not like it normally was on a weekend. You at least found a parking spot relatively easy, one that wasn’t far from the entrance. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you opened the text, a smile on your face as you read through Sam’s words. “Thinkin’ bout you. Boys down here want to see that ring.” You looked down at your finger, the three white sapphire stones locked in a gold band staring back at you. Just two weeks ago Sam was on his knee, asking to spend a lifetime with you.

“Miss you,” you sent back. “Christmas is just around the corner, and we’ll have it all to ourselves.” You tucked your phone away again as you got out of your car and headed for the doors.

The snow had picked up. It was wetter now, and the sun had set, meaning it was colder. It was still thick but came down faster, like a miniature blizzard, still so beautiful though. Winter was your favorite season, for the reason that it snowed and the snow always made everything so sparkly and bright.

You were a bit more cautious as you took the freeway this time. Afternoon traffic had begun to start, and with the snow, things were a lot tighter and slower. Of course, there were always those people who just swerved in and out of traffic to be the first ones home.

White Christmas played through your radio. A smile drew over your lips as you realized you’d have a white Christmas this year, just like every year before. It was probably one of your favorite Christmas songs, for the sole reason that you grew up with snow on Christmas day and you always waited around by a window to watch the snow fall.

You moved into the left lane to go around a delivery truck, speeding up just a bit to make sure you got around him in time. Around a bend, your wheels gave out and you fishtailed, swerving into a barrier. You corrected, went full 360 and hit the other side, now sitting the complete opposite way, but your car didn’t stop.

Your feet were pushing on the brakes as your hands tried to maneuver the wheel around to get yourself the right way. Another car came straight at you, hitting your front end and pushing you into the wall again. The airbags went off, your head flung back into your seat and then into the not-so-cushy white balloon. You could hear your horn and the other cars horn, but when you tried to move to assess the situation, pain shot throughout your entire body. You couldn’t move your hand to get your phone and silently prayed that someone would call 911 and come save you.

The end of White Christmas was still playing through your speakers as you began to scream and cry. Each bellow for help was cut off by a long gut-wrenching sob. Everything hurt now. You couldn’t move your head left or right, you could barely move your jaw to speak. A middle-aged woman opened your car door, frantically asking if you were okay. You weren’t even sure you responded, just listened as she assured you someone was on their way.

You never expected that someone to be Sam. You never expected to see him jump out of the ambulance and race for your car, completely dismissing everything he had learned in training.

“Y/N! Baby, it’s okay!” He assured. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” His voice was anything but calm, but you were conscious and crying. Hurt and bleeding but awake and talking, well, screaming. It was comforting to know that you didn’t get knocked out in the crash.

“I hit ice,” you mumbled, trying to move but being unable to. “Sam.” Tears brimmed in your eyes, wanting to turn your head to look at him and see his comforting face, but not being able to.

“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

He started to move and you yelled. “Please don’t go, Sam. Please, stay here. Stay with me. Please.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.” He placed his hand on your hair and you flinched.

“It hurts,”

“I know.”

“Sam! What we got?” His partner called. You assumed he had checked out the other car. God, you hoped whoever was in there was alright.

“Uh.. female, 30’s, conscious. Possible concussion. Lacerations to head and chest. She says she can’t move and she’s in a lot of pain,” he responded. “You?”

“Female, early 20’s if not teen. Unresponsive. Pulse is slowing.”

You froze at his words, not having the heart to tell Sam to stay when he moved away. “I will be right back,” he assured, kissing your temple as gently as he could. You weren’t alone for long and just minutes later you could hear another set of sirens. “Alright, Y/N, we’re going to get you out now.”

“I can’t move,” you said.

“I know. I’m gonna help you okay? So is officer Taylor, but you have to cooperate. I need you to try, even if it hurts you need to try.” His voice was stern but shaking. He didn’t want to see you in any more pain than you already were. There were two sets of hands on your body, pulling you up. You screamed, begging for them to stop, but Sam continued to whisper praises and words of comfort to you as they got you onto a gurney. You saw that another ambulance had arrived and watched as two other EMT’s lifted a smaller woman onto their gurney. They had an oxygen mask on her and were working on a brace around her neck when a woman stood above you, asking you if you could move your head.

“I can’t,” you whimpered.

“That’s okay. I’m going to put a brace on you now. I need you to look straight up at me and I will try not to move you too much.”

Sam passed her the brace and held your head as still as possible as they fixated it around your neck. “Her pulse is dropping,” he informed, a waver in his voice and you knew he was scared.

“She’s still conscious,” the woman said. “We’ll get her on some oxygen in the van and keep her vitals in check until we get to the hospital. Sam, I need you to focus, you know how to do this and it’s no different with her, okay?”

“She’s my-”

“I know,” She cut Sam off. “But you have to focus until we get to the hospital.”

Sam drove. He was too much of a wreck to keep his eyes on you and make sure you were breathing or your pulse was where it needed to be. He wanted to be your fiance right now, not the ambulance officer who came to rescue you.

Sam never left your side as they got you into a room and nurses began checking your vitals once again. He stayed out of the way, watching as they hooked you up to an IV and started a pain reliever. Tears were still rolling down his cheeks, but everyone assured him you’d be okay.

“Hey, Y/N, we’re going to take you back for an X-ray and make sure you don’t have any fractures or something similar. You feelin’ okay?” A nurse asked, pulling up the sides of your bed and making sure everything was unlocked and ready to go.

“I think th-the morphine blocks most of the pain,” you gave a slight chuckle, watching as Sam smiled.

“Good,” she grinned. “Then it’s doing its job.”

When you got to the room, a technician set you up on the bed, throwing a leaded apron over you. “Any chance you’re pregnant, miss?”

“Um, I-I am. I don’t know how far along, I f-found out a couple days ago.”

“No worries. We’ll get you an ultrasound for that today, make sure everything is okay. We’re going to do an image of your legs and your neck okay? No damage to the baby at all.

It took about ten minutes to get everything done, and when you had gotten back onto the bed, they wheeled you down to another exam room, complete with ultrasound equipment.

You heard the heartbeat first, tearing up because you were so sure the little thing hadn’t made it.

“Strong heartbeat,” the ultrasound technician said, calming your fears even more. “So you’re measuring about 7 and a half weeks. Does that seem about right?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Congratulations. I’ll print out some of these images for you. It kind of looks like a blob right now, but I’ll point out some key features,” she teased, watching as the images printed out one by one in a long train. “So, this is the heartbeat.” There were lines going up and down, just like on an adult EKG. “And, this would be the head and the little body. You can’t really see much of the arms or legs but they’re there. They’re little buds at this point.” She moved the picture down again. “And this is the spine. So, I’ll give these to you and you can go break the news to hubby, sound good?”

You laughed, your chest a little sore when you did, but nothing too bad. The pain was mild to what you were feeling just after the crash.

You made it back to your room just as the doctor had stepped in. “Went over your images. Everything looks just fine. There’s no breaks, fractures, nothing. We will send it over for a little extra examining, but if there is anything it’s minor and would probably be something that could heal on its own. You probably do have whiplash so you are going to be sore, but we’ll send you home with some pain medication for that. Take it easy for the next couple weeks, alright? Don’t go on any crazy roller coasters, or do acrobatics until everything clears up. And, of course, follow up with your regular doctor. They’ll be able to keep you in check and let you know when you’re good to get back to your daily life. Sound good?”

You nodded. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

“You take care. You’ve got an excuse to laze around for about nine months too,” he chuckled. “I’ll send a nurse in to get you all signed out and unhooked from all this, and then you two can be on your way.”

“Thank you,” Sam added as the doctor left. He looked over at you, one eyebrow raised. “Did he say nine months of laying around?”

A shy smile crossed your features. “Congratulations daddy.” His eyes got big as you pulled out the thread of pictures. Sam let out a deep breath, pulling you into a soft hug.

“Thank god I didn’t know about this beforehand or there is no way I would’ve stayed calm out there.”

You laughed, pursing your lips and waiting for Sam to kiss them. “I was going to tell you on Christmas. I already wrapped the pregnancy test and onesie so just act surprised when you unwrap it, okay?”

“Deal.”

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @smoothdogsgirl @jayankles @faegal04 @feelmyroarrrr @27bmm @maddieburcham1 @melonshino @sayukoi @impalaimagining @riversong-sam @atc74 @goldenolaf25 @plaidstiel-wormstache @thegrouchiestunicorn @thebitterbookeater @growningupgeek @sandle44 @rda1989 @weasleywinchester @fightmenegan @itsmyeffingstory @angelblazon @mrswhozeewhatsis @meeshw777 @jotink78 @poukothenerd @mogaruke @devilgirlsarah @queencflair @hexparker @ruprecht0420 @summer-binging-spn @holychuckitsthewinchesters @super100012 @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @supernatural-jackles @taste-of-dean @casownsmyass @danradislife @holyfuckloueh @hsjolie @winchester-negan @emoryhemsworth @i-am-enough-always @samisimportant @brooke-supernatural16 @there-must-be-a-lock @greys-anatomy839 @babytheimpalaimagines @obsessivecompulsivespn @superapplepie @esoltis280 @mirandaaustin93

Sam Tags: @wildfirewinchester @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @katie-the-writer @lenawiinchester @bambinovak @lavieenlex @legend-o-zelda @20secspnfam4 @barbedwireandbubblegum @lipstickandwhiskey @bemyqueenofdarkness @waiting4thedoctor @snarkpunsandsarcasm @itssierramcquade @xinyourdreamsx @blue-heaven-winchestergirl83 @alwaysbummedout @born-to-be-his-baby88

25 Days of Christmas Tags: @alex-zeppelin @imagineplotfulcharacters @alwaysbummedout

My tag list is still open! Add yourself here!

If there’s a strikethrough on your name, it means I can’t tag you! Go here to fix it!

[lovlae]

Do you still rely on your parents for shit? Or are you acting like an adult yet??? Just curious

adult in their 20s trying to make a 17 year old feel bad bc they’re feelin inferior in their own life and they wanna project onto a teenager in hopes of feeling like a badass

[hustlebonezzzz]

A look back on my past hairstyles

Hair is a strange thing. It is a social phenomenon of self expression that can communicate a meaningful message to the world around us. The inferences we make based on someone’s hair is huge. Religion, gender roles/sexuality, socio- economic background, or even political leanings, are just a few examples. Hair is a tool of individual identity, and we are obsessed with hair in our modern culture. The time and money spent on hair is grand. At any given store, there are whole aisles dedicated to hair care and maintenance. I’ve even seen hair dye at the gas station. Sometimes, I think about how before hair dye, people had to live with their graying hair. There was no hiding it. These days we attach others peoples hair to our own head, get hair transplant procedures to prevent thinning, and most importantly, we alter our hair chemistry with harsh chemicals.

In my own experience, I never thought I had very much going on with my hair throughout my life, at least as far as being meaningful. However, as I sat and thought about all of my past hair styles and choices, I realized that my hair played far more of an emotional role than I had ever imagined. It still does. A bad hair day can ruin any day, honestly. So without further ado, I present my visually dated descent into madness as shown through my past hairstyles.

***

Ages 0-5: At this point in life, societal expectations of hair was not on the radar. You were busy being a kid and not caring.

6-11: The bob/bang combo haunts you. Mom has taken all creative liberties over your hair and has decided that this haircut is IT. You are not completely self aware yet and still have yet to care. You’ve barely brushed it these past five years anyway. It’s just hair, right? Right… But what’s this? At age 11 you look in the mirror one day and think “this.. looks oddly familiar… oh no, oh god, *gasp* I look like COCONUT HEAD from Ned’s Declassified!” You decide to live on the edge and say fuck it! You sweep the bang to the side, slightly. A new era of hair is in the making. Remember that self awareness we talked about earlier? It is arriving.

12: Mom decides that it’s time for a bang trim and you are back to square one. You do not oppose the supreme Authority and her desire for the bang. You also chemically alter your virgin hair for the first time. Mom convinces you that highlights would be “sooo cute!” and you oblige willingly. The process is exciting and the anticipation builds through each step. The mixing of the bleach, the slathering onto the hair, the foil, the waiting. You finally wash it out and it’s time for the big reveal: You hate it deeply and cry many tears. You don’t have the heart or guts to tell Mom that you hate it, so you tell her that you love it. “Amy, have you been crying?” “No..”

This is also the point where you discover the flat iron. Everyone in middle school is straightening their hair, therefore you do as well. Simple as that. You desire to be hip and on trend, and this means clothes from Aeropostale, plaid bermuda shorts, and pin straight hair.

13: Dad has convinced Mom that it’s time to let you have a little independence with your hair, and she can’t pretend that you’re her little 6 year old forever. You haven’t realized it yet, but Mom is having a hard time with you growing up. Anyways, now we can really get to business. You want to be “scene” so bad, but you know that will never happen, so you try to keep it lowkey. Swoop-y bangs, layers, and hair growth? Yes, yes, and yes. They layers get a little too short and you look like a founding father when you put your hair in a ponytail, but you like this for some reason. You’re also still trying to figure out the bang situation, but rest assured you’ll get their in a few years time. Also, you SO wish you could dye your hair fire-engine red like Hayley Williams. In your dreams, girl.

14-15: You have decided that flat iron = the devil. You have crispified that absolute shit out of you hair over the past couple years, and you decide that au natural is the way to be. The bangs continue to grow until the entire forehead is consumed, resembling a mushroom cap. You’ve started high school, and you hide behind the bangs that you refuse to push out of your eyes. Social self awareness levels: off the charts.

At 15, you took the plunge and decided to razor cut your bangs all by yourself, holding your breath the entire time. You angle them, shortest point a half inch above the brow, longest point, right below the brow. And they look.. Good? You covered all the bases. Swoop-y? Check. Covering entire forehead? Double check. Eureka, you have found THE bang. A hair stylist will NEVER touch your precious bangs ever again. They will try and they will fail. You’ve also done away with the extreme layers and have decided that it’s time to grow out your precious mane.

16: You got your first job at the grocery store and bought red Manic-Panic hair dye from Sally’s. This is about as close to Hayley Williams as you will get for awhile. Despite the tasteful placement, mom ain’t pleased. Dad ain’t pleased because the dye stained the sink. Oops. But you’ve always wanted to dye your hair and teen angst is beginning to take over. You were inspired to do it because your best friend put a single stripe of purple in her hair. You expressed that you weren’t sure if you should put the red in because you didn’t want to piss off Mom. Her response? And I quote, “Do it pussy.” That’s all you needed.

17: You get caught sneaking out to go hang out with your scumbag boyfriend (unfortunately, you figure out the scumbag part far too late). Mom gets mad and cuts off your hair in blind rage.You cherished your newfound long locks and she knew that. You dread going to school the next day with your botched haircut. The haircut feels like a permanent scarlet letter. Everyone asks the same question: “So what made you want to cut your hair?” You respond “Just needed a change, I guess.” You feel ashamed and embarrassed every time, like your teachers and peers know the real story.

After getting the haircut fixed by an actual stylist, you dig the short, sassy hair. You decide that this haircut was meant to be and embrace the hell out of it. It was a great character building moment anyways.. right? Later, you discover Sun-In, a spray in lightener that promises natural highlights. You spray too much on and your hair turns a strange brass shade. Jake from work asks “Did you dye your hair?” “Yes.” “Oh.” The “Oh” echoes in your mind. Oh? Just oh? You don’t like my hair, Jake? It’s cool. It’s fine.

18: Ah. the age of legal adultness. You get fed up and move out of the clutches of your family home and in with your best friend. This was clearly a recipe for a drastic hair change. After all, you could do whatever the hell you wanted now. Less than a week later of being gone, you dye your hair bright pink, and then later purple. You are feelin’ damn good. When you come home for Christmas, your four year old sister proudly exclaims, “You look like a My Little Pony!!” Pinky Pie, to be exact. After getting disappointed looks from the rest of the family, you find that your sisters enthusiasm was really all you needed. Pinky Pie is awesome.

You continue to learn that you get more attention with bright hair, and it’s a great conversation starter. The attention is mainly positive, but occasionally, a boomer will chime in with the rude opinion you never asked for. The personal favorite remains: “Kill the manic who did THAT to your hair!” You respond “I don’t really want to kill myself.”

You then panic at the thought of graduating high school and being perceived as immature for having bright hair, so you dye it brown and cut it shorter than it’s ever been. It’s an angled cut, and you feel like a Karen. Instinctually, you immediately message “I’ve made a grave mistake.” to the group chat you had with your friends. You are very melodramatic and your friends think that you must have crashed your car or something. Nope, just another bad hair cut. But life goes on and it grows out. Thankfully, you recover from the Karen cut just in time for graduation.You attempt to dye it deep brown, and it turns black. It’s all good though.

19: You decide that you still want color and opt for a small peek-a-boo section of the hair. “Do it pussy” forever resonates in your mind. Purple, blue, red, and orange are the colors of choice. You get a better boyfriend with this hair, and all is well in the world. You feel cool, yet classy. Was this your hair peak?

20: The brown keeps fading out and looking all blotchy from that time you decided to bleach it for the pink and purple. You decide that you need to cleanse your hair of it’s sins. This means more bleach. Fuck it, you are going blonde. This is the last time you will torture your hair with chemicals. Alas, the blonde doesn’t last very long.

You want some flair, so you go for the most bold natural color and order natural red henna powder. Everyone thinks it’s real. Ha, fools. You get tired of breaking hearts when you explain to those who ask that this is indeed not your natural color. You instead opt for the response “Grew it myself,” which is technically not a lie.

21: You continue to discover how much old men fetishize red hair and think you must be feisty or something. Gross. “You know what they say about women with red hair, right?” “No?” You also grow it out and recover what was lost in high school. Your friends cheer you on and convince you to hold off on chopping it when you’re having a moment. Things get weird and sad after leaving the community college and starting the big ol’ university. You gain 25lbs and revert to straight bangs and a middle part, and use your hair to hide again. It’s kind of sadistic. You quickly learn that this choice is a mistake and revert back to your true form: side part and angled bang.

22: It’s finally long.. but also very crispy. It’s time to say goodbye. You’ve been wanting to say goodbye. The hairstylist gets cold feet and doesn’t cut off as much as you ask her. You don’t say a damn thing, and eventually finish the job at home. Who knew cutting hair at home was so easy? Money and time become scarce, so retouching the auburn color doesn’t really happen anymore. In the past this might have troubled you, but for now you don’t really care.

***

So there you have it. It’s just hair, right? Dead stuff growing out of your head. Well, yes. But it doesn’t take a genius to understand that hair is a big part of many people's identity. It’s one of the first things we tend to notice about others. Whether we mean to or not, we prejudge on appearances. Hair can get so emotional the more you think about it. I never knew how emotionally attached I was to my hair until it was taken away from me at age 17. Personally, my hair was a security blanket growing up. I learned to use it as a way of hiding my face and shying away from others. It was also one of the few things I had control over, and indeed became a major part of my young identity. Turning 18, I asserted my own ultimate control when I dyed my whole head bright pink. I now realize that this was in essence my way of letting my odd family know that I was in charge of my own endeavors from now on. The legality of turning 18 meant so much to me at the time, and pink hair was a grand symbol of it all.

So now I invite you to go look back on your old photos and brew on them. Reminisce, perhaps. Ultimately, you should at the very least laugh, because I know we’ve all had shitty haircuts at some point.

[berrylumpz]

A look back on my past hairstyles

Hair is a strange thing. It is a social phenomenon of self expression that can communicate a meaningful message to the world around us. The inferences we make based on someone’s hair is huge. Religion, gender roles/sexuality, socio- economic background, or even political leanings, are just a few examples. Hair is a tool of individual identity, and we are obsessed with hair in our modern culture. The time and money spent on hair is grand. At any given store, there are whole aisles dedicated to hair care and maintenance. I’ve even seen hair dye at the gas station. Sometimes, I think about how before hair dye, people had to live with their graying hair. There was no hiding it. These days we attach others peoples hair to our own head, get hair transplant procedures to prevent thinning, and most importantly, we alter our hair chemistry with harsh chemicals. 

In my own experience, I never thought I had very much going on with my hair throughout my life, at least as far as being meaningful. However, as I sat and thought about all of my past hair styles and choices, I realized that my hair played far more of an emotional role than I had ever imagined. It still does. A bad hair day can ruin any day, honestly. So without further ado, I present my visually dated descent into madness as shown through my past hairstyles.

***

Ages 0-5: At this point in life, societal expectations of hair was not on the radar. You were busy being a kid and not caring. 

6-11: The bob/bang combo haunts you. Mom has taken all creative liberties over your hair and has decided that this haircut is IT. You are not completely self aware yet and still have yet to care. You’ve barely brushed it these past five years anyway. It’s just hair, right? Right… But what’s this? At age 11 you look in the mirror one day and think “this.. looks oddly familiar… oh no, oh god, *gasp* I look like COCONUT HEAD from Ned’s Declassified!” You decide to live on the edge and say fuck it! You sweep the bang to the side, slightly. A new era of hair is in the making. Remember that self awareness we talked about earlier? It is arriving. 

12: Mom decides that it’s time for a bang trim and you are back to square one. You do not oppose the supreme Authority and her desire for the bang. You also chemically alter your virgin hair for the first time. Mom convinces you that highlights would be “sooo cute!” and you oblige willingly. The process is exciting and the anticipation builds through each step. The mixing of the bleach, the slathering onto the hair, the foil, the waiting. You finally wash it out and it’s time for the big reveal: You hate it deeply and cry many tears. You don’t have the heart or guts to tell Mom that you hate it, so you tell her that you love it. “Amy, have you been crying?” “No..”

This is also the point where you discover the flat iron. Everyone in middle school is straightening their hair, therefore you do as well. Simple as that. You desire to be hip and on trend, and this means clothes from Aeropostale, plaid bermuda shorts, and pin straight hair.

13: Dad has convinced Mom that it’s time to let you have a little independence with your hair, and she can’t pretend that you’re her little 6 year old forever. You haven’t realized it yet, but Mom is having a hard time with you growing up. Anyways, now we can really get to business. You want to be “scene” so bad, but you know that will never happen, so you try to keep it lowkey. Swoop-y bangs, layers, and hair growth? Yes, yes, and yes. They layers get a little too short and you look like a founding father when you put your hair in a ponytail, but you like this for some reason. You’re also still trying to figure out the bang situation, but rest assured you’ll get their in a few years time. Also, you SO wish you could dye your hair fire-engine red like Hayley Williams. In your dreams, girl.

14-15: You have decided that flat iron = the devil. You have crispified that absolute shit out of you hair over the past couple years, and you decide that au natural is the way to be. The bangs continue to grow until the entire forehead is consumed, resembling a mushroom cap. You’ve started high school, and you hide behind the bangs that you refuse to push out of your eyes. Social self awareness levels: off the charts. 

At 15, you took the plunge and decided to razor cut your bangs all by yourself, holding your breath the entire time. You angle them, shortest point a half inch above the brow, longest point, right below the brow. And they look.. Good? You covered all the bases. Swoop-y? Check. Covering entire forehead? Double check. Eureka, you have found THE bang. A hair stylist will NEVER touch your precious bangs ever again. They will try and they will fail. You’ve also done away with the extreme layers and have decided that it’s time to grow out your precious mane. 

16: You got your first job at the grocery store and bought red Manic-Panic hair dye from Sally’s. This is about as close to Hayley Williams as you will get for awhile. Despite the tasteful placement, mom ain’t pleased. Dad ain’t pleased because the dye stained the sink. Oops. But you’ve always wanted to dye your hair and teen angst is beginning to take over. You were inspired to do it because your best friend put a single stripe of purple in her hair. You expressed that you weren’t sure if you should put the red in because you didn’t want to piss off Mom. Her response? And I quote, “Do it pussy.” That’s all you needed. 

17: You get caught sneaking out to go hang out with your scumbag boyfriend (unfortunately, you figure out the scumbag part far too late). Mom gets mad and cuts off your hair in blind rage.You cherished your newfound long locks and she knew that. You dread going to school the next day with your botched haircut. The haircut feels like a permanent scarlet letter. Everyone asks the same question: “So what made you want to cut your hair?” You respond “Just needed a change, I guess.” You feel ashamed and embarrassed every time, like your teachers and peers know the real story. 

After getting the haircut fixed by an actual stylist, you dig the short, sassy hair. You decide that this haircut was meant to be and embrace the hell out of it. It was a great character building moment anyways.. right? Later, you discover Sun-In, a spray in lightener that promises natural highlights. You spray too much on and your hair turns a strange brass shade. Jake from work asks “Did you dye your hair?” “Yes.” “Oh.” The “Oh” echoes in your mind. Oh? Just oh? You don’t like my hair, Jake? It’s cool. It’s fine. 

18: Ah. the age of legal adultness. You get fed up and move out of the clutches of your family home and in with your best friend. This was clearly a recipe for a drastic hair change. After all, you could do whatever the hell you wanted now. Less than a week later of being gone, you dye your hair bright pink, and then later purple. You are feelin’ damn good. When you come home for Christmas, your four year old sister proudly exclaims, “You look like a My Little Pony!!” Pinky Pie, to be exact. After getting disappointed looks from the rest of the family, you find that your sisters enthusiasm was really all you needed. Pinky Pie is awesome. 

You continue to learn that you get more attention with bright hair, and it’s a great conversation starter. The attention is mainly positive, but occasionally, a boomer will chime in with the rude opinion you never asked for. The personal favorite remains: “Kill the manic who did THAT to your hair!” You respond “I don’t really want to kill myself.” 

You then panic at the thought of graduating high school and being perceived as immature for having bright hair, so you dye it brown and cut it shorter than it’s ever been. It’s an angled cut, and you feel like a Karen. Instinctually, you immediately message “I’ve made a grave mistake.” to the group chat you had with your friends. You are very melodramatic and your friends think that you must have crashed your car or something. Nope, just another bad hair cut. But life goes on and it grows out. Thankfully, you recover from the Karen cut just in time for graduation.You attempt to dye it deep brown, and it turns black. It’s all good though.

19: You decide that you still want color and opt for a small peek-a-boo section of the hair. “Do it pussy” forever resonates in your mind. Purple, blue, red, and orange are the colors of choice. You get a better boyfriend with this hair, and all is well in the world. You feel cool, yet classy. Was this your hair peak?

20: The brown keeps fading out and looking all blotchy from that time you decided to bleach it for the pink and purple. You decide that you need to cleanse your hair of it’s sins. This means more bleach. Fuck it, you are going blonde. This is the last time you will torture your hair with chemicals. Alas, the blonde doesn’t last very long. 

You want some flair, so you go for the most bold natural color and order natural red henna powder. Everyone thinks it’s real. Ha, fools. You get tired of breaking hearts when you explain to those who ask that this is indeed not your natural color. You instead opt for the response “Grew it myself,” which is technically not a lie.

21: You continue to discover how much old men fetishize red hair and think you must be feisty or something. Gross. “You know what they say about women with red hair, right?” “No?” You also grow it out and recover what was lost in high school. Your friends cheer you on and convince you to hold off on chopping it when you’re having a moment. Things get weird and sad after leaving the community college and starting the big ol’ university. You gain 25lbs and revert to straight bangs and a middle part, and use your hair to hide again. It’s kind of sadistic. You quickly learn that this choice is a mistake and revert back to your true form: side part and angled bang. 

22: It’s finally long.. but also very crispy. It’s time to say goodbye. You’ve been wanting to say goodbye. The hairstylist gets cold feet and doesn’t cut off as much as you ask her. You don’t say a damn thing, and eventually finish the job at home. Who knew cutting hair at home was so easy? Money and time become scarce, so retouching the auburn color doesn’t really happen anymore. In the past this might have troubled you, but for now you don’t really care. 

***

So there you have it. It’s just hair, right? Dead stuff growing out of your head. Well, yes. But it doesn’t take a genius to understand that hair is a big part of many people's identity. It’s one of the first things we tend to notice about others. Whether we mean to or not, we prejudge on appearances. Hair can get so emotional the more you think about it. I never knew how emotionally attached I was to my hair until it was taken away from me at age 17. Personally, my hair was a security blanket growing up. I learned to use it as a way of hiding my face and shying away from others. It was also one of the few things I had control over, and indeed became a major part of my young identity. Turning 18, I asserted my own ultimate control when I dyed my whole head bright pink. I now realize that this was in essence my way of letting my odd family know that I was in charge of my own endeavors from now on. The legality of turning 18 meant so much to me at the time, and pink hair was a grand symbol of it all. 

So now I invite you to go look back on your old photos and brew on them. Reminisce, perhaps. Ultimately, you should at the very least laugh, because I know we’ve all had shitty haircuts at some point.

[thelastspeecher]

NaNoWriMo ‘17 Day 24 - Return Policy

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08 Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16 Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24  Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

 Summary: After being stuck in a compromising situation long enough that he is now stuck, Ford comes to terms with the loss of his collateral.  Continuation of this and this.  [Variation of Big Sis AU] Word count: 1794

February, 1986

               There was a knock at the door.  Eager to get away from the wails of Stan and Angie’s newborn baby, as well as his own upsetting thoughts, Ford jumped to his feet.

               “I’ll get it!” he called, already rushing to the front door.

               “Ford, don’t answer the door, you’re three,” Stan said half-heartedly.

               “Let him get it,” Angie murmured tiredly.  She rubbed her baggy eyes.  “I’m too tired to chase him.”  Ford ran down the entryway and opened the door.  An older couple stood on the doorstep.  With a sinking feeling, Ford recognized them.

               “Howdy, Ford,” the kind-looking man said.  He crouched down to Ford’s eye-height.  “Angie and Stan told me ‘bout yer sit’ation.”

               “Hello, Mr. McGucket,” Ford mumbled, looking down at his feet.  Pa McGucket smiled warmly at him and ruffled his hair.

               “Son, ya might not be callin’ me that fer much longer,” Pa McGucket said gently. Ford’s head jerked up.

               “What?”

               “We’ll talk.  How’s ‘bout you let me ‘n Sally in?  We’ve got yer business to handle, not to mention a new grandbaby to see.”

               “Seein’ the grandbaby is goin’ to have to wait,” Angie said.  Ford turned around.  Angie had arrived in the living at some point during his conversation with Pa McGucket.  She yawned widely, covering it daintily with one hand.  “We just got Emory down.  We’re not wakin’ him up if we can avoid it.”

               “Smart move,” Ma McGucket said with a nod.  

               “Ford, let my folks in, so’s we can talk,” Angie said.  Ford nodded reluctantly and stood to the side.  Ma and Pa McGucket filed in.  

               “Where’s that fiancé of yours?” Ma McGucket asked Angie.

               “Right here,” Stan said, walking into the living room.  “Hey, Sally.  Merle.”

               “Stanley,” Pa McGucket said with a curt nod.  “Where’s Molly?”

               “In her room.  I told her that we’d get her once we were done with our grownup talk.”

               “Good.”  Pa McGucket looked over at Ford.  Ford resisted the urge to draw in on himself.  

               He’s here to help.

               “Let’s get this conversation started,” Ma McGucket said briskly.  She walked over to the couch and began to pull a series of thick, official-looking papers from her oversized purse, then set them on the coffee table.  Curious despite himself, Ford wandered over and picked up the first paper he saw.  He dropped it immediately as though it had burned him.

               “Why are you walking around with a birth certificate?” Ford asked Ma McGucket.

               “Normally, I don’t.  But I had to bring it, since it’ll be filled out today.”  Ma McGucket frowned at him.  “I thought ya knew the plan, to give ya a new identity.”

               “But why are Angie and Stan listed as the mother and father?” Ford asked.

               “Honey…” Ma McGucket said softly.  Ford looked over at Stan and Angie.

               “Since when did you decide that?”

               “Last night,” Angie said, taking a seat on the couch.  She patted a spot on the cushions beside her.  Ford reluctantly climbed up next to her.  “We just didn’t get a chance to tell ya ‘til now.”

               “Ford, it- it sucks,” Stan said, sitting on the other side of Ford.  “But this is the easiest option.  You agreed that you’d stay here with us, you’re clearly related to me, and I’ve been dating Angie for more than three years.”

               “But you’ve been claiming I’m your nephew-”

               “What about when Shermie shows up?  Or Mom?” Stan asked.  Ford fell silent.  “I’m sorry, Sixer.”

               “No, Stanley, don’t apologize,” Angie whispered.  She rubbed her eyes.  “This whole mess is my fault.”

               “Babe-” Stan started.  Angie shook her head.

               “Don’t say it’s not.  ‘Cause that ain’t true!  If- if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, Ford would be back in Gravity Falls already, usin’ the information he learned from the grimoire.”

               “It takes two to tango,” Stan said.  

               “But only one to ruin someone’s life,” Angie said softly.

               “Banjey, ya didn’t know,” Pa McGucket said gently.  “I never thought there’d be a situation where the time limit on returnin’ collateral would run out fer ya.”  Angie sniffed.  “But what’s in the past is in the past.  Right now, we need to focus on gettin’ Ford settled into his new life.”

               “We need a name,” Ma McGucket said, her hand poised over the birth certificate, holding a pen.  Ford looked down at his diminutive feet.  He fought back the pit in his stomach at the realization that his feet would remain this size until he aged the normal way.  

               “I dunno,” Ford mumbled.  

               “Somethin’ with Ford in it,” Angie suggested.  Ford’s head jerked up.

               “Fiddleford.”

               “Uhh…” Stan muttered.  

               “I- I’ve found myself enjoying the odd McGucket names lately,” Ford said.

               “That makes sense,” Angie said.  “When I was a kidlet, I didn’t mind my name so much.”

               “Yes, well, Fiddleford has my nickname in it, and it’s a name that Angie’s family uses.  It makes sense for her ‘son’ to have a family name.”

               “We are plannin’ on givin’ ya the last name McGucket,” Ma McGucket remarked.

               “What?  Why?” Ford whined.

               “Ya don’t look like Angie’s son.  If we give ya her last name, it might help people see what they expect to see,” Pa McGucket explained.

               “Oh.  Okay.”

               “Ya can’t use Fiddleford as yer name, though,” Angie said.  “It’s taken.”

               “I like Emory’s name,” Ford said.  

               “Also taken,” Stan said.  Ford scowled.

               “I thought I was going to be allowed to choose my own name!”

               “Fiddleford as a middle name, maybe?” Stan suggested.  Ford nodded.

               “Okay, I’ll accept that.  And, for my first name…Emmett.”  Angie made a soft noise.  Ford looked at her.  “I overheard you and Stan discussing what name to give your newborn.”  He shrugged.  “I liked it.”

               “Emmett Fiddleford McGucket, then?” Ma McGucket asked.  Ford nodded.  “All right.  Emmett Fiddleford McGucket, son of Banjolina Quinn McGucket and Stanley Stanford Pines, birthday is September 26th, 1982.”  Ford watched Ma McGucket ink in the details, his heart feeling heavier by the second.  He resisted the temptation to shout that he had changed his mind.  Noticing Ford’s reticence, Stan put a reassuring arm around Ford’s shoulders.  Ford sniffled softly.

               “It’s okay,” Angie whispered to him.  

               “Look on the bright side,” Stan said gently.  “Now you’ve got an older sister and a baby brother.  I know you always thought it would be interesting have a sister.”

               “I guess,” Ford mumbled.  His eyes widened suddenly.  “Mr. McGucket, won’t everyone who knows Stan and Angie think it’s odd that they’ve never met a boy who is supposedly their son?  And what about the people who Stan and Angie told I was their nephew?”

               “A simple perception charm ‘ll fix that,” Pa McGucket said, taking off his glasses and polishing them.  “We’ll cast a light one on ya, one that makes people suddenly remember meetin’ ya when ya were a baby, and watchin’ ya grow up, and it’ll help ‘em see traits of Angie’s in ya.  Since there aren’t actually any that the two of ya share.”  Ford looked nervously at Angie.  

               “Don’t you worry,” Angie said.  “Pa’s goin’ to cast that one.  I mean, my magic’s still fluctuatin’ a bit.  Hormonal surge.”  

               “If’n ya don’t mind, I’ll cast it right now,” Pa McGucket said.  Ford squeezed his eyes shut.  There was a sensation like a butterfly had landed on his nose.  He sneezed. The sensation vanished.  Ford opened his eyes again.  

               “Now, how ‘bout ya go get yer big sister?” Angie asked Ford.  She kissed the top of his head.  “Son.”

----- 

September, 1986

               Stan was roused from his uneasy sleep by the door to his bedroom opening. He squinted at the short figure in the darkness.

               “…Ford?” Stan mumbled.  Ford sniffed loudly.

               “I- I had a nightmare, Dad.  Can- can I come sleep with you and Mom tonight?” Ford stammered.  Stan’s heart dropped.

               It worked.

               “Yeah, sure thing, kiddo.  Hop on up.” Stan helped Ford onto the bed. Ford promptly climbed over Stan and huddled between him and Angie.  Stan turned to face his former twin.  

               “Can you rub my back?” Ford whispered.

               “You got it,” Stan said.  Ford flipped over.  Stan began to rub soothing circles on Ford’s back.  Ford’s stuttered breathing smoothed.  Within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.  Stan nudged Angie.  “Babe, wake up.”  Angie mumbled something, but remained asleep.  “Seriously, I’m not kidding.  Wake up.”  Angie’s eyes opened.

               “What’s wrong?” she asked blearily.

               “Ford’s here.”

               “Huh?”  Angie looked at Ford, sleeping between them.  “Oh.  He is.”

               “He called me Dad.  And he called you Mom.”

               “The memory spell worked, then,” Angie said in a low voice.  

               “I still think we coulda thought of something better.”

               “Stanley, darlin’, this was the best solution,” Angie said gently.  She stroked Stan’s arm.  “Ford was miserable, bein’ an adult in a toddler’s body, with a toddler’s mind.  He couldn’t be happy with his old baggage.”  Stan shook his head.  “He asked fer this.  This was his idea.”  Stan shook his head again.

               “Ang, we killed my twin brother tonight.”

               “No, we didn’t.  We helped him.”

               “Fine, it was a mercy kill.  Still a kill.”

               “Hon, his memories are safe, ‘member?  Pa and I saved the memories after we took ‘em and replaced ‘em with his new ones.  Ford’s memories ‘re stored until he gets old enough that we think he can handle ‘em again.”

               “And when’s that gonna happen?”

               “I don’t know,” Angie said with a sigh.  “We’ll have to play it by ear.

               “This whole thing feels wrong.  Ford called me Dad.”

               “As far as he knows, you are his dad.”  Angie stroked his cheek.  “And you’ll be a damn sight better than his first dad was.”  Stan swallowed.  “Love of my life, we’re goin’ to raise this boy so well.  Ford’s not goin’ to grow up feelin’ like his polydactyly is anything to be ashamed of this time.  He’ll have two lovin’ parents, two lovin’ siblin’s.  Our son, Emmett Fiddleford McGucket, will grow up in San Diego, not knowin’ he’s dif’rent.  Eventually, we’ll give him back his memories.  But fer now, he’ll be a happy, healthy lil boy.  Our lil boy.”

               “This is still weird,” Stan mumbled.  He took a steadying breath.  “But I’ll get used to it.  He’s not Ford anymore, he’s Emmett.  Our son.”

               “You bet he is,” Angie whispered.  “And he got his cuteness from you.”

               “He got his smarts from you,” Stan replied.  “Or, he woulda, if he was actually your biological son.”  Angie chuckled and took a hold of Stan’s hand.

               “Molly’s smart as a whip, and we’re not pretendin’ I carried her.  Seems to me that yer the common denominator here.”

               “Classic smart-person,” Stan said.  “Using math.”  He stroked Ford’s curls with a small smile.  “I’m gonna have so many genius kids.  They’re all gonna be smarter than me.  It’ll be awesome.”

[theworstbob]

yellin’ at songs: 5.5.2007 & 5.6.2017

the songs that debuted on the billboard chart this week and this week ten years ago

5.5.2007

41) "Big Girls Don't Cry," Fergie

This is the second Fergie song I actually enjoyed once I was able to separate it from the whole thing that Fergie was, which means we're one away from this being a trend and the funding of a Song-From-Artist Extraction Chamber becoming necessary. If this song had been given to Pink, it might be a classic. If it had been given to noted YAS hero Jordan Pruitt, I could say it was a buried treasure, but because we gave it to Fergie, I have to defend the fact I sort of dug this song. I don't use the term "guilty pleasure" because why on earth should I feel guilty for finding pleasure, but it IS weird to sit here on a Sunday morning and enjoy a Fergie song and have to formulate a defense for it. I dunno, "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket" is a kind of touching lyric. If we'd given it to someone who could actually say words (all these years I thought she was saying "a child miss a step blanket"), we'd be more fond of it.

63) "A Different World," Bucky Covnington

THINGS THAT ARE GOOD, AS TOLD BY BUCKY COVINGTON'S 2007 SMASH HIT "A DIFFERENT WORLD:" ~Expecting mothers smoking and drinking ~Babies sleeping in cribs painted with lead-based paint ~Child abuse ~Being an adult person named Bucky ~Kids not making the football team, their carefree days ending at the realization that life is a long parade of disappointments (a parade which includes parades) ~Drinking from garden hoses, and I agree that it would be nice if clean water were readily available, but this seems less like something that millennials made happen with video games and more a problem with various local governments? Specifically Flint’s? Flint still doesn’t have clean water, and I understand there’s no way this ten-year-old song could possibly know this, but this line is making me angry today! ~Schools being closed on Sunday (which... they... still... are?) Bucky Covington sings this song about how "we," which I would imagine includes Bucky Covington, grew up without video games. Bucky Covington was born in 1977. Pong dropped in 1972. This entire song is garbage. Speaking of garbage: you remember when we didn’t have to sort recyclables from the trash? It was a simpler time. A BETTER time, daresay. We didn't die, so, it wasn't bad.

80) "Party Like a Rockstar," Shop Boyz

This song is the real America. Big, dumb, loud, and proud of all its excess. One example cited of partying like a rock star is golfing with Ozzy Osbourne and his family. This is the only recorded instance of anyone thinking golf was a party.

88) "Lucky Man," Montgomery Gentry

/looks at this country dude song /looks at the country dude song two songs ago /looks at the five country dude songs still to come /looks at "Lucky Man," the j-pop song by arashi The Arashi boys are back in town! Sho once again stakes his claim as 2007's greatest living MC, and the funky track imbues the song with a boundless energy only the Arashi boys bring to the table! Another A+! Have they ever done wrong?

90) "When You're Gone," Avril Lavigne

My favorite part of this song was the 15 seconds of "Freedom," by Beyonce ft./Kendrick Lamar, that played in the Apple ad before the actual song started. This is a song that's bad no matter who you give it to. It's just schlock, and then they went ahead and made everything so... Extra? This song is extra. Avril is belting the absolute best that she can and goodness she is trying her heart out, yet she's still somehow drowned out by the strings. There is nothing subtle about this song. I don't know what the notes process is like for records, but someone in the studio should've given this song a note that said "calm the hell down."

93) "Don't Make Me," Blake Shelton

Blake Shelton has been a country music institution for something like 15 years, he's probably its most visible artist in the mainstream world, and I cannot for the life of me tell you what the most iconic Blake Shelton song is. He has 23 #1 country hits. Is there any one you can point to and say, "That is the best Blake Shelton song?" Is the best Blake Shelton song something country music fans argue like we might over Mariah Carey's catalogue? Is it even worth arguing? I dunno. Blake Shelton is sort of the Drake of country music. He just does the same shit over and over again, but people really dig the same thing over and over again, so they keep listening, but there's no one moment we can point to and say, "Only Blake Shelton could have made that happen." I don't feel like it's expecting too much to expect iconic pop artists to make iconic songs. "Some Beach" kinda goes, I guess. That's not enough! Fuck's sake, even Luke Bryan has "All My Friends Say."

94) "A Feelin' Like That," Gary Allan

This dude says his girlfriend's more beautiful than the Great Barrier Reef, and I am so thrilled that there is something in one of these country dude songs I could enjoy. That's how it's DONE, man. Hyperbole is your friend when you're making a song about some non-specific feeling a woman gives you. Is this the song Flight of the Conchords is parodying when they sing "If You're Into It?" Absolutely, but goddamnit, if someone told me I gave them a more intense emotional rush than one of the great natural wonders of this earth, I'd fuck 'em.

95) "Wrapped," George Strait

yeah i guess i liked this. you give me the lyrics to this song and four other country songs with the word "wrapped" in it, i'm not sure i could pick it out, but, y'know, it killed a few minutes in a manner that wasn't unpleasant. i wouldn't say "yecch" if someone performed this at a karaoke. i might say "interesting choice," i might not believe this is the song their heart has felt the most, but i wouldn't say no.

97) "Johnny Cash," Jason Aldean

The thing about this song is the same thing I had with that "Marvin Gaye" trash from a couple years back: if you're going to name your song after an iconic artist, you have to give me reason to believe that there is more value to be gained from your tribute than there is from just listening to one of that artist's songs. In a sense, the song you offer me with that title has to be on par with the best entries in their catalogue. I don't know why I would listen to a song about a young couple listening to Johnny Cash when there are hundreds of actual Johnny Cash recordings out there that all punch this song in its stupid face. I don't think this is an unreasonable expectation. If you're naming your song after a legend, your song should be legendary. This is the fifth-best country dude song I've heard in the last hour, and all told, it's probably gonna end up #6. That makes it bullshit.

98) "Me and God," Josh Turner

I'm not really qualified to address Christian music. It's easy to call out when something is pandering, like that Florida Georgia Line mess 2017 dredged up a few weeks back, but a song like this, where a young man is earnestly singing about his relationship with God, that's so far away from my alley, I'm not 100% sure we're even in the same tri-county area. I recognize that this song isn't made for people like me, and it'd be unfair to make fun because it's, y'know, not trying to sell itself to me, it's just trying to say, "God's my buddy!" Do you. Doesn't sound like you're using it to hurt anyone, so do you, Josh.

99) "Dig," Incubus

Given how horribly Papa Roach's whole thing has aged compared to Incubus' whole thing -- i THINK we all still like "Drive," and "Anna Molly" goes hard as hell -- I really wish I liked that one Papa Roach song less than this Incubus song, but man, this Incubus song and I never really met. ...Yeah, you’re right, you didn’t come here to read me seriously contemplating my buttrock feelings, I’ll stop there. Video’s cool. I like the heart-lip girl digging the dude out of his head, that was dope. You sure you don’t wanna read my buttrock power rankings? You sure you don’t wanna take inventory of my buttrock feelings? I have a lot of opinions on this genre! I think you’re really missin’ out! Ah, we’ll catch up on ‘em later, lotta 2007 still to come, I’ll hit you up with that buttrock good-good when it’s time to talk about Finger Eleven.

Well. 2007 Top 20. It’s the same as last week’s. 20) "Que Hiciste," by Jennifer Lopez (4.28.2007) 19) "When I See U," by Fantasia (4.21.2007) 18) "Movin' On," by Elliott Yamin (3.17.2007) 17) "U + Ur Hand," by P!nk (1.13.2007) 16) "Doe Boy Fresh," by Three 6 Mafia ft./Chamillionaire (1.20.2007) 15) "Breath," by Breaking Benjamin (4.14.2007) 14) "Stolen," by Dashboard Confessional (4.21.2007) 13) "Beautiful Liar," by Beyonce & Shakira (3.31.2007) 12) "Cupid's Chokehold," by Gym Class Heroes ft./Patrick Stump (1.13.2007) 11) "The River," by Good Charlotte ft./M. Shadows & Synyster Gates (2.10.2007) 10) "Say OK," by Vanessa Hudgens (2.17.2007) 9) "Alyssa Lies," by Jason Michael Carroll (1.13.2007) 8) "Get Buck," by Young Buck (4.14.2007) 7) "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," by Jennifer Hudson (1.13.2007) 6) "Thnks fr th Mmrs," by Fall Out Boy (4.28.2007) 5) "Candyman," by Christina Aguilera (1.13.2007) 4) "Because of You," by Ne-Yo (3.17.2007) 3) "Umbrella," by Rihanna ft./Jay-Z (4.28.2007) 2) "Dashboard," by Modest Mouse (2.17.2007) 1) "The Story," by Brandi Carlile (4.28.2007) Alright, 2017. 2007 gave me seven country dude songs, and you will have at least one cut off DAMN. If anyone can fuck this up, it’s you. I��m excited.

5.6.2017

4) "DNA." by Kendrick Lamar 14) "LOYALTY." by Kendrick Lamar ft./Rihanna 16) "ELEMENT." by Kendrick Lamar 18) "LOVE." by Kendrick Lamar ft./Zacari 32) "YAH." by Kendrick Lamar 33) "XXX." by Kendrick Lamar ft./U2 35) "FEEL." by Kendrick Lamar 37) "PRIDE." by Kendrick Lamar 42) "LUST." by Kendrick Lamar 50) "FEAR." by Kendrick Lamar 54) "BLOOD." by Kendrick Lamar 58) "GOD." by Kendrick Lamar 63) "DUCKWORTH." by Kendrick Lamar

DAMN. is a classic record that has grown on me in the week and a half I have spent with it, which is amazing given that my relatively lukewarm first impression was that it was a classic, and I have no qualms with any of these songs making the list. I do have some reservations about songs that are never going to make it to radio (whatever that means in 2017) making my personal Top 20, but at the same time, I can say I've only liked three songs in the field more than I liked "ELEMENT." Even "HUMBLE." has grown on me, now that I've heard it in the context of the album (and that beat, I mean hell). These are all Very Good Songs and like I'm not gonna put all of them in the Top 20? but hmm I wonder which I like more, every song off DAMN. or any Lady Antebellum song. Tough choice.

39) "The Cure," by Lady Gaga

I pretty much dig this song for what it is, a nice kinda-EDM-y kinda-'80s-y synth jam, but I'm disappointed that this sounds like A Good Song and not A Gaga Song. It's fine! I accept this, it's a treat and I enjoyed all three minutes, but if I had first heard this song being covered on The Voice or something, there's no way in hell I would've pegged this as a Gaga song. Like, this is the safest song I've ever heard bearing her name. It's a nice song, though. Aside from the complaints just registered, I will register no complaints.

76) "Good Life," by G-Eazy & Kehlani

"I bought the crib and it's in escrow now." Is this like an elaborate I'm Still Here satire/prank of the concept of a white rapper? He talked about closing escrow on a home. Who the fuck. This song is what happens when Drake and Rihanna cancel and you have to grab two people off the street to impersonate them and hope they're good enough mimics that no one can tell the difference.

78) "Peek a Boo," by Lil Yachty ft./Migos

YOU KNOW HOW YOU MAKE THIS SONG INSTANTLY A THOUSAND FUCKING TIMES BETTER WITHOUT LOSING ANYTHING? "Give her the shocker like Pikachu." YOU WERE SO FUCKING CLOSE. "Give her the shocker like Pikachu." LIKE THREE DRAFTS AWAY IF YOU GAVE THIS SONG FIVE MINUTES TO BREATHE BEFORE SCHLEPPIN' IT TO THE BOOTH, YOU COULD HAVE HAD "GIVE HER THE SHOCKER LIKE PIKACHU." I think this song is fine? I dunno, I like the noise Yachty is making behind this song, it's a quality noise. Not bad! Not, y'know, good, and it's actually a failure when you realize how close it was to being amazing GIVE HER THE SHOCKER LIKE PIKACHU. YOU RHYME PEEKABOO WITH PIKACHU AT THE END OF THE SONG. WE WERE SO CLOSE TO ACHIEVING THE PERFECT SONG. Y'all fucked up. I can't believe you kids failed me like this!, but other than the fact it’s a profound disappointment it’s a’ight.

87) "Black Spiderman," by Logic ft./Damian Lemar Hudson

OK. OK, I think, after two songs, I understand what Logic is: he's the most accessible rapper for someone who just listened to Hamilton for the first time and wants to start checking out real hip-hop. Because if you go straight from Hamilton to Danny Brown, man, you're gonna get the bends, y'all ain't ready for "Ain't It Funny" at all, that is a rough 180 to try to navigate, you gotta hit this dude up first. It's a positive song with little to no misogynistic language, but still hard enough that it might put off some people who were initially into the nice man who did raps about the $10 man. If you can listen to this and still want to go deeper, then you listen to Chance, then Tribe or The Roots, and then you're ready for Kendrick. It's rap for people who don't listen to rap, is what I'm trying to say. It's its own fun little thing, but this song is what it sounds like when your biggest worry in life is about a dog you saw on the internet which was in a stressful situation. Hope the dog can make it! It looks so worried, poor puppers!

93) "Broken Halos," by Chris Stapleton

It's country Kendrick! And it's country "HUMBLE." in that I'm not immediately sure how much I dig it, but I know I dig it way more than I dug all the shit I had to listen to Sunday morning for this stupid post. Chris Stapleton got big making traditional country music, and I think it might be because he got big doing this that now this feels like paint-by-numbers Stapleton. Sad gravel man growling over an acoustic guitar some lazy religious metaphor, I dunno, it kicks most other country songs' ass, but I would honestly argue "Craving You" is a riskier move than this song. I think I might revisit this and Gaga's songs in a few weeks and realize I liked them way more than I initially did and I was just being a Tuesday evening grumplord for no reason, but this is the opinion of record, is that this song is just standard-issue Chris Stapleton but Chris Stapleton being a thing whcih comes standard-issue is more good than bad.

99) "The Night We Met," by Lord Huron

It's the last song of the week, and it's a haunting indie song from the Netflix teen mystery drama. Looks like I'm clockin' out early, boys and girls! Sorry! Ain't got nothin' for ya here! This song's pretty dope! GOODBYEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The Top 20, where we dumped “The Heart Part 4″ a little bit because I felt it was appropriate: 20) "The Cure," by Lady Gaga (5.6) 19) "Guys My Age," by Hey Violet (2.11) 18) "Heatstroke," by Calvin Harris ft./Young Thug, Pharrell Williams & Ariana Grande (4.22) 17) "Yeah Boy," Kelsea Ballerini (3.4) 16) "You Look Good," by Lady Antebellum (4.22) 15) "The Heart Part 4," by Kendrick Lamar (4.15) 14) "Selfish," by Future ft./Rihanna (3.18) 13) "Slide," by Calvin Harris ft./Frank Ocean & Migos (3.18) 12) "Now & Later," by Sage the Gemini (2.25) 11) "DNA." by Kendrick Lamar (5.6) 10) "It Ain't Me," by Kygo x Selena Gomez (3.4) 9) "Craving You," by Thomas Rhett ft./Maren Morris (4.22) 8) "That's What I Like," by Bruno Mars (3.4) 7) "Chanel," by Frank Ocean ft./A$AP Rocky (4.1) 6) "Run Up," by Major Lazer ft./PARTYNEXTDOOR & Nicki Minaj (2.18) 5) "Green Light," by Lorde (3.18) 4) "ELEMENT." by Kendrick Lamar (5.6) 3) "Despacito," by Luis Fonsi ft./Daddy Yankee (2.4) 2) "Issues," by Julia Michaels (2.11) 1) "iSpy," by KYLE ft./Lil Yachty (1.14) Hey, “Despacito” made the top ten in Kendrick week! That’s an insane accomplishment! I see it carries an “+ Justin Bieber” credit, now! There is no reconsideration of “Despacito” forthcoming. I choose to only acknowledge “Despacito” in its original form.

Who won?

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm a kendrick album or a bunch of dudes in cowboy hats. 2017, y’all brought a gun to a knife fight. where the hell was this last week. 2007: 3 2017: 3 So next week, we get new Paramore (probably) stacked up against Josh Groban with a children’s choir. I’m liking 2017′s odds at a repeat. Come on, friend! 2007′s taking a few weeks off, it looks like, NOW’S YOUR CHANCE!