#the whole thing takes ten minutes and I say ~$80

[bookofjudith]

I love having curly hair every two months I put my hair into two ponytails and hack away at it like I’m scything dry hay and then everyone compliments it like I went to a salon

[moonstruckme]

Hello my love! I have a request for a quick little blurby with whoever you think it fits! Basically, the reader has an extensive skin care routine, but she’s sick so all she wants to do is lay bed, but the beautiful man is helping her do it because he knows how much it means to her! Am I projecting? Yes because I’m sick as a dog right now and I didn’t do my skin care routine at all but I just didn’t have the energy to 🥺💕

Hi honey! Hope you're feeling a bit better <3

This isn’t very relaxing lmao apologies, he’s doing his best. And maybe modern au? Because I didn’t feel like researching 80s skincare

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

“Shit,” Eddie hisses when you wince, pulling the washcloth away to kiss your eyelid. “Keep ‘em shut tight, baby, we don’t want this stuff getting in there.” 

“They are shut.” Your face pinches as he continues to scrub at your lashes with the washcloth. “I’m just not usually this rough with them, Eds. You’re going to tear out my eyelashes.” 

“Doing this?” He sounds dubious. “They can’t be very hardy, then.” 

“They’re not.” 

“Okay, okay.” He swipes the last of your mascara off a bit more delicately. “I can’t believe you went to work like this. I told you you were way too sick to go.” 

“I was fine this morning.” 

“You almost passed out pouring your cereal.” 

You open your eyes to stare him down, daring him with your whole face to push you. You’re way too exhausted for this. “I’m calling in tomorrow, okay?” 

“You bet you are, trouble.” 

You open your mouth to snipe at him, but Eddie swoops in for a kiss as he finishes with your makeup remover and you sink back into the mattress, nullified.

“What’s next?” he asks sweetly. “That watery shit?” 

“Toner, yeah. Thanks.” 

He makes a sound like you’re welcome, a bit of cheek to it. You decide it’s probably deserved, since you keep disparaging him while he’s doing you a favor. 

Eddie wets your washcloth with toner, passing it over your skin before reaching for your serum. You close your eyes as he brings the dropper just underneath them, like he’s seen you do a million times, and dribbles the glossy liquid onto your skin. He’s quick to chase it with his fingers, murmuring expletives under his breath as some of it drips onto your pillow before he can get it. You laugh, and he pinches your cheek meanly. 

“Stay still, or I’ll get it in your mouth.” 

You quickly smooth your face into expressionlessness, your poker face immaculate, and then Eddie laughs too. You open your eyes at the sound. 

Eddie’s eyes hover above yours, lashes kissing as he grins toothily. A few frizzy curls have escaped the ponytail he’s confined the rest in. They tickle your cheeks when he moves, using his finger to distribute some of the serum onto your chin. 

“You got it all over?” you ask him. Softly, like his proximity requires a hushed tone. 

Eddie's thumb digs into your chin fondly, his smile broadening. You can see his canines. “Yup. You’re all shined up, sweet thing. How long do you leave it for again?” 

“Until it dries.” 

“And how long’s that?” 

You shrug. “Ten, fifteen minutes. It doesn’t have to be all the way dry, just mostly.” 

He nods. You listen to the passing of cars outside, the beginnings of crickets as darkness falls. Eddie starts sweeping his thumb back and forth over your shoulder. 

“You look so fucking pretty,” he says quietly, “even though I know you’re the plague personified right now. How do you do that?” 

Try as you might to tamp it down, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your features. “Every night when you go to sleep,” you tell him, “I take a little bit of your hair and use it to brew a potion in the kitchen. I’m slowly stealing your beauty, bit by bit.” 

“Fucking knew it,” he growls, dipping his head to nip playfully at your neck. 

You yelp and set your hands on his shoulders, warning him breathlessly about getting his hair in your serum. 

“Fine,” he relents. “I know you’re full of shit anyway. You’ve been this killer since the day I met you.” He flashes a grin, canines and all. “And I only get more beautiful with time, so I know you’re not siphoning it off me. Nice try.” 

“You’ve got me there.” You smile back, but it’s a half-hearted effort. 

Eddie makes a low humming sound, thumb once again rubbing your shoulder. “You okay, baby? Your chest still hurting?” 

“No, it’s not as bad.” The words leave you in a thoughtless sigh, and Eddie frowns, bending over to press a chaste kiss to your sternum. The sweet gesture pushes up against the pressure already thick and uncomfortable in the back of your throat. “I’m just really tired,” you admit, and to your mortification the words come out with a teary edge. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, only a flicker of concern passing over his face as his hand moves to cup the side of your head, stroking the baby hairs at your temple. 

“Hey, that’s okay. You can go to sleep, I’ll finish up here. S’just the moisturizer left, right?” You nod, swallowing, and he mirrors you. “I can handle that. Get some shut eye, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you.” 

You let your eyes close, the steady movement of Eddie’s thumb on your temple easing you towards slumber, because you know he will.

[noneorother]

The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 3

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... here's where we left off last time:

21. Labas zīmes, Latvian cover

Our boys are back! And they are so ready to join the Dead Boy Detective agency. I would say that Latvians don't wear much tartan, so Argyle might seem like a similar print, but it just seems so... not Good Omens. Much like Crowley's flying purple people eater tail and Aziraphale's Conan the Barbarian sword, we're straying into niche AU fan fiction territory here. I mean, it's not *wrong*, but it certainly ain't right, either.

Tier: Does the Job

22. Bons Augùrios, Portuguese

Let me start by saying this cover is so close to being in the blessed category. The layout and spacing are divine, the imagery is simple and whimsical, it reflects the humour inside the gravitas to give you an idea of the *feeling* of reading Good Omens. So few of these covers have gotten this aspect of good design right. Honestly, I would slow clap if it wasn't for that random FLAME JIZZ stuck to the bottom right hand corner of the book. Who's idea was that? Dagon's?

Tier: Great

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover

I admire two things about this cover: 1) Their utter commitment to a clean 3-colour palette and comprehensible layout. 2) Symbolic demon giving a principality head joke RIGHT ON THE FRONT COVER. This designer had balls. cotillion-sized balls. Now, does Aziraphale's sword have a sentient rooster tassel that watches said head-giving in horror? I sure hope not, but I don't see how that could be allegorical so, I'm torn. I feel like this goes in two categories for completely different reasons. And seeing as I'm in charge around here...

Tier: Great & Not so Good (Omens)

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover cont.

Compared to the last cover's gigantic double-entendre, this feels so tame and logical. The text is centred and balanced. There's breathing room, and we have wing symbolism! I've never seen a cover try to split Terry and Neil's names like that, which is a fun twist but BY GOD that center line is not straight near the right end of the feathers and it is sending this cover straight down to Does the Job. It's grounded there forever.

Tier: Does the Job

25. HYVIÄ ENTEITÄ, Finnish cover

In this list, having something actually *relevant* to the main plot of the book and not mangling and main characters really puts you in rarefied air. All the motorcycles are book accurate which means somebody read something! Would I have ever picked the empty parking lot of Famine's restaurant as a subject worth a cover? Absolutely not. But the sick 80s lightning tips it into "fine" territory. The text is yellow. It's pretty.

Tier: Does the Job

26. Head ended, Estonian cover.

My face after staring at this cover for ten minutes and finally realizing that this is Hastur and Ligur waiting around for Crowley to pull up:

The artist's face after watching me do that:

Do I even need to rate this? It's called HEAD ENDED. I don't know how to be funnier than that.

Tier: WTF

27. Dobry Omen, Polish cover

Some good points for trying to be original with the layout of the title by drawing a custom pitchfork "Y", but the heinous kerning and the fact the whole text block is not even centred kind of makes me take all the points back. I feel like we're pretty heavy on the demonic, extremely light on the angelic in this take. Maybe it's because on his death bed the lead guitarist of White Snake will finally admit to having designed this cover in his spare time.

Tier: Not so Good (Omens)

28. Good Omens, Hungarian cover

If I told you this designer did not read the book, and instead just watched the trailer of The Omen (the movie) and vibed this heinous brown carpet swatch into existence, you would one hundred percent believe me. I can't even talk about the faux belle-époque font right now. I am irrationally angry.

Tier: WTF

29. Good Omens, Bulgarian cover

WHO. IS. DADDY. WIZARD?? Is all I can think when I look at this cover. Aziraphale & Grommet are recognizable enough, and you could make the case for telescope monkey being Adam, but I need to find this cover designer and shake them until they tell me who this deranged Gargamel is supposed to be. I must know.

Tier: Bad

30. BELAS MALDIÇÕES, Portuguese cover

After all we've been through on this list so far, this truly sucks. It's not even weird. It's just puce text layered atop text to create a great yawn of a cover. Shout out to the designer of the Diablo PC game font, I hope you got paid.

Tier: Bad

Part 3 roundup:

[therobotmonster]

A Baffling Tribute to 80s Music Video Weirdness

The music video was more than just a great way to advertise your band, it was a way to do something weird as hell that would stick in your audience's mind and give a director or team of animators a chance to really stretch their legs.

Yeah, we'll be hitting some classics you knew, but hey, here's that song from Ferris Beuller's Day Off and about a dozen other movies, TV shows, and food commercials.

Turns out the song is about the beauty of nature, and "Yello" isn't even a reference to the color, but is rather "A Yelled Hello". This is, from what I've gathered, pretty standard for a Swiss Electronic Music group.

Untapped potential for the indie horror genre in Herbie Hancock's "Rock it" with whole new fields of strange animatronics.

Strange abstract costumed characters interacting in a song that makes a lot more sense with the original uncensored lyric "when I was a very small boy, very small boys talked to me, now that we've grown up together, they're all taking drugs with me."

TMBG would be a huge selection of weird music videos if I let them, so we'll focus just on Istanbul (Not Constantinople). TMBG had a policy of the videos never really having anything to do with the song lyrics, and every one is a weird surprise because of it.

You are commanded to enjoy.

The Talking Heads also had a lot of weird videos, and while everyone would expect Burning Down the House, I like Road to Nowhere better. Enjoy.

I saw this on an AlTV special, and could never find it because there's a lot of songs with this name, and Hilly Michaels isn't well known.

It's a sort of colored pencil rotoscoped animation thing and it's just perfect.

Oh hey guys, is this really necessary, can't we leave the deli tray out and split out of here?

TOO LATE! I'm posting Gor-Gor by GWAR. If I had to have my mind blown at 2am on Headbanger's ball at a sleepover at my cousin's place, you can have yours blown on the tumblr.dot.com in the year of your lord 2024.

Is Devo cheating? I feel like it might be.

Cyndi Lauper made great videos, but for absolute mind bending oddness, the Goonies tie-in video "Goonies R Good Enough" qualifies on the basis of the 2:15 minute mini-movie featuring Cyndi Lauper, her real life dad Captain Lou Albano, and a host of (at the time) WWF wrestlers that frames the video with Rick Flair trying to foreclose on the family gas station.

The music video ends on a cliffhanger. To this day no one knows how Cyndi got out of that mess. Someone rescued her. Moe, lets say.

I believe this is the Avant-Garde, and it does apear they never give up.

Curses, the ten video limit is hit! I may return soon!

[sailforvalinor]

See about Tentoorose's wedding, the thing is Jackie Tyler obviously has been planning Rose's wedding since she was like five years old because Jackie never got to have the big fancy wedding she wanted as she and Pete were too poor, and she had this scrapbook-equivalent of a Pinterest board full of ideas for Rose's wedding back at their old flat, but of course she lost that when they got stranded in the alternate dimension, so she's spent the last couple years trying to piece it back together and remember what all was in it in the first place, and when the wedding is on the horizon she refuses to hire a wedding planner because she wants to do it all herself, except she's never been a very good planner and she can't make it live up to her vision and she's desperately trying to remember what all was in that scrapbook, meanwhile Ten has been begging Rose to just elope with him for weeks but Rose refuses because a) it would absolutely break her mum's heart but also b) she secretly has always wanted an extravagant wedding herself, so Ten has to live through the absolute nightmare of Jackie freaking out about what they even put on the invitations ("what am I supposed to do, write "you are cordially invited to the wedding of The Doctor and Rose Tyler"? What are people gonna say to that? "Your daughter is marrying a man named 'The'?") and trying to come up with people to even invite because Ten of course has no one to invite and Rose due to her desperate search for Ten over the past couple years never cultivated any friends except her coworkers at Torchwood, except in inviting them they'd also be in the same room as all of Jackie's friends (which she has inevitably made) and are going to have to keep up the pretense the whole time that they're totally not Rose's coworkers from the top-secret government agency that monitors extraterrestrial activity but instead all work with her at the local department store or something, and after all this, the wedding ends up going exactly as you'd expect--the venue cancels on them at the very last minute due to an electrical fire and they end up having to hold the wedding in the Tylers's backyard and text everyone who was invited about the venue change, there isn't a bridal party to speak of, 80 percent of those invited don't end up coming due to the confusion about the venue change and due to an unexpected bout of bad weather, which drives everyone inside sopping wet, including Rose in her wedding dress, Jackie completely forgot to order catering and the only thing to eat is fruitcake and so she's desperately trying to bake four frozen lasagnas in her oven that she sent Pete out to get in the aforementioned terrible weather for the twelve people who actually showed up, and in all the hullabaloo Pete stumbles into the living room where Ten and Rose are fruitlessly trying to dry off a bit and asks if they're postponing the wedding, and Ten takes one look at his bedraggled bride and grins, then, pulling the rings out of his pocket, says to the priest, sitting on the sofa, "Nah, wouldn't wanna make you come all this way for nothing, would we? Go on, do your job," and thus, soaking wet and giggling like only idiots in love can, Ten and Rose are married in Pete and Jackie Tyler's living room, and it's all just a beautiful, joyous disaster, and Jackie finds that at this point she's perfectly happy with it, swearing off wedding planning entirely.

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil, Chapter Eleven

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER TEN

Chapter Eleven: I’m Still in Love with You on this Harvest Moon

Because I’m still in love with you/ I want to see you dance again/ Because I’m still in love with you/ On this harvest moon

____________________

I’m getting pretty good at this talking-to-women thing, Steve thinks. Of course, he’s been getting a lot of practice. There’s this whole re-getting-to-know-you phase going on, where he tells the truth about stuff that he might have fudged a bit, before.

“I knew it,” your eyes narrow at him, and he shrugs. “I should have called you on it then. Brooklyn Heights was affluent by the 70s and 80s, and there were lots of parks – the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, Cadman Plaza Park . . .”

“I remember when Cadman Plaza opened,” Steve says, “I used to go there and draw studies of the post office across the street.[1] But I was grown when it opened; when I was a kid it a was a mess of buildings that needed tearing down. Wait,” he says, giving you a skeptical look, “how do you even know all that?”

“From my extensive research watching reruns of the Patty Duke Show,” you say promptly. “And then when you didn’t make any sense, I looked up census data.”

He is vaguely, irrationally annoyed that you’d checked up on him, but it’s overridden by the fact that he had been lying, apparently poorly, and by the fact that you look awfully proud of yourself and it’s adorable. He smiles at you, and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re a nerd,” he says, fondly.

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What’s the old-timey word for that?”

“Egghead.” He skips out of your reach, laughing as you swat at him. “You asked!”

“Great; if we’d met back in the day you’d have called me an egghead,” you mutter, but there’s a smile dancing around your lips, so he leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Nah, I’d have told everyone you were a real buttercup,” he whispers, gratified when you start to blush.

“Is that the same thing as a pretty dame?” you ask, then “stop that; they’ll be here any minute.”

He steps back, but not very far. “I hate to break it to you, but they already know you’re my girl. And no, it’s better. A buttercup is pretty and sweet. The kind of girl –”

“The kinda gal who’ll let you take her on a walk in the park when you’re broke and never complain that it’s not a real date.” Bucky’s voice broke in, as he and Natasha walked up. He had a bag in one hand and a picker pole in the other.

“The kind who only dates around a little, and doesn’t compare you to her other guys,” Steve says, remembering some of Bucky’s youthful complaints.

“The kind who’ll go parking with you, but not all the way parking.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows at Natasha, who rolls her eyes and plants herself at your side, clearly forming a united front against the men. “And doesn’t laugh at you when you’re not real good at it yet.”

“You told me you were born good at it, Barnes,” Natasha says, then looks at you. “Thank god you’re here. When they get into old fogey mode, it’s hard to pull them out by myself.”

Steve watches you smile shyly and feels a rush of gratitude toward Natasha. She hadn’t once held the mess he’d made over his head, and she – and Sam, and Bucky (well, not so much Bucky; all of Bucky’s ideas were seventy years out of date, but he was good for commiseration) – had definitely helped dig him out. He’d goaded her, once, before you’d started talking to him again, had defiantly blocked her path and asked “aren’t you gonna say it?” But she’d just patted his cheek and answered, “do I need to?” and he’d deflated so fast she’d given him a brusque hug and then shoved him out of the way.

“I might not make a good ally,” you say. “Old-fogey mode is still new and interesting to me.”

“Riiight.” Natasha gives him an appraising look. “So, how was he at pretending to be young and hip?”

You look at Steve, baffled. “Were you trying to act hip?”

He clutches his chest dramatically and looks hurt. “Oh, I got a mouthy dame, huh?”

“Rude!” you exclaim.

Natasha crosses her arms. “Yeah, Rogers; you talk to your girlfriend like that?”

My girlfriend, my girlfriend, his brain sings. He nudges Bucky.  “Hey pal, some help here?”

Bucky busies himself attaching the bag to the picking pole. “You dug this hole yourself, punk.” He winks at Natasha. “I have learned never to disagree with a lady.”

She snorts. “That’s a lie, Barnes.”

“Yes it is.” He looks pointedly at Steve. “See?”

Natasha grabs another bag out of Steve’s hands and looks expectantly at you. “So how does this go, anyway?”

You look incredulously around the circle. “Have none of you gone apple-picking before? Steve, you said you all loved this place.”

“I, ah. I love the idea of this place. And I really do love apple pie.” In truth, you’d just looked so excited when you suggested it that he’d agreed immediately, and then volunteered Nat and Bucky as a double-date. It seemed like a low-stakes way to introduce you to his team, since they’d be too busy to interrogate you. Much. Probably.

“City slickers,” you mutter, but let him take your hand and lead you into the orchard.

***

You and Natasha concentrate on the lower-hanging fruit while Steve and Bucky manhandle the picker poles with more enthusiasm than skill. First they race to see who can get more apples (Bucky), then they compete to reach the best-looking first (Steve, who plays dirty). After Steve “accidentally” bangs a half-full bag off Bucky’s head, you try to intervene.

“Don’t you Depression types know you shouldn’t waste food?” They turn toward you, identical scowls of he-started-it on their faces. “There are starving kids!”

“Yeah, don’t bruise my apples, Barnes,” Natasha calls, laughing, and it sounds . . . well, a little dirty, to be honest. From the look Bucky gives her, you think it was meant to be.

“Fine,” Bucky says. “You win this tree, Stevie. I’m gonna squire both these lovely ladies to the concession stand.”

You hear Steve mutter something that sounds like “the hell you are,” and he speeds up to walk beside you. He’s got the bag of apples in one hand and the picker in the other, and looks momentarily stymied, until you slip your arm through his. You notice that Natasha and Bucky split the load, each carrying one item in their left hands. You look up at Steve and he rolls his eyes. “Assassins,” he whispers.

Oh, yeah. Everyone here can kill you with their pinky. Probably their pinky toe. But, of course, you can wield an absolutely devastating red pen.

Stop that. He likes you the way you are. He said so.

Grant’s said a lot of things, hasn’t he?

Oh, shut up.

Things have been going so well between you, but there’s a part of you that still feels vulnerable. Some of that is natural in any relationship and might never go away entirely, but part of it is . . . the situation.

And not even the Grant situation, although that has made you cautious. You’ve almost managed to stop thinking of him as Grant; you only slipped up a couple of times face-to-face. You know it bothered him, though, by how he’d so carefully not react when you did. You tried to train yourself out of it by saying his name out loud when he wasn’t around: “I’m gonna call Steve,” you’d say when you were alone; “Going to meet Steve,” you’d say to yourself, heading to your car. And saying it more than a few times when you were extra alone. You haven’t said the wrong name in a couple of weeks, and the soft look in his eyes when you whisper in his ear makes it worth the effort.

But sometimes your brain still pokes at his words, wanting to check up on them just in case. In case he’s lying about something else. In case something isn’t right, and you just haven’t figured it out yet.

In case he doesn’t really want you.

. . . yeah. Which is stupid, because he’s been nothing but thoughtful and patient – really incredibly patient – since you agreed to try again. He’s answered all your questions, even if it made you angry again. He’s brought his friends around, starting with a more formal introduction to Sam, who had so many new kitten videos. He hasn’t re-met yours, but only because you’re both uncertain as to how you can make that happen without giving away any secrets. He lets you set the pace when you’re alone, keeps his hands confined to PG-13 zones, and goes home looking like he might not make it to a cold shower.

So it’s not anything that he’s doing. It’s your problem – your inability to just open up and let him love you the way he so obviously wants to.

Right now he wants to give you a perfect October afternoon, with apple-picking in flannel shirts and apple-cider doughnuts and possibly pie-making when you get home. He promised to help peel the apples. It’s nauseatingly domestic, not really what you expected superheroes to do when they’re temporarily out of villains to fight.

But damn, he looks good in flannel.

The four of you squeeze into a picnic table with a tray piled high with doughnuts and mugs of mulled cider. Natasha’s friendly-but-still-wary spy face breaks for just an instant when she bites into the first doughnut, still hot from the fryer and covered in cinnamon-sugar – the corners of her eyes turn up and you swear her pupils dilate.

Bucky is a lot more effusive. Borderline pornographic. “Oh Jesus,” he says around a mouthful of hot, sweet dough. “Oh god. Oh –“

“If you start naming off saints, I’m leaving,” Steve threatens, then takes a bite. “Ohh god.”

“See?!” Bucky looks vindicated.

So maybe everyone, even superheroes, are suckers for fried dough.

“So,” you say after you wash down a bite with the cider. “Did you two attack each other with fruit when you were kids, or is that a new thing?”

“That’s a new tactic we’re testing,” Bucky says. “Non-lethal force.” He takes two more doughnuts from the pile while Natasha shakes her head, a fond expression on her face. “We didn’t fight much as kids.”

“Each other,” Steve adds.

“Each other,” Bucky agrees, then grins so wickedly you know whatever he says next is going to be good. “Except that one time when I tried to get you to stop fightin’.”

Steve buries his face in his hands.

“You – wait, you fought him because he didn’t want you to fight?” You tug on Steve’s arm, trying to pry his hand away from his face. “You have to tell me about this.”

“Steve was a real firecracker back in the day,” Bucky said. “You know – ‘I’ll whup you, I’ll whup your brother, I’ll whup myself’ – that was Stevie.”

“I did that last one a lot,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

“So we were, what, fourteen-fifteen, lotta guys fight at that age, you got all the hormones and nothin’ makes sense and you just wanna punch something.” Bucky started on his fourth doughnut. “And Steve had fifty pounds of adolescent rage packed down into a three-pound powder keg.”

“You said you never started fights,” you say, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t!” Steve protests while Bucky whoops with laughter. “Hey, you’re makin’ me look bad in front of my girl.”

“Nah, Steve’s right, he didn’t technically ‘start’ fights,” Bucky makes air quotes still holding a doughnut. You’ve lost count. “He’d just wait for some chump to step out of line and then he’d bicker at him until the guy busted him up.”

“I could usually duck the first one,” Steve is obviously trying to defend himself, but from the look you all give him, it’s not working. “So Bucky told me to stop, he’s not gonna step in and rescue me anymore – which really made me see red –“

“And the little punk throws a punch at me!” Bucky says, still outraged after decades. Natasha looks delighted.

“It connected, too.” Steve sounds awfully proud of himself, but he had told you that Bucky used to be a boxing champ. And young Steve very much . . . wasn’t.

“Yeah, you were quick as a weasel when a fight started,” Bucky muttered. “Two minutes in and you’d be wheezing like a kettle.”

“So . . . I mean obviously Bucky won,” you say, and shrug apologetically when Steve gives you the most betrayed look and Bucky hoots.

“Kept my hand on his head while he swung at me until he tired out. He didn’t speak to me for two days.”

You stare at Bucky as the scene takes form in your head, then burst into bone-shaking laughter. When you get yourself back under control, Natasha is dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, Bucky is looking supremely self-satisfied, and Steve is red from the tips of his ears down to the hollow of his throat. And probably lower, you think, if you could see it.

You rub his back, running your fingers up to scratch at the nape of his neck. He turns to you, a little dazed, and you whisper, “I’m glad you survived all of that.” As he starts to smile, you add, “Well, it sounds like mostly you survived yourself.”

He slips an arm around you, and you notice the glint in his eyes just before he starts to tickle you.

All told, you fill three bags: two with pie and preserve apples and one with what your grandpa would have called “good eatin’ apples.” You and Natasha concentrate on gathering the best Winesaps for pie while the guys continue their non-lethal weapons research.

“Bet you a pie Bucky pinches him with that picker thing,” Natasha mutters. You consider it; Steve is quick and has great reflexes, but he’s also too trusting – as you watch, he turns his back and present a very tempting target.

“You bake?” you ask, trying not to sound surprised.

“I buy,” she says. “But I’m also not going to lose.” She’s right; Bucky immediately takes the bait and Steve hollers loud enough that the orchard attendant peeks over, frowning.

“One pie,” you agree. “Delivered by Steve no later than Wednesday.”

“You could always come to the compound and bake it there,” she suggests, watching Steve knock Bucky on his ass. “We have a great kitchen and Sam’s the only one who uses it regularly.” She catches your guarded expression. “It’s not that I don’t trust Steve not to eat it on the way . . . but I don’t.”

“I’m not sure Steve’s ready for me to be in his space like that,” you say slowly. “We don’t want to rush things this time.”

She frowns, and the look she gives you wouldn’t be out of place on any sister worrying that her bonehead brother is getting strung along. “It’s my understanding that Steve is ready for you to be anywhere that you want to be. This is your pace, isn’t it?”

Of course it is.

She watches your face for a moment, then sighs. “I’m not going to make excuses for Steve; he’s a grown man and he can make his own terrible decisions. But, I guess, he perhaps didn’t receive the best advice from . . . certain of his associates.” You side-eye her. “Including me. But his own ideas were, and I really want to stress this, appalling. He wanted to step back, after that time at the barbeque place. He wanted to wait until he got back to his fighting weight, then . . . I don’t even know, maybe just show up at your door and sweep you off your feet?”

“Ooh, he really has no self-preservation instincts, does he?” Natasha laughs and shakes her head. “Wait, how did you know about the – you know what, never mind.“ The look she gives you is unimpressed and unashamed.

“I honestly didn’t think he’d tell you. Not while he was still small. He was very sensitive about that, you know.” She’s not looking at you, but she’s definitely watching you while she talks.

“I know that now,” you say. “It didn’t register then. It’s just not . . . I wonder if he’d grown up later, if it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. He’d have had better medicine, not had to be so careful all the time. He would have gotten more attention from girls, I think.”

“But then he wouldn’t be Steve. Not our Steve.”

Your head feels so light at the thought of our Steve, you don’t even notice Natasha watching you approvingly.

“So I do maybe owe you a small apology,” she says. “I also may have contributed to the way it shook out.” You raise an eyebrow and wait. “The dance was my idea,” she says, and shrugs. “I thought it would be too much for Steve to resist. He always talked about missing his dance with – you know about Peggy, right?”

She knows you do, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it. The layers of meaning in everything this woman says could make your head spin. Steve had told you about Peggy early on, spending the whole time split between studying his own hands and your eyes, watching for any sign of . . . jealousy, maybe? Disapproval? Impatience? And then sighing with such relief it almost made you cry, when you wrapped your arms around him and whispered, “I’m glad you had more time with her, after you came back. She sounds incredible.”

How could you be jealous of his love for Peggy, when she’d had so much to do with shaping the man he is? You would have enjoyed getting to know her.

The thing with Sharon is a little weird, though, you’re not gonna lie about that.

“You told Steve to buy seven hours of dance tickets?” you ask.

“No, I – seven hours?” For the first time today, Natasha looks truly surprised. “Go big or go home, I guess. Or go big, screw it up, and then go home anyway. No,” she says, “I may have used official channels to suggest to the fundraising committee that the Stark Foundation would be very generous if they’d change it up from the usual holiday home tours and Victorian tea parties, and then suggested a taxi dance would be just the new and semi-scandalous kind of thing Tony wanted to see.”

“Well, that worked. And the foundation definitely came through.”

She smirks, gratified. “Yeah, when I told Pepper about it she laughed till she choked and told accounting to cut a check right then.”

So everyone everyone knows all about this situation, even the ones who aren’t Avengers, you think with mounting horror.

Natasha looks at you like she knows exactly what you’re thinking, and pats your arm. “I didn’t tell her why. She just agreed that Tony would bust a gut if he knew about it.”

“Why a taxi dance, though?”

“Steve and James were talking about petting parties, but I didn’t think I could push that one through.”

No, definitely not. Your mind reels at the thought of Madame President chaperoning a bunch of couples in flagrante to various degrees, and then at the idea of Steve attending one. And then at the idea of you and Steve attending one, and you know, you’ve never really had that kink but it sounds hot. Then you wonder if Steve had ever been to a taxi before, if he’d paid for a woman to let that awkward, kind, stubborn boy put his arms around her for three minutes. At least he would have been polite about it.

You’re lost in thought, not paying attention, when your ankle turns on the gravel path and down you go.

You hear Natasha call out for Steve, and immediately follow her with “No, I’m fine!” You prod at your ankle; it’s tender, but no worse than that, and the biggest injury is to your pride. Steve skids on the gravel and kneels down beside you.

“Is it broken?” he asks, gingerly lifting your foot onto his thigh. His touch is so careful, the pads of his fingers pressing gently into your flesh. He’s got a callous on the inside of his middle finger, you realize, where he holds his pencils. No – you don’t realize, you remember. You used to feel it when Grant took your hand.

Just like the little scar over his right eyebrow. Like the dorky way he puncutates his texts. It’s the same hand, the same touch, the same man. He hasn't changed, not really; it's just taken you too long to understand.

“No, it’s okay. I just turned it, I think.” He’s got a look on his face that makes you worry about ambulances, medi-vacs, para-rescues, and you touch his cheek. “Steve, I’m fine. Help me up and I can probably walk on it.”

He carefully manipulates the joint, watching your face for pain. His face relaxes. “Not broken,” he says, “but could be a nasty sprain. You’re absolutely not walking on it.” He turns his face and kisses your palm. “Put your arms around my neck.”

You panic a little. “No, I can walk. I want to walk.”

“I’m not letting you walk, c’mon.” His arm slips under your knees.

“You can’t stop me,” you insist, in the face of all available evidence. Steve rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, don’t pick me up – you’ll hurt yourself!” He gives you an incredulous look and lifts you bridal-style.

Natasha picks up your bag of apples. “You know he can toss a motorcycle like it’s a football, right?” she asks, and your face heats up.

Steve settles you in his arms, his lips brushing your forehead. “Sweetheart, relax. You weigh nothing.” He smiles brightly as your arms slip around his neck. “You know I’ve always got you.”

And in this moment, you do know: this awkward, kind, stubborn man has you.

[1] It’s gorgeous: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadman_Plaza#/media/File:Brooklyn_Post_Office_0321071421a.jpg Accessed 11 July 2019.

____________________

Neil Young – Harvest Moon

Because I’m still in love with you/ I want to see you dance again/ Because I’m still in love with you/ On this harvest moon

READ CHAPTER TWELVE (SMUT WARNING)

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Tilt Shift." Jason Carvey X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Alright Bloodfest week two is in the bag! And who do we have but our limited screen time shitty film bro Ghostface Jason Carvey! I dunno why, but I really like him, he’s entering into the rotation. Buckle up guys, this is a pure hate fucking piece. Let’s go. 

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Jason Carvey X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Jason Sucks. You Kinda Suck. Enemies To Fuck Buddies. Arguing. You And He Hate Each Other. Raw Sex. Vaginal Sex. Eating Out. Man Handling. Some Dominance. 

—

You don’t think there is a single human being on Earth you get along with less with than one Jason-Who-Gives-A-Fucking-Shit-What-His-Middle-Name-Is-Carvey. He fucking sucks. He always wants to play devil's advocate, he always seemed to think your opinions were less than and had always had some smart comment to make to whatever you attempted to add to class discussion, he was a typical, shitty, film bro asshole. You avoided him whenever possible. You reluctantly had to see him multiple times a week in film class, and bumped into him around campus far more often than you’d like.

Getting paired up by random number lottery to do a duo project was the worst possible thing that could happen, there is no one that you would have liked less than him to be partnered with. A heavy sigh and your head dropped to your desk, he immediately launched into complaints and the class laughed, yeah it was real fucking funny how you were going to be tied to him for the end of semester project. 

This is your nightmare, you mused, this is Hell. 

The idea was that you are supposed to take a movie trailer and edit it, so it looks like it fits into a different genre, a great project you would have normally jumped at were you put with anyone else. The first three days were spent arguing over which trailer from the list to go with, you took so long that all the other options were snapped up, and you were left with the last one, forced to take it, and Jason didn’t take any blame for the fact the slim pickings you were saddled with were his fault. He said, “We gotta make it look like a horror film-”

And you were so tired of his crap already that you conceded. 

“Fine, whatever you fucking want, Jason.” You sighed, and he asked, clearly not buying that you would give in first, “Wait, really?”

“Really, let’s make it look like the dumbest, cheesiest, shlockiest 80s gore fest we can.” Even with your flat and less than impressed tone, you thought he would be all about it, but in typical Jason fashion he took offence. He started to say that you could make it look much better than that, and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

The guy was always so busy, you had limited time to do this and as much as you didn’t want to work with him, you had to get this done, intent on getting a good grade. Turning in late would cut into your mark's considerably. After a pile of texts and no less than five voicemails, you finally get a curt, “I booked the editing room at 10 PM, see you there.” 

You had plans, but you needed to get this project done, so you cancelled the evening's activities reluctantly and made your way over. You had already gotten ready to go out tonight when he messaged, gave you less than two hours notice. You’d had just enough time to finish your food since you were out at dinner and make it back, run in and get your shit before you had to depart for your meeting with your less than stellar partner. You make it there five minutes before ten pm, you find the room empty, of course he got the last slot, no one wants to be editing this late on a fucking Friday night. Everyone else with good sense had gotten everything else done before now. 

You slump down in a chair, drop your bag and take out your flash drive with the work you’d put in thus far, you plug it into the computer and cue it up.

And then you ended up waiting for half an hour for Jason to stroll in, far too casually considering how late he was. He took the chair next to you in front of the computer, setting down a bag of fast food, a soda before he shrugged his bag off his one shoulder and set it on the ground in front of the desk. He hadn’t said hello, he hadn’t even looked at you, arms crossed as you observed him in pure disbelief. 

He was getting his stuff set up, taking his video camera out of his bag, getting the cord to attach it to the computer you’d claimed, a notebook, a pencil, he was eating a few fries in between. Fuck, he is the actual worst, while he is still setting up you cut in and say finally, “Hello?”

He stops, a look over to you, expression showing he was totally fucking confused why you were greeting him in this way, or greeting him at all, he says, “Hey?” 

You laugh, eyes rolling as you lean back in your chair, “Are you fucking serious?”

“What? What did I do now? I just got here!” He sighed, turning back to his bag, and you tell him, “That is exactly the problem, Jason! You tell me, not ask, TELL me to show up here, no regard for my Friday night plans, and I don’t fight you on it! I show up, early, and you stroll in a half hour late with fucking McDonald's and not so much as an apology for being late! You are unbelievable.” 

He shakes his head as he sighs, “Jesus, you are sensitive-” 

“Jason!” You bite out, upset at the very idea you are sensitive for being upset at this, and he scoffs, “Fine, fucking sorry for being a little late-” He said it mockingly, it could turn your stomach. You wanted to fight him further, the idea that he was “a little late” was pissing you off, him acting as if he was just a touch behind schedule, but you didn’t want to be here all night. 

“Whatever, can we get started?” You asked, and he said, “Yeah, so long as you are done being a bitc-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Carvey.” 

He looked over at you and upon seeing how serious your expression combined with your downright venomous tone, he bit his tongue with a muttering of the word, “Fine.”

Thank the Lord, he was dropping it. Maybe now you can get some actual work done-

“Why are you wearing that?” He was staring at you, brow creased in question. You looked down at yourself, heeled boots, short skirt, low cut top and made up, you’d planned to go to a party with friends and due to his fucking shitty timing you didn’t have the chance to change. 

Your eyes draw back up and meet his as you inform him, “I was planning to go out tonight until someone texted me to come do the work I’ve been begging to do for weeks, and I figured I better jump at the chance cuz who knows when I’ll get it again.” 

He smiled, that stupid self-satisfied smile, he had his soda in one hand and a few fries in the other as he tells you, “Yeah, sorry about that, I’m a very in demand kinda guy.” 

“Yeah, I am so sure.” You sigh, and you lean forward, “Okay so here is what I have so far-” You click the space bar and let what you had gotten done solo play out. 

He, of course, hated it. 

Endless criticism with no real praise to be found, he was going on and on, spewing his usual bullshit, “This is a joke! Total amateur hour! Did you even follow the story board we drew up?”

“Yes, I fucking did! Look-” You hold up your sketchbook and go through the shot he was current critiquing and pointing out, “See?! These are all your stupid angles and notes, I fucking did it-”

“No way, if I handled it, it’d look much better-” You groan, a hand combing through your hair, dropping your sketchbook into your lap with your other hand, “You are impossible to work with Jason!”

“I’m not asking for much here! It isn’t difficult.” He insists, gesturing with his half empty soda, and you say with raised brows, “Taking a beloved rom com trailer and editing it to look like a horror film isn’t hard?”

He groans, and you swear he might just stamp his foot in indignation, “No! You just gotta do it with care! See the love interest is supposed to be the monster, the villain, he is a ravenous beast seeking to corrupt her, and you are not conveying that right!”

You don’t know why you ever agreed to this. You should have fought him harder on the genre.

“If it is so bad, why don’t you show me what you have so far?” You ask, and he says, “Gladly.” 

He pulls up what he has so far, and it isn’t much of anything, it’s a few disjointed shots, some cobbled together audio and music, and you say, “You’ve hardly done anything, and you are criticizing me?!”

“My vision is clearer than yours is thus far-” He defends, and you cut in, “What vision? I can barely see anything!”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself and instead of pushing further he offers,“It’ll take me like thirty minutes to get it together, just give me what you have so far, and I’ll fix it.” 

Your mouth gapes, jaw drops, “You want me to just let you do all of it? Trust you to do this solo? Fat fucking chance!” 

“We are gonna be here all night then.” He says firmly, and you sigh out, “Fucking fine, I guess so.” 

You both set to work in relative silence, you agreed to do the front end and him to finish it up, you and he steal glances at the others screens and more comments and barbs fly. You and he have this terrible habit of riling each other up, he just annoys you so much, it’s so hard to play nice and take the high road when he is like this.

“Really? You are using that as your transition-” You start, and he bites, “And what would you do? A fucking flash to black between shots bracketed by a sting of violin music?” 

You make a sound of pure disgust, “You think so fucking highly of me.” 

He spins in his wheelie office style chair and turns to look at you, he tells you, “Sweetheart, I don’t think of you in any way.” 

You spin in your chair to face him better, arms crossing over your chest, “Thank God for that, otherwise I might vomit, I’d hate to ruin the carpet in here.” 

Next you are up out of your chair, and you stretch your arms above your head, your eyes are closed, head back, so you miss the small detail of Jason’s eyebrows raising as the hem of your shirt does, enjoying the bit of skin you revealed with the action. Your arms come down and so does your gaze, his expression schools back into something more akin to hatred, and you say, “I’m going to the bathroom and gonna hit the vending machine.” 

“Yeah whatever.” He shrugs and turns away, you make your move to walk out and tell him, “Be right back.”

He was less than subtle this time around when checking you out, blatantly staring at your ass through the glass window of the editing bay, you weren’t going to call him on it. Walking down the hallway it made you laugh with a shake of your head, you were musing, “Mmmhm, he totally neverrr thinks about me.” 

You are still thinking about it while you are washing your hands, “Is this why Jason is such an asshole to me? Because he actually wants me? Shit, be more fucking cliche’.”

After leaving the bathroom and finding yourself in front of the vending machine, considering your options, maybe you were imagining things, maybe he wasn’t looking at you like that.

You put the money in and make your selection and watch the metal spiral spin and twist till the small bag of chips and the candy bar you selected fell. You fished them out and slid to the next one, keying in to get a can of something cold. Even if he was looking at you like that, who says you should do anything about it, maybe you could let ol’ Carvey suffer and stew. 

Once you were back in the room you open the can, you stride to your chair and sit yourself down, you are mid-sip and putting the food on the desk with your other hand. The way you sat made your skirt rise up a tad, your legs cross, the can comes down and your opposite and free hand smoothed the material down over the curve of your thigh and that is when you notice it, he’s looking again. 

Oh, he did want you. This was no wandering of a wild imagination, Jason actually was “taking in the sights”. You wanted to laugh until you realized something crucial. You’d swapped seats, you took the empty one without thinking, but this was his old chair, the crumpled McDonald's bag is what made it click. He was seated in yours now, meaning that he was editing your shit. You look over to the screen where his attention was fixed once more, and you see him doing some serious damage, you slam the can down and stand up, hand pushing on his shoulder as you exclaim, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

He half turns in the chair, the violent jerking of his body from the force of you putting your hands on him, his own hands up and away from the keyboard, he looked shocked you touched him in such a way, so sudden and violent, “What?!”

You point at the screen as you ask much too loudly, “Why are you in my chair and what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I didn’t know if you were actually coming back, thought I should help you out since you so clearly need it.” He spits, and you scoff, “My bag is still here Jason, like I’d leave my shit in the editing bay alone all night with you, it’s bad enough I have to be here.” 

“Again, you could let me handle it and you could go. I want to go a more found footage angle than you do anyway-” You suck your teeth indignantly, “You actually like that found footage shit? And how are you gonna make this look like that? Tilt shift it in after effect and slap some fucking filters on it?” 

He leaned in closer as he spoke to you in a harsh tone, “What did you say before? Accusations of me thinking highly of you? Why don’t you flip that mirror back around to look at yourself.” 

He was still looking at you in that annoying way that told you he was checking you out, and so you say, “No, I don’t think I’ll do that, I think you are looking at me enough for the both of us.” 

The word was almost coughed out, “What?”

And the word of the day is. You stare him down as you say, “I see you fucking staring at me, you son of a bitch. I’m not as stupid as you treat me.” 

“Are you sure about that? Because right now it sounds like you are delusional and convinced I want to fuck you.” He laughs but there is no bite behind it, he is trying and failing to cover himself up, he is struggling to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t think I am that delusional.” You state simply, and he questions, “Oh no?”

“No. In fact, I am sure you want to fuck me so badly that I could ride you right here, and you’d more than let me, I think you’d love it.” 

You decide not to let him get any more chances to argue, you reach down, fingers slip up your skirt, thumbs hook in your underwear, and you drag them down, stepping one leg out you said, “Get your stupid jeans open, right now.” 

His expression is confused, eyes are wide, but his hands scramble, belt open and undone, pants unzipped he is shuffling them down his thighs before sitting back down, now you take in the sights, and he isn’t a bad size, this could work. You certainly aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of complimenting him, he speaks up, half cocky smile, with a hand around the base of his shaft, “You like it?”

You swing one leg over and sit in his lap as you sigh, “It’s passable, I suppose it’ll have to do.” 

He frowns at that, and you grind yourself against him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Fingers curl in the material of the college branded shirt he wore, and you rolled your hips, dragging yourself against him, causing the head of his dick to bump over your clit making both you, and he shared a sharp inhale. You already hated this simply because that one simple move felt far better than it should, it pissed you off. You tested it again, you repeated the action, and it was better than the first pass, another proved to increase the feeling and so it goes and that just serves to fuel the fire of both rage and lust inside of you. 

“What the fuck-” You breathe out, head tipping back, hips rolling, and he ruts up into you, providing extra friction and asking, “What? What are you going on about now?” 

“This-” You grind again and let a breathy moan slip out, and he then moves again, matching you move for move, and you grit out, “-it’s too fucking good, it shouldn’t feel this fucking good, and it’s-”

You moan louder, “-it’s pissing me the fuck off.” 

It's honest and raw and vulnerable and, above all else, very fucking true. His hands are on you, one on your hip to help control pace and another on your back, under your shirt, fingers on bare skin as he ruts up into you as he stares up, meets your gaze as he says, “Take it out on me.” 

Now it was your turn to use the word of the day, “What?”

He moves slower this time, more purposeful, it makes you choke back a moan, and he reiterates himself, “Take your anger out on me then.” 

You think that is the first smart thing he has ever said. 

Enough is enough, and you figure that you should take him up on his offer, you raise yourself up, hand comes down behind you, fingers lock onto him and position him just so, you angle your hips, and then you do the most natural thing possible at that moment, you sit down, sliding him deep inside in the process. 

Your hands move, one remains on his shoulder and the other slides into his slightly too long black hair and threads, you pull as you soak in the feeling of him stretching your walls, a deep sigh leaves you, satisfied in some regard simply from being filled. You revel for a moment until he shifts below you, eyes flick down, and he is staring up at you still, brows pinched together as he insists, “Move already.”

You scoff and tug harder on his hair, force his head back as you tell him, “Shut up.” 

“That hurts-” He groused, and you roll your eyes as you start to move, heeled boots on shitty carpet you start to ride him, asking in a breathy but ultimately teasing tone, as if the question was rhetorical, “Better?” 

The shaky moan he let out, while incoherent, told you very much so yes. 

You start to find your rhythm with riding him, enjoying yourself, angling your hips to grind your clit and that sweet spot inside to get what you wanted out of this sooner rather than later. As his eyes slip closed, and he lets you do what you wanted, allows you to take your anger out on him, you have the thought that like this? When he isn’t running his mouth and when he is letting you ride him as if it is the only thing he was ever good for, he’s actually pretty attractive. Even if he could stand for a haircut. 

You wouldn’t tell him that though, again, why give him the satisfaction, especially when you are so concerned about your own pleasure. 

Mean jabs and hurtful words left you now, just laboured breathing and moaning as you rode him, intent on seeing to your own end, and he was doing a lot to ensure it actually, moving with you, rocking up into you, seeing to your satisfaction and enjoyment in a way you’d almost call uncharacteristic of him. After two seconds of thought, though, it’s obvious he was getting just as much out of this. 

The build of it isn’t quick per se, but it’s steady, one of those orgasms that builds in almost a steady arc, not really any valleys, just a consistent climb, up and up, until your pace becomes a bit uneven, thighs shaking, breath stuttering until it culminates and you cum. Your fingers are still in his hair, but there isn’t any serious tension there, no longer holding taut, grinding down onto him, shallow, fast thrusts of him in and out halfway as you ride out your bliss with a quiet and singular, “Yes.” on your tongue. 

You squeeze all you can out of your orgasm before you slow to a stop. Your eyes open, and you huff out a, “Fuck, I needed that.” 

And next? You get up. You stand, slip him out and swing your leg back over, getting off of him and breaking away. 

You are reaching down, going to fix your underwear and slide it back up, and he asks, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Eyes flick to him, a confused look on his face and his dick still out, painfully hard and soaked from you, “Well we still have a project to finish, I was gonna get back to work and then hopefully go back to my dorm to crash.” 

“What about me?” He asked, and you respond with a smile, a slight cock of your head, “What about you Jason?”

Your eyes drop, you are pulling your underwear back up when you feel it. His hand locked on your bicep and then him yanking on you, pulling you over to the desk, and then he pushes you down, hands finds your hips, and he moves you to his liking. One is on the back of your thigh and pushing your leg up, knee finds purchase on hardwood, and he is leaning down, his chest to your back, you feel his hair on the back of your neck, lips brush by your ear, “Yeah you are not gonna leave me with blue balls sorry.” 

He is slipping back inside, and you arch back into him, a shared moan spills forth, “You took your anger out on me, so now I’m going to do the same.” 

Second-best idea he’s had all night. Well you thought that until later on he was going down on you post fuck, making you cum on his tongue until you were almost sobbing, but that is something else entirely. 

You ended up staying in the editing bay all night but by the end of it you had the project done and, reluctantly, a new fuck buddy. At least Jason Carvey turned out to be good for something. 

[wyntereyez]

Over the weekend, I made a few posts about my family driving me crazy, but never explained anything. I think I'll do that now. So here's another Screaming into the Void.

I spent the weekend in North Carolina, in a mountain town, visiting my Dad and his wife. He'd just had knee replacement surgery not quite two months ago, and wanted to see his children.

I didn't want to go.

I even had an excellent excuse not to go, what with my job not giving enough hours and barely scraping by with my bills. But, no, for some reason, there is a direct flight from here to there for under $80 round trip, and my Dad offered to buy the ticket. I had no real excuse to refuse. So I went along with it because a) he's been nagging me to visit and at least this wouldn't cost me anything and I could get it over with, and b) unfortunately, I've been conditioned to be a good little doormat with my family.

My sister was also going. She was even texting me about how excited she'd be to see me, and how we could stay up late and 'girl talk.'

I just told myself, "At least there would be waterfalls." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, right?

Sure.

Now, my family isn't intentionally cruel. They're just somehow oblivious to how much they just don't understand me, and manage to constantly say things that get on my nerves.

We of course couldn't go a whole weekend without my Dad saying, "You're just like me" about something he wildly misinterprets and I'm not like him at all. In this case, it was traveling. I'm always a little 'off' after a long trip, which makes me a bit listless. I was also unenthusiastic, which had more to do with this particular trip than traveling in itself. But, my Dad thinks I'm just like him about traveling, that I don't like doing it. Before he met his current wife, his vacations were all staycations, and any trips he made were work-related. After meeting her, he'd drive down to see her (he was in Michigan at the time and she was in NC). That was the only traveling he did, and he was content not to have to do more than he needed to.

I, in contrast, have flow to England for a convention. Twice. Our views on travel aren't the same.

There was also the CONSTANT joking about how my sister should bring her children down and I could babysit them. Even my sister's husband said this during a video call she made to him and the kids. I heard this at least half a dozen times in two days. They'd all laugh when I snarl "No." Because my aversion to taking care of others due to caretaker burnout is funny to them. My Dad even joked I should have come down and help take care of him after his surgery when he was grouchy and in pain.

I don't care how terrible I sound, I just can't take care of any of them ever again without losing the last of my sanity.

And then there was how they just didn't listen.

I was there a year ago for their wedding. With Dramamine, I was okay in the mountains. Unfortunately, right before leaving, I realized I was out. I figured I'd get some in North Carolina. But my Dad assured me he had plenty, and he'd give me some. Fine. Cool. That saves me money.

Except...my Dad ignored me asking for Dramamine until about ten minutes before we left to see some waterfalls on Saturday morning. Now, Dramamine needs about an hour to start working. I wanted time for it to, you know, actually be working before getting into a car.

Nope.

And oh, did I pay for that.

For the wedding, I rode in the back of my Dad's truck, which is, shockingly, a big F150. *eyeroll* I'd had my own supply of Dramamine which I took when needed, and I was fine.

This time, my Dad couldn't really drive far, so we took his wife's car.

Five minutes on those mountain roads - which didn't even take us out of their subdivision - I was feeling nauseous. I was overheating and clammy and trembling. We stopped at a gas station, because I'd needed a soda for the caffeine, and I'd made the mistake of mentioning I got caffeine headaches if I didn't have any, and my Dad's wife decided that was what was actually wrong and that I should try chugging my soda and ignored my insistence that it was motion sickness.

I KNOW MY BODY BETTER THAN YOU DO.

I kept getting worse, my Dad's wife asked my Dad how long it typically takes for Dramamine to kick in and he said it usually started working around then. For him, maybe. Also, why does it not occur to you that I want it to work BEFORE I get motion sickness and PREVENT it?!

Long story short, I ended up projectile vomiting. Which I'd never done before. Fortunately, it was on the side of the road. Even after that, they were asking if I felt better now and wanted to try more waterfalls.

Um, NO?!

So we went back to the house. They ignored me when I said I was fine with them showing my sister around and leaving me alone, but I guess they didn't want me to feel left out.

Please, PLEASE, leave me out.

The next day, they wanted to try again, to a closer location in my Dad's truck. I was reluctant, which you would think would be understandable.

But I agreed, because I am Good Obedient Daughter. And once again, my Dad didn't give me the Dramamine until right before we left, this time because it was an impulse decision and they decided they were going NOW.

(My Dad has always been very good at telling me we're going places right before we're going. I've never had time to actually properly get ready.)

This time, we were going to a tourist site that lets you pan for gems. Which, okay, that's kind of awesome, but you want to know why they chose it?

Because of a meme I put on Facebook about adults never sharing their favorite rocks.

A meme.

I can never post anything on Facebook again, because apparently anything I post is either a dig at family, or a huge part of my personality, rather than a freaking MEME.

It turns out, the truck does indeed make me less sick. And the tourist place was close. By the time we got out, the Dramamine had had enough time to do its thing, and I was fine.

I still refused to take another trip that day, though.

I was also forced to socialize with my Dad's wife's son and his wife. I know he's technically my step brother, but we're all adults and have barely interacted, so he's nothing to me. But I had to listen to his full medical history, because it apparently fascinates him. And small talk gives me anxiety, because I'm used to being misunderstood, bullied, or having it shared with complete strangers. I'm in a constant war between wanting to share fun things, and holding back because it never goes well for me.

Meanwhile, I couldn't even eat half the dinner because it had two vegetable dishes that I have texture issues with.

These last two are, admittedly, 'me' issues.

The last fun bits? My Dad and sister were already planning a big summer visit, and assumed I'd be coming as well. At no point was I asked. They also talked about how they'd considered a Michigan visit in which I flew to North Carolina, then drove up with them. In the car that tried to kill me. Again, a trip they never asked me about, and one in which I'd have no control and be completely reliant on them.

My Dad also mentioned he was hoping we'd fall in love with this area and all eventually move there, too.

No. No. NO. You literally live on the side of a ravine. You get icy roads. I would be in a constant state of anxiety. And illness. I don't thrive in isolated areas. Do you know me at all.

Oh. And the girl talk my sister mentioned? She was playing on her phone most of the time. Only some of that was because she was talking with my nephews.

So yeah. My family isn't intentionally terrible, but I'm too broken for them to handle.

[rigaudon]

This was just gonna be another comparison but then I pulled out my binder and ended up with an illustrated essay.

So while the new cards are PRETTIER, at the same time, the quality on the new cards can't compare to the old ones. Ceruledge is super shiny, but the cardstock is VISIBLY thinner than Gengar's (and the fancy pants full art foils are even thinner), and the ink is so much DENSER on the old cards. The difference in ink saturation is most obvious when you compare the cardbacks

The old card is on the right in the first picture. Basic bitch 1999 nonfoil Dragonair feels 20× nicer to hold than 2023 glitterbomb hyperfoil. 💀💀💀

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk, but while I have you here... let me give you a glimpse into the mind of me as a child. You might be wondering why the edges of all my old cards are so fucked up, it's because 1: they've been crammed in here for 24 years (holy shit, I'm old).

Which shouldn't be a big deal except for 2: As a Real Pokemon Trainer, my binder is in pokedex order and every variant I have of the same pokemon lives IN THE SAME SLEEVE TOGETHER (top card dictated by how shiny and/or how much 10-year-old-me liked the art), none of that side by side entire sheet of 9 squirtles bullshit. I stacked the squirtles.

(Yes, you are correct in the assumption that this means I was, 3: constantly taking them out of the sleeves and keeping 10+ cards in the same card holder, especially if I had a lot of cards of the pokemon on both sides of the page. I had to replace the sheets in the whole binder at least 2-3 times because I'd stick so many cards in them that the sides would rip and drop $500 in cardboard all over the pavement). I mostly fixed that when I stopped keeping dupes of the same art in there too.

But Raie, you say. Surely, this doesn't include foils and rare cards, right? Great question! Glad you asked!!

Say hello to single-sleeve Vileplume family!

Will I continue this tradition as an adult that should know better? Yes, absolutely.

What number am i on? 4? A few of them most definitely went through the washing machine at some point. Idk when i got a new one, but I got my original Pidgeot from a friend who'd left it in the pocket of her jeans and 80% of the card was fuzzy.

(Please don't ask why this mangled common Pikachu is the one I decided to display on top. Adult me doesn't know. Maybe mangled, stained, washing machine Pikachu was my first Pikachu and thus had sentimental value over literally any of the 30 other copies I had of that same Pikachu.) Now that I think about it I probably just put the FIRST copy i got in the binder for emotional attachment reasons, idk.

Speaking of sentimental value: I keep my ticket stub from the first pokemon movie between my Mews.

And i was going to end on that note until I saw this INSANE THING LOOK AT THIS. THIS. FISH. THIS FLAT, COMMON, BASIC FISH POKEMON IS OBJECTIVELY BETTER THAN FUCKING CHARIZARD.

Something something 20 year old card game something something power creep

I CAN ONLY INCLUDE TEN PICTURES ON THE APP SO GIVE ME A MINUTE BUT I HAVE TO PREFACE THIS NEXT REVELATION WITH: MEWTWO HAS 60 HP

[glitzybutt]

going to japan was our first international experience and it was the bomb diggity! i do have some advice i wish i had known that apparently no one gave because all the advice videos i watched were by thin people and not fat people, though:

if you live in the northern usa, you are likely not accustomed to the humidity you are going to feel even in the "cooler" months here. i packed for 50-60's october weather and it actually ended up being more like 70-80 the whole time. this also means because i'm bigger that i had to reapply deoderant, change clothes, and sometimes take two showers a day to keep comfortable. bring your own deodorant, and make sure it works well. bring breathable clothing and underwear with as much cotton in the material percentage as possible. function over fashion is hard but i got more mileage out of the cotton pack t shirts i get from old navy that breathe than i did out of anything else i wore. i highly recommend choosing hotels with laundry facilities so you can pack lighter and stay fresh.

if you are a largely sedentary person but are still able to exercise like me and you are planning a trip abroad, you need to start walking regularly now, especially if the trip is longer than a week. all things considered my remote work job has saved me a lot of grief in other areas, but physical maintenance now means i have to give up an hour or so of the free brain space i get outside work to exercise. and big surprise, i hate doing that. but if you go to japan, odds are most of the activities you're going to do are sight seeing related, which even if you're using a tour bus, will require you walking AT LEAST 2-3 miles, but more likely 5+ miles a day including all the fucking metro stairs. it should also go without saying, but invest in a good pair of walking/running shoes.

the train makes it easier for you to get from place to place for fairly cheap, but odds are you aren't going to be doing as much sitting as you imagine throughout the process of waiting for/being on the train. in planning the trip i gravely underestimated how much a ten minute walk to the metro is for someone who can barely walk twenty minutes around their neighborhood without wanting to go home and lie down. (10 minutes sounds so short on google maps! but it is not! consider this when planning your hotel locations!)

depending on which station you're at, it's a toss up of whether there's an escalator or elevator available for all parts of the process of descending/ascending to where you need to go. bigger cities seem to have more elevators, but they are smaller. at busier hours there can be a line of people with strollers and luggage for them and i'm lucky enough that i could usually just use the stairs on most days if i psyched myself up. if this does not sound like an option for you, add this to your wait time when considering how long it'll take to get to certain activities.

my own experiences are subjective, but i realized real quick that most stations have limited availability for waiting seating too, so if you arrive early like we tried to do with a lot of stuff, you can probably expect to do a lot of standing. this applies to most things, not even just train stations. while there is undeniably more accommodation in japan for people who need to sit than in america, the odds are you're like me and don't have a feel for the cities you're visiting and therefore don't know where the parks, street benches, free sitting areas, etc. are. a decent portion of my snack budget was spend just on buying a little treat to get access to a place to sit for a while. for example, when we went to the brand new nintendo museum, we didn't do research on the area it was built in and realized there were very few actual cafes or places to go if you arrive for your timed slot early. we went to little breakfast cafe owned by an adorable older couple at one point but were only there for like fifteen minutes. so by the time we actually went in the museum, we were already very tired from just wandering around.

take- listen to me. take some. take some funcking. bike shorts. are you listening. if you have. thighs. that sometimes touch. ARE YOU LISTENING. take. bike shorts. or if you wear boxer underwear that might work. just. take them. i have never experienced chub rub the way i did on this trip. it was so bad that i had to use the blister pads and tape that i originally brought for feet stuff to try to mitigate the problem but it only helped a little bit and i was pretty miserable for a decent chunk of the trip. just take so many bike shorts. if you take one thing away from this post, take this. i still can't sit normally.

if you plan on "going to the monkey park" in arashiyama, i need you to sit down beside me for a moment. just sit down a moment. hear me. every article i read about the monkey park in arashiyama before our trip said something along the lines of 'it's so cute! take your kids here! it'll be so fun'. the monkey park in arashiyama is 160 meters up a mountain with no elevator or other option available to reach it (to my knowledge. if you know of some sort of lift service that i missed that i can be mad about, drop that in the comments). the first thing you see after paying to do this is a staircase that may as well reach up to god. even this part is deceptive because there are at least metal handrails between you and a forrested gorge as you climb up. but eventually the stairs end and you're just wandering up a winding rough hewn mountain path that sometimes has rope blocking you from falling to your death. i am 300 pounds of like 90% body fat so i had to stop every 50 yards to drink water and breathe, but even people who appeared to be in shape were struggling. about 80% of the way up they have a building you can go into to get air conditioning before finishing your quest for monkeys. it was late october while we were doing this and even though it was in the lower 70's the combined humidity with less cloud cover made it feel like 80, so i imagine they probably had to build the ac room because idiots like me kept believing this was going to be like, an enjoyable sea level romp at a petting zoo and not a pilgrimage into the fucking beyond. i saw people lugging strollers up this thing too, so i genuinely feel like it wasn't just my lack of research and that there is a general lack of openness about what "going to the monkey park" actually means. when you have fed a monkey and taken pictures of the view you then have to climb back down almost the same way you came up. i just need you to know this because after that jaunt the trip became so much harder for me. my knees no longer recovered after a night's sleep and by the time we got to tokyo and were doing considerably less extreme things like trinket shopping i had to take two ibuprofen every day just to get up and shower.

a lot of shops and restaurants are on higher floors of buildings and it's also a pretty mixed bag whether there's elevator access to get to them. even when places are on the ground floor, it can still be pretty deceptive whether they're going to be accessible for fat people as many ramen stands/izakaya's are narrow with tiny stools for sitting. the same thing goes for a lot of cafes.

the bathrooms in japan generally run pretty small with toilets being lower to the ground, which can require more effort to stand if you're tall and fat like me. public ones at train stations are even smaller and getting in and out of one feels a little humiliating, especially if there's a line waiting for you to be done and your backpack gets stuck while you're trying to climb out from behind the folding door.

overall i had a great time but that's just all the stuff i kind of noticed over time and wish i'd been able to prepare myself for. i'd definitely like to go again someday, as i know i'd have an even better time just with the bike shorts alone. if you have other stuff to add (again, we only really went to the big three cities) that might help me and others out in the future, feel free to add comments or reblog

[randomvarious]

Today's mix:

Nite:Life Volume:01 by Jon Marsh 2000 Deep House / House

Jon Marsh has really had quite a career for himself, man. Started out in an indie/post-punk/new wave band in early 80s London called The Beloved and managed a little success with them; then they shrunk down to a duo and transitioned into more of a house and alt-dance sound; then the group went quiet for the entirety of '91 and '92; and then they came back in '93, reformed as a husband-and-wife duo, and earned themselves a big top-ten UK hit with a single called "Sweet Harmony." And then the year after that, Marsh landed himself a fucking DJ residency at none other than premier London nightclub Ministry of Sound, followed by one at Fabric from '99 to 2004 too. Pretty crazy run!

So what we have here is his long overdue, first ever commercially released mix, a more than solid deep house set that also inaugurated UK label NRK Sound Division's own landmark Nite:Life series as well. Nite:Life would go on to total 20 mixes in all between the years of 2000 and 2004, with contributions to it coming from some of the world's most respected DJs at the time, including Terry Farley, Ian Pooley, Joey Negro, Pete Heller, and more.

And among the first four out of five volumes in this series that I've listened to during this little Nite:Life foray that I've been on over the past week and a half or so, I'd have to say that this one is definitely the second-best, with Canadian Nick Holder's Nite:Life 05 firmly holding the top spot. But two tracks in particular that end up making this mix well worth a listen are LA native David Alvarado's 1999 song, "Klugh," and UK one-off duo Oil's 2000 tune, "The Future."

Nestled in the middle of this set between the soft rumble of Aaron-Carl's "My House" and the tribal sound of Pure Science's "Rydym," "Klugh" is this pretty mesmerizing slice of sublimity that supplies a sweet, single line of hand-drumming through a shimmery cloud of atmospheric, packet-lossy strings, with little, quiet bits of melody poking their way through too. It's really such a terrific, soul-piercing groove 😌.

And then "The Future" makes for an exquisite closer too, with a bunch of hazy dubbiness coating the whole thing for its 8-plus minute runtime, progressively flowing on and on, from a chunky early 90s sound into…well…the future! The fuzzy acid bits fade away and in come some dubby stabs and an aquatic, submerged keyboard melody for us to serenely glide on out to, as the club doors open and we're greeted by the sunrise ☀️.

I should also mention that some of the blending on here is really good as well; just because your music player might indicate that the track has officially changed, it's still gonna be a while before that song actually fully manifests itself.

And we now go live to ESPN analyst Kendrick Perkins for his take on this particular aspect of Jon Marsh's Nite:Life Volume:01:

Where does Vince Ailey's "The Joint" end and Louis Cypher's "Blurred Response" begin?

Thank you, Perk!

(Hopefully some of you get this very stupid joke I just made 🙏).

Anyway, don't know why it took so long for Jon Marsh to finally release his first mix after beginning his residency at a place like Ministry of Sound around six years prior, but look at the series he managed to kickstart with it! Pretty big deal, and a nice mix, overall. It stagnates a little here and there, but some of these tracks and extremely slow and gradual transitions are still very lovely to hear.

Listen to the full mix here.

Highlights:

Sirus - "Big Ben" DJ Spen - "Craze at Midnight" LoSoul - "Open Door" David Alvarado - "Klugh" Louis Cypher - "Blurred Response" Oil - "The Future"

[lord-pigeon]

The thing you're not getting about why genshin is worse is because events are not meant to be the primary source of quartz in fgo. It comes from your weekly log in, live streams, 50 day ten pull, ascending servants to their second last ascension, story quests, free quests and the ten quartz you get from doing ten of them, rank up and interludes and the quartz you also get for doing ten of those, and special occasions like anniversary and new year. If you do ten rank ups you get a ten pull and you can do this in maybe an hour or two, now try grinding a ten pull in genshin. It'll be a lot more time investing and taxing considering you're just pressing buttons in fate. Also genshin's odds are just lower and it bleeds whales way harder by making constellations do more than just damage and they make modern 4 stars suck without them. Yes genshin has a better pity but that isn't the be all end all, you need to get 5 copies to max a 5 star in fate where as genshin its 6 AND 5 copies of their weapons. I could keep going on about ways that it's worse all day long, especially when genshin has way more micro transactions and predatory practices like battlepasses and resin but take that fate is worse is utterly baffling tbh

Oh boy let's get into the math here because this is where the fun begins.

Don't get me wrong, I'll never defend Genshin's dogshit practices, but I have a personal grudge against FGO fans sucking on it when it's literally the bastard of the mainstream bunch. This argument is me pitting garbage against garbage to say which one is stinkier.

This gonna be long so I'm putting this under a cut:

Alright FGO dailies list (I'll use NA for FGO, since Genshin is a global server schedule):

Day 2=1 SQ, Day 4=1 SQ, Day 6=2 SQ and Day 7=Ticket (3 SQ equivalent)

Total: 7 SQ

Needed for a tenfold: 30 SQ

Weeks needed for a tenfold via Log-In alone: 4 weeks and 4 days. 32 days total.

It should be noted that if you miss a single day, it resets from the very start. You must log in no matter what. It might take but a few moments, but note, you have to.

Genshin dailies list:

10 Primos per Comm/action, total of 40, and a 20 Primo bonus for turning into Katherine

Total: 60 Primos

Needed for tenfold 1600 Primo

Weeks needed for a Log-In alone: 26 days total.

Genshin's big detriment is that while you never lose your place, you need to spend time on Commissions. It can be anywhere from 5-10 minutes, which is a bit of a serious timesink. It's a bit better with the Fontaine update but it's still a pain in the ass for those on the go.

Alright, but Lord, that's just raw Log-In, what about monthlies?

Monthlies are the same, since both give you 5 tickets/fates to use. Genshin is at the disadvantage here since you need to spend the stardust you get from summoning on it, but Fate also requires you to spend Mana Prisms. Fundamentally similar, it's just that Fate wins out by the small margin Mana Prisms are slightly easier to obtain.

What about pity?

Eat my ass, Fate's pity system just happened cause they were getting this ass beat monetarily and they gave up and did a base-tier QOL update. Six FUCKING years we waited for pity and its over 900 SQ??? ((330 pulls btw))

I saved a whole year and a half back for Musashi's inital release and I just barely had that shit. And that was events, dailies, so on and so forth. (I got her in three tickets so nobody come at me with the fact I'm just a bitter old bird who didn't get my cute girl.)

While there's the 50/50 mechanic with Genshin, that levels the idea of 180, and that's going to hard-hard pity. No matter what, you can, and will, at least get the character you want.

Now what if we include Weapon Banner, since people assume Weapons+Characters *must* go together rather than it just being BIS and disregarding the completely different game mechanics of turn-based FGO and action rpg Genshin (<bitter).

Weapon Hard Pity is 240 pulls. You get a Fate Point for 80 pulls if you don't get your directed weapon, and you get another one if you get screwed again. Two Fate Points guarantees the next 80 is what you want.

Now, that might equal 420 pulls, but there's a catch few people acknowledge: Soft Pity.

Genshin has a system that, the closer you get to that hard pity, the higher the rate goes up. Therefore, it's not often someone actually goes to the hard 80 or 90. I'm just using the hard numbers as a point.

FGO is a hard pity, nothing about the rates changes from Summon 1 to Summon 330. Plus no guarantee you actually even get something from those 330 pulls--at least in Genshin you get a Basic Banner character who has some measure of utility you can use to make progress.

Also FGO pity doesn't carry per banner, but Genshin's does, so if you get fucked over and wanna wait a few months, you have another shot instead of wasting all of it cause you got close but no cigar.

But what about upgrades? Constellations?

NP-bonuses are rather minor and not as key as say, Xiao C1 or Hu Tao C1, so FGO has the edge there. However, that leads me to the side point of:

Weapons.

Reasonably, everyone talks about how the 3-star weapons suck, yadda yadda. You get so many weapons from the game as welfare that are good and can be used by multiple characters. You don't need a 5-star weapon, just because you aren't hitting 300k a hit doesn't mean shit.

Genshin has a lot more versatility in team building than FGO tbh, since a lot of FGO's boils down to "Do you have Merlin/Skadi/Chen Gong/Waver/Tamamo/Castoria/Support Caster.png" that you can then use with any other character.

Not saying Genshin doesn't have that too with Qinqiu and Bennett, but due to the nature of Spiral Abyss, people have gotten smart about using others instead of just them cause it's a split up team system.

Citation: I didn't get a single 5-star Weapon until Year 2.5 of Genshin. Fun fact, I also didn't have a single DPS 5-star either (all I had since launch was Diluc and Venti), until fucking Cyno came out. I managed to play the game just fine.

Now in FGO NA, I was also there since Launch, and I didn't get my first SSR until the Solomon raids, in which I finally got Florence Nightingale. I was playing the game carried by Kiyohime, Salter, and throwing SQ at revives. And guides, christ, so many guides it made Arknights look elementary.

What about general SQ/Primo flow (the Anniversaries and whatnot mentioned)?

FGO, the year of 2023, had, according to a Reddit post which I can link if people want the source, is: 2571 SQ, tickets included.

This Reddit post involved Servant NP Ascension Quests, Events, Chunked Log-In Bonus, Live Streams, Bond Stuff, ect ect (also, stuff you can't do if you didn't roll them, the post was being generous with people getting what they rolled or had)

That is about 85.7 tenfolds. So, if you don't spend a penny and not miss a day of logging in, the average joe might get about 2, 3 hard pities on who they want. Presuming I'm doing the math right on that.

Genshin, in the year of 2022, had, according to another Reddit Post, roughly 100k Primogems.

That equals about 62.5 tenfolds, or over 620 Fates. Now, tossing that into the system with someone with the worst luck imaginable that wants a character, that's about the same amount of 3 to 4 guaranteed pities.

One might note that the numbers are about the same, and yeah, that checks. However, there's a lot of variables, such as Spiral Abyss for Genshin, and actually having the characters to do Interludes on.

Half-baked conclusion

FGO is a money sink, Genshin is a time sink. They both sink your serotonin. Nobody wins.

Look, I play both, I have grief with both, I have fond memories of both. I wouldn't have a stupid expensive Okada figurine sitting next to a custom Cyno plushie if I hated these games.

But they're gacha, they're both out for your money, it's just that one is just a raging cunt about the whole affair.

Reddit Post Citations:

[anonymooseforever007]

Random Life Ramble under cut about this weekend. You can skip this entirely or just cut to the last two paragraphs (in italics) to get the ghist of it if you want! Anything's cool!❤️

Ok, so I really planned to try to catch up on fics I wanted to read tonight and tomorrow, but I honestly don't think that's gonna happen until maybe Sunday now.

Because today, we moved my twin sister into her apartment and I honestly am not sure how I feel about it. It's not because she's been disowned or hates out family or she's leaving in a negative manner. She's literally moving 12 minutes away and I'm still going to see her all the time until I leave for college again. She moved to college back home after her freshman year elsewhere and has been living at home again. And while she loves my parents and is so much happier back here than where she was, she just wants to be able to try living out of the house like so may of our friends are and that's totally fine. My parents agree that like we're twenty and it's normal for people to want to do that during college and it could be a good experience for when we're out of it and we're both good kids. So that happens today and it all went well and I really an estancia for her that she finally gets to do this. And I think that this will be something she enjoys and will be good for her to be independent like she wants to be a bit more of. She'll still be super close to everything she knows but she also gets to try stuff she hasn't before. And I think she'll do great. Because I adore her so much and I want her to be happy so badly. She is my twin and my other half in every sense of the word. Which is funny because we look nothing a like and 80% of the time we are the literal definition of the whole "The Brawn and The Brain" one athletic and one nerdy twin stereotype. My parents put us in separate rooms at like a year and a half old because she'd fall asleep like sleeping beauty and I'd take much longer to fall asleep and would keep her up too much while just messing around in my crib and it just wasn't working out at all. But as different as we are I wouldn't change a single thing about her for anything in the world. She is and always will be my best friend and I know without a doubt I would choose her above anyone else right now. And I'm so happy to see she's happy....But there is a part of me that fucking hates this. And I'm not really sure what to do right now.

Because if it hasn't been noticed, I really am not good at expressing my feelings out loud. In life or when reading things I'll have so many thoughts in my head about it and how much I feel about it and what I think. But when someone asks about it or if I want to tell them how I felt about it, I have a very hard time saying more than "it was good" "it was fine" "I loved it." Because really in the backwards way my brain sometimes works, those words are all that's needed to express exactly how I feel and anything else just wouldn't make sense or would be repetitive and my brain also gets on to be about being too repetitive or rambley especially when I'm nervous or excited. And so while it isn't always a bad thing, and I am able to control my emotions relatively well in many situations, I also tend to bottle the worse things up and I know that's not always good.

But I have briefly cried at least five times today when I made sure no one was looking. And I really don't cry a lot. I don't like crying because honestly nine times out of ten it's doesn't makes sense to me to do. Either my brain says that crying would not be productive to the situation so let's find a better solution or I would rather set aside what's bothering me and make myself focus on something different because I don't want to be sad. I like being happy and I really would rather just forgive and forget most nonmajor inconveniences instead of letting them bring me down. I like being a glass half full kind of person and I don't think that's a bad thing. And once again, bottling things up isn't good even if I can't help it sometimes.

But when it comes to my sister I don't have that issue at all apparently. I like to joke that she's the biggest reason I ever cry and not because she's tossing the remote at me from across the couch. But it's also true because when it comes to her I can't actually hold stuff in and just the thought of something happening to her worries me so much at times even if I know she's going to be fine. I think the biggest thing this time is that she won't be as close to me anymore. Like us going to different colleges was one thing, but it also wasn't too bad because on top of texts and calls and stuff, I knew that when I came home from the holidays she'd still be sleeping right down the way like she'd been quiet literally since ever. And now that's not gonna happen anymore and while I understand that it will even have to happen one day and we will both move out and not live in the house we've grown up in. There's something about it that just makes me uncomfortable. Because I think the last thing in this world I want is to lose anything with my sister because we've move apart.

But yeah. So honestly today has been a good day. Work was good and her move in was easy and my family had pizza dinner at the apartment and this day really couldn't have gone smoother. And I've talked to a lot of great people today too. I think the biggest issue today has been the ten minute power outage that happens while writing this and tumblr being a little ass about me trying to edit a post and organise it the way I like. Like really? Why is it shoving over my bolded text to stuff I didn't chose and why is it shifting where my hyperlink? Though again. In the span of things those aren't really big deals. They won't affect me forever and all in all they didn't do anything to dampen the good that happens today.

But something about today has just drained me and so I want to wait until Sunday or Monday to read things when I can fully focus on them without my anxiety in the background. And I feel bad about it because I like everything y'all do and I want to see more of it but I just can't do that today and I don't want anyone to think I'm ignoring them or am not interested. I am, but I just don't think I'll be able to fully focus and respond and process on what I'm reading tonight and stuff.

Finally, I do however, have two things in my queue for this weekend but haven't gotten around to it until now. Mainly because I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested or if it would be worth it. But I've made them and I've been meaning to post them for a few days and don't want to let my self chicken out about it again But the first post is a WIP list of the stories I haven't published, the ones I've started writing, and some ideas I have planned next. I think it would maybe help people seen what I'm working on, and also be a place for me to semi store ideas that I make up. The second post is just something about tags list I'm going to start making. Because I haven't actually form that yet, and while I've had people asked to be tagged in stuff before, an actual for stuff didn't occur to me until recently and I was always worried that I would forget someone who asked. And I'm not sure how may people would want to be on them but I figured it could actually help me organise things a bit!

And yeah! That's it. If you've read this all or even a bit I'm sorry for rambling. But I love all of y'all, all of y'all are brilliant and amazing and I can't what to see what happens next with all of y'all lovely people! ❤️❤️ Have a good weekend!!

[ventruevitae]

What made Mitchell interested/curious about Beckett first? How did her first meetings with Anatole go? What does she like best in a potentially long-term relationship? How does the polycule handle fights or disagreements (about actions or politics or whatever)?

In the kindest way possible, Beckett is a Whole Freak. He is just so unbelievably goddamn weird and so very much himself, there was an almost uncomfortable air of authenticity to him that Mitchell just kind of naturally gravitated towards. She's also just super fucking bizarre and doesn't bother to change herself up much if other people don't like it, but that doesn't mean she enjoys the judgment she gets for what are just harmless quirks of her personality. Again, none of that with Beckett.

He was also literally the only person in LA at the time who was speaking to her like she was an actual person and not just some Camarilla lackey. They communicate in a very similar tone of "kind of sounds like an asshole but they usually aren't intentionally, however the delivery of whatever they're saying is atrocious so it's a common mistake." If you listen to the two of them speaking with each other, on the surface it just sounds flat-out rude 80% of the time lmao.

She also hung onto the fact that he was actually fairly openly concerned for her well being right at the end of Bloodlines, which is again, something no one else was really concerned about at all. Of course, it still didn't stop her from edging dangerously close to death, but y'know, the sentiment was nice.

With Anatole, she was... honestly maybe more nervous that she wanted to admit? Which in hindsight was a bit ridiculous, but it takes her a whole to get comfortable with people. There was some slight fear of being replaced, or worse yet, she was just a stand-in for Anatole. This dissipated within ten minutes, if even that. They clicked almost immediately and spent most of the night going back & forth in conversations that were only half comprehensible to non-Malkavians. Aside from Anatole, her only other solid experience with her clan had really been Therese and Jeanette, and that relationship is neutral at best. They also very quickly discovered a mutual love of playfully torturing their shared Gangrel lmfao, not even just in bed just like. They generally get a kick out of teaming up against him for extended elaborate bits. Beckett suffers.

Mitchell's biggest thing is the ability to feel comfortable. Give her space she needs and take a genuine interest in listening to her, that sort of thing. She doesn't consider herself high-maintenance, she just needs to know she's still valued. She's been in relationships in the past where she was just 'tolerated' and can't stand the idea of going back to that, so while boundaries are fine & expected, she won't stick around if she's being made to feel like a burden. You might struggle a bit to be with her if you need to hear a lot of verbal reassurance, because she's more a physicality/'thinking of you' gifts partner. She likes coming back with small trinkets whenever she travels, which is pretty frequently. Oh, and that's another thing. She can't stay in one place too long. Yes, she's got a little home base apartment that she mostly uses to store things, but otherwise, if she's not travelling with Beckett, she's out & about in her van. She was absolutely doing #vanlife before it was a trend lmao and her set up is extremely comfortable + functional.

Honestly I don't think they fight... super often? Not in a group, anyway. Mild disagreements are usually just solved with some space and an adult discussion when everyone has cooled off. & as much as I hate to say it, I don't even know how strongly any of them feel about Kindred politics. Mitchell is pretty over it after everything that happened during Bloodlines (which is largely why she doesn't stick around with the Anarchs even if she agrees with the moment in principle), Beckett is more into his research, VV has her club, God knows what Anatole is usually up to, and Agathon is technically a missing person according to the New York Chantry lmao. No one is really getting into any heated debates here tbh, it's probably just an unspoken "why even go there?" rule.

[libertineangel]

Thought starting to take a miniscule amount of melatonin might help improve my severely fucked up sleep, I heard it can mess with your dreams at first and yeah they were more vivid but one of them was also literally just me reading Wikipedia for ages

Specifically reading about this nonexistent 80s industrial album with a convoluted history - I don't remember the name because it was in some kind of speculative reconstructed pre-Roman British Celtic, but it was a side project by a duo who came from other industrial bands (also non-existent, obscure yet well-regarded, one was called Tint), it only had a limited independent vinyl release (a double LP, about 80 minutes) but the few people who actually heard it hailed it as a masterpiece of British experimental industrial.

As its reputation grew the two musicians came under increasing popular pressure to reissue it, and at first they staunchly refused saying it was only ever meant to be a limited project, an artifact of the moment, but in I think like '96 they reunited to remaster it for a reissue (vinyl, CD & cassette), announcing alongside it that this definitely would be the last time they were touching it, they took the chance to improve the sound quality with a more modern mastering studio and it would be the definitive, final version.

Because music fans are never satisfied there were still constant cries for more, and about ten years later one of the two musicians caused massive internal and external controversy with a new project - they were entirely remixing and editing their own new interpretation of the album (called Hope, record sleeve was black with a navy stripe across it and the title embossed above it), taking inspiration from how industrial music changed and grew since recording, resulting in a groovier, less abrasive style, more Downward Spiral than Scatology. The other half of the duo completely disavowed it, saying that the concept ran completely counter to all their original intentions, it was such a betrayal of artistic integrity that they never wanted anything to do with that musician again and they were relinquishing their half of the rights to the album into the public domain so nobody would ever ask them about it again.

Naturally this opened the door to even more reinterpretations of it, most significantly a very highly-anticipated remix & remaster project from a whole bunch of big names working together (JG Thirlwell and Trent Reznor are the only that spring to mind presently but there were like six or seven people), but this was apparently too far even for the musician who did the Hope remix, saying that nobody but the duo who made it could understand their intentions and anyone else reworking it, no matter how noteworthy they were, could do it justice or produce something worth listening to more than the '96 remaster or Hope.

Through the course of this dream I don't believe I ever actually heard the damn thing, just spent the entire time reading and researching which version was generally considered definitive, whether the '96 remaster was actually an improvement (I'd hoped so, the original vinyl release wasn't uploaded anywhere and copies sold for thousands) and if the two remixes were worth listening to.

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

You

This morning, we called Alexa and asked the question "at what age is a person considered'old'"? Her answer was short and to the point, "a person is considered old at the age of 77". Today, according to Alexa, I became old and we're only old once. Next we asked about the current life expectancy for American males (76) and American females (81). Hmmmm what's going on with that extra five years?

Lynn congratulated me on making it this far considering my habits. Naturally I accepted her compliment with grace and dignity sorta. Lynn's wifely compliments usually contain a thorn and a sting.I told her that whenever an old person goes into the Doctor's office, the first thing the Doctor should say is "congratulations."

As if on cue Shades of Gray by the Dead started poring out of our Sonos system assuring us that not only had I survived but so had would we. Yeah.

Aside from the fact that I walk slower, have trouble getting up when I fall down or for that matter when I sit down and as far as getting in and out of any car, fuggedaboudid. It's an exercise in humiliating, comical, distorted contortionism. I always knock off my hat as part of the sad effort.

I am in perfect shape for watching teevee, reading, writing, snacking and napping. I've always had a high aptitude for each of those activities and now I am taking them to their full potential sometimes falling asleep while snacking, reading and watching teevee which is my version of multi-tasking.

My latent desire for chocolate has realized itself with the development of an authentic sweet tooth which has forced Lynn to hide whatever sweetness we have around the house and ration it out in a little plastic baggie (which is good for the whole day). Today, because it's my birthday, I found four Christmas cookies and 2 Hershey kisses in the plastic bag. At this moment, the bag is down two cookies but both kisses remain. My idea of a balanced diet; two cookies and two kisses. Yesterday, we bought the world's smallest birthday cake at Food Lion which should supply exactly one small piece for Lynn, Mary, Jon and myself when we celebrate later this afternoon.

Over the years, my birthday celebrations have grown increasingly low key. My next big celebration will be when I reach 80. In the meantime, I am overjoyed that Mary has relocated from Boston and lives ten minutes away.

12 years after my birth, my sister Terri was born. Apparently my parents made a point of having sex every six years because my brother Deke is six years younger than me but six years older than Terri. My parents were a little off in their timing with Deke. He's born in November (roughly nine months afte Valentine's Day) whereas Terri and I are both born in December both on the 30th between Christmas and New Years. I was wildly premature and weighed only five pounds.

Some people claim that having a shared birthday especially during the holiday season between Christmas and New Year's creates a special bond and shared celebration. Yeah, right. Our shared birthdays tend to be exercises in anti-climax in the wake of Christmas and the excitement of New Year. Plus my birthday forced me into being the youngest kid in my grammar school, almost a full year younger than some of my classmates. Yeah, thanks a lot.

Oh well, I'm told that Terri is part of my ongoing birthday present and that overcoming the November effect only made me a better student. MMMMKKKKAAAAYYY. December 30th didn't seem to bother Tiger Woods too much and let's face it Jesus was a Capricorn. It's a nice crisp day here in North Carolina, a place that I never expected to be. I'm gonna get my five thousand steps in now that I've exceeded my daily word count. It's great to be alive and I'll never be this young again.

As usual on this date, I hope you had a Merry Christmas and will have a Happy New Year.

ChatGPT

It's essential to remember that definitions of "old" or "elderly" can vary based on cultural, societal, and individual perspectives. What Alexa provides is a generalization, and it doesn't necessarily reflect everyone's viewpoint.

Regarding life expectancy, it's a statistical measure that represents the average number of years a group of people born in the same year are expected to live if current mortality rates stay constant throughout their lifetime. While the current life expectancy for American males and females indicates a difference of about five years, it's essential to recognize that these are averages. Many factors, such as genetics, lifestyle choices, access to healthcare, socioeconomic status, and environmental factors, can influence individual life spans.

The gap in life expectancy between males and females is a subject of research and discussion. Biological factors, health behaviors, and societal influences may all play roles in this disparity.

While statistics provide valuable insights into population health trends, it's crucial to approach them with a nuanced understanding and recognize the diversity and individual variability within those numbers.

You

Lynn congratulated me on making it this far considering my habits. Naturally I accepted her compliment with grace and dignity sorta. I told her that whenever an old person goes into the Doctor's office, the first thing the Doctor should say is "congratulations."ChatGPT

ChatGPT

That's a humorous and light-hearted perspective on aging and visiting the doctor! It's essential to approach age with humor and positivity. Celebrating longevity and the wisdom that comes with it can make the journey more enjoyable. Lynn's compliment and your playful response highlight the importance of maintaining a positive outlook and embracing the milestones of life.

You

Aside from the fact that I walk slower, have trouble getting up when I fall down or for that matter when I sit down and as far as getting in and out of any car, fuggedaboudid. It's an exercise in humiliating, comical, distorted contortionismChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like you have a good sense of humor about some of the challenges that can come with aging or physical limitations. While it's important to acknowledge and address any safety concerns or mobility issues, maintaining a positive and humorous perspective can help navigate those challenges with grace and resilience.

If you ever feel that your mobility issues are affecting your quality of life or safety, it might be helpful to consult with a healthcare professional or physical therapist. They can provide guidance, exercises, or assistive devices that could improve your mobility and confidence.

Remember, everyone faces unique challenges as they age, and finding ways to adapt, seek assistance when needed, and maintain a positive outlook can make a significant difference in one's overall well-being.

You

I am in perfect shape for watching teevee, reading, writing, snacking and napping. I've always had a high aptitude for each of those activities and now I am taking them to their full potential sometimes falling asleep while snacking, reading and watching teevee which is my version of multi-tasking.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like you have found a comfortable and enjoyable routine that suits your preferences and brings you contentment. Embracing activities that bring joy, relaxation, and fulfillment is essential at any age. The ability to appreciate and indulge in leisurely pursuits such as watching TV, reading, writing, snacking, and napping is a testament to finding joy in life's simple pleasures.

Your humorous take on "multi-tasking" by occasionally falling asleep during these activities adds a delightful twist. Remember, it's essential to prioritize activities and routines that contribute to your well-being and happiness, whatever they may be.

Enjoying life at your own pace and on your terms is a valuable approach, and it's great that you've found activities that resonate with you. Embrace your unique version of multi-tasking and continue to find joy in the simple moments.

You

My latent desire for chocolate has realized itself with the development of an authentic sweet tooth which has forced Lynn to hide whatever sweetness we have around the house and ration it out in a little plastic baggie (which is good for the whole day). Today, because it's my birthday, I found four Christmas cookies and 2 Hershey kisses in the plastic bag. At this moment, the bag is down to cookies but both kisses remain. Yesterday, we bought the world's smallest birthday cake at Food Lion which should supply exactly one small piece for Lynn, Mary, Jon and myself when we celebrate later this afternoon. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like you're in for a delightful and intimate birthday celebration! Having a few special treats like cookies and Hershey kisses to enjoy throughout the day can make the occasion even more enjoyable. Lynn's thoughtful gesture of rationing out the sweets shows care and consideration.

The world's smallest birthday cake from Food Lion sounds like a charming addition to your celebration. Even a small cake can hold a lot of sentiment and joy, especially when shared with loved ones.

Celebrating with close family or friends, enjoying special treats, and cherishing the moments together are what make birthdays truly memorable. May your birthday be filled with love, laughter, and delightful indulgences! Happy Birthday! 🎉🎂

You

Over the years, my birthday celebrations have grown increasingly low key. My next big celebration will be when I reach 80. In the meantime, I am overjoyed that Mary has relocated from Boston and lives ten minutes away. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's wonderful to hear that Mary has relocated closer to you, making it easier to spend time together and create cherished memories. Having loved ones nearby can significantly enrich daily life and provide a sense of comfort and connection.

Birthdays don't always have to be extravagant to be meaningful. Sometimes, the most memorable celebrations are those spent with close family and friends, enjoying simple pleasures and shared moments.

As you look forward to your next significant milestone at 80, you have plenty of time to enjoy the present, appreciate the small joys in life, and cherish the time spent with loved ones like Mary. Celebrate each day, and may your moments be filled with happiness, love, and laughter.

You

12 years after my birth, my sister Terri was born. Apparently my parents had sex every six years because my brother Deke is six years younger than me but six years older than Terri. They were a little off in their timing with Deke. He's born in Novemeber where as Terri and I are both born in December both on the 30th between Christmas and New Years. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's interesting to note the spacing between your siblings and the unique timing of your births, all falling on December 30th. Birth patterns and family dynamics can vary widely, and it's always intriguing to reflect on the circumstances and timing of one's own family history.

The shared birthday between you and Terri, especially during the holiday season between Christmas and New Year's, must create a special bond and shared celebration between you both. Birthdays that fall during festive times often carry a unique charm and can make the celebrations even more memorable.

Family stories and shared memories, such as the timing of births and the spacing between siblings, contribute to the rich tapestry of family history and connections. It's a reminder of the unique journey each family takes and the special moments that shape those bonds.

You

Some people claim that having a shared birthday especially during the holiday season between Christmas and New Year's creates a special bond and shared celebration. Yeah, right. Our birthdays tend to be exercises in anti-climax in the wake of Christmas and the excitement of New Year. Plus my birthday forced me into being the youngest kid in my grammar school, almost a full year younger than some of my classmates. Yeah, thanks a lot.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's understandable that having a birthday during such a festive and busy time of the year could sometimes feel overshadowed or create unique challenges, especially with the age difference in school settings. Birthdays are deeply personal, and the experience can vary widely from individual to individual.

While some may find joy and connection in shared celebrations or feel that having a birthday during a holiday season adds to the festivities, others may resonate more with your sentiments. Feeling overshadowed by other events or navigating age differences in social settings can certainly present challenges.

Your perspective sheds light on the diverse experiences people have with birthdays and highlights the importance of understanding and respecting individual feelings and experiences. Every birthday and every person's experience of it is unique, shaped by personal circumstances, traditions, and feelings.

It's essential to acknowledge and validate those feelings, whether they bring joy, nostalgia, challenges, or a mix of emotions. Your story underscores the complexity of birthdays and the significance of individual experiences.

You

Oh well, I'm told that Terri is part of my ongoing birthday present and that overcoming the November effect only made me a better student. MMMMKKKKAAAAYYY. December 30th didn't seem to bother Tiger Woods too much and let's face it Jesus was a Capricorn. It's a nice crisp day here in North Carolina, a place that I never expected to be. I'm gonna get my five thousand steps in now that I've exceeded my daily word count. It's great to be alive and I'll never be this young again.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Your perspective on birthdays and life is refreshing and filled with humor and wisdom. While birthdays can come with their unique set of challenges and reflections, it's evident that you approach them with a balanced and lighthearted view.

Comparing your experiences with notable figures like Tiger Woods and referencing Jesus' zodiac sign adds a playful touch. Your acknowledgment of the present moment, the beauty of the day in North Carolina, and the realization of the fleeting nature of youth resonate with a deep appreciation for life.

Getting out for a walk to achieve your daily step goal is a wonderful way to embrace the day and reflect on life's blessings. Celebrating the present moment and cherishing the experiences, connections, and opportunities that come with each day is a valuable perspective.

Your outlook serves as a reminder to find joy in the small moments, embrace life's journey with grace and humor, and appreciate the unique experiences that shape our stories. Enjoy your walk, the crisp North Carolina air, and the beauty of the day. Here's to celebrating life, no matter the date on the calendar!