#Rowan sun

[livfastdieyoung69]

ROCKSTARS NEVER DIE-

(Ch.2) A Nikki Sixx Story.

Rowan woke once again to a kick in the ribs with a groan.

“You know I’d be a lot happier if you stopped kicking me every morning.” Rowan grumbled into the same grimey, sweat stained pillow they had a week ago.

“Still not morning. And you have to go to that audition thing that one guy invited you to.”

“His name’s Mick.” They mumbled, moving to look over at their beloved guitar, a shitty worn down Stratorcastor modified to play their signature tone, only to find it missing. “Where the fuck is my guitar?”

“I had to take it last night when you came home at 4 am and started playing Iron Maiden songs as loud as you could turn your amp to.”

“Fuckin’ love Iron Maiden, man..”

“Yeah, I know. Do you know where this is and do I have to drive you? Cause Dotty asked if I could come in and if you want a ride we have to leave in like five minutes.” Holly rambled, her words getting faster as she tossed her light brown waves over her shoulder. Rowan took a minute to process what Holly had said.

“Uh…its..just up the road. I’ll just walk, Hols it's fine.” They finally spoke looking up to the girl towering over her from their place on the mattress.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind driving you.” Holly was always concerned about Rowan, which was fair enough with all of the dumb shit they seemed to do.

“Really it’s fine, I could use a walk. And a smoke.”

“Alright, well, I’m heading out then. Call the diner if you need anything, ok?”

“I will. See you, Hol!”

“See you, Ro!” She yelled before slamming the apartment door shut. Rowan struggled to get up from the mattress with a groan and a few sighs before finally getting ready for the day.

A harsh knock sounded on the apartment door, bringing the attention of the small group inside. A faint shout could be heard through the poorly built walls before the door knob began to twist. The door almost seemed to wobble as it was opened, a gust of wind giving off from the quickness of the skinny man on the other side.

“What can I do you for, dude?” Maybe man wasn’t such a good word. He was more of a young boy with a shining smile and mop of hair, the same complexity of Hollys, to match. A pair of drumsticks were sticking out of his belt.

“Um, Mick gave me your guys’ address.” They picked their guitar case up from off the ash-covered, cement ground. “I’m the guitarist- rhythm guitarist, I guess.”

“Oh, right on, man! Come on in, Mick just got here too. I’m Tommy and Nikki’s taking a piss but he's the bassist.” Rowan threw Mick a small wave from his place by his amp- M.M. carved subtly into the top. “Oh, and that’s Greg.”

The bathroom door opened to reveal who Rowan guessed was Nikki, still fixing his studded belt back on, and pulling the attention away from the blonde man- supposedly the other rythm guitarist they had at the moment. He looked up after closing the bathroom door behind him and clumsily pointing over at Rowan.

“Who’s this?” The question came out through a sigh as his eyes shifted over to Tommy’s. 

“I’m Rowan. Mick thought my sound would be cool with yours, so..” They finished with a shrug, eyes trailing through the room. 

“Wait- what the hell is this?” Greg spoke, clearly frusturated- or maybe threatened was a better description- by Rowans presence. 

“Chill, dude. They’re just someone Mick knows and we figured- might as well try it out.” Tommy tried to settle the man, the quiet of the apartment quickly returning very awkwardly.

“We have an extra amp if you need it.” Nikki spoke up, carrying an extra amp over to them.

“Uh, yeah thanks. Sorry, I couldn’t carry mine over, but I’ve got the cords and all my pedals.” Rowan finally set their guitar case down and opened it, shoving the cords over to Nikki so he could plug it in and lifting up their guitar- a dark red SG with pinstripe work Rowan had done themselves over many grueling hours and a couple homemade add-ons to the model that gave it just the right sound. 

“Tune that however you want, and we’ve only got one copy of the sheet music so I guess just play whatever feels good.” Rowan tuned the amp- which was smaller than the others, but not by much- as he continued talking. 

“That's fine. Can’t stand that fancy-ass sheet music shit anyways.” They mumbled in response. Nikki glanced over at Tommy’s drum set to find Tommy with the same amused look, mouthing “Mick 2.0” at him. Nikki chuckled at the younger boy before moving his eyes over to Rowan who continued with their tuning. 

“You can tune all your shit and we’ll play with….him first and then when we’re done we’ll play with you. See what sounds better.” He started walking over to his bass while he talked, pulling the strap over his head and strumming the strings of the unplugged instrument while he continued talking. 

They began quickly, Tommy counting the others in. Mick sounded just as good as he always did, which was fucking fantastic, but the Greg guy was too slow. Everyone else was pretty clearly aggrivated everytime he missed a note or fell behind. They didn’t even finish the song, Nikki had gotten annoyed and just stopped playing in the middle of it. 

“I’m ready when you are.” They spoke, flicking their pedals on with what was left of the rubber sole of their worn-down sneakers.  The amps hum grew from behind them, and Nikki seemed to be holding on to any sort of hope that they would sound good. 

The wooden sticks in Tommy’s hand clung together in the correct beat before Mick started strumming his guitar, Tommy and Nikki joining in shortly. Rowan stood with their eyes closed, hands twitching up and down the fretboard as they searched for the perfect note and listened to the others at the same time. As the drums picked up, Rowan waited for their opporunity to jump in, and did so quickly and effortlessly. 

Nikki and Tommy looked at each other once more, amazed at the sound coming from the SG- unheard, and unbelieveable. Mick watched them play with a sense of pride, but Rowan was oblivious to it all with their eyes still closed and mind on nothing but guitar. Nikki couldn’t have found a better fit- it was fucking perfect. Now to get rid of this Greg dipshit. Before Nikki could do anything about, Rowan did. 

“Yeah, so, I’m obviously better. You can, uh..” Rowan trailed off, clicking their tongue and pointing towards the door with their thumb. Greg laughed in a tone as if to say, “unbelievable”.

“Look, I was here first, alright. Tommy, tell them.” The clackering of Tommy’s drum stick made Rowan turn, finding Tommy bent over. “Nikki? Come on!” Nikki only shrugged. Greg didn’t even think of looking at Mick, they weren’t on good terms to start with. “Really?! You’re gonna listen to this weirdo over me?” Rowan gave the man a sardonic smile as he yelled over them at Nikki who only looked to the ground. 

“Then fuck you guys, man! And your shitty fuckin’ band.” He unplugged his guitar, and made a dash towards the door. It kinda sounded like he was crying as he slammed the door. Tommy let out a laugh from behind his drumset. 

“Well. Free amp.” Rowan spoke. They really were a bunch of assholes, huh?

“So….what's with the eye?” Apparently Tommy had a thing for asking rude questions to guitarists after admitting them into the band. Nikki sent him a frustrated whisper of his name, receiving a clueless look in return.

“What?” Sometimes Rowan forgot their left eye wasn’t normal, or functioning. “Oh! Uh,” Their hand moved to play with the dent left from a scar in their left eyebrow above the once brown, but now a cloudy white eye. “Just- somethin’ that happened when I was a kid.” After Rowan's avoidance of the question, the group of four went back into silence, the sound of Mick’s beer bottle clanging against the patio table set in the living room as one meant for dining

“Anyways..” Nikki looked over to Tommy while he spoke, still iriated with him. “We really need a fuckin’ singer. And I’m not about to settle for some regular looking, normal sounding asshole. We need a dude that looks like David Lee Roth with a vibe like fuckin’ Bowie.”

“So..we’re lookin’ for a skinny, blond fucker.” Mick stated.

“A skinny, blond fucker with moves.” Rowan corrected him, finishing off the rest of their beer, the same clashing that happened seconds earlier reoccurring before Tommy got the chance to respond.

“Wait-wait, I think I know our guy dudes.”

rowan got that dawg in em winning everyones hearts over in like thirty seconds

I’m actually pretty happy with this, and im really glad to be writing again, i actually think im boutta start writing the next chapter rn nikkis just been on my mind so much recently, my motley obsession comes back at least three times a year and i just reread the herion diaries and got his other two books so thats def not helping (also this is giving me an excuse to rewatch the dirt for all of the lines)

[sollucets]

episode nine: when the earth tilts

[dollybeagle]

fireface or monkeystar

rad name bud

[anskupics]

Spring lake

[weakhero-diaries]

Weak Hero Print Edition Vol 6 (Out in Korea since September 2023)

Front and back covers

Look at these pretty babies.

[starryeyedadmirer]

✨One of the many downsides of vacationing alone, at eight months pregnant…✨

[nightmaskart]

Tam and Rowan

[infamous-if]

"#also pls excuse any typos or awkwars sentences i whipped this out and didn't edit it or anything i dont usually edit drabbles sorry!" Are you fucakhfing JOKING?? (affectionate) What does your work look like when it's EDITED???

please....my fragile ego can't take it....

thank you!

[pokeprofshowdown]

[knight-engale]

I lied, I love them more than a normal amount

Wedding CG! It's been a while since I did one. I might have a thing for evening weddings...or maybe they're just more interesting to draw because of the lighting, idk

@wiltingdecay

[inlocusmads]

slam poetry ~ stevie sun x rowan stone

Rowan decides she wants to audiotape the outcomes of her cases instead. With Stevie's involvement, it turns into the world's worst podcast. (Murder at Homecoming)

wc: 1.4k, teen and up, strong language

a/n: written for @choicesjanuary2024, day 16: "relationships". Ever since I finished MaH I really wanted to write something for Stevie and my MC Rowan but somehow writer's block hit. Eventually I stumbled upon this scene from 22 jump street which inspired, well, this whole thing.

Audio recording number -- erm, I might have lost track of this stuff already. Let’s call it Number 3, because I haven’t done this in a while and the previous was Gabriella’s case, which I think has enough audio transcripts of mine being circulated around in several small magazines.

All right, let’s do this one last time. Name’s Rowan, Rowan Stone. I have a missing sister and for the last er, let’s say two years-ish-- I’ve been a -- well, let’s say I’m more than happy to do stuff for this dead-end town. Kind of a hobby, actually. If I’m off the video game controllers and not playing the drums, I’d suppose. I don’t like cop work, not a fan of sitting at a desk either. My policy is to just toss paper at annoying people. Hate the clicky-clicky sounds of keyboards, hate when people cross-talk - people in general. 

Are you recording tapes again?

Stevie, arghh, this is going in the archives, for heaven’s sake! Now I’ve got to do it again.

What’s it for?

The -- thing, the-- 

You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?

No, it’s like -- you know how I have been writing down my case reports as of lately?

When have you ever maintained an archive?

I thought it would look good on my resume or something, isn’t documenting a big thing now? You take five hundred photos everyday.

Someone has to document you moments before a disaster.

The idea is that I don’t have to deal with stupid keyboard clicks. You know the kind of annoying noise they make? 

Aw man, I thought you were into the weird detective aesthetic with the smokey room and the brown furniture and this rusty-ass typewriter.

Anyway, well, I was meaning to record this tape as a summation of what happened with Pierre and the test scores thing that I cracked. You know how he ended up hacking into the school’s servers and everything. Blew out of proportion, I tell you. Pierre was right there and yet everyone had to blame it on Brian. The dude hasn’t seen sunlight in over ten days from that tendon he pulled. 

That’s it?

Yeah, I mean, that covers it, right? 

Okay, Ro, I love you, but you are the absolute worst at summing things up.

You’re not pulling a twenty questions on this, are you? Vogue 75 questions or something?

I am surprised you know what vogue is.

Of course, it’s that Madonna song. Kidding.  Honestly if it weren’t for Stevie right now, I would have been done in ten minutes.

Right, isn’t that what Einstein said? Spend time with a girl for five minutes and it’ll feel like ten or something? 

Totally not what Einstein said, but go on.

He also sat on a stove or something, right? Reckon he got his rear end burned or something?

Listeners, I humbly submit to you the stuff I put up with on an everyday basis. No, Stevie, I don’t suppose anyone wrote a thesis on Einstein’s charred end and I don’t think nobody wants to either.

Who are you even talking to? I mean, what’s this thing even for?

A Case-Revisiter.

You’d be better off typing on a keyboard, though.

I’ll pay you twenty bucks hourly to help me with this.

Nahh. No offense, but like I have way better things to do. Have I ever told you the time when I graffitied the vice principal’s desk? Serves him right for cutting off funding for the arts program to fund a get this, SEASONAL, emphasis on “seasonal” baseball league that somehow never happens. Oh my god, Rowan, you should look into this. If anyone smells like embezzlement and uh -- a bunch of other shit, it is this dude. Anyway, the graffiti was hilarious though. I drew like uh, like this erm- thing, y’know?

And who’s terrible at summing up again?

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait-- I’m trying to like, remember-

Right. Listeners, you might as well get bundled up for the next ten years.

Who are you even distributing these tapes to, even? I mean, I know there’s a market out there for feet and true crime, but like, we’re neither. 

True crime sucks, by the way.

We should put like a picture of a foot, but with blood and stuff. Yay, podcasting.

For the record, listeners, this is your standard Stevie-Does-Oddly-Specific-Jokes-Because-She’s-Run-Out-of-Material segment.

Unless this is for your personal use, which is like, okay weirdo. I mean, if you really want to go to sleep with my voice running in the background, you can do so with some discretion. Like actually asking me.

For the last time, this is -- honestly I have no idea why I am doing this. My dad found this tape recorder thing and I was like, sweet, I don’t need to store hundreds of voice notes in my phone anymore.

You have voice notes?

Yes, actually. Some of them are long elaborate slam poetry things about you, falafels and the justice system.

Aw, you write slam poetry about falafels?

I’ve only got one line, though.

What is it?

Falafels are great. They’re -- your-- 

Rowan Stone, everybody. Will give Sappho a run for her money. Not the historical Sappho, the one I know from Couscous. It’s like this grimy run-down club that plays Avicii and Avicii only but they have these slam poetry nights where people just walk in with shit like ‘roses are red, violets are blue’. 

Weren’t we talking about Pierre?

Pierre’s shit at keeping secrets. That’s why he gave you such an easy case. Donovan and I had the whole forging-ID business and this dude walks up and asks if he could get into this place, like a molerat and he blew our cover. Pierre, if you’re listening to this, fuck you for ruining my business and everything, y’know? I was running that like my own battalion of tin soldiers that puts Kathy Neighbourhood-Woman’s Christmas decorations to shame. Also, stop ruining school for us and forge your report cards like a normal person.

Let the record show that this is the first and last audio-memo-whatever-the-heck-this-is I am ever doing.

Good. Let’s go out. Come on.

There’s this fun karaoke place down the road that just opened up. But I do have --

I’ll punch you if you say work. You’re a child! An infant! A-- uh, small human person.

Chores, I have chores. Mom’s already pissed that I have, maybe pissed some people off at school for turning in my assignments late.

Get out of chores, y’know? Also you probably saved the whole town or something. Not cool, Mr and Mrs Stone. Also is it me or do you also see how weird the whole process of ‘grounding’ is? You get chores as a penalty for not doing homework. That’s like getting shot in your leg but being treated for an allergy to mushrooms. 

Karaoke sucks though. We should get absolutely wasted in a bar.

I don’t know if you’re being serious or not.

Honestly, it’s difficult, because on one hand, it’s like-- nothing good happens in Beachwood. Karaoke places get shut down. Bars are raided because I dunno- for reasons. Carnivals are an excuse for sponsors to get more money into their pockets which ruins the experience for everyone. Arcades are no longer fun because the games are rigged to make you funnel as many quarters as possible.

You know, I thought dating would bring out a change in you, but you still sound like a grandma who has a picture of Aragorn thinking it’s Jesus.

It’s so difficult to make a change, though. I still think we should just do something familiar.

I am not having a repeat of the tuna salad incident.

Remember when this audio recording was supposed to be about Pierre?

Pierre who?

Now I remember this is why I had a crush on you.

The baiting isn’t going to work. I do it with nuance. What you do resembles a pathetic wet cat. You are not dragging me to the tuna-salad place. Please.

But I wrote some poetry, besides the falafel stuff. Here, listen to this. Titled ‘For Stevie’.

Someone kill me, please. 

‘Slam Poetry! Lots of yelling! Waving-’

Pierre, where the fuck are you, Pierre?

‘Generic compliments about hair and eyes. Specific instances where I decided I liked her. Stevie! Ste-uh-vee-’

Okay, forget I ever said you were cool.

‘Not to be confused with steeds or the V in sweaters. Ancient Romans! Lots of uh, gerunds. Loving, big lovey-doving, uh-- girlfriending. Girl, friends -- ding. Doorbell. I reach out- press the button. Butane gas prices. Pa-pa-pa-’

All right, I’m pressing this button.

Wait, wait, wait, I’m not done yet, I’m not do--

***

Tagging:

perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam @stars-are-within-me

I don't know if I ever plan on writing for MaH consistently, but if you are interested in these fun lil stuff, let me know! (Say even a potential Nora-meets-Rowan crossover fic) I'm also thinking if this garners a bit of interest, I'll do a character sheet for Rowan. Thank you so much for reading!

[livfastdieyoung69]

ROCKSTARS NEVER DIE-

(Ch.1) A Nikki Sixx Story.

A knock pounded on the wooden door. Rowan ignored it like they always did. Another knock followed by a yell of their name that didn’t even have to travel through the door thanks to the fist-sized hole. A loud puff of air came shortly after before the person on the other side stuck their hand through the hole, unlocking the door themselves.

“Rowan.” Rowan didn’t budge. They crept over to the mattress on the floor. “Rowan!” A groan left their mouth after a kick was swiftly delivered to their rib cage. It wouldn’t have hurt so bad if it wasn’t for the pair of Keds on the person who did it.

“What the fuck do you want, Holly…” Rowan finally turned over, removing their face from the grimy pillowcase.

“You promised to help out at the diner today, remember? Kelly can’t come in and I said you could. And all of the dumb rockstar guys coming down from the rest of the strip like you anyways.”

“That’s cause I am one of the dumb rockstar guys.” Rowan finally sat up, their feet meeting the ground. “No one's gonna be out anyways, it’s the fucking morning in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It’s seven pm, Rowan. We have to be there at seven-thirty. And please put something on that isn’t leather!” Holly hollered the last sentence as they left the dirtied room. Rowan let out another groan, bringing their hands up to their face before jumping over to the pile of clothes on the floor muttering about how they’ll wear whatever the hell they want.

Rowan quickly left their room after choosing a pair of torn-up jeans with a leather lace-up crotch just to spite Holly along with the wife-beater they had fallen asleep in the night before. At the sight of the terrible 70s furniture and bright lights, they left the living room even faster than their room in search of a cigarette and the pot of probably cold coffee.

“We gotta go Ro. And you’re not smoking in my car, so can you please just wait until you get a break or something?” They responded with nothing but a sigh before chugging the ice cold cup of coffee they had just gotten to and stuffing the already crumpled pack of cigarettes in their back pocket. Rowan turned around to find Holly waiting at the door with an impatient look on her face so they just grabbed their sneakers to put on in the car.

The bell on the door of Tony’s Diner rang, and Holly entered with a moping Rowan dragging their feet behind them.

“Sorry I’m late Dottie, Rowan wouldn’t wake up again,” Holly spoke as she rounded the corner to find the older waitress looking for the pens that always seem to be lost.

“Oh, you’re alright Holly. Where is that troublemaker anyway? Last time I saw the kid they were skin and bones.”

“Yeah, they still are. Got a little better since they moved in but I’ve been trying to get ‘em to eat more. I think they saw someone they knew sitting down and went to say hi.” Rowan turned the corner right after Holly spoke, their eyes lighting up with recognition at the sight of Dottie.

“Hey, Dots! How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright Ro. It’s nice to see you after a while. You been hanging in there after..all that?” At the mention of Rowan's overdose, they noticeably tensed up and looked down, embarrassed before nodding their head and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I don’t do that stuff anymore.” Rowan tried to move away from the uncomfortable conversation, looking over to the line cooks to see who was working.

“Ro, what the hell happened to your hair?” Hearing Holly’s words Rowan turned back around, eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Oh yeah, someone lit my hair on fire last night so it’s a little uneven.” They scratched the back of their head and went back to inspecting the kitchen for at least one cook.

“Christ, kid, didn’t you just say you stopped doing all of that?’ Dottie's words may have been harsh but her tone was soft and full of worry.

“Well, yeah, I meant I stopped taking fuckin’ Xanax man! What, do you want me to just throw my partying days away? Let me have some fun.” Rowan walked away after quickly grabbing a notepad and a pen in hopes that the conversation would finally stop.

“I’m glad Rowan has you Holly. I don’t think they’d be alive if they didn’t.”

“Yeah…I don’t think so either.”

The diner was surprisingly empty for how late it was. There were always at least two big rushes. The first one was the people who didn’t really party all that much and didn’t like the music all that much either. They were calmer and tipped more. But they were posers so Rowan wasn’t a fan. Then the second crowd would come in a few hours later, and a lot rowdier. Most of them were black-out drunk, maybe even a little high. They partied, and rocked, and fucked and most of them were huge fans of Rowan. The first was smaller than usual, and now they just had to wait.

Rowan stared up at the clock. 9:57. They let out a sigh

“You okay over there?” Another waitress- Sophia, Sam, something that started with an s- asked.

“Uh, yeah. Could you just let someone know I’m gonna go have a smoke? Thanks.” Rowan left quickly through the back door out of the kitchen, a cigarette sitting on their lips by the time the cold wind pushed against their face. The small fire of their lighter brought warmth to their fingers and smoke to the air. Minutes later the heavy metal door creaked open.

“Hey, Ro? Someone’s asking for you out here.” Holly spoke cautiously. It was obvious Rowan wasn’t used to being sober this late.

“Uhm, alright. Just..just give me a sec Hols.” They squatted down before speaking bringing their arms up to the side of their face, trying to block out the sounds of the strip and the oncoming migraine. Their hands moved from gripping the back of their neck to rubbing their eyes. They sucked a breath in and held. One, two, three, four, five. They breathed out, crushing their cigarette butt on the floor, and stood with another sigh before moving back inside and to the table Holly had told them.

“Alright, what the fuck do you want?” Rowan leaned against the wooden border of the booth, staring at the man with his nose stuck in the menu.

“Nice to see you too.” The man looked up, a small smile setting on his face at the sight of them.

“Oh, hey man. How’s it goin’ Mick?” After realizing who it was Rowan sat in the other seat opposite of him, sinking into the sticky and crumbling booth.

“Y’know, the usual. Life's a bitch, my back hurts, and I’d like to die in a hole.” He responded, voice the same sarcastic monotone it almost always was. “You?”

“Same-same. Life’s a bitch, still going a little insane, and I did die in a hole last week. Unfortunately, i’m back.” The pair shared a couple of kind smiles- unlikely for the both- and fond laughter, before Mick took a sip of his shitty coffee, no sugar, no cream, and Ro picked at the fake wooden panel peeling up from the table.

“Listen, there’s this new band I’ve been playing with for a few days and we could use a rhythm guitarist. You’d fit right in and I said I’d ask around, see if anyone would be down.”

“I mean, I don’t have anything goin’ on right now, sure. This band gotta name or somethin'?” Rowan moved their arm to sit on the booth behind them as they slouched back. Mick let out a huff of air.

“Yeah, I wish. Don’t even have a fuckin’ singer yet.”

Yahoo! A new story :) I’ve been wanting to write a motley story for agesssss. On Wattpad as well just cause I prefer to write on there and paste it over here lolololls. Enjoyyyy

[sollucets]

thank you, my ride 💛

[dollybeagle]

seven red suns? with a nonbiney flag maybe?

i know you sent this before i announced the pride icon reqs but

this is real and valid SUNS TOLD ME THEMSELVES

[midnightsun-if]

Question

Out the academy faculty and shopkeepers who would win in a brawl?

Hmm… That’s a good question!

I think if Rowan participated they’d wipe the floor with everyone, but they wouldn’t (unless pressed to do so). Though Clarissa may be able to get an upper hand in a few instances.

Clarissa, Isadora, Theon, and Astrid would probably be the top contenders. Clarissa being an Archangel, Isadora due to her various capabilities (and lack of care for the rules at times), Theon due to his abilities with shadows, and Astrid because of her actual battle experience (being a Valkyrie).

Though Grimm would be able to hold his own too, and I think Esmé would surprise people with her tenacity.

[rowan-ashtree]

hiya!! can i ask what your blog title “bob, glob, and mr. chamberlain” refers to? 👀

hahahahahhaha yes you can!!! it's these three fine fellows that were given to me by my parents for christmas!!

the wooden/painted one is Bob, the gold one is Glob, and the little stone one is Mr. Chamberlain :)

why do they have these names, you ask? well,

i got the idea in my head that i should name them after racehorses. not for the fast-slow irony, just because racehorse names are pretty buckwild.

now, here's where the podcast MBMBaM comes in. they have a deeply ironic obsession with horses. they talk about the kentucky derby quite often. and one year, the horse that won the derby was named Orb. they became obsessed with this fact, as we all should be tbh. hold that thought in one hand.

as i was listing horse names, i remembered some names that the McElroy brothers (mbmbam hosts) had come up with. these included Uncle Honey, Buttermane, and Mr. Chamberlain. hold that thought in your other hand.

after i got the snails, i asked my siblings and parents for name suggestions. i was becoming obsessed with "orb" as a name for a snail, but i knew i wanted my three little guys to be somewhat of a set. my mom started suggesting names in categories (e.g., Mack, Peterbilt, and Kenworth), and one of these sets of names was Bob, Glob, and Rob. at that point, one of my brothers suggested two short names and a long one. almost immediately, i was enamored, and here comes the moment where you smash the first two thoughts into the current one, to create the final set:

Bob, Glob, and Mr. Chamberlain. "Orb" isn't in the mix, but i felt like bob and glob carried the spirit of "orb" somehow. and once i had the names, it was pretty intuitive which snail needed which name. thank you for coming to my SnedTalk (snail tedtalk)