#and 80% of the gifts were solid

[cas-coding]

tagvent bc yeah

[tacticaldiary]

just found ur account, u post some rly awesome stuff. i was just wondering if you could write a fic for either the 141’s ghost or price in an established relationship with the reader and they forgot the readers birthday?

Forget Me Not

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt No Comfort

Simon's a sharp man. He can't afford to be anything less, lest he ends up with a bullet in his back but it's most often the more mundane and meaningful things that slip his mind. Her birthday, for example.

Masterlist

There wasn't an expectation to go all out for every little celebration in their lives. Both Simon and her were relatively quiet people, preferring to keep celebrations more intimate between them. A small gift for an anniversary, a walk along the beach. It was the little things that were the most special to her, they showed her that grandeur and big gestures weren't the only means of expressing love so deep and devoted.

But never had it come to one of them completely withdrawing.

Their birthday were a slightly more lively affair, having more people involved. Simon, of course, was not particularly fond of having his own but hers? In the past he'd arranged surprises for her on the day, whether that be contacting her family and friends or pulling her out of bed in the morning with breakfast he'd made just for her.

It's why it's so surprising to see him go about his morning like a completely normal day.

He'd kissed her in the morning, no different than how he does every day, went about the house gathering his gear for work that day. Nothing special, just a debrief he needed to attend in the afternoon.

"You'll be going in today?" She asks, unable to keep the slight frown off her face. Her coffee cup is set on the counter with a small 'clink.'

He nods, leaning down to lace up his boots. "Got a debrief at noon. Johnny's been yapping our ears off about a new bar he found so I've no doubt he'll find a way to drag everybody there afterwards." He rolls his eyes but she can tell it's in a fond way.

As disinterested as Ghost might act, she knows he's fond of his team.

Ghost nods, straightening up once he's done with his boots. "Don't wait up for me. Might be a while till I'm back." She watches, a little stunned as he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead before hitching his bag over his shoulder.

Oh.

She didn't think he'd...forget.

"Are you sure you're not forgetting something?" She asks half thinking he's playing some sort of joke on her. He couldn't have forgotten...right? Simon was normally so good with these things. He'd never forgotten before. "Something else that's today? Something important, maybe?"

He gives her a blank look, coming to a stop next to her. "Nothing important enough to remember." He responds, pulling out his keys.

She knows he doesn't mean it like it sounds to her, but that doesn't stop the pang of sudden hurt. Nothing worth remembering?

He was probably trying to be funny with that dry humour of his, but after waking up to him already out of bed, excited to spend the day with him, finding out he'd be going to spend some time in some bar instead of with her today...

It really does sting.

She knows she could call out to him, just tell him that it's her birthday today, but part of her just...doesn't want to. If it wasn't worth remembering, maybe she should celebrate by herself this year...

He calls out a goodbye. The front door opens. Shuts close behind him.

Silence.

She draws in a long, slightly shaky breath and picks up her coffee mug, willing the stinging in her eyes to recede.

                                 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Simon's had a pretty smooth day so far, which is something that almost never happens. The debrief went smoothly confirming that the Russian intel they'd spotted the other day had been solid enough to warrant the extraction op the team was to take in two weeks time. The bar Johnny had been so eager to show them hadn't been half bad either.

The decor was old 80's themed, a nice polished mahogany bar spanning the entire length of a wall. Ghost had taken to sitting down with a whiskey, watching Price and Gaz play pool while making idle conversation with Johnny sat by his side.

Well, 'conversation' was a generous word. It was mostly Johnny doing the talking with him answering every now and then, or chiming in with a hum to show he was still listening.

"I'm surprised your still hear, you know." Johnny says, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Had a fight with the missus?" Gaz's voice joins in, the other two having wrapped up their game. He orders a drink for himself before sliding into the stool next to Ghost. "Got to agree with Soap on this one. I'm bloody surprised you're in deep enough shit to spend the night here instead."

Ghost stares at them like they're stupid. Maybe they are, because neither of them are making a lick of sense to him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He drains the last of his whiskey, not missing the look exchanged by the other two men.

"Mate-" Gaz says incredulously.

"Nah, he's not that daft." Soap cuts him off. "He's just fucking with ya."

Gaz narrows his eyes at Ghost. "I don't think he is."

"He's gotta be. Everyone knows-"

"Will either of you spit it out?" He sets his glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

"Bloody hell, you did forget." Gaz whispers. "Oh, you're a dead man." Soap recognising the frustrated twitch of Ghost's hand decided to blurt it out before hands get thrown.

"It's your lass' birthday today." Soap says. "Don't tell me ya forgot."

Ghost go through a rush of feelings all at once.

First in disbelief. He's not stupid, of course he'd remember something as simple as a birthday, especially hers. The second is doubt, because the look on Gaz's face is one so full of pity it makes him uncomfortable.

Ghost pulls out his phone to check the date and...

Shit.

The third feeling is disbelief. There's no way he just forgot. Someone must be fucking with him.

"Are you sure you're not forgetting something?"

"Nothing important enough to remember."

The barstool scrapes as dread and guilt twist his gut. Grabbing his coat, he makes for the door without another word, cussing out Johnny for the cackle he laughs behind his back as he leaves in more of a hurry than anyone's ever seen him.

8pm. He'd spent the entire day taking the piss with the guys on the one day that should have been dedicated to her.

He'd been away for so long, arriving home only a few days ago and he'd just...left her again. Granted, those few days being so busy had been out of his control but still. That wasn't an excuse, he decides, turning on the car.

He hadn't been busy today, and had had the time to go back home to her after his debriefing.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel.

                                 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her earrings glint under the light of their bedroom. Staring at herself in the vanity, admiring the gorgeous dress her friend had gifted her for today, she can't help but feel a lack of excitement for the upcoming night.

Simon has really forgotten. She'd come to terms with it a couple hours ago when the sun had finally set and she'd realised that it wasn't a joke. He'd really, truly forgotten.

Going out partying hadn't been the plan at all, but when he friends had come over to give her a hug and presents, they'd seen her upset, still in her house clothes and decided it was completely unacceptable for her to spend the day like that.

Ushered into getting ready, they'd made plans to meet at this new upscale fancy restaurant before hitting a few clubs on the way back home.

Better than nothing, she reminds herself, chasing away thoughts of what her night might have looked like if Simon had stayed. No time for sulking, this was supposed to be a happy day. She was supposed to be happy.

So why does she feel tears sting at her eyes when she reaches for her purse to check if she has everything? Blinking them away, she takes a second to compose herself.

The key jingle in the lock, the sound echoing from the hallway into their bedroom. She tenses in surprise. Was he home?

Hope blooms in her chest. If Simon was home, maybe he did remember? Maybe he came home early to-

No.

No that wasn't right, she chides herself, smile slipping off her face. Even if he did remember now, that's not an excuse for forgetting the rest of the entire day, for leaving her feeling so shitty and going off to drink with the others.

Straightening her spine, she takes a deep breath and heads for the door. Her feet take her halfway down the hall before the front door flies open on its own, baring the man in question.

His knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping his keys, and some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes when he lays eyes on her. Something akin to relief, as if he might have thought she wouldn't be there when he got home.

"I-"

"Early night?" She straightens out her dress, feeling his eyes on her. He's quiet for a beat, assessing the situation before acting. Ever the soldier. "Mine's just starting." Her voice is as even as she can make it.

Simon shuts the door behind him. "I didn't realise-"

"That's right." He doesn't get to speak right now, doesn't get to fill her mind with pretty apologies and promises. Not this time, not tonight. "You forgot, Simon." A flash of guilt in his eyes makes her feel a pang in her chest she refuses to let take the reigns. "You forgot." She wavers for a moment, clears her throat to regain some control. "Nothing important enough to remember, right?"

It's a punch to the gut, hearing his words thrown back at him with the knowledge of how she interpreted them. His jaw clenches, frustrated at himself for letting something like this slip by him. "I'm going to make it up to you, yeah? Just let me-"

"No thanks." She shakes her head.

"Just let me finish," He narrows his eyes, a little irked at being cut off over and over again.

"No, Ghost." The way he tenses at his name being abandoned for his callsign is proof enough of how he's fucked up. "I don't want to hear it, alright?" She swallows. "I don't want to hear any of it, I'm going out, I'm going to have a good time on my goddamn birthday with my friends, and I'm not going to let you make me cry before I leave."

Cry? It's then that he notices how red her eyes are. Guilt slams into him hard enough to wind him, it worms it's way through his chest and eats him alive, gnawing on the little parts of his heart that haven't gotten calloused.

The first thing he notices when he walked in was how gorgeous she looked. Standing there in front of him in that dress, he's well familiar with most of her clothes, having been the one taking them off at the end of the day, but this one he hasn't ever seen before and it hugs her just right, enough to make his mind blank for a moment when he first walked in.

But he understands. Ghost sees the way she's clutching onto that purse of hers, the way her knuckles are white and the slight shake of her shoulders.

She's trying not to cry.

Because of him.

Fucking hell, that hurts. But not as much as what he's made her feel. Simon wants to argue, wants to tug her close and make it all better, but he sees that she means it, and hell does she deserve to have a good time after the way her morning went.

Simon steps aside with a tight nod.

Letting out what almost is a small, shaky sigh of relief, she brushes past him on the way out and Simon really doesn't have enough self control, because his hand wraps around her elbow to halt her in her tracks.

"I'm sorry, love." He says, so gently, so quiet. Such a stark difference to how he usually is. "I really am. And I will make it up to you, yeah? I promise."

A tight knot forms in her throat, threatening to send a fresh wave of tears at her conflicted feelings. It's all she can do to give him the barest of nods, avoiding his eyes.

"Don't wait up for me. Might be a while till I'm back." She echoes his words from the morning back to him before she shakes off his grip and leaves him alone.

An empty house, a mind full of buzzing remorse.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Reply and Like!

(11/07/2023)

[nhothicket]

is it too late for Halloween?

Some close ups and silly spare thoughts about this half-baked au below the cut ^v^

Some thoughts:

It's extremely important for this au that Etho is very enthusiastic about his clowning, okay? Nobody's forcing him to do this he is a PROUD CLOWN.

The setting is probably somewhere in the 80s-90s at an amusement park with a carnival vibe. I thought it might be fun to have all the Halloween hermits be canon, but I also see this being a world unaware of the more supernatural goings on, so I'm not sure if that could pan out. Maybe some sort of veil from the supernatural might be in play? Who knows.

Anyway! This is about Ethdubs not those other nerds.

> So, in this amusement part there's an oddities attraction of sorts. There resides Bdubs, he is a haunted heart preserved in a jar, not an actual attraction though just set dressing for the creepy shed vibe. As the story goes this jar has been passed around for decades, but its progressively gotten heavier despite being untampered with. The preservatives have gotten thick and changed colors over time. This is actually just Bdubs' spirit taking its sweet sweet time to manifest, as he slowly materializes around his heart, the preservatives turn to ectoplasm.

Most of the time he's sealed up in the jar, thanks to this mystical veil regular people usually can't hear him grouching about the tight space. The jar itself is part of his haunting, which means its technically part of him and he can't pass through it. So, until Etho realizes the disembodied voice he's been hearing come from the little building is not all in his head, Bdubs was stuck there.

> Bdubs' more human less goopy form is also a bit translucent in that form and he's not at all solid. If Etho were to poke him in the arm his finger would go through with some pressure. A firm hug would be fine at first, but he'd quickly start sinking into the ghost. It takes a lot of energy to be that physical, so Bdubs hardly does it. He's capable of leaving his heart in the jar and being a more traditional wispy ghost in that image, but... he feels left out when he can't touch things, so he'll usually choose being a bit gooey over being a beautiful beautiful man.

His heart is the only part of him that is completely physical. It is a real object in the world still, he's possessing it. It's what allows him to be more physical, so if someone were to reach into his chest and pluck it out he'd turn into a wisp. (He and Etho have both done so repeatedly to make bad jokes about heart stealing). How did Bdubs' heart get in a shady unmarked jar? Who knows. The people who ran the place probably don't even know its a real human heart anymore.

> Bdubs frequently lies about how old he was (recalling and inserting himself into historical events he wasn't even born for), Etho humors it.

> Bdubs died before Etho was born, this is the subject of mockery on both sides. (Etho would've been born maybe a decade or so after Bdubs died, he's in his 30s at present)

> Etho's gimmick is being comically good slight of hand and magic tricks. He's not supernatural, but he's like fantastical in his competence when it comes to looking magical. Etho invents (realistically jmpossible) contraptions to make his magic work.

> Horse drawn buggies would've been on their way out as Bdubs was growing up, so he could be nostalgic for that, I thought it might be cute if Etho took him out on one of those horse drawn tours as a surprise. Don't mind the clowny guy carrying around a jar with a heart in it.

> Another funny thought I had, Bdubs asking for a grand sarcophagus after getting jealous of the attention a new mummy is getting in the attraction. Etho doesn't buy him a sarcophagus, but he does get him a novelty canopic jar from the gift shop of a nearby museum.

Okay, that's all for now. ^v^;

[delta-pavonis]

Ficlet: O that I were a glove upon that hand

Dreamling || Human AU || Rated E || ~1100 words

(Because Tom doing Romeo at VogueWorld 2023 gave me some feelings and Ferdie is often in his Venice Preserv'd look in my head... although with longer hair.)

This has, perhaps, gone too far.

Let's back up.

Everyone in the department, most people on campus, and – because of a viral video of him going off at the director during a dress rehearsal of a Shakespeare in the Park performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream – a damned large swath of London all know of Dr. Robert Gadling's particular and peculiar hate of the Bard. It is what makes this whole thing incredibly frustrating.

Gifts. Hob has been getting gifts. Left for him in conspicuous places, each more finely crafted and expensive than the last. And each with a goddamned Shakespearean love sonnet on it.

If it wasn't for the nature of the gifts themselves Hob would be absolutely certain someone was taking the piss. (Jo, that would probably be Jo.)

But each gift is so bloody thoughtful; carefully chosen with an uncannily tuned awareness to Hob’s personal needs and tastes. This person either really cares for him or… well, he would think the person a possible stalker except that everything they have done relates to something that has happened in public, with full easy access for many people to make a judgment that Hob likes or needs something. 

There have been six of them now. And aside from the fact that Hob’s living room wall now looks like all those movies where the authorities are frantically tracking a serial killer, complete with a map of London and lots of red sharpie, he is rather… flattered? 

It has been a long time since… well. The anniversary of Eleanor's death will be rounding on eight years this winter. 

Hob thinks he has worked out a pattern to when he gets the gifts, is like 80% confident he can guess when they have gotten placed in each location, from his university office, to the men’s dressing room at the White Horse Community Theater, to his usual table at the New Inn. Add to that his approximately 60% confidence in the reasoning behind the temporal spacing of the gifts, and he is ready to roll the dice.

He locks up his office a tick early, as usual on Thursdays, and makes all appearances to head home before going to that evening’s rehearsal. But as soon as he gets home he is donning a new hoodie no one has seen him wear before, slinking back out the garden door, over the hedge, and jogging to the theater. Hob closes himself into the darkness of the men’s dressing room a solid two hours before anyone is scheduled to be anywhere near the place. 

And he waits. 

Hob is good at waiting.

He is crouched where he will be behind the door when it opens, but this puts him immediately next to some of the accessories storage for costuming for this show. And oh, they have gotten in a new pair of leather gloves for him.

Just because he is good at waiting doesn’t mean that he never gets bored. 

Hob slips on the new gloves and works his hands in them. These will be perfect to swordfight in, fantastic.

And then the door creaks open. 

He freezes and watches, only the sliver of light coming from the hallway to help him. A masculine figure, slim, in a peacoat, walks silent as a hunting cat to the second chair from the far wall, just where Hob usually gets ready. 

A hand runs softly across the back of the chair once before a small box is left on the tabletop. Then as quietly as they came in, the person turns to leave. 

Just before they get to the open door Hob pounces.

There is a shout and a scuffle, the two men – for it is another man, of that Hob has no doubt – grappling as one tries to escape and the other hold on.

Which is how Hob ends up with his black leather-gloved hands wrapped around the pale swan neck of his longest friend. 

They haven’t seen each other in… fuck, it feels like more than a hundred years. And they had not parted on good terms. 

“Christ, Dream?” Hob pants out the nickname but does not let go. 

Diamond-sharp blue eyes that could belong only to one person stare at him from beneath heavy lids. He parts his lips to speak, but at the same time Hob shifts the grip of his hands and any words Dream was going to say get lost in a breathtakingly thready moan. 

Barely a heartbeat later they meet in the middle, Hob’s hands going to the back of Dream’s head and Dream’s arms going around his shoulders and their mouths fit together like goddamned puzzle pieces and Hob knew, he fucking knew, it would be like this. 

They knock over no less than two chairs, collapse against a wall for a minute, then one of them pushes off and they are almost going ass over tea kettle onto the couch. A bit of quick footwork on Hob’s part and they are on the opposite side of the room.

By the time Hob has Dream sitting on the vanity they have gotten their shirts off and his bare back slams into the mirror’s surface, sliding and squeaking with the thin sheen of sweat. He gets his hands under Dream’s thighs, hikes him up to grind their clothed erections together, and once Dream has his legs wrapped around Hob’s hips he brings one hand to his mouth to pull off the gloves.

An unsteady hand grabs his wrist. “Leave them on.” Dream’s voice is even lower than Hob remembers it. 

There is fumbling to get flies open and then Hob has his hand wrapped around both their cocks and is pumping. Dream’s fingers are now tugging on Hob’s hair, his body arching prettily as Hob gets his lips and tongue onto that beautiful neck.

Hob is about to be embarrassed by how quickly he is nearing completion when Dream pulls him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he shudders through his orgasm. 

“Come with me, Hob,” is whispered against his lips and Hob is absolutely lost to it, shouting into Dream’s collarbone.

They are still panting, large heaving breaths, when Dream tugs Hob’s hand up from where it is wrapped around their spent pricks so that he can lick the leather clean. Hob watches that pink tongue dance between his fingers and his cock almost twitches in interest. He huffs a laugh and takes Dream’s chin in his grip, pulls their mouths back together so that he can speak against them. 

“Hello, Stranger.”

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: cisfem Character: Cracker Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: Government Mandated Marriage AU Prompt: Bath/Shower/Hot Spring Gift Giver: @seafoamnautilus

Summary: You've been matched with one of the more prominent members of the Big Mom's Big Sweets international candy corporation, and... you're not really sure how. No sense in worrying about it however, time to enjoy the vacation Mama sent you on!

Content Notes: open air bath, oral sex, fluffy

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You sat nervously in the hot springs, waiting for your soon-to-be husband to come join you.

The vacation had been decided by his mother. A way for the two of you to get to know one another without anyone else getting in the way. It was, perhaps, a bit much, you thought, but the sentiment was appreciated.

Several years ago the new world government had instituted a mandatory marriage system, to combat declining birthrates and failing population counts. People were getting married less and having fewer children, and so here you were - effectively nobody important, matched to one of the sons of one of the wealthiest CEOs in the entire world.

Big Mom’s Big Sweets were a world-wide business, and there were rumors that she’d had most of her children in order to ensure that they were able to keep the business in the family regardless of how successful it became.

Cracker might have been the 15th child born of 80 or so, but he was fairly high up in the company, and almost as well-known as his sister Smoothie and the current assumed heir apparent, Katakuri. He was more comfortable in front of a camera than his siblings and that’s how you’d known a bit about him even before the MatchBook had arrived at your home.

It still seemed like some sort of error. You weren’t anyone in particular. No notable heritage, and your family was only wealthy in the middling sense. You had a decent education and a stable life, but almost all of Linlin’s children were married to other heavy hitters.

There were rumors that she was controlling the match making process to some extent to force it to work out that way.

You sigh. Maybe you were here right now as a means of dissuading those rumors.

It’d been three weeks and she hadn’t demanded a Rematch, and neither had Cracker. He seemed genuinely happy with the arrangement, and you weren’t uncomfortable around him. His family and his wealth were intimidating, but he was, as you had quickly learned, surprisingly sweet.

He’d gone out of his way to help you feel comfortable, and even now he had let you get ready for the springs on your own, the moment you’d hesitated about it.

You heard the paper door slide open, and Cracker stood there with his hair down, a towel wrapped around his waist. You’d seen him with his hair down before now, but not while also practically naked. He was well-built, lithe, but solid, and the long locks cascaded down over his shoulders so neatly.

“How is it?” He questions, coming over to join you.

“Very warm, but not uncomfortably hot.” You reply, an easy smile on your face. You hope you can blame the hot springs if your face starts to turn red.

He’s… unfairly hot like this.

“Good,” he steps into the spring, coming close enough to talk comfortably with you, but staying far enough away to avoid making you uncomfortable. “Sorry about Mama,” he says with a sigh, draping his arms over the rocks and shifting as the water relaxes him. “She can be wildly stubborn about stuff like this, it’s best to just make the most of it.”

“Oh, no, it’s… it’s fine.” You assure him. Your smile’s a little nervous as he looks over at you, but you shake your head. “I haven’t been on vacation in years, I was overdue, and this is… it is nice.”

Cracker smiles, the expression putting a twinkle in his eyes. “All the better then.” He leans back, looking up at the stars, and letting himself melt in the hot water.

There’s idle chatter between the two of you. He complains about his mother a little, and promises he won’t let her hold you to any weird standards or stresses. He asks about what kind of wedding you want, so that he can push back on details with her in your place, and eventually a staffer arrives and provides you both with something to drink and snacks.

“Chilled sake and sushi.” Cracker’s brows furrow. “Booze and hot springs don’t mix. They should’ve brought us iced tea - ah.” He waves a card between his fingers and you move closer to him to take it. It’s a card from Mama, explaining that the extras are part of the gift.

“We can have it when we get out then.” You say putting the card back on the tray. Your gaze shifts from the tray to Cracker.

Wet. Naked. Close.

The steam’s made his skin shiny, and his hair’s sticking to his frame, and the sweet smell of the sake.

You reach out without really thinking, and brush his hair aside, finger drawing a line along his collarbone. His skin shifts as he swallows and you look up at him. Your heart beats faster in your chest, but you shift and move a little closer, letting your other fingers press against his chest until the palm of your hand is flat against his skin.

“Sorry,” you say softly, even though you don’t back away.

A smile tugs at his lips. “S’alright.”

“You’re… very handsome… like this.” You admit, gaze shifting down to his lips. Your tongue slips over your own and you can hear the water ruffle as he tenses.

“I… the scar…” He mutters.

You wouldn’t have guessed that it bothered him, considering how self-assured and in control he always seemed to be. Especially in front of the camera.

“Is it wrong, to say that it makes you more handsome?” You question, your gaze shifting from his lips back up to his eyes.

“… Not at all.” He lets his arms come down into the water, and you could feel his fingers press against the towel as he rested his hands on your waist.

“I want to do more than kiss you.” You admit, feeling heat flush your body for the first time despite all the time you’d been sitting in the springs.

“I think that’s what the booze was for.” Cracker grins, still guiding you closer.

“Then, we’d be doing what your mother wanted.” You point out.

“That we would,” he sighs, the smile growing wider, hands firm against your waist.

“… Just this once then?” You question, lips moving closer to his.

“Just this once.” He agrees, tilting his head as you lean down and kiss him.

You let your body rest against his as he explores your mouth slowly. Lips pressing heavy against you, tongue slipping over them, just barely putting on pressure, wanting access to something more, but not pushing you for it.

When your lips part sweetly for him he tugs on the towel wrapped around you, and you pull the cloth ties holding it closed, leaving him to pull it free and throw it over the tray of food and booze neither of you care about right now.

Hands against your back steady you as he leans into the kisses, as he leans into you. Hungry lips move away from yours tracing along your jaw, trailing down the curve of your face to the turn of your neck. He moves you both deeper into the springs, away from the doors and any more possible interruptions. Lifting you up on the far edge of the rocky pool, you gasp at the cool air against your wet skin.

“Cold!” You shiver as he spreads your legs, still in the deep warm water himself.

“You won’t be.” He promises, one hand bracing you and leaning you back as he licks against the insides of your thighs, shifting your shivering gasps into a trembling quiver of a different kind.

He wastes little time, plunging his mouth into your pussy, and devouring you. Wet and hungry his tongue flicks against your clit, before lapping at your labia as his thumb rolls against your clit sending jolts and warmth through you. You’re cold still, but not nearly as bothered by it as your body begins to warm from the pleasure he’s giving you.

Your fingers weave into his wet hair and he hums against your body. The deep vibration makes your body curl and you sigh pleasure into the air.

His hands move over your body, teasing your breasts, warming your back. You aren’t sure which he’s more desperate for, the sweet slick of your cunt, or the soft feel of your skin. But the firm touch becomes drier and warmer as he continues, and after a few long, delicious minutes, you no longer feel cold.

All your shivering is from the pleasure building between your thighs. Every sweet sound that drips from your lips spurs him on. You’re sure his jaw has to be getting tired, but just as you’re ready to ask he pushes his tongue deep inside your pussy.

Putting your hands over your mouth, you throw your head back and nearly scream as his tongue fucks into you. He has enough of a grip on you that you can’t squirm away as the pleasure builds, his breath hot against your slick.

He wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly against his face as he slides you off the edge and back into the water. A harried squeak of surprise turns into a deep, satisfied, moan as your eyes roll back in pleasure. The warmth of the water making the orgasm stain your muscles and skin instead of making your body tense and shiver as he carries you through it from beneath the water.

Hazy and panting for air, a little loopy from the deep orgasm relaxing you, you smile at Cracker as he comes back up for hair. There’s a big, satisfied grin on his face as he leans in and kisses you.

“All the best sweets are even better wet.”

[wisteria-lodge]

Assorted historical notes for the last chapter of my Jedtavius fic (happy pride everyone)

~ It’s funny that Romans get associated with this super stoic, real-men-don’t-cry thing, because Roman men had a really interesting relationship with crying. It was linked more to power and class than to gender - it was expected that a general or a statesman would cry during a speech, a surrender, or after a battle. You’ll get someone like Quintus Sertorius who was apparently really good manipulative fake-crying, but this was a risky strategy. Romans were absolutely happy to accuse you of laying it on too thick to be sincere (especially if you were lower-class or a woman.) But the thought was that if you didn’t cry at all, it was because you didn’t care that much, which in itself was suspicious.

~ In general, things DO seem to turn out better for Apollo when he’s with guys. His male love interests end up as gods, or are given impressive gifts (mostly prophecy, without the caveat “... but no one will ever believe you,” as was the case with poor Cassandra.) Iapyx actually got a choice between healing and prophecy, and went with healing, which is a solid choice. And unlike Daphne, Cyparissus apparently really wanted to become a tree.

~ I love Latin terms of endearment, and Octavius was only able to use a few of them (in translation of course.) But here’s a list of my favorites:

- Carissime (dearest) - Care (dear, beloved) - Dulcissime (sweetest) - Bene merens (worth it, of value) - Anime (breath, life) - Cor (heart) - Anticula (duckling) - Dēliciae (enticing one) - Lepor (delight) - Suāvium (kiss) - Mel (honey) - Melculum/mellilla/mellītula (little honey) - Palumbulus (little dove/little pigeon)

~ It didn’t end up being relevant, but I did work out a run-down of the specific legion Octavius commands:

Legion I Musea: - 1 Praefectus castrorum (Gaius Octavius) - 5 cohortes (infantry + artillery units) - each 80 men, lead by a centurion) - 1 sagittariorum (archer unit) - 80 men, lead by a centurion) - 1 Medices (medical unit) - 10 men - 1 Quartermaster - 1 Weapons instructor - 1 Camp records-keeper - 1 Standard Bearer

[thescribblings]

Hi i sat down to make a 30 minute funny haha sketch of cryptid Orion but it turned into like a 4 day piece with a whole ass story behind it instead, i made an AU of my AU, this image would take place about forty years after the future timeline portal to send Casey back in time

My AU SFFL(WG) Is a little special in a sense that the turtles are going to live closer to 120 rather than die sometime around 80.

Really long infodump under the cut

I'll be reffering to the Orion in the new AU as Leon, and SFFL(WG) Orion as, well, Orion. Akari is my future Donnie and Atlas is my future Raph.

I think ima call it ''It all went according to plan'' since, well, this is the outcome if Orion never got sneak attacked in the base that day, those claw marks never happened, everything went smoothly, they sent Casey junior to the past just like they planned.. then they didn't know what to do with themselves, the will to fight died out, they'd done it! alright, cool. what now? what happens after the end? there was nothing to fight for anymore.

This does not mean they gave up, however

Now, why does he look so different? that would be a secondary muation triggered by excess radiation, Orion did have a secondary mutation as well, which led to his teeth changing, he had some crowding and his new teeth were digging into his gums, but Akari helped with that, fixed him up. it gave him a tail, something none of his brothers have, it also affected his height, and his eyes. he's by no means the tallest of his brothers at 7'4, but all of their heights were.. well, exaggerated due to the radiation all around them, especially Leon, his height is a solid 9'1. Orion's eyes used to be brown, which you would be able to see if i ever drew lil Leo, but Leon doesn't have irises or pupils anymore, no, it's all just that bright, radioactive blue now.

So, as you can see he's a bit less.. humanoid than Orion, more exaggerated proportions, segmented shell, a slimmer and longer neck, much longer tail, his nails turned to talons- hell, he grew new talons on his heels, and spikes sprouted by his knees and elbow. his talons and spikes are protruding bones, yes, his bones sprouted out of his skin, they have a keratin coating on them very similar to his shell.

Those blue glowing markings are just straight up due to radioactivity, Orion also has them but they only appear when he's around something radioactive, he's basically a living geiger counter. Meanwhile Leon has them visible permanently.

Now, his body (thanks to Draxum) was designed to be able to withstand large amounts of radiation without getting sick, but he didn't account for almost sixty years of non-stop radiation exposure. As you can see he's crying, that's a bit odd, right? why's it blue? that would be his body's way of filtering out excess radiation, he is perpetually crying straight radioactive material. you also might have noticed his mouth from that close-up, its right side is dislocated and the cheek is torn from something getting tired of hearing him whistling to keep himself entertained a few years ago, it shut him up.

You might also have noticed his blade, it's.. kinda hard to miss, lmfao. it's about as long as he is tall, and it actually has a name, he named it 'Hope'. as you can see the handle is wrapped with his, Akari's and Atlas' masks, it's not very visible but his scarf is also tied around the base of the blade in favor of wearing it, he also used parts of the Raph prosthetic to reinforce it. Here's the blade on its own

When Casey went through that portal, no one dared follow him in fear of crashing the timeline, Casey decided to give his hockey mask to his remaining family- to Leon- as a parting gift of sorts. he wears Casey's mask around his neck to keep it safe, also as a way of remembering, he can look at the memories and data stored within it anytime his memory gets fuzzy.

His thigh prostetic is exposed, the silicone sleeve acting as replacement skin stopped fitting many, many years ago. more of his natural muscle became exposed to help accomodate his added height, along with some of the nanotech retreating into his replacement femur to make it grow with him, leading to that thigh being a bit slimmer than it otherwise would have been. there is also a bit of a blue glow from the back of his throat, which is another sign of his body having an overabundance of radiation.

If you know anything about my AU SFFL(WG), you should know that Orion has a thing called survival mode, this is an instinctual state his body entered when he didn't have enough to eat, drink or enough time to rest, for that matter. his ninpo started sustaining him, removing his hunger, his thirst, and his need for sleep. eventually draining his nipo completely, then he couldn't use it anymore (until he got to the present and they managed to convince his body that it was safe again), he spent around 11 years unable to portal or reach out to his ancestors. it came with side effects and consequences of course, and this is something that just kept getting worse for Leon, having been in survival mode for around 49 years, he basically doesn't eat at all anymore unless he stumbles upon something mildly edible, mildly edible is usually something alive. he has nothing to drink and he has nowhere safe to sleep.

He's in a lot of pain from the changes his body went through, and his whole jaw situation definitely doesn't help with eating.

Mentally, he's very vacant. He is still there, still intelligent, he just needs safety to really.. come back, i suppose.

I think that covers the basics of this side AU i made, that is all

Have nice day

[cobbssecondbelt]

Dincember 2023 - Day 6: Gift

His mother used to say he was special. Which didn’t mean much, she was his mother after all, and he never really understood what she meant.

Din was not special. He was no handsome and no oddity. His nose was slightly too big, and his eyes didn’t look like anything inspiring. He wasn’t good at talking. He wasn’t always really good at thinking. His teacher sure thought he wasn’t much good at either. His name wasn’t important, no more than his father’s and his mother’s, which he had forgotten a long time ago. He wasn’t exceptionally generous, or creative, he wasn’t even annoying enough to be remembered.

He was a good fighter. Skilled and precise, even if not always elegant. He was a good hunter. Careful and calculated, patient for the most part. His face was concealed, hidden under the flawless work of the Armorer. People found him useful, and he figured that was enough.

Then he found a wrinkled green child in an abandoned pod.

His òma talked a lot about magic and ghosts. She firmly believed in everything Din never did. He always found her a little bit strange. But every day that passed, every time Grogu pulled out a new trick out of his sleeve, the man could almost hear her croaky voice chuckling all smug at his ignorance being challenged over and over again.

Weeks passed, then turned into months who morphed into habit, into a whole new life still shy and uncertain. They met people, helped most of them. Slowly, things got weirder.

People smiled at Din. They shook his hand and patted his pauldrons in thanks, in reverence. The looks appeased, less children were cradled closer to their parents as he passed by. He began to get recognized by others than bounty hunters.

They built a home. Small but warm and solid, alone in the Nevarro flats, with their own tree in the yard and a little bit of peace seeping between the walls. Grogu got his own room and spent months before he finally slept whole night in it. Din had a real kitchen for the first time since he was still in red robes, and discovered he didn’t hate cooking.

They built a life. That little life once all shaky grew roots. Din travelled for jobs, Grogu oftentimes followed him, sometimes didn’t. They visited friends some days, mourned the ones they had lost some nights. They had visitors. Some only passed by, some stayed, and that was another story in its own curious self. Grogu didn’t grow much, but Din grew grayer.

When he turned 50 and Grogu 61, the patches on his jaw had turned white and the child was only a few inches taller, and he began to worry.

When he turned 60 and Grogu 71, the creases around his eyes dug deeper into his skin and the child talked his ears off everyday, and he tried to ignore the constant ringing in his ears.

When he turned 70 and Grogu 81, he could still follow the kid around, but Grogu would always be ahead.

When he turned 80 and Grogu 91, they stop travelling, and he realized, he was getting tired.

When he turned 90 and Grogu 101, he felt no longer like a warrior, and he knew his child was no longer a child.

His time would come eventually, like it was always meant to. Every night until then, he would tuck Grogu into bed, then it would be the other way around, and every time he thanked the stars for the priceless gift he had been given, that blessing disguised in green ears and impossibly deep eyes.

[aufaits]

prologue — a feeling you thought you'd forgotten.

[ A SONG FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD STARTS PLAYING, A MELODY THAT REMINDS YOU OF A TIME WHEN YOU WERE A HAPPY CHILD — ONCE. ]

Think of it like this: homes in suburban Atlanta have a sort of universality to them. A prototype of the American sprawl, later able to transform, under the hands of film crews into Texas, or Washington D.C., or, in the case of some particularly pervasive Netflix shows, into nostalgia for the 80s that never were, the emotion given tangible form.

You, Vivien, flit through that nostalgia, eyes held fast shut. Oh, don't worry. You've done trips like this before, felt the dips in your stomach as you hovered over ice-churned waters, reminded yourself that the only way out is through, clear as a sword's strike. But other trips did not have this— memory as a house as a memory, the ghosts of late spring wrapping themselves around you with all the grace of lazy cats.

Self dislocates from body, mind drifts through that house, the quiet hours of afternoon when it is–was-is your domain and yours alone. Your finger runs along the dial of the radio, pop hits fading in lieu of college radio, soft synths blossoming around you. There is the you that was, curled up amidst golden beams, watching the dust drift through them, waiting for the house to fill once again.

And there is the you that is now, watching from the outside and inside, eyes unblinking, mouth dry. The song pervades, knife pick against skull, the crooning of the singers a faint buzz against the understanding that this home is no more.

The foundation stands still, of course. The walls haven't moved. But this place can only exist in memory now. Vivien, you of the waters, you of the stone removed, find yourself shocked to alertness at the thought, hands scrabbling against arm rests, eyes flung wide, the soft patter of drums falling away. There is only the you that is now, only the blade of crisp light pressing against windows, cutting through the gentle blanket of memory.

Nostalgia plays a funny game — feed her and find yourself hollow too.

[ A FIDGETABLE, ANALOG ITEM, CAN BE KNIFEY THOUGH YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR IT TO BE ]

Your hand reaches for your neck, grasping for the necklace that you still imagine sits there, on occasion. It was a gift from college graduation, a good luck knot twined in gold, the small box wrapped in red and pressed into your hand by your father.

The necklace is gone now, tucked away in that same box, nestled in your bag of things. For a time, you tried to wear it, tried to keep it close, bunch each time that you reached up to grab it, the customary need to fiddle blossoming, a sense of bile rose up in your stomach instead. This was in the— the After, as you call it to yourself, the word and fact taking on all traits of a blade.

Instead, you fiddle at your ring, a solid claudaugh ring turned upside down. Up and down it slides on your finger, never quite rubbing raw against the skin, but occasionally creeping close. It happens like a dream, like something rote. It happens without thinking.

There's a weight around your neck that isn't present, and a ring wound fast that feels like nothing. In the stillness of yourself, the future feels like both things. In it is terror, the sense of measuring yourself up and coming short, but there is satisfaction as well, certainty crisp on the tongue. There is being and nothingness, wound together on a moëbius string, your own thoughts tracing that infinite path. When you fall to sleep, you barely realize that it has come to you.

[ A PLACE OF GREAT PERSONAL SIGNIFICANCE, BE THAT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE ]

For a moment, there's a memory of water— your grad school apartment, crystalizing around you, sticky with summer, freezing with winter. It tastes like your life forming around you, a crysallis dissolving you to nothing and rebuilding you from the start.

It smells like maliase and hope, like the crackle of sparks and the freeze-dried tinge of microwavable meals. It feels like a certain quality of light, the compressed beams clipping clean through you.

You cannot help but think of this place and that as the same, the whole of you caught in the lap of waves on shore, the tides of your life changing direction once again.

You ebb and you flow, you rise and you fall, and again and again you find the correct current. Perhaps you are not the lady of the waters, not Vivane as your mother named you, but the waters still claim you as home.

In the end, they wear through everything, cut clean to the bone of truth. What else can you do but follow them?

Feet find ground, hands wrap around your bag. The memory clears, your smile curves.

This moment could not be anything but itself, something new placed gently in your hands. You hope that you do not break it.

> © holly warburton, return trip.

[1800duckhotline]

what is vampire the masquerade and whats killer is dead. i assume videod games but i could be wrong... you seem to be having soo much fun im nosaayy 😁

omg hi mani im so flattered u would ask!! yeah ive been in the throes of videogames lately AHAH... oc brained but videogame about it sort of...

vampire the masquerade is actually a ttrpg originally published in the 80s i think, but it keeps getting updated so its not like. anything super old... whenever i mention "vampire the masquerade: bloodlines" im talking about the 2004 videogame created based off of the ttrpg! im biased in loving vtm and vtmb since well. it's about vampires. but i think it's an unique take on them that like makes the supernatural aspect not too boring compared to the classic supernatural vampire take. since it involves clans, a lot of vampire politics and societal aspects to it all, etc... Bloodlines itself is not a perfect game (ill avoid geeking out too much about the brief dev hell history it had) but i value it so dearly bc its so 2004 and is so gothic/alternative in its genuine influence. also the story is goofy but really good too (with um, simultaneously, the con that It Is a 2004 Game, meaning it has a lot of weird bigotries that were normalized for the time lol). Unforchy it's almost unplayable without downloading an additional patch mod that restores also a lot of cut content ^_^ but you make do... its so easy to make ocs for the game and the general ttrpg, sooo many ways you can go with your characters!! Bloodlines itself as a game is an action/adventure RPG mostly focused on combat (with stuff like stealth sessions) as well as various ways to resolve different quests. the variety of said outcomes is mostly limited by the fact the studio wasn't able to polish the game at all for release due to activision, the publisher, pushing troika games (dev team) to release the game early to compete with half life 2 at the time (yeah crazy i know). that said, the dialogues can be really charming and fun and offer a nice variety of things to do.. its not perfect but seriously is the best vampire RPG game around so far..

killer is dead is completely different (mostly because i can never focus on one thing for too long lmfao), it's an hack and slash 2014 game created by suda51 and grasshopper manufacture (same game devs behind no more heroes, lollipop chainsaw, shadows of the damned etc) and it's. an okay game. i dont even know if i can explain the story bc its like, a clusterfuck. and usually clusterfuck stories are goichi suda's specialty but this one goes over the moon (funny joke if You Know). it's a pretty mid game. I love it on one hand bc its easy to play and very stylish, tho the shaders sometimes can give you an headache. I also love the protagonist (mondo zappa) because to me thats a butch not just some guy. Unfortunately the game has the very strong cons of being too short for the kind of game it is, and also has an infamously bizarre minigame that's called "gigolo missions"... you basically go on "dates" with beauties (sexy girls basically), you give them gifts until they 'love' you and then you go have sex and they give you weapon upgrades as a result. the date though consists of you building up your "guts meter" by looking at their boobs or legs so it's like. REALLY STRANGE. CANT HASHTAG IM SORRY FEMINISM OUT OF THIS ONE I'M AFRAID.... it's so conflicting bc apparently suda didn't want to add this function but publishers forced him to. oh well. a solid 6.5/10 tbh. idk if i'd reccomend it tho maybe gameplays are better than getting it at full price imo (i got my game as a gift)

UM SO SORRY FOR GEEKING OUT...I HOPE THE EXPLANATION WAS CLEAR. My brain keeps jumping from media to media with no pause... i wanna focus on ocs again but this keeps happening hahaha

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

Hii.

What is this Lockwood co about?

Deciding if I should watch it or not?

Lockwood & Co. is based on a series of middle-grade novels by Jonathan Stroud, which were published in the mid-2010s. It has now been adapted into a show by Netflix! It's main premise that an alternate-Britain is having persistent hauntings and ghost visitations, which are (in a very appropriately British fashion) referred to as The Problem and visitors. In order to deal with these persistent and potentially deadly hauntings, there are agencies of young, psychically gifted children (since only children or teens can hear/see/sense ghosts), run by adult supervisors, who seek out the most difficult and dangerous of the hauntings, deal with the ghosts, and destroy them.

Our main characters are:

Lucy Carlyle, whose main Talent is Listening, hearing psychic echoes of ghosts and their hauntings (played by Ruby Stokes). I affectionately refer to Lucy as "Jyn Erso and Tiffany Aching" coded, since she is a mid-sized beacon of rage, compassion and utter determination as she leaves her small village in the Northern England after a tragic case gone wrong, to travel to London and join a ghost-hunting agency. she meets:

George Karim (Cubbins in the books, played by Ali Hadji-Heshmati), a brilliant, irascible ghost researcher, who is Not Getting Paid Enough™️ to deal with This Nonsense™️. my most beloved son, who is The Only Sane Person in the room at any given time (he 100% isn't.) he runs the agency along with:

Anthony Lockwood (played by Cameron Chapman), the founder and leader of Lockwood & Co, an independent agency (i.e., not run by adults), a dazzlingly charismatic young man, who is hiding lots of secrets behind his charming smiles. potentially a few death wishes?? He needs help, basically, someone help him

These three kids hunt and bust murderous ghosts, deal with long-suffering Agent Montagu Barnes, who just wants them to stop trying to die, looking at you Anthony Lockwood. and trying to figure out the Problem--who started it? what's causing it? why is it not getting better and only getting worse?

The overall aesthetic of the show is mid-80s-90s British alt-grunge/punk, and it's been near-universally acclaimed by viewers and critics, called the one of the best adaptions ever, which is a huge forking deal. I started watching it in mid-February on a whim, and the moment I saw our two main leads walking down an early evening street in modern clothes with swords on their hips, I thought, "oh yes...THAT'S the stuff."

the young actors are absolutely fantastic in their roles (the found family of it all!), the production design is wonderfully solid, and the world-building unique and original, while still pulling some absolutely solid chills and scares! I am a big horror wimp, so it's just about perfect for me. the slow burn/attraction between Lucy and Lockwood is fabulous; the moment he referred to her as "their biggest asset," my Kanej shipper self sat up straight on my bed and yelled "IS SHE AN INVESTMENT???" at the top of my lungs. same ship, different font is what I'm saying!!

all of this to say! if you haven't watched it, you absolutely should, as we impatiently wait for Netflix (scourge of our time) to announce if we're getting a season 2, and if we don't, then we HAUNT.

[20dollarlolita]

A follow-up to this post: "But I want to make this for the sake of making it, and I'd like to get paid to do the thing I want to do so that I'm not forking out of pocket or collecting a huge number of made things with no purpose!"

Okay, friend, I knew you were going to ask this because I also like making a ton of things but don't always want the things that I made. I make things, sometimes, because I NEED TO MAKE, not because I want to have those things. This is part of why cool handmakers get stuck way undercharging for quality labor. We all spend a ton of money on a thing we love doing, and if we could just get someone ELSE to pay for the thing that, then we could MAKE THINGS FOREVERRRRR.

And yes, that's completely valid.

So I'm going to introduce you to my personal rule for that:

2.5x the cost of materials is the minimum you should sell a handmade thing for, and anything less is insulting. You spent $10 for yarn, those gloves cost $25.

That does not mean that you only charge that much. That means you never charge less than that much. If you sell the gloves at the cost of the materials, you're valuing everything you did as completely worthless.

I read the 2.5 number in a book once (I think this one but I can't remember anything else in the book) and I've found that it's a really good basic number for when someone I like wants to buy my stuff that I make. Generally, it doesn't feel like I"m asking too much, but it also is more than my brain that values my work so little wants to charge. $25 for a pair of gloves is reasonable to ask your friend to pay, but my brain always wants to be like "oh i paid $10 for materials so you can have them for $8" because I apparently don't value my work.

It's also great because 1) I don't like keeping track of how long things take me to make and 2) I don't keep good track of how much things cost.

I'm making a skirt right now. The fabric was $20. The elastic was 80" off a 100 yard spool that I bought two years ago. Most of the trim is harvested off of a skirt that I got on accident two years ago and then deconstructed. I broke two needles working on this project, used 1/8 of a spool of thread, put 18 minutes of sewing time onto my sewing machine and made a nick in my serger blade that required me to replace it. How much was my materials cost? I don't fucking know. But I know that if I ask $50 for it, all of those things will probably be covered, and I don't need to do a ton of math.

So yeah, when you're giving stuff to people and they ask how much you want for it, if you don't like math and you don't like counting hours or logging work, 2.5x is a pretty solid budgeting and isn't at all asking too much.

Also, one of the most fun things I have noticed about having a job where I'm not constantly counting every penny, is that I can just chaotically give people gifts for no reason. You want to know how much fun it is to just make shit and keep it in your car and when someone says something and you can just bust out a "well I do actually have a size 24 petticoat if you want one," reach behind your driver's seat, and summon the very thing they were discussing? I get crap for having a car that looks like a hoarder's car, but there's so much fun in summoning a bag of headbows from the depths of the inside of the car and handing them out like candy. I got into this because I will make things regardless of if there's a purpose for it or if I can actually afford it well, but the social element of selling or giving things away got really draining. And if you want to be an Agent of Positive Chaos, get a box, put your stuff in it that you made but don't have energy to sell, and keep a mental log of what it is. Someone's cold and your'e like BOOM, FUCKING GLOVES! It's like the Big Comfy Couch except that you're the couch. If you have the energy to manage your own business then congrats, but I have a limited amount of energy and I want to spend all of that making what I want, when I want, and figuring out what I'm going to do with it later. Having a job stresses me the fuck out and I decided to have a stressful fucking job because inflicting my handmade things on my friends for no reason is absolutely worth the stress. My friends live in a constant fear that I'll have made them a thing. They cannot escape it. It is always present and no one knows where it came from or where it will go. What man fears most is the unknown and i'm a big fucking ball of you-don't-know-what-i'll-make-you

Art isn't about why. It's about why not. Why are so many of our crafts dangerous? Why don't you *degrades into just quoting Portal for 4 hours*

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

These People Are Nuts! 1989 New Wave / Punk Rock / Alternative Rock / College Rock / Post-Punk / Power Pop / Ska

Here's a nice retrospective rundown of one of the greatest and most eclectic indie labels of the 1980s: I.R.S. Records, which was headquartered in the US, but had a whole lot of UK bands on its roster too. Founded in 1979 by a guy named Miles Copeland, I.R.S. started out primarily as a punk outfit, but as new wave proceeded to develop, it sunk its teeth firmly into that movement too, landing a bunch of acts along the way whose material was considered to be strange, zany, quirky, and campy, like Oingo Boingo and Timbuk 3.

But between all the acts that ultimately end up lending to this album's title being These People Are Nuts! are a bunch of bands who aren't considered to be all that weird too, like The Police, The Go Go's, Buzzcocks, R.E.M., and Fine Young Cannibals. So, what we really have here is a nice blend of genuinely good punk and alternarock with straight-up enjoyably silly and irony-laden new wave.

But this album that celebrates I.R.S.' tenth-year anniversary actually opens with a song that predates the label's existence entirely: it's the B-side of the debut record by the band that Miles Copeland's brother, Stewart, happened to play drums for: "Nothing Achieving," by The Police, a terrific classic rock-punk tune that was released in 1977 on another one of Miles' labels he had founded beforehand, Illegal Records.

And another great tune from those pre-I.R.S. days comes courtesy of a little-known band called The Electric Chairs, who, at the time, were fronted by a performer named Wayne County, who now goes by Jayne County. County is someone who holds the honor of being rock music's first openly trans vocalist, and she ended up working with a lot of famous people throughout her career, including David Bowie. Plus, she was also at the Stonewall Riots. So, she's an absolute legend, to say the least, and her band's punk song, "Thunder," which predates her publicly identifying as a woman, was released on Illegal in 1979.

Also, have you ever wondered where the great Fatboy Slim derived his stage name from? Well, it probably came from Maryland's Root Boy Slim, a brilliant and eccentric rabble-rouser who went to Yale and then came back on homecoming weekend the year after he had graduated and got kicked out and permanently banned from his frat house by none other than future war criminal president George W. Bush himself. His song, "Dare to Be Fat," kinda-sorta answers the question of, "what if Frank Zappa was a black blues-rocker?"

And there's a bunch of other songs from this compilation I could write about too, like The Go Go's’ "We Got the Beat," a landmark new wave tune that convinced the group to head towards a sound that was more new wave than punk; or the Buzzcocks' "Ever Fallen in Love," which presented a pretty perfect mix of late 70s punk rock and power pop; or Fine Young Cannibals' debut single, "Johnny Come Home," which showed the world this band's signature mix of rock and ska, along with Roland Gift's uniquely satisfying and tender voice.

But I think I'm gonna dedicate a few sentences to a deeply misunderstood song instead: "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades," by Timbuk 3. If you've ever heard this top-20 mid-80s hit before, then there's a pretty solid chance that you're among the many people who think of it as quite possibly the dorkiest song that the new wave era ever spat out.

I mean, peep this refrain if you're not familiar:

I'm doing alright Getting good grades The future's so bright I gotta wear shades

Now, is it possible that this song was made in a sort of tongue-in-cheek backlashing kind of way in response to all the live fast-die hard, sex-drugs-and-rock n' roll music that was going around back then? Sure, I guess so. But the song wasn't even really so much as that. It was more about the banality of contributing to an evil system and feeling as though you were on the right path. See, "I Gotta Wear Shades" is told from the perspective of a young nuclear scientist at the height of the Cold War, and that brightness in the future he refers to is actually referencing the potential detonation of the nukes that he's been working on. It's a really cleverly-made song that became a pretty big hit, but people never really seemed to understand the message that was behind it. It certainly wasn't a song to celebrate strait-laced, apple-polishing nerds.

So, there you have it: a nice and varied set of songs from a transcontinental indie label that played a big role in shaping new wave, punk, and alternative rock through its first ten years and change. There wasn't really any other label that was quite like I.R.S. Records. A lot of names that would end up defining eras and styles, along with some real kooks too.

Highlights:

The Police - "Nothing Achieving" The Go-Go's - "We Got the Beat" Wayne County & The Electric Chairs - "Thunder" Root Boy Slim - "Dare to Be Fat" Buzzcocks - "Ever Fallen in Love?" Wall of Voodoo - "Mexican Radio" R.E.M. - "Superman" Doctor and the Medics - "Spirit in the Sky" Timbuk 3 - "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades" Fine Young Cannibals - "Johnny Come Home" Concrete Blonde - "It'll Chew You Up and Spit You Out"

[magentagalaxies]

so basically a few weeks ago paul bellini sent me two signed mouth congress vinyls as a late birthday present slash gift for running the mouth congress social media and i thought i'd post a vinyl tour bc there's so many cool details here! this is gonna be a long post bc the lyric booklet that came with waiting for henry is pretty much a full zine and i really love all the effort they put into it

contents:

waiting for henry double LP (signed by scott and paul!)

ahhhh the pollution 7" (signed by scott and paul!)

Mouth Congress button (did not know this was a thing so it was just a fun little bonus gift he threw in)

first, close up photo of the sticker on the waiting for henry cover:

next pictures of each of the vinyls:

the lighting was a bit off in these pictures but the vinyls are so beautiful it's unreal. ahhhh the pollution is a translucent bright orange, the first half of waiting for henry is beige, and the second half is this beautiful bright blue that looks like blue rasperry candy. i'm always a sucker for colorful vinyls (i just picked up a copy of "take the sadness out of saturday night" by bleachers on a seaglass vinyl the other day) and i wasn't sure if they had any left so the fact that both releases are on such beautiful vinyl is amazing

next we have the zine!! here's the cover:

the first few pages are a short summary of the mouth congress story as told by paul himself, along with a few pictures of the band members from their college days:

after that we have a fictitious profile of the band written by aviva avoovoo (a freelance writer character created by paul bellini) where she visits the mouth congress chalet and discovers the "dark secrets" that lie within. it's so funny and surreal but i didn't want to post every page of it so instead i'll focus on this old vaguely-cursed pic of paul that accompanied the writing:

once we're done with the fictional side of things there's a two-page spread of cassettes mouth congress put together in the 80s/90s that they released in an attempt to promote the band. each cassette description has a list of featured songs, some of which were later put on "ahhhh the pollution" or "waiting for henry" and some of which i'd never heard about previously and am very intrigued by. i took close-up pics of these two specifically since they're the ones i most want to look into from that page

specifically i really wanna learn more about madam alphonsa. who is she. she's mentioned in "me on my off hours" and makes an appearance on "madamifesto" and "let's hear it for show business." they mentioned in the mouth congress documentary that kevin used to play madam alphonsa's husband. several characters scott played in mouth congress were later done on kids in the hall but madam alphonsa is my new lost media obsession.

after that we have a solid six pages of scott and paul interviewing each other. again it's very long so i'm not posting everything but it was a very good interview which makes me love the band even more and it also had this picture with it:

more old pictures (look how young scott and paul look in the bottom right one i'm losing my mind):

centerfold:

then we have at least 10 pages of lyrics for every song on waiting for henry as well as short blurbs about the story behind each song which was really cool and might be its own post someday, but last but not least i wanted to leave you with my favorite part of the mouth congress zine: the word search

legit took this pic just so i could highlight the words digitally and not draw on the actual zine but oh my god i had so much fun doing this. unironically i think every vinyl should come with a thematically linked word search. it really just goes to show how much joy and effort scott and paul put into everything mouth congress does and i'm so honored i get to be part of their story at the level where i can get something like this autographed and sent to me for free (and also might get free admission to an upcoming mouth congress show if i help them set up beforehand and film the show?? like paul you do realize i would pay VIP prices for this but thank you for doing it for free?? also thank you for asking how my own musical went and genuinely caring about the answer???)

anyway this got a little rambly towards the end but my point is. queercore punk is truly the genre of all time and mouth congress is so fucking great nobody is going it like them

[wangsejabin]

Chapter 80

   When the news came in, Pan'er was playing with the two children.

At first they could not sit, then they could sit and look around with their heads propped up, and later they could crawl.

It was also at this time that the two little ones became even more difficult to take care of, because someone had to keep an eye on them all the time, as they would crawl out of sight if they were not careful.

Especially Wan Yin, who was born stronger than her brother and had stronger arms and legs, at first Yue Er could sit before her, but later she learned to crawl before her brother.

Pan'er was really afraid that they would fall down, so she had no choice but to lay a thick layer of red carpet in the east wing where the two children lived, and put away all the sharp and angular things, as well as those of small size and light weight, in case they tried to stand up by holding onto them and the weight was not adequate to keep it from falling and hitting them.

Not to mention the fact that a nine-month-old child can't stand up yet, recently Wan Yin was showing signs of this, she used to sit on the bed when she was told to, but now she's not content to sit anymore and always wants to hold on to things to get up.

   Now she is holding on to the bed table and trying to stand up trembling. Pan'er kept an eye on her, her hands wide open behind her back in case

   When Xiao Dezi finished his speech, the room was suddenly quiet.

   It was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard, and only Wan Yin was still panting and straining.

   Pan'er was a little uncomfortable with the silence, and looked down at them all with their heads bowed, as if the sky was about to fall.

   She couldn't resist touching her face. Was she really as jealous as the prince had said, so jealous that even the people around her thought she would not be happy to hear the news?

   What had given them this illusion?

   Pan'er thought hard, but it had to do with the two times she had been jealous on the southern tour. The first time, when someone else sent a beauty to the prince, she invited her to come and dance for her. Which might have given the impression of her being jealous.

   The first time in the Jiang family, in order to dig a hole for the Jiang family's daughter, she said some little sour words to suggest that the prince was jealous.

But this is not the same time, this is the Eastern Palace, and even if someone comes in, it's a proper selection, a gift from the elders, so can she still not comply?

   She admitted that she was a little uncomfortable, but only a little. She knew her own weight and was definitely not as serious as they were making it out to be, and now she was neither jealous nor not jealous.

The atmosphere was a bit weird, and Aunt Qing seemed to be afraid that she was in a bad mood, so she sent everyone away.

Only Wan Yin was continuing to fight with the bed table, and Yue Er was sitting at the other end of the bed table, pointing at the sheep's milk pastry in the plate, as if he wanted to eat it.

   Speaking of the pastry made of goat's milk, it was still the one offered by the kitchen, fresh goat's milk was boiled and almonds were added to remove the fishy smell, after it had cooled down, the goat's milk was used to make the dough, eggs were added to the dough, the dough had to be made solid, then it was kneaded into strips and baked in the oven.

When it cooled, it was as hard as a stick, but it was best used to grind the baby's teeth, and Pan'er didn't know how the kitchen had come up with it.

   Pan'er doubted that they would be able to eat it, but later found out that the two children were actually very clever, as they would gnaw it slowly with their mouths and sip it into their mouths, eating it with great pleasure.

   Auntie Qing took one and broke it in half, giving half to Yue'er and the other half to Wan Yin, telling her not to fight with the kangtang table. But the little girl was stubborn, she usually liked it, but this time she just didn't see it in her eyes.

   She made a very unhappy whimpering sound and continued to fight.

   "I don't know who this girl follows, I wasn't so stubborn when I was a kid." Pan'er lost her smile.

   When she saw that Aunt Qing didn't say anything either, she glanced at Aunt Qing, "Aunt, you don't think I'm upset inside too, do you?"

   Only then did Aunt Qing look at her seriously, smiled and sighed: "It would be good if you could open your mind, I was thinking of how to persuade you. If you were outside, it would be fine if you lost your temper, but this is not the outside world, it's the Forbidden City. You have two children and are now a mother, so you have to think things through. But I think it's too cruel to say that, after all, you're a child yourself.

   "The world says that a woman should not be jealous, but it is in her nature to be jealous, but how to be jealous is a lesson. I don't know where to start if I want to give you some advice, and I don't have any suitable examples around me, so I can only say that you did a good job during your tour.

   Pan'er smiled and broke a piece of milk crisp from the plate and chewed it in her mouth, "Don't worry aunt, I know my own weight, the Crown Princess is not even jealous, so it's not my turn."

   If it was before, Aunt Qing would have been silent, but this time she asked, "Really?"

   It seemed that she was really relieved.

   Pan'er couldn't help but touch her face again, thinking that the master had made herself like this, wasn't it a bit of a failure? Or had she relaxed herself too much recently? How come everyone didn't seem to be at ease with her.

In her previous life, she was a woman who had gone all the way to the end, and now it's just a matter of getting a few people into the house and that's hardly worth making such a fuss about.

   The woman's head was nodded in the affirmative, "Of course it's true."

   Even Xiang Pu, who had always loved to laugh and joke, had stopped smiling and her face was tense, as if she was owed a few taels of silver.

   Pan'er couldn't declare to the minions that she was fine, so she had to pretend that nothing had happened.

   In the afternoon the Prince came, dressed as if he had returned from outside, and when he sat down he took her by the hand and looked her over.

   "Your Highness, what is wrong?"

   The prince did not say anything.

   When Pan'er saw the tightly wrapped clothes he was wearing, she could only change the subject: "Are you still going to the front? If not, I will serve you to change your clothes.

   The prince thought for a moment and said, "No, I will stay with you."

   Pan'er was shocked by the words "stay with you", generally speaking the Prince was not a sweet talker, and she knew that the Prince was very busy these days. The last time he had come to her was four days ago, and the time before that was five days before that, and she had wondered if she had fallen out of favour with him in her old age, but she had learned from Xiang Pu that he had not been in the backyard recently.

   Naturally, she hadn't heard the news from Xiang Pu, but from Xiao Dezi. Since the time she had admonished Xiao De Zi, the boy changed his ways and no longer reported the matter to her, but instead told Xiang Pu, who wondered for herself whether to tell her.

In the past half month, the Prince had come to the backyard three times, once at noon, for lunch at the Hall of Virtue, and came to her that evening, and then the last time he came to her.

   So for such a busy prince to suddenly spare half an afternoon and a whole evening for her, Pan'er was honestly a little flattered.

After the prince had said this, Pan'er naturally could not allow the servants to dress him, so the two of them went to the inner room, where she personally found the prince's house clothes from the cupboard and brought them out to him to change.

   She unbuttoned and unbuckled his belt, which Pan'er did with ease, but it was the Prince who looked at the top of her hair and was a little hesitant to say anything.

   What did he say? He wanted to say that he wouldn't leave her alone, even if there were new people in the house. That he thought the Crown Princess had learnt her lesson well, but she had learnt the lesson too well.

   The Prince himself could not say any of these things.

The change in the Crown Princess over the past six months was obvious to him, and he was actually quite relieved to see that the Crown Princess understood things.

He even considered that if the Crown Princess could keep going like this, he would give the Crown Princess another child after a few more years, when the first few children had established themselves.

   But as soon as the thought started, the Crown Princess asked the Empress Dowager for someone else.

   The prince felt a mixture of emotions in his heart.

   But can he pick on the Crown Princess?

   No, the Crown Princess has done nothing wrong, she is not even jealous, and she has taken the initiative to ask for someone from the Eastern Palace.

Could he say that from the moment the Crown Princess changed, he had been waiting for the Crown Princess to reveal her cards, and now that the truth has finally come out, it's all for this?

He cannot. To say this would really prove that his heart is skewed.

In fact, the Crown Prince's heart has long been biased, he just hadn't realised it yet, and only after this incident did he realise it.

The Prince Consort went to curry favour with the Empress Dowager as a backer, he thought there was something fishy here and turned his head to remind Pan'er that it was time to curry favour with his Mother Empress, at one end the Prince Consort had just asked the Empress Dowager for someone and the next moment the Prince felt that she had finally revealed her purpose, which was to deal with the woman he was protecting in the background.

But when he thought about it calmly, the Crown Princess had actually done everything right, at least on the surface, and it was his heart that was biased.

But to say that the Prince Consort's intentions were pure and that there was not a single intention to deal with Yuan Yuan in her heart, the Prince did not believe it either.

   If not, why would he say that the Crown Princess had learnt too well, look at that, bright and upright, no one could fault her.

And while he waited for Yuan Yuan to come to him, she seemed to have no idea why he was here, and sometimes the Prince didn't think he was wrong to be biased.

   If he didn't keep an eye on such a confused woman, she would not only become meat on the chopping block, but also drag the two children down with her.

The crown prince, who had been rendered helpless by his own brain, looked at Pan'er with increasing determination and grudging admiration.

   "Your Highness, what is wrong with you today? Your eyes look a bit strange." Pan'er touched his lapel and said.

   "Nothing, I was just wondering when you would learn to be wiser." The prince had the tone of an old father worrying about his silly daughter.

   Wise?

The smart Crown Princess is waiting to sit back and watch the tigers fight, and the smart Hu Liang Di is already planning how to give the Crown Princess a hard time with the newcomer, but instead of being smart, you've come to me.

   The man is sometimes quite selfish. He asks you to be generous and forgiving, but he also asks you to be smart and understanding, you can't be too stupid, he will be disappointed with you, but you can't be too smart either, too smart especially for a woman in a powerful position, it is too easy to give a man a sense of crisis. You have to be a good woman in the hall, but in private you also have to know how to be affectionate and pampered to satisfy his macho mentality.

   In fact, Paner would like to tell the following people that sometimes it is not that she lives too carelessly and comfortably, but that reality does not allow it. The most comfortable thing to do is to put yourself in the picture and fool yourself first.

   So it really wasn't that she wasn't smart and didn't use her brain, it was just that she was used to it.

   "What's the sigh?"

   It wasn't until she heard the Prince's voice that Pan reacted to the fact that she had sighed.

   Apparently he was overthinking again, his brow was furrowed and his eyes were heavy and complicated.

   Looking at his eyes, Pan'er thought to herself, so he still had a little bit of himself in mind, right? Otherwise, why did he rush over today, afraid that she would be jealous, afraid that the crown princess's hand was too high and she was no match for her, so he came to back her up with open fire?

   So Su Pan'er, don't be too greedy, this life is already much, much better than the previous one.

   Pan'er, who was moved by herself, immediately fell into the prince's arms and said it was nothing.

   But how could it be nothing?

The prince wanted to say something comforting, but could not, and finally only reduced it to one sentence - "Everything is fine, but you are too jealous."

Pan'er, whose name was already firmly on his head as a jealous woman, signalled that she did not want to say anything.

   If you don't have to say it, then do it, so this evening Pan'er was particularly enthusiastic.

   It is fortunate that the prince is a man of good stamina, who has been abstinent for many years and is not too keen on such things.

   --The Prince's mind was not too keen on such things.

   For several days in a row, every night the Prince would come over.

   Even if he didn't do anything but lie in bed and talk.

   The man beside Pan'er began to look energetic again, not quite walking with the wind, but not far from it.

Because of this movement, the Eastern Palace up and down again came to a conclusion - even if the Crown Princess turned a new leaf, Su Liangdi also did not lose favor ah, look at this situation, the Eastern Palace concubines have a calculating one, who is not easily beaten.

With the attitude of the Yu Qing Palace here, few people dared to praise the high and step on the low, so no one had the courage to do so, and some even secretly bet that even if the newcomers entered the door, they would not be able to steal Su Liang Di's thunder.

   Soon after, the newcomers entered.

   As usual, the Prince did not show up that evening. But he was not at the Palace, but in Pan'er's courtyard. In the afternoon, Pan'er asked Xiao Dezi to send a stack of paper to Yu Qing Palace, saying that it was a recent exercise in calligraphy, and asked the Crown Prince to review it.

   The prince went through them and found that they hadn't improved at all, but were even worse than before. It just so happened that he had nothing on his hands at the time, so he went to Pan'er's courtyard.

[hellscape-halogens]

me [American]: ...yeah I was pulling about 80 hours a week for a solid month before Christmas one year because I wanted to make sure I could afford all the gifts I wanted to get people.

my 60-something year old MIL [Canadian]: you were pulling 80 hours a week?!

me: y-yeah, I mean... I was only making $7.25 an hour so...

MIL: $7.25 PER HOUR??????