#bushwas

[taleweaver-ramblings]

If I ever get my hands on a time machine, the first thing I am going to do is find whichever individuals are responsible for the misconceptions that you have to be a journalist to be a good writer and that every writer likes journalism. And then I am going to shake those people so hard they each break at least one tooth. And I am not going to apologize for it.

[mehless]

leet number of beautiful women robot followers on this blog

[sunny-aster]

Yall really out here hooting and hollering abt how happy you are Gabriel now canonically only has weeks to live i compeletly didnt see anything abt Zoe coming out and confessing to marinette

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

Sweet fancy Moses, people. Plenty of tinfoil hats going around this Monday. Before anyone posts anything downright idiotic here, take your bushwa and peddle it elsewhere. Seriously, go back to science class and read the book this time.

[yourdoorisunlocked]

The Altruist Family - Headcanons

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬/𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Devotion, romantic homicide, dancing, obsession, Lovesick!Alastor, Addams Family AU :)

🎙️ As soon as Alastor met you, he was prepared to whip out the wedding ring and propose to his dear mother’s best friend’s daughter. And he despised it. The feeling of that sappy ‘love at first sight’ bushwa that Alastor had long since cast aside in contempt. No woman – or man – caught his fancy nor his eye, so why you?  

🎙️ He didn’t even know your name, but he wanted to. He wanted to scrawl it all over every inch of his body and mark yours with his name.

🎙️ An insufferably bizarre sensation that prickled in his chest with every waking moment he spent without you had bloomed, and Alastor would’ve done anything to snip this at the root – at first. 

🎙️ Alastor was terrified that he wasn’t bothered by these sappy thoughts. But as he came to accept them, he found himself nurturing the most absurd fantasies of you, ones of holding you close to him beneath the moonlight, undressing your delectable flesh beside the warmth of a fire, each press of his lips against your tender skin being a promise of an eternity together.

🎙️ As much as he tried to suppress them, there was no stopping Alastor's enamored mind from centering nearly every aspect of his life around you. So, he eventually learned to yearn for the warmth that enveloped his heart whenever he saw you, watching your every move from afar.

🎙️ "Look at her. I would die for her. I would kill for her," he murmured to himself, watching you dance across the speakeasy floor and following your every step with a yearning gaze. "Either way, what bliss..."

🎙️ Husker has most definitely had to cut Alastor off at some point, knowing he could hold his alcohol scarily well, but he felt as if he should anyways.

🎙️Alastor spent hours at the speakeasy simply staring at you, watching you, completely enamored with your presence. Husk knew that look - that feeling - all too well, and though he was concerned for your well-being, getting in between Alastor and what he desired was a suicidal move.

🎙️ And soon, when Alastor finally accepted his feelings for you and chose to embrace them, all whilst entertaining the thought of you and him becoming an item, made these fantasies of his grow from insatiable to ravenous.

🎙️ Alastor was certain that he would be perfect for you as a husband. He would love you and dote upon you for the rest of your days, oh darling, you would want for absolutely nothing but him! And you'd be just too easy to catch, trusting little doe that you were.

🎙️ You'd be a perfect addition to the Altruist Family as his darling wife, and Alastor fixated on that particular thought the moment you walked out of your mother's kitchen holding two steaming bowls of jambalaya with an apron tied around your waist.

🎙️ Lord, why must you torment him, so?

🎙️ Truly, Alastor was much too wrapped up in his feelings for you to notice yours for him. But he was dangerously perceptive, and observant to a chilling degree, especially when it came to you.

🎙️So, as you could guess, it didn't take long until he began to notice the slight flush of your cheeks when he began to touch you all around your waist and shoulders - "An affectionate gesture between two old friends," as he'd reassure you - and how your eyes would light up around him, the way you seemed to glow just for Alastor.

🎙️He'd dance his fingertips around every inch of your body, adoring how you fit so beautifully in his hands. Once, when you had been dancing, Alastor allowed himself - and the alcohol - to loosen his lips, just a little bit. He couldn't help it; you were right where you belonged - in his arms - and your delectable scent had enveloped him. Alastor was a slave to your presence, and he was salivating every second.

🎙️ "The thought of you being with another man torments me, darling," he murmured gently against your ear, brushing his breath against your neck while his lips searched your hair. Alastor took a deep inhale, savoring every note of your scent.

🎙️ He could only dream of what you'd taste like.

🎙️ You grinned and allowed him to twirl you around, before you rested your thigh against his waist. "Don't torture yourself, Alastor," leaning closer, you allowed your lips to brush against his jaw, "That's my job."

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Ok, those were the headcanons! (they came a day late but STFU) I'm about to edit the one-shot tomorrow, so take these as an offering to satiate your imagination until I'm done conjuring up.

EDIT: I fucking can't with tumblr. I literally redid the ENTIRE TAGLIST and it just didn't work?? Help me out ya'll idk what to do

. . .

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid

@slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am, @ashdaidiot, @crybabycat1, @repostingmyfavs, @crazii-saber-wolf, @reikamasama, @dudesorriso, @speckle-meow-meow, @alastor-simp

@maggotzdilemma, @cassidywinters

[play-now-my-lord]

1920S GUY SWIPING LEFT ON PHONE: Bah! Where's the dames with moxie? I've been on this Tinder contraption for an hour and none of these girls got "It" ME: you could try OKCupid 1920S GUY: Bushwa! If I wanted to pay fifty dollars just to take a bunch of tests I'd go to law school

[irrlicht-writes]

Hi! So I've been writing a fanfic (etched into your bones) for longer than I thought I would and if you've checked it out (do now if you haven't yet, I still know how to write) you would realise that Alastor is using quite the slang in there. As I'm posting the chapters on ao3 massively late (around 3AM my time) I don't have the werewithdrawll to comb back through and find the slang I've used to translate. I had planned to make the last chapter a full translation, but since that gets being pushed back, I will do it here. Slang list under the cut! And do check my fanfic out! (I hear it's quite passable.)

Quilt: alcoholic beverage that keeps you warm

Di Mi: My goodness! / Holy shit!

Bunny: someone who's lost, but endearingly

Sockdollager: event/action of great importance

Clip Joint: night club with rich patrons

Flat Tire: indicating one's date didn't meet expectations

Blue Serge: a real sweetheart

Absent Treatment: dancing with an inexperienced/awkward partner

(It's) Jake: (it's) fine/okay

Cash or Check?: Kiss me now or kiss me later?

Cast a kitten: throw a temper tantrum

Hit on All Sixes: nail it one-hundred percent

Ish Kabibble: Who cares? / No worries!

Ankle: (to) walk

Tell it to Sweeney: Tell it to someone who would believe that!

Bushwa: Bullshit

Don't take any wooden nickels: Don't do anything dumb!

Bimbo: macho man

Hotsy-Totsy: attractive, pleasing to the eye

Sheik: attractive male

Bluenoses: someone deemed a killjoy

Dewdroppers: lollygaggers, a slacker, often unemployed

Kick the Gong Around: to smoke opium

Whoopee: have a good time / fuck

Middle Aisle: getting married

Bank's closed!: Stop making out!

Wurp: someone seen as a buzzkill

Zozzled: shitfaced

Darb: wonderful; splendid

Alarm clock: chaperone for a social event

Torpedo: a thug, hitman

Icy mitt: rejection from the object of desire/affection

Insured: to be engaged to marry

Nerts: That's awesome

I will update as I drop more slang, naturally. I hope this helps! If I've missed any, let me know.

[las-lus]

Singing in the rain snippet

I'm (slowly) writing a singing in the rain ot3 fanfic that kinda encompasses the start of Cosmo and Don's friendship up, how they had a... situationship, the events of the movie but gayer and with even more 3-way-kisses and, finally, a silly domestic polyamous happy ending. It focus a LOT on queer culture of the early 1900s so i'm doing waaaaay to much research and have added a full polari/Speakeasy vocabulary at the end of each chapter.....

anyways, snippet under the cut! If you enjoy this consider checking my ao3 or buying me a coffee!

----

“Cosmo! bona to vada*! Didn’t know you had a jocker*.” He said to Cosmo, a mocking smile on his lips.

“He isn’t my jocker” Cosmo said, automatically, before adding “He isn’t a jocker. He’s just my friend.”

“Bushwa*.” He laughed, and Cosmo felt his face warming up. Hopefully it was dark enough that neither of the men would see it.

“Oscar, Earful*, just let us in, please.”

“New members can’t usually bring new people, but since you won’t be staying long I’ll make an exception.” He turned to Don, smile dropping from his charismatic face “You better not take any wooden dimes*.”

Cosmo looked at Don, who was frowning. “I don’t…”

“He won’t” hopefully.

“Enjoy the jazz, feely*” Oscar said, as he fished the keys from this coat pocket and opened the heavy door behind him. “And Cosmo? Be a doll and tell Terry I want that bevvy he promised.”

“Thank you! Will do.”

He walked inside, trying not to think about Don following right on his tracks. They could hear the music now, echoing from the ground under their feet.

“It’s downstairs” Cosmo said, as if it wasn’t obvious, and started to walk down the stairs. He looked back, half expecting Don to have disappeared. But as much as he felt like Orpheus, Don was not his Eurydices, and instead he was staring back at him, huge eyes locked on him with fascination.

“What language was that? I could only understand half of what you two said.”

Cosmo chuckled despite himself. “That, my friend, is the language of saints*.”

“Didn’t peg you as a saint, to be quite honest.”

---

*Vocabulary: bona to vada = good to see you in italian/Polari Jocker = A young man who will only assume active, Speakeasy Bushwa = bullshit, polary Earful = Enough, speakeasy You better not take any wooden dimes = don’t do anything stupid, speakeasy Feely = young/young men in polari/italian "Language of the saints" is how the Brazilian queer dialect, Pájuba, is also known as. It's obviously not historically correct to add it here, but I love it too much and wanted to add a nod to my own culture! also, disclaimer: Speakeasy was a series of slags used by the queer community in New York in the 20’s and 30’s, while Polari was a queer dialect used in the UK during the 19th century. I couldn’t find anything particular to the 1900 and 1910’s, where the beginning of this story takes place, nor anything about US cities that aren’t NY. I took some liberties and merged the 2 together into a third dialect that I think could realistically have been brought to the US during the 19th century (because its the foundation for some queer slangs they had in the late 90’s early 2000s, and because a lot of polari is just Italian) and evolved in smaller queer communities

[i-am-very-heck]

waking up

context! this is a sequel to this fic of v's nightmare, so i suggest you read that if you haven't. this fic is basically v venting to obie lmao. hope you enjoy!

-------

it was the middle of the night. v tumbled out of bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump. they scrambled to sit up as their eyes darted around the room. they were in the antique store. they were nowhere to be seen. v hugged themself tight. their heart was racing and their breathing was heavy. they were so caught up in their own emotions that they didn't notice the person they were sleeping with had gotten out of bed too. obie kneeled down and placed a hand on their shoulder.

"V... Ya alright? That was a mighty violent wake up ya had there..."

their head snapped to look at him. obie could only see fear in their eyes and... were those tears? he cupped v's face gently with his other hand and spoke in a much quieter voice than before.

"Hey, hey... I'm here for you. Nothing's gonna happen to ya while I'm around..."

v stared at obie. he could feel their heartbeat gradually slow down to a still high, yet more normal tempo as their staring continued. they seemed a little less on edge, a bit more relaxed.

"...D'you wanna talk about it?"

...

they didn't say anything, instead they hugged obie tightly and buried their face in his shoulder, sobbing into it. he had almost immediately returned the hug.

"I getcha. Just take your time, sugar... We've got all night."

so they sat there in each other's embrace for a long while. obie had began tracing little patterns into v's back to comfort them. they had an unrelenting grip on his shirt for a time. eventually, their sobbing had calmed to just little hiccups and sniffles. v's grip had loosened as they finally spoke, though they were very meek.

"sniff- I had a- a nightmare... It's one I used to- hic- used to have a l-lot... 't had to do with-.. with my... 'imaginary friend'..."

"Hmph- Well, they don't sound real friendly-like if this is how they make ya feel."

they nodded into his shoulder with a soft 'mmhm'. the two stayed like that for a moment longer before v pulled away. they looked off into the dark corners of the room.

"... You... You haven't seen the shadows... looking back at you.. H-have you?"

he shook his head in the darkness.

"Can't say I have. Is that somethin' that you see?"

... "... Yeah."

v floated to their feet and held a hand out to help obie off the floor.

"Get up and I'll tell you about it. I really need to get this off my chest anyways."

he took their hand and was yanked up to his feet, stumbling a little due to the very sudden change in altitude. v went to turn on the lights and sat back on the bed, patting the spot next to them for him to sit. he did.

"Ugh- Where to start with this..."

they took a moment to collect their thoughts and sighed.

"Well, as far back as I can remember I've been able to see this thing following me around in the darkness. It was almost like my shadow came to life and for a while I considered it my imaginary friend since, y'know, no one else could see it. It wasn't 'til midway through grade school or so that it got... aggressive. They wouldn't leave me alone. I would have that same nightmare night after night... God, it made me such a messed up kid. I was so stressed all the time..."

v looked down at their hands, they were shaking. the more they remembered, the more tense they grew. they took a deep breath and continued on.

"They eventually stopped showing their face--or eye I guess--and that was that, or so I THOUGHT-"

their apparent anxiety had melted into frustration. v's hands had balled up into fists.

"Ever since I got here its been rearing it's ugly head around every dark corner I've seen and it's complete bushwa. I have absolutely zero clue what beef this thing has with me and to be frank? I'm sick and tired of it. I'm tired of it telling me I'm not strong enough, that I'm weak. I've already got so much on my plate that this is the rancid cherry on top!-"

v snapped. they shot up from their sitting position and began pacing around the room, gesturing wildly along with their speech. they were almost yelling at this point.

"First my uncle goes missing and I get called in to save him, but uh oh! Turns out I've made enemies with the damn shadow government! Now they've sent their most powerful accountant to balance my books or some bushwa like that-"

"Not only that but I found my mom's brother who's been been working on finding her since she's been missing for some 20-odd years. Which is good! It really is. But I'm worried that I'm gonna mess up some part of his weird science plan to locate her and he's gonna go missing too!"

"Also, this whole adventure has been stressful and confusing- like, why are there so many gangs in this city? What the hell happened at Crystaldream Lake to make those time anomalies?? What the HELL was Mudhenge???"

their pacing landed them by the odd faerie sculpture, which v socked in the head as they were so worked up. there was a loud crunch as their fist made contact with the wood. obie stared at them with surprise. this was the first time he's seen v get genuinely pissed off at something and it was a bit scary... they had a look in their eyes that was telling him that they'd break more things if he didn't step in. obie rummaged through their nightstand and snatched a handful of pencils.

"V, wouldja c'mere? I got somethin' for you."

v's head snapped back to look at obie in a way that shouldn't be possible for someone with bones. they dismissed their anger with a shake of the head and now had a curious look.

"Huh? What's it?"

they floated over to him. obie was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. there wasn't a drop of anger in their demeanor anymore, just intrigue. he just pulled them in to sit back down.

"You never fail to give me whiplash, V. It ain't a big thing but it is quite odd seein' you flip from one emotion to another like a coin."

he gives them a little squish and a kiss on the forehead. they giggle, leaning into him more.

"Glad to see you're doin' better, hun."

obie stands. he sets the pencils back down on the nightstand and goes to the light switch.

"I think it's 'bout time to flop again, so lights out. Ya follow?"

"Mhmm... Sounds ducky to me."

with a click the lights were shut off. obie made his way back to the bed to cuddle with v, v making grabby hands at him until he got there.

and so, they both drifted off to sleep peacefully... no night terrors to be seen.

[mehless]

Sorry in advance to my followers.

We're about to get BIG.

[atomic-insomnia]

find the word tag

very late, but better late than never right?...tagged by @dotr-rose-love

world

The gears in the man's head were clearly spinning, and that was a good start--easier to throw a wrench in 'em that way. A healthy dose of confusion kept the world running smoothly.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

space

A crack of gunfire–Ivan swings around, but there’s no one behind him, just…just empty black space.  The desert sand stretches indefinitely to the horizon with no sky but utter darkness.

--Orphan Signal

heart

Koko really had a talent; Amelia hated to admit it but it was true. A talent for cutting to the heart of an emotion, of etching it on a canvas in a minimum of shapes and lines and colors so that they were both abundantly, unmistakably clear yet slowly unfolding, like listening to a music piece play out and grow more complex.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

lose

<<Wasting food and breaking dishes is not acceptable,>> Russia said with a toothy smile.  Inside his chest got tight again; that was an entire meal just wasted on the floor.  That was half the remaining food in the house.  <<If you continue like this I will lose my temper with your wastefulness.>>

--Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

little

Sometimes the nasty little voices in the back of Alfred’s head got to him, but he’d made it out of worse scrapes than this before.  Hell, remember ‘63?  He’d thought that might kill him for good, or at least leave him permanently split.  That was a scrape.  This was nothi–well.  It wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t the end of the line.

--Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

garden

They talk about heading to San Francisco like they’re returning to the Garden of Eden, talk about reaching the Haight-Ashbury district like it’s Nirvana.  Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs, but Soda, dead tired in the middle of winter in 1966, listens, and when they roll out, he leaves with them.

--Pepsi Cola Tastes the Same in Every Possible Universe

dream

"Good news?" she said, smile going thin. "Yeah! Yeah. Of course, 'Melia-baby." The shining silver limousine pulled around and Rolls opened the door himself. "It's about the picture. Think they might have a part for you after all."

"Oh, bushwa." Amelia batted the air. The idea of being a moving picture star had been half a joke and half a pipe dream. She'd only brought it up to get in good with that snobby wannabe starlet from the Follies who'd had a big mouth about her big-time producer friend Donald Pennyroyal.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

car

And Vinny had never been much for guiding a conversation. He usually blamed it on not speaking English. Unfortunately Nash already knew he spoke English just fine, so the long lapses into silence stretched awkwardly in the stuffy little living room upstairs from the pawn shop. That, and every time a car backfired on the street Vinny felt his heart do a somersault and the urgent need to start mumbling his rosary for the first time in five years.

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

why

"…But this was the final straw," he was saying. "Someone asked me to kill another stranger. An innocent girl I don't even know. And I don't even know why. Why are you supposed to die?"

--Beg, Borrow or Steal

~~~~~~

Beg, Borrow or Steal is an original WIP

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? and Orphan Signal are Hetalia fanfiction

Pepsi Cola Tastes the Same in Every Possible Universe is The Outsiders fanfiction

I'll leave an open tag because it's been so long since I've really played a tag game--if you see this, try to find one or any of the above words!

[ao3cassandraic]

Hi! You were really nice about answering my last question about applying to get my MLIS. After reading (and reading and re-reading) your response, I was wondering - what are certain "niches" you see in professional information work, and what schools cater to them? For example, I'm applying to University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign because it's in all the top ten lists - but I've only just heard from someone who works there that they wouldn't consider it the best school to go to if you want to get into rare books and archives. Is there a way to find out these sorts of things other than frantically interrogating any vaguely associated acquaintances?

Yeah, that's a great question!

Let's start with those "top ten" lists. They're bogus. They're HORSECRAP. They're total bushwa. Put absolute zero faith in them. (Not absolutely zero: absolute zero. Minus all the Kelvin, baby!) And I do not say this because they've snubbed the place I teach in; we actually rank tolerably well (undeservedly well in one area, frankly) in our areas of strength.

Most employers are not going to be impressed by what school you went to. (This is partly due to the unshakable hatred so many info pros have for the schools they attended. No school could ever impress them!) They want to know what YOU, you yourself, can do to solve their problems, and they can't reallly tell based on where you went to school. So put this particular worry aside.

Let's go on by saying this: salaries in the information professions being what they are (i.e. sucktastic), it is VASTLY more important to AVOID STUDENT DEBT than to go to a supposedly "top" school. If you have a school in-state, or your state has a tuition-reciprocity agreement with an out-of-state school, that school should frankly be high up on your list unless they do absolutely nothing in your desired specialty. DEBT IS REALLY BAD. DEBT CAN CHAIN YOU TO CRAPTASTIC JOBS YOU WOULD OTHERWISE LEAVE. AVOID DEBT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT. I can't say this loudly enough!

Now, to your actual question. How do you find out whether a school is good at something you care about? There's a few ways:

Call the school and ask. (There'll be a graduate coordinator or admissions coordinator or somebody you can talk to, guaranteed.) "What areas of librarianship would you say are this program's strengths?" is a fine question. (If they say "we're good at everything!" um, that's a bad answer and they kind of suck.)

Or call the school and ask if they can connect you with a current student studying what you want to study. Perhaps even an alum working in that area. Or whoever advises students in that area. This is a common ask and shouldn't be difficult for the school to accommodate.

Look at the school's faculty page. Who teaches in the area(s) you're interested in? Check 'em out on Google Scholar -- have they published anything interesting? Or are they active in the appropriate professional organizations or conferences? If you find The Person, it's in-bounds to email them directly, explain your interest, and ask what they'd recommend if you matriculate in their program. (We're busy people, so there's a good chance you won't get an answer, or only a very brief one -- but a prompt and/or kind answer should lift a school on your list. You want to know you'll be treated decently as a student, you know?)

Also, be generous in how you construe "your area." Okay, maybe a school doesn't have a bunch of courses in rare books -- most won't, frankly, it's a niche interest and a poorly-marketable one, which I will definitely have more to say about momentarily -- but they've got a crackerjack digitization instructor. That school should stay on your list! Digitization is a Big Thing in rare books, special collections, and archives!

Check course listings, not just for what courses are on the books, but for which courses are actually being taught. These are not necessarily the same thing, institutional red tape being what it is.

No matter what professional areas you're interested in, you will learn most in library school if you play AWAY from your existing strengths. This is counterintuitive to a lot of people! But it can really work to make you an all-round standout. If you know your tech savvy isn't great, you can see what a school will do about that. If you know you need more management skill-up, again, look for coursework and/or extracurriculars that will help.

Okay. Rare books, special collections, archives. This is perhaps the commonest area people entering a master's program want to specialize in. Bluntly, this means there is WAY TOO MUCH COMPETITION for any job you'd actually want. Employers have taken absolutely ruthless advantage of this! Search Google Scholar for "archives precarity" or the "UCLA Six."

I actually got in trouble once for telling our school's archives students quite bluntly that the archives job market sucks so bad that if there's anything else in the information professions they can imagine doing, they should do that instead. You aren't my student yet, though, so I can still tell you, DO SOMETHING ELSE IF AT ALL POSSIBLE. At the very LEAST have a backup career plan, okay?

I warn because I love.

[theanimoo]

Ghosts And The Man Who killed Them: Prologue

Characters: Miho Kirishima, Miyuki Tezuka, Takeshi Askura, Odin, (Random guy) & Yuichi Saito

Pairing: None

Summary: A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and-OH GOD! THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE!

Warning: Blood, swearing, gore and death

Word count: 1582

Day 2 of 30 of my 30 Day Writing Challenge and the prompt is Mafia Au for Ryuki.

“We’re up next, Miho.”

Miho paused, her eyes narrowed as she popped the lid on her stick, and glared at a young man that couldn't stand still. His legs shaking like desperate leaves hanging on a twig; shaking, even though they should just fall off and…die.

“Yuichi, stomp your stamping!” The singer stared down the frightened man as he kept tapping his foot, and looking down like a kicked puppy. “The hell are you so nervous for?” 

“You don’t know?” Yuichi suddenly stopped his stamping and looked up with a wide-eyed look. 

“Know what? 

“Well, you see my friend-” The man was suddenly stopped by Miho’s venom.

“That Fortune teller? What does he have to do with anything?”

Yuichi put up a finger as he took a deep breath. “Let me finish, he did a reading for this night and he told me that something was going to happen. Something real bad.”

“Something bad? Come on, do you really believe that fortune telling bushwa?” 

“Well, he’s never been wrong, and there’s also going to be-” The man was cut off again as a group of boys came walking past them with their instruments in hand and grins on their faces.

“Good luck, you two! We have a special guest tonight.”

The two stopped for a moment, both wondering the same thing and what it meant.

Who’s the special guest?

After a few seconds of looking at each other like a couple of blockheads, they finally climbed up the creaking stairs to the stage, and took their places behind the red curtain.

Yuichi on the piano and Miho front and center of the microphone. They both waited in silence before the curtain pulled back to show a dark room filled with cigar smoke, and smelled of wine and blood.

Mobsters and thieves filled the audience, but one person caught their attention: It was the Don.

Odin

The man always wore a perfectly crisp suit and a mask, hiding his face from the world and leaving everywhere he went with an eerie atmosphere. But, the man sitting next to him, he was new. A stranger. A new killer who was there to see their rinky-dinky little show.

He wore black suit, nothing but pitch except for a red waistcoat, and a maroon tie. And, yet that didn’t drive away from his features; He was quite a good looking fella. Slicked back hair and a looked in his eyes that reminded them of-

“Psst! Oi! Get to playing you dumb doras!” A voice that was all too familiar reached Miho’s ears, causing a smile to form as they glanced towards the stairs. There stood the lady’s older sister, their number one fan. 

The only person they trusted in the room.

After the lady’s sister skipped off to her seat, a smooth, deep voice swam over the crowd as a soft piano accompanied the little ditty; it slowly ramp up as they went on, but the mob seemed to love it. Song after song the duo completed brought big smiles to the crowd. 

The crowd was hanging onto every note, taking a ride on every tone and it wasn’t long until they were nearing the end of their show.

Hollers and calls rang throughout the room as Miho sang the last cord, and Yuichi played them out. Blood stained hands applauded with cheer, cheers that were created from cries that would never be heard. 

They almost didn’t want to hear them, but those cheers paid the bills.

“I would like to thank the Don for gracing us with his presence, and for being your friend along to our show. He is quite a handsome fellow if I do say so myself.” Miho spoke with the sweetest voice she could muster as the crowd roared with laughter, the stranger gave a small nod, and Odin waved. 

Then the curtain slowly began to close as a wave of calm rushed over the duo, and they let out a breath that they didn’t know they were holding.

“We’re still alive, right?” The pianist let out a pained chuckle as he was socked in the shoulder by a smug Miho. “I’m still surprised that it went that well, it still seems a bit odd.”

“I told ya it would be ab-so-lute-ly fine, and see nothing happened! I told you that stuff was all balon-AAAAHHHH!”

Red splattered across the singer’s face, iron attacked her tongue and a blood curdling scream left her form as white silk was stained. Her eyes darted around as she stared back into bloodshot eyes.

The pianist’s hands were dripping with blood as fat tears streamed down his cheeks, and mingled with the red on his collar.  Screams filled their ears as Yuichi stumbled across the stage, and tumbled into a hysterical Miho. 

“M-my hands! Miho, I-i-it’s my hands!” His voice wavered as he raised his hands to show the carnage of his most prized possession; Yuichi had been shot, and all they could see was a sick smile through the curtain.

A smile they’ll never forget.

“Oh, god! We need to go! -AHHH!” Miho grabbed onto the man’s shoulders, her whole form shaking as they rushed towards the stairs. The sound of gunfire and the cries of pain sent them stumbling over themselves, fear rushing through their veins as they scrambled to get up. 

The duo clung to each other like an lifeline as they made it to the floor, and a figure backstage caught-

A loud thud made them jump as time seemed to still, there on the floor was her sister. Red poured from her lips as her form laying limp, pale and quickly losing life. 

A hole in her head.

"Nee-san! NOOO-!” Her screams fell on deaf ears as she was yanked past the bones, and into the back of the club- to the exit; Miho couldn’t stop her feet from trying to dart back, but a face left her frozen.

The same sinister smile from before was directed right at her, clothes stained red and engulfed with holes; he didn’t shoot though, he just waved.

H-he waved at m-

“MIHO, MOVE!” 

The singer was yanked back with the force of a desperate man, but it wasn’t enough to tear her gaze away from the monster staring at them. It was almost like he wasn’t even there, a figment of her imagination.

He might have just been smoke and mirrors.

Yuichi slammed into the exit door with his shoulder, biting back a gasp of pain as he pulled Miho along. Concrete greeted them once they stumbled into the alleyway, hard ground and grime gave them a place to catch their breath as they stared into the sky.

There was no cloud in sight as the stars shone brightly above them in an indigo haze, with a soft breeze blowing through the air. Their vision began to slowly blur over as the world began to still.  It would have been peaceful if a sudden blood-curdling scream hadn’t forced them to their feet, and scapering away into the night.

Lungs burned with every breath as their feet slammed against hard ground, and pushed themselves as far away as they could from the hell they escaped; hoping that running away would wipe their minds clean.

___________________________________

The Ore Journal

Gunslinging Crook Asakura Takeshi Finally Thrown in the Salmer!

After the bloodbath that happened on the ___ of___ at a speakeasy that resulted in the death of over 10 people, and many injured, but the crook was finally caught. Asakura Takeshi was arrested by Police Detective Sudo after being caught at an esteemed lawyer’s estate; the crook was there for legal help (God knows he needs it), but he was refused services and without warning pounced! Thankful, Detective Sudo was on patrol that very moment- it’s almost like he’s superhuman! The Crook is currently awaiting his trial in the ___ jail and is-

RingRing 

Is said to be under heavy surveillance until he can be moved to a-

RingRing RingRing

A more secure-

RingRingRingRingRingRing

“Fine! I’m coming, so stop the ringing!” A disgruntled Miho slammed the paper down with a smack, before pushing herself out a loveseat that was too nice, and too far from her front door. 

She stomped her way to the door, but stopped, took a deep breath and opened the door with the sweetest look she could muster. “Well, what’re you here- wait!”

The person outside in the cold, windy air was someone Miho wasn’t expecting to see; it was the psychic guy-Yuichi’s friend. He was drenched in rain and was just dripping with dread.

“Why are you-?” 

“He’s dead.”

A sinking feeling formed a pit in Miho’s gut as she slowly shook her head; she must have heard him wrong. 

“That’s nonsense, there’s no way-!”

“He’s dead…he’s gone.”

The singer felt a lump in her throat, choking her and not letting a word out. She swallowed around nothing for a few moments as her mind raced. “So, how’d it happen? Was he blown down or-?

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, Canary.” His voice was even, almost cold, but his eyes were dark. They were little windows into his soul that he tried to hide.

“Then what was the point if I wouldn’t believe you?” Miho leaned against the doorframe while a sudden nauseous feeling rushed through her, making her sigh and shut her eyes.

“I just thought you should know, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

To Be continued

[randomruff]

Nightmares and Worries always go away in his presence.

All she could recall was fire, blood, and screams

they took something from her

it was unacceptable!

she felt no remorse as she tore down the kingdom

they deserved it in her mind

the only thing she felt was the rage and grief of her late friend.

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

"M..-l-..m..." something gently shook her. The person's touch was gentle. It made her ignore all her worries

"Mi-im "their voice was soft but confident it made her feel safe, something that she never received until a few weeks ago

"Milim, come on I gotta do my work now"

She slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was the silver-blue hair and beautiful golden eyes that belonged to her bestie Rimuru

She beamed when she looked at him.

Of course! She should have known it was Ruru, only he had that extraordinary power to make you feel so protected

The slime studied at her, confused as to why she smiled so brightly when she saw him; the girl had fallen asleep on his lap after eating too much of that honey he offered her; she kept tossing and turning along with mumbling some strange bushwa that he, for the slife of him, just couldn't figure out

He moved his head to the side and asked, "you, okay? You sounded like you were having a bad dream" the demon lord frowned when she was reminded of her nightmare, but quickly nodded and grinned

That's right, she has Rimuru now! how silly of her~! there's no reason to remember such sad things when he's around!

"I need more honey!!!" she demanded with the most serious face one could ever have.

here in Tempest, she can be as carefree as she wants, she can forget her pain and sorrow, she can skip her duty, eat delicious food, and have fun without a care in the world, and no one would judge her, here she's free.

Her eyes slightly softened as she realized just what a precious and magnificent country her bestie had created. Greedy vermin would most likely take Tempest for themselves if they ever noticed how world-changing it could be. Her blood boiled at the notion,

She refused to let some rodents ruin her safe haven! her bestie's hard work would not only go to waste at that point, but the prospect of something happening to his beloved people... it would no doubt turn out for the worst... she wasn't even certain Rimuru could handle such losses...

"But you ate all of it!" Ruru replied, bringing Milim out of her thoughts. Oh yeah, that's right, she wanted honey.

Rimuru had sweatdropped at the pink-haired Dragonoid's demand. That's the first thing this girl says after taking a nap?!

Milim shook Rimuru's shoulders, "But I want more!!!" she yelled. There was no way she could have eaten it all! No, there had to be more! She was positive of it!

Rimuru turned back into his slime form and hopped out of Milim's grasp, albeit a little dizzy. "Okay, okay, I'll give you more honey," he said, giving in

Milim stopped and gave a victory smile, yes, she knew it! Rimuru was holding out on her with that enchanting sweet!

Rimuru sighed and took a bottle of honey out of his storage stomach, Milim grabbed the bottle and immediately started eating, 'she's going to run my personal collection dry if she keeps this up!' Rimuru thought as he watched the Dragonoid devour the whole thing

Milim closed her eyes contently as she ate another piece of honey, 'yes" she thought 'everything is perfectly safe and fun whenever Rimuru is around' and she hoped it will continue to be that way.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Summertime

One of the prettiest sights in all of cinema is Katharine Hepburn standing in a gondola at dawn, waving goodbye to lover Rossano Brazzi in David Lean’s SUMMERTIME (1955, Max). Yet the shot is also problematic. Although it’s clear they’ve spent the night together, she’s wearing a different outfit than in their scenes the night before. Did he have a collection in various sizes in his apartment, or was this just a sop to the censors? And prettiness dominates the film, which works fine as a contrast to Hepburn’s early loneliness as a single woman on her first European vacation and as she and Brazzi grow closer. It’s just that it starts feeling a bit forced at the end. She’s caught Brazzi in two lies, one of which is a whopper (he tries to pass off his adult son as his nephew). And Brazzi can’t quite match Hepburn’s sincerity. She makes us believe she’s a virgin in the throes of first love. Her silent scenes on her first night in Venice are exquisite and should help you forgive the few moments in which her bumptiousness seems more an actress’ striving for effect than a character acting foolishly. In the play (Arthur Laurents’ THE TIME OF THE CUCKOO), his character has more ambiguity. Though it’s a blessing to have some of Laurents’ talkiness cut to make way for Hepburn’s exploration of Venice (this is one film you couldn’t shoot in a studio), I think the playwright came up with a better ending. Lean’s film ends picturesquely, but it’s more an old-movie trope about the redeeming power of love and all that bushwa. Hepburn’s Jane is going to spend the rest of her life living off the memory of her few days with Brazzi. Leona, the role Laurents wrote for Shirley Booth, has learned to get on with her life and put her Italian fling in its proper place. With Darren Gavin as a young artist and Isa Miranda as the realistic owner of the pensione where Hepburn stays — both parts were significantly cut for the film — and Jane Rose, the only member of the original stage cast, making her film debut with a very funny performance as a gauche yet strangely charming middle-class woman on post-retirement vacation with her husband. This was David Lean’s last intimate film, and his light touch with the comedy here would be sorely missed in his later epics.

[unhingedwomandiaries]

There's this whole thing now about "magic jeans" that are supposedly the new hot commodity for women who want to look dynamite without spilling copious amounts of muffin top over their waistbands. The big selling point? These babies have a "contoured waistband for no gaping at the waist" and "shaping darts to lift your silhouette." They even have hidden front pockets designed to somehow manipulate your pudge into remembering its rightful place, somewhere behind the inner lining instead of oozing out over your belt loops like the Kool-Aid Man crashing through drywall. It's like the jean scientists finally decided, "Hey, why don't we just design pants that make it look like you have the body you actually want?"

Anyway, I was doing that semi-annual closet purge where you take stock of what's so busted and disgraceful that even the scrap store wouldn't accept those ratty clothes as a donation. That's when I found not one, not two, but three pairs of jeans with crotches absolutely obliterated by nuclear-sized tears and rips that would've made Mr. Raspberry Beret squirm. My husband saw this denim carnage and was like, "Are you gonna patch those up?" To which I was compelled to respond through uncontrollable belly laughs - "Patch the crotches? Are you high right now?" Because we all know there's nothing quite as erotically disruptive as having a janky patch rubbing against your undercarriage every time you make the controversial decision to walk upright as a bipedal organism. It's the ultimate itch, the crotch scratch that can never be satisfyingly resolved. I'm too young for that sort of torment. 

So instead of patching, I did what any self-respecting former emo kid would do - I grabbed my fabric scissors and turned those jeans into jorts. Except when I put them on, they were hanging off me like a low-rent Daisy Duke impersonator who got stuck wearing her aunt's muu-muu after too many Budweisers at the terribly-named "Classy Lassy" bikini bar. Not a good look for someone who desperately clings to the dying notion that she has at least a whisper of sophistication. I ended up taking those botched denim remixes back to the store, using the pitiful amount of store credit to buy myself a pair of the "magic jeans" everyone has been slobbering over.

The tag said they were a "size 14 short" - short being the keyword, since I'm a pretty diminutive 5'1" and have been since I was seven. But when I put them on this morning to go out - holy Shaquille O'Neal, these things were like MC Hammer parachute pants made for someone with Gheorghe Muresan's inseam. I'm talking full-blown "clown drags" that would have me walking around looking like Dimebox the Third Stooge. I could hem off about seven inches and maybe have a shot at completing the magical pant transformation, but I don't have time for that bushwa. By the time I got it figured out, the ludicrous "magic jeans" idea will be as obsolete as trucker hats and silly bands. That's just how this whole vapid, lame-brained fashion treadmill works - it's all a cynical trick to get us to buy the same crap over and over under the vaporous guise of feeling temporarily better about ourselves. What a bunch of losers we all are for falling for this scam again and again.