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5eraphim · 7 months

Note

"we can start with a kiss" for scout? 👀

Link to the Dubcon Prompts

Title: Red Sky at Night (alternative title "Just Like Playing Pretend")

Character: The Scout 🐇 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: Dubcon, taping/armature, corrosion, delusional yandere (slightly reciprocated obsession), forced intimacy, panty huffing, biting/marking, fingering, very brief passing incest joke, i guess? (just like one line, a part of scout being annoying and a creepy), soft-mindbreak, degradation, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, lap riding

Word Count:

MASTERLIST

TIP JAR

"What feels like work to you, is playing to others." Lenfantvivant

"Hey, I'm home."

Entering the house, you instantly noticed no lights were on. As well as the lack of noise you'd never expect when Scout was home alone. It couldn't be much later than 6, but well into the fall season, the sky was black when you pulled in. Once inside, you noticed the sole lights on in the house were those in the bedroom. Though rather than the typical warm-white light you were used to, a bright red escaped the crack between the door and its frame making you equally curious and uneasy.

It wasn't just the silence that made you uncomfortable or the odd darkness. Still, the combination of those things specifically had your nerves on edge—today marked the six-month anniversary of your relationship with Scout. Given his careless, self-obsessed nature, one would think he'd be the type to forget about this kind of thing, but he never did. You half-hoped to luck out today while unable to shake the suspicion Scout had something planned for later.

You crept closer but couldn't hear anything but a bit of movement from the other side. When you were at the doorway, you took a deep breath, stealing your inner resolve before using your fingertips to push the door open to peep inside gently.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the odd lightning inside. To your surprise, there weren't actually any red lights on, but rather some red towels hanging over the bedside table lamps, turning the light from the white bulbs deep red as well as dimming them slightly, emphasizing the long dark shadows in the room, making the entire place feel seedy. Even the window had a red sheet drawn across the curtain rod, rendering the whole night sky invisible to you, save for the light of the half-moon and a few bright stars.

Scout must've missed the sound of you coming home as you caught him fiddling with something on the dresser with his back to you as you entered. But now, in the same room with him, you instantly caught his attention, making him abandon whatever he was doing to greet you with a crushing hug. "Hey, you're back!"

He kissed your cheek as you limply returned the hug, going through the motions of letting him kiss you and forcing a loving smile as he wrapped his arms around your waist. As you let your arms slip away from his shoulders, stepping back to break the hug, you couldn't ignore how odd the room looked, bathed in bright red. "Scout, what is all this?"

He didn't answer your question, just beamed at you with a big smile, "Ya like it?"

You raised an eyebrow, "It looks fine, but why?"

Scout inched a little closer, slinging one arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his chest, "C'mon, don'tcha know what day it is?"

You nodded, "I do…"

"Well, six months is a long time, ain't it? Thought it's 'bout time we did somethin' a lil extra special to celebrate!" He didn't really answer your question, feeling content enough to have his arm around your shoulders, holding you nice and close to his chest while he admired his handiwork, turning the unwanted-ly shared bedroom into something even sleazier.

But you knew better than to tell him you thought the room looked tacky or pornographic. Your brows creased as you tried to follow wherever he was going with this, "Celebrating with red lights?"

"Red lights aaand-" Using his free hand, he gestured with his thumb to where he was standing before you entered.

You followed his thumb with your eyes, realizing it wasn't something on the dresser he was messing with before you showed up. It was a camera on a tripod, about the same level as the dresser, pointed at the bed. "A camera?"

He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. That dumb look on his face, as well as the red light on the camera indicating a recording in progress, the shabby lighting, covering the windows and giving no indications he had anything in mind, waiting until you were home and exactly where he wanted you before showing you all this, were all the clues you needed to piece together what he had in mind for tonight.

"Scout, you cannot be serious!" You sidestepped away from him snappily, making the arm previously around your shoulders slide right off. Scout looked genuinely surprised to see you acting so resistant. You never wanted this relationship, you hated Scout, but he knew how to keep you compliant. Before you agreed to the relationship, he was constantly bugging you, blowing up your phone with calls and texts, which was annoying but not difficult to brush off. For the longest time, you saw him as just another creep and nothing more, more persistent than most you knew, but hardly anything special. You had yet to learn how far he would take things.

Even when he pestered you and acted immature, you never truly thought of Scout as a bad guy. You wanted to believe deep down he was sweet, just a bit misled. But when loved ones began turning up in the hospital, almost died from blunt force trauma, or when personal belongings turned up smashed to pieces, you knew who was behind it all, but even worse, you knew what you had to do to make it stop.

And it was under threat of violence to yourself or the ones you love that kept you quiet and obedient for the longest time. It wasn't a good situation to be in, but it sure as hell was better than the alternative. The past 6 months were essentially a blur when it came to your personal life; you would go home, and there he was. That was all there was to it. Scout wasn't a complete monster, and occasionally, you'd even catch glimpses of that "good boy" you thought he always was deep down.

This must've been the first time you tried to resist him in ages. "If it took this long for me to stick up for myself, is it bad I can hardly remember what the hell I was agreeing to before now?" You wondered to yourself.

Scout rolled his eyes, grabbing your shoulder with one hand to keep you from slipping away any further, "I don't get why you're acting like it's a big deal- it's just this one time, c'mon!" You'd admire his audacity if it weren't so infuriating. You weren't sure how many more" just this once-s" you had left in you. It was hard to stomach the disgust and guilt for playing along and letting him get what he wanted, but trying to refuse him was even more challenging, and you already knew no matter what you had to say, he'd get his way by the end of the night.

Eyeing up the camera, you crossed your arms over your chest. Scout's grip on you was too tight for you to escape entirely, "You're not gonna make this… weird, are you?"

He chuckled, "How weird are we talking'?"

You frowned, "Like gross weird. Like, you're not going to make me pretend to be your sister or something creepy, right?" Maybe giving him ideas like this was wrong, but you were already so uncomfortable you didn't know how much worse things could get.

You recoiled as he laughed, clearly not bothering to take your concerns seriously. "I wasn't gonna! But I mean, hey- if ya wanted, I don't mind playin' big brother-"

You grit your teeth, fighting back a chill of disgust. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

Scout gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, perhaps not entirely oblivious to your discomfort, "Relax, relax, I'm just messin' with ya! Just wanna help loosen up a lil before I start rearranging your guts and all."

You blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to that. "Alright then… So what do you want me to do?"

Scout leaned over to kiss the top of your head, "All ya gotta do is get on the bed and look real pretty. Leave all the rest to me."

You nodded, prepared to get all this over with as soon as possible, about to step past him and make yourself comfortable on the bed when you felt his hand on your shoulder, "Hang on, I wanna make this count. Can we start with a kiss?"

You turned to respond, but before you could say anything, you felt his palm against your cheek, guiding your face to connect with his. If you were unsure if Scout wanted to go through with all this, you weren't questioning it anymore. Keeping one hand resting against the side of your face, his other hand blindly ushered the rest of your body to draw even closer, finding the small of your back to pull you in nice and close. He wasn't the best kisser and almost always lost himself in the spur-of-the-moment excitement to the detriment of his technique and general lack of experience. But clearly, he was at least trying to hold himself back a bit, trying not to overwhelm you. For only a moment, you pondered his change in demeanor, only to feel a chill running down your spine as you realized you forgot to ask earlier if the camera was already recording or not, or even worse, just how many other cameras he might have set up you'd yet to discover.

Scout's fingers toyed with the bottom of your shirt's hem for a few seconds before his hand slipped under your top, stroking your lower back with his fingers slowly, wanting to savor the moment, trying so hard to fight off his own impulsive desire to slam you against the bed and make you moan his name like a porn star. You broke the kiss with your eyes remaining focused on his lips, feeling a confusing affectionate stir in your chest from the lopsided toothy grin staring back at you.

Scout wanted you to play pretend with him and go along with his "directing" for tonight. It made your head spin, trying to remember if you were supposed to act as his adoring lover or a sexy actor for his adult film in a cynical, morbid way. Though you knew you could sell the character easily enough, you already had so much experience pretending to go along with his possessive, often violent whims in and outside the bedroom; how could this be all that different? How could (hopefully) one camera make all that kind of difference?

Trying to put on a soft and needy voice, you whispered, "I don't wanna wait more- can't we get into bed already? We can keep kissing there, can't we?" It never took more than some doe-eyes and a breathy "please" to get Scout to do what you wanted. When it came to the bedroom, he was almost always all talk.

Scout smiled, letting you pull him into bed, but stopped you when you started to undress yourself.

"Lemme do it," he nodded at the camera, "Gotta make sure you're doin' it nice and slow."

It was hard not to roll your eyes, but somehow you managed. Settling down into bed with your head at the pillows and your side to the camera while Scout crawled on top, peeling off his own shirt in the process.

Honestly, it was a bit more awkward and stiff to lay back and let Scout undress you than actually discomforting. You consciously avoided looking at the camera while he worked, as though it would do anything to salvage your dignity. It saddened you that no matter how much you hated him, there was always that frustrating little part of you that still felt arousal for Scout. That little part of you that would always want him, no matter how you hated him or how he humiliated you, it was never enough to make you stop wanting him.

With your compliance, Scout could slip off your shirt overhead, followed by your bra, intentionally dropping them to the floor in front of the camera for dramatic effect. But when he popped the button on your pants, his excitement picked up slightly, tugging the fabric down your legs. Lowering his head to your navel, bracing himself on hands and knees around you, Scout gripped the top of your underwear between his teeth, straining the fabric against your body before tugging down.

It wasn't hard to help move your legs as he worked them down your legs with his mouth, but you weren't expecting to see Scout still holding the little bunch of fabric between his teeth as he looked back into place overhead, sitting back on his haunches, almost straddling your hips to keep both his hands free. He waited until he had your attention until your eyes focused on his mouth before pulling them free and keeping his eyes on your face as he pressed the fabric directly under his nose and huffed.

The subsequent moan of satisfaction made you cringe, keeping your eyes screwed shut and looking to the side as you made a sound of disgust. You hated how you could still hear his heavy breathing and cruel laugh, how he could prolong your discomfort without laying a hand on you, without being seen.

"Wassamatter? You wanna turn?" He pulled the cotton away from his face just enough to taunt you by dangling the garment over your head, tickling your cheek slightly.

"I'll pass."

Scout pouted, "It's your loss, ya know." He balled them up slightly with his fingers before squishing your cheek with his finger like he was teasing a baby.

"You sicko…" Eventually, with a sigh of disappointment, he tossed them to the side, lowering back down on all fours, his face much closer to yours. You were shocked to see an almost gentle, loving look on his face, his hands falling over yours at your sides on the bed. Before speaking, he gave them a soft squeeze before guiding your dominant hand into place over your sex, the other resting against the top of your hip, fingers brushing the very tip of your thigh.

"I'm only teasing' ya. C'mon ya know I love ya, an' you drive me freakin' crazy, lemme make ya feel real good. Tonight, we can start slow."

You flushed at the unexpected sweetness. Nodding once, you felt your breath hitch when Scout started to pulse his fingers over yours. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to pick up on the buzzy feeling deep inside, feeling extra sensual under the moody, red light.

True to his word, Scout followed your pace and mirrored your gentle touches. "Don't worry about going all out. Let's just getcha warmed up first, alright baby?" He said, kissing your forehead, grazing his lips against your forehead with every word with such a gentleness you managed to let yourself believe Scout could be trusted, imagining the gross scenario into something romantic. Like the two of you were innocent sweethearts fooling around behind closed doors, this wasn't anything grave, just a bit of naughty fun now that he had you all to himself. Or you were back home safe, and your loved ones were waiting for you just beyond the bedroom door.

But as the pleasant fantasy unfolded, it began to take a dark turn as though your own brain were acting out, trying to punish you for taking pleasure in such an undignified situation at the hands of such an awful person. A primal, unforeseen, and unmanageable fear flooded your mind, making you too scared to open your eyes, heightening all physical sensations. In your mind, you imagined the scene playing out. Your naked, weak body spread wide for all to see, the warm red lighting turning into hellfire, the man in bed with you into a demon. You weren't in your bedroom. You were in hell! Humiliated and treated like a whore by a demon, leered at by perverse faces who watched hidden from the shadows.

Abruptly, you locked up, your hands flying from between your legs, and you sat up, backing up against the wall to avoid knocking heads with Scout, feeling suddenly cold all over, like someone just poured an icy bucket of water all over you.

Scout looked at you confused, "Hey, chill out will ya! You're alright- What's wrong?"

Looking around the room self-consciously, you cleared your throat. The primal feeling of "something is wrong" had lifted, making you blank on exactly why you did what you just did. The feeling is much like suddenly snapping yourself out of a nightmare. You weren't in hell; there was no demon in the room with you and no shadowy figures watching you from the corners. You were right back in your unpleasant but expected reality. "Sorry, I uh- Just forgot about the camera for a second…"

He nodded, surprised to hear such a mild reason for the dramatic reaction. "Oh. You want me to cover it with a towel or something?"

You slackened, raising an eyebrow. "Will you cover the lens too?"

"Nope!"

Nodding, you sighed, "Never mind, I'm fine, I can keep going."

"Atta girl!" He congratulated you for going on with a pat on the shoulder as he sat up, crawling over to the lip of the bed where he could spread his legs and let them dangle down the side of the bed. Scout looked over his shoulder and gestured with his head, beckoning you to crawl closer as he patted the bed beside him. You realized a beat too late. Scout positioned himself, spread his legs wide, right where the camera lens was pointed, and waited for you to hurry up and get into place to do the same.

Softly, you padded closer on all fours as he spread his legs a little wider the closer you crawled. You were about to straddle his lap, facing him as Scout so often begged of you, when he put a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to pause.

"Nah, not like that- get on facing the camera. I wanna get a good view when I watch this back!" He didn't even really sound perverse as much as he sounded genuinely excited, but the hard-on between his legs was all the reminder you needed of his true intentions here, not to mention how overheated his body felt so close to yours. Awkwardly, you tried to situate yourself on his lap in this new position. It was too embarrassing to look at the camera and do this, so you kept your eyes down as you crawled out from behind him, letting Scout use his arms to help you stay balanced and guide you into place.

You must've looked as nervous as you felt. Scout leaned his face right next to your ear as he whispered, "Don't be shy, I've gotcha, I'm not gonna letcha fall. You're gonna look so sexy on tape, babe." His fingers drummed over and smoothed against your sensitive skin as he spoke, making it prickle.

With your weight balanced well enough on his lap, Scout's hands slithering up from your sides to cup your chest, groping against your tits with a teasing kind of playfulness. Even if he's wiry, he's so warm it makes you melt. Prompting you to mindlessly press yourself even harder down on his lap, feeling his stiff throb against your ass. His breath ghosts against your neck between kisses, you try to sync your breath to his, feeling the way it quickened every time you squeezed and palmed up his thighs.

The feeling of harsh teeth and a humid, wet tongue on your neck make you wince, mindlessly rolling your heat against Scout's lap, the instant reaction spurring him on all the more, as he took a hard nick to the side of your neck. You can feel Scout's trademark wonky teeth, coated with enough saliva to ooze out of his mouth, leaking all over you, forming thin trails connecting his lips to the wet spot he created, even as he pulled away. You were painfully pinned into place between Scout's mouth and his crushing grip on both your tits, making you groan in frustration as you felt trapped but unable to get any proper relief from either direction. But just as you were about to try and wriggle away, to get just a bit of space away from the man to catch your breath, Scout returned for another bite.

Intentionally, Scout aimed to target the already irritated skin. The pain intensified, and you felt yourself yelp as you began wriggling even harder to try and stop the pain. But Scout clung to you like a feeding leech, refusing to budge an inch.

The pain in such a sensitive area turned you on, but when you felt him drawing blood, your fear overtook your arousal. You didn't like how bold he was getting in front of the camera."F-fucking hell! Scout!"

To your disappointment, your attempts at stopping his abuse had the complete inverse effect. He let out a shallow moan, huffing as the breath got caught in his throat, grinding against the slick-with-sweat flesh of your backside, almost laughing with delight, "Beg again, just like that!"

"Sco-out! God! Please, more!"

"Beg harder- I wanna-God, I wanna hear you whine-"

You responded instantly, your brain well-past cock hungry and unaware of how pathetic you sounded, "Scout, Sc-scout! C'mon, please!" Fortunately, your muscles didn't have to strain much longer in that position, as Scout responded to your plea by thrusting fully inside, an action which would've been painful if not for your lustiness.

Feeling that maddening yearning between your legs finally satisfied, you couldn't help but let out a breathy sigh of relief, allowing your body to go limp, bouncing slightly as he continued to pound against your motionless body.

"Start touchin' yourself again, just like before- Go on and show off how freakin' hot you look when you come." Scout didn't need to tell you twice. One hand latched over one of his hands still covering your tit as you gripped the mound of skin through his hand while your dominant hand found your clit. Rolling the nerves between your fingertips, you felt the pleasure pick up in waves as your body relaxed into Scout, allowing him to keep your body nice and propped up for the camera while you chased your orgasm.

From the inside, Scout could feel how close you were just as well as you could. The end was so near for you, but you wanted it now, wanted to feel Scout fuck you even harder, treat you like an animal, and go as hard as he could. To encourage him, you begged again, "Hard as you can, Scout! Feels- ah! You feel so fucking good!"

In truth, you didn't even know if you gave him enough time to react before you were gripping down on his prick and riding out your high for all it was worth. Scout was so focused on not bursting before you all night that the sight of you at last climaxing over his lap practically made Scout come on the spot. But after watching you come to settle down from your orgasm, Scout was able to regain his thoughts well enough to complete a few more deep thrusts between your thighs before everything went white. All his muscles tensed as he came before slackening, forcing him to wrap both arms around your shoulders to keep from flopping backward. Scout's head felt all light and dizzy. He needed to take a second before he was ready to move. Keeping his eyes closed, he mindlessly buried his head back into the crook of your neck to continue panting heavily, offering a few more sloppy, gentle kisses as he caught his breath.

It was easy to stay like this. Scout wasn't acting pushy or demanding your submission; all you had to do was sit and support him. Usually, Scout could manage a near-instant recovery, but tonight, he sounded more spent than ever. And eventually, you lost track of time the longer you sat there.

After all that, your mind eventually began to wander. While you were responsive, aware of the space around you and what was going on, and even communicative in a small sense, broadly speaking, your mind had checked out. Despite all the invasion of privacy, lack of dignity, and bodily coercion, at some point, that little voice in your head that continued to remind you this was wrong, the self-blame and feeling responsible for letting him do this to you, apathy began to roll in like a stormcloud and block out your distress.

You were so tired, and on a primal level, you found the presence of another warm body in bed with you soothing enough to relax you, lulling you into an almost tranquil state. Your exhausted mind was no longer worried about Scout's hungry eyes against your naked body or the harsh red LED from the camera locked in on your location. The red towel covering the lamps and the red light illuminating the room stopped looking garish. It wasn't natural, but it felt oddly cozy and warm. You stopped paying attention to Scout altogether and became lost, staring out the window covered by the red blanket. Even behind the heavy fabric, you could make out the outline of the half-moon and a few bright stars in the clear sky.

By the time Scout finally pulled himself off the bed to clean himself up, you realized you had no idea how long your mind went blank staring at the wall. He offered you a hand out of bed, which you accepted, feeling pins and needles in your stiff joints as you followed him to the bathroom, trying not to look at yourself in the mirror while scrubbing yourself clean. Scout continued to chatter as he returned to bed, trying his hardest to get you nice and comfortable before he settled down.

Wrapped in a soft blanket, curled up at his side, you were at peace. A boundary was crossed tonight, and you knew you'd likely regret all this come morning, but at least it was over, and sleep wasn't far away. You weren't uncomfortable or in pain, but something in your gut didn't feel quite right. This wasn't how relationships were supposed to go, and boundaries like this weren't ever supposed to be broken, but then again, could you even remember the last time Scout had treated you like a boyfriend "should"?

He held you in his arms, told you he loved you, and called you beautiful, but it wasn't good enough. Nothing about tonight, about the relationship, and to be honest, almost nothing about Scout himself was quite right.

Nestled like a little chick in its nest, you allowed Scout to cradle your compliant body, feeling thankful for the soft fabric separating your body from his. You couldn't try to fight him back at all like this or defend yourself, but after all you'd just been through, what was the point? At least like this, it was all the easier to do what he wanted of you: lay back, keep quiet, and pretend you were hopelessly in love.

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 7 months

Text

Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Info, author’s note, etc

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18.

Summary: Seraphine Malfoy had been raised in California by her Squib parents with no knowledge of her family's magical heritage, though she has received lessons from a local family. When she discovers she’s the sole heir to the Malfoy family, she leaves for England to step into that role. She can handle the balls and the responsibilities and her new family members. The only thing that throws her completely off is the appearance of Death Eater turned war hero Regulus Black, who, despite being ridiculously full of himself, is far too good looking, charming—and far too persistent—for her own good.

Author’s Note:

So you may or may not be aware of this already, but I’ve been working on this for awhile. It’s not done yet, I’m just posting it in honor of Sera’s birthday, which is today. I’m currently working on chapter nine, and I suspect I’ll need at least another three. I’ll be posting every other day, I figure. Also part of the fun of writing this for me was seeing how much stuff I could put in there that would piss off JKR. So the OC is Jewish (her parents converted prior to her birth), and if anybody @s me about how I wrote it incorrectly (I don’t think I did, though) please know that I’m writing her growing up Jewish based how I grew up. You don’t need any understanding of Judaism in order to read the fic, I don’t think. Her best friend is a trans woman, too, which is fun. The trans woman in question is based on my irl best friend, who worked closely with me on “her” character.

Other things to note:

I play it fast and loose with the lore; I change what I don’t like and treat canon as fic inspo. I have indeed read the books, I’ve done tons of research, and I have a family tree made for the fic, same as I always do. I also have every outfit I describe of Sera’s as well as 3D tours of most of the houses described.

Sera was raised entirely separate from Wizarding society, British or US. She has no knowledge of it. This means she’ll use different words for things and spells (relocate instead of apparate, blue animal instead of patronus, that kind of thing). If something seems a little bit odd to you, chances are I explain it later.

Sera does not use a wand. She is not necessarily more powerful than your average witch, it’s just that she learned without one. You may be aware that canonically, Native American witches and wizards (Sera learns from one such family) didn’t use wands, and supposedly their magic was less powerful. I think that’s stupid. If a wand is a lightning rod, that doesn’t mean the lightning isn’t powerful outside of it, it’s just not as concentrated. As a result, the way Sera learned was without a wand but with more force behind each spell. She also learned in Awaswas, the native language of the Uypi tribe (historically they were a tribe living in the Santa Cruz mountains of Northern California, but unfortunately they are extinct now. However, I figure there’s no reason that magical families wouldn’t have been just fine against the colonizers), but she uses nonverbal magic almost exclusively now.

I think that’s everything. If you have any questions, please lmk.

Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake

To be added, please ask 💗

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malimaywrite · 8 months

Text

for redacted-tober 2023 | day 1: vincent & home general | wc: 1.7k

cw: depictions of grief, the beginnings of a panic attack; discussions of death and loss, very brief allusion to postpartum depression

notes: includes very brief non-canon physical descriptions of vincent and a lot of non-canon backstory on him as well; banner image from 'oak fractured by lightning' (1842) by maxim vorobiev

/ / /

She saw her son every night.

She saw him in the living room when she reclined in the leathery cushion of their couch. Her husband's gruff clearing cough covered by the sound of the nightly news blaring ahead of them. The glow of the anchor never touched the Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, and Beastie Boys CDs that continued to gather dust in the dark wood storage of the TV stand. All blues and white spines coated in gray underneath.

She should get to them. She should clean them off. She should finally put them away.

Vincent always forgot to put them away.

He'd stroll in with his hunk of a boombox Sunday mornings, absolutely dragging his feet because he knew it was time to clean. Handle in one hand, the chipped plastic of too many CDs in the other. He dropped them to the floor, opened the curtains wider than she liked. The scream of the vacuum and guitars soon followed.

She often called to him to turn the noise down some. He always would. His hum and half-whisper singing broke through as he wiped off the windows, straightened the magazines on the coffee table.

Those same songs sometimes played on the 'throwback' hour on the radio now. She always heard Vincent's hum along with them. Light and heavy at the same time, soothing even mixed with the clash of cymbals.

The CDs blurred the longer she stared at them.

They rested right where he left them his last Sunday.

A hard swallow as the same Max's Rustic Pizza ad blasted in bright red along the screen, as she ignored her uneaten cake slice on the table. She braced and pushed herself off the couch with a huff, a slow breath that steadied her. Her body took longer to do so these days.

She saw Vincent in the kitchen. All in the cabinets, all in the mug that sat too high for her to reach now. The words 'Best Mom Ever' decorated the bright pink ceramic—a gift from him when was six via his dad.

Vincent wobbled over to her that Mother's Day morning all ruffled hair and bright eyed with his security blanket in tow. High-pitched squeaks of 'mommy, mommy' warmed her ears. He tried to reach for the mug she already had on the counter. Little hops to replace that one with his.

She did it for him then scooped him up to plant kisses on his dimpled cheek until he giggled.

He flashed in front of the jug of some artificial juice that sat unopened in the pantry. They'd had it for a week. Vincent used to cobble for it, horde the drink in the midst of his studies. The electric blue of it half gone within days whenever he found it. Once in awhile, her husband would grab a jug at the store, grumble about seeing 'what the fuss' used to be about.

She saw Vincent rod straight against the framing of the pantry door. Marker in her hand and black ink lining his height. Only one dash for every year until eleven when he asked to grab the stool to kneel on so he could measure her height too. His own handwriting joined hers, barely legible until he was sixteen—until he started rolling his eyes with a smirk when she started his birthday mornings with their heights.

He'd laughed on his 18th when it was his turn to measure her again. She turned to see her new height just slightly under the year prior.

“Mom,” he'd started with feigned shock. “Don't tell me you're shrinking on me?”

She'd nudged him then. He only laughed harder. A song and his beam of a smile in the back of her mind that made the kitchen less cold.

A deep breath—one that trembled on its way in and out.

Flickers of him in the bathroom he shared with guests. His tall and lanky frame practically contorted closer to the mirror to get all the black hair dye through the gelled waves of his dark brown hair. The splotches from it still dotted the dark purple bath mat he picked out—all the washes since only turning it gray. The dull gold of the doorknob still wobbled when it shut ever since he slammed the door that one night she grounded him for skipping school to go skateboard.

The glimpses of him in the hallway—running to head out the door for the school bus, rushing at the honk from his friends waiting in the driveway, shuffling half-asleep with his midnight snack. Framed pictures of him hung along the wallpaper walls. The posed picture of a bow-tied, red-faced toddler caught mid-cry. The edited floating head of him wailing hovered above him in the gray backdrop. His other bow-tied photo from his senior year, all middle part swooped hair and a closed smile. One photo with a missing tooth, one with multicolored braces. Another with him squinting through the sun on their redwoods trip, another when he led the family hike for the first time.

Her chest fluttered, breaths starting to leave her faster than she liked.

Her feet dragged across the carpet as if her body didn't want to leave the space, as if she hadn't already etched every detail of the aging snapshots onto the back of her eyelids.

Her sister asked earlier if all the pictures up made it harder. She didn't know. Her niece had a son in 2003, gave him Vincent for a middle name. He'd stopped by today—now the same age as Vincent when he—stared at the photos, told her he thought they would have gotten along really well. She did know that.

The open blinds of their bedroom windows led to the shadows covering Vincent's swing set out back. She'd pushed him as high as he could go then, as high as what wouldn't unnerve her, when his feet couldn't touch the ground. When his feet could, they sat together as he rambled about a crush, a group project, some fancy cars he wanted when he got older.

She saw him tumble dramatically off the swing, sending her heart into her throat, before running over to her—before yelling that he couldn't go to his first day of kindergarten tomorrow, mommy, because he just broke his leg. Several years later, he sniffled over a small patch of dirt near the back fence, where they buried his pet iguana Littlefoot. She told him it would hurt less later.

She may have lied to him then.

Her breaths stuttered, all staccato in the center of her chest.

Underneath that bedroom window lay an empty space. One that over forty years ago rested the gray wood of his crib. He'd leaned to look at her between the bars, a garbled babble left him. His tiny hand reached out for her.

The questions that rumbled like thunder ever since she sat scared in the bathroom with a positive pregnancy test staring back at her. What was she going to do? Would she do right by her child? Would she ruin them? Would they end up a good person? Would they hate her? Would they think she's a good mom? Would she protect them? Would they be happy?

He cried out to her, only one year old then when the rain cloud of postpartum gave way just enough for her to see the sun. To see it on Vincent's face.

She held him then, cradled him so maybe, maybe he could hear her heartbeat. He calmed eventually, staring up at her in what seemed like awe on his little face. She was sure her expression matched his. She trailed a finger gently down, down from the top of his forehead to the tip of his button nose until he fell asleep in her arms. The first time of thousands, all the way up until his anxious night before he'd drive four hours away for his college freshmen move-in day. And she held him each time. She always held him.

Her baby. Her Vincent. Her home.

Her home, her home, her home.

She didn't know when she ended up in Vincent's nearly untouched room again. Or on her side along his flannel blanket that stretched tucked into his queen size bed. Her veiny, age-spotted hands warming up the side her body couldn't.

Her breaths quick and shallow, racing now.

Some years were okay. On his 31st, they took Vincent's favorite hiking route—followed the bright orange of the California poppies. On his 23rd, 34th, and 40th, they popped over to her sister's an hour away, cherished stories between each other like pieces of gold. Last year, she and her husband headed deeper into Dahlia and got ice cream.

She didn't remember his 22nd or his 30th. She'd told her husband she needed to stop by the store for the former mid-morning, but didn't come home until early evening. The whites of her eyes red. There was nowhere to place herself. The day after the latter he asked why their car smelled like someone else's cologne. She didn't have an answer for either. He asked her to stop drinking. She was sure she hadn't had a single glass.

Some years were bad. On his 25th, she screamed in the courthouse lobby asking the clerk which judge, which shitty judge declared him 'presumed dead' when she could not bury her son. On the 27th, she fussed at her husband for not including Vincent in the 'survived by' section on her father-in-law's obituary. She locked herself in the bathroom all day on his 32nd.

Some years.

Some years the weight pressed heavy on her chest. It threatened to crush her until she was no more.

Some years her cries out to him only eased ever so slightly when a new weight sunk down the bed behind her, when her husband smelled of frosting and took to rubbing her back until she fell into a troubled sleep.

One where she got to see her baby the same as he was that last Sunday.

Today was her son's 43rd birthday.

And she missed him.

She'd miss him, miss him, miss him until there was not a breath left in her.

#redacted-tober 2023 #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted fanfic #redacted vincent #my writing

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academiaipromise · 1 year

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things that i want everyone to know about the return of true tv (riverdale season 7)

this season was promoted on the promise that you don’t need to have seen any of the other six seasons of this show. they also parodied nicole kidman’s “heartbreak feels good in a place like this” amc advert.

as we know this season is set in the 1950s (in case you missed it, they were sent back in time after bailey’s comet almost killed them all) and jughead is the only one who remembers the present.

brief interlude taken to condemn the murder of emmett till...okay back to the guardian angel plot line (???)

veronica is a ‘50s hollywood actress who is going to high school to get a sense of small town life before the filming of our town (1940?? maybe i misunderstood this dialogue tbh)

cheryl’s twin brother is alive but he’s not jason he’s julian (for those keeping track, this has raised our ginger ratio on this show to an unacceptable number) [i am ginger and approve this message]

betty’s dad is back and probably not a serial killer but probably racist (we’re still having wild tonal shifts from jughead trying to restore his friends’ memories to prevent more wacky time travel to toni and betty trying to bring attention to the murder of emmett till)

shazam reference! ✨ synergy ✨

hot rod archie hot rod archie hot rod archie (if this somehow ends in a performance of greased lightning...)

jughead finds the time capsule they buried after graduation and tries to use the objects to convince everyone they’re from the future

“kevin...you directed some musicals...and were in...an organ harvesting cult”

jughead explains to the group that if they do not want to wait for the comet they could instead get betty and archie to make out on a bed and detonate a bomb under them. i love being reminded of this thing that actually happened on tv.

i need to be real with y’all i find 1950s archie really endearing he somehow has all of the stupidity of modern day archie but it’s presented as naive innocence (”i like. cars. sports. and fishing” like i love that for him!)

cheryl walks into pops and shouts “j’accuse!” at veronica catching her in a lie after she said that she had been cast in our town, but oh ho, cheryl has found out from her movie magazine that it is actually natalie wood! but i’m here to catch them both in a lie because there is no adaptation of our town starring natalie wood so.

veronica was involved with the 1955 car accident that killed james dean and her parents subsequently banished her. if you cared.

there is this subplot about the push for safe driving after the james dean crash which i know did happen but this is clearly an issue for hot rod archie!!

rip hot rod archie he has agreed to unsoup his car

just saw a WILD ad for reign on the cw streaming app...the end of the cw hurts all of us

“good morning riverdalians” [transitions straight to a reading of “Mississippi–1955” by langston hughes holy shit]

my joke post is not the place where i feel i have the nuance and space to discuss how this episode is engaging with racial discrimination and the civil rights movement but just know that it’s...it’s something to know about [edit: here is an interview about the decisions to include these plot points this season. i think it provides some important perspective on both the history of this show and the intent behind it, though of course intent ultimately doesn’t matter in terms of effect. still, a good start to have]

tabitha (the real tabitha, the guardian angel of riverdale), returns to talk to jughead and tells him that she used what was left of her life force to send everyone to the past but because the comet destroyed riverdale in that timeline, everyone needs to try to thrive in the 50s in order to find a path back to a different future.

you know what no one else is gonna give blake neely the credit he deserves so i’ll mention that this version of the riverdale theme is actually really gorgeous. sir if you’re reading this please know that i listened to the riverdale score aggressively while writing on the cw for my ma thesis and it would not have been finished without you thank you for your service.

tabitha takes jughead’s memories and he tries to write them down before he forgets, only to forget after writing the words “bend. towards. justice.” (yes as in the martin luther king jr quote) and he finds his beanie from the future. end of episode.

in conclusion:

#riverdale #riverdale spoilers #posts that you can feel that my masters thesis is in revisions and i have a conference presentation to finish lol #like august 23....let me be real with you!!! i will be sad!!! it's the end of the cw babes #kt tangents

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journeythroughjourneytothewest · 9 months

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Chapter 7 Recap: From the Eight Trigrams Brazier the Great Sage escapes; Beneath the Five Phases Mountain, Mind Monkey is still

This chapter, covering as it does some of the Monkey King's most (in)famous deeds, begins with Sun Wukong and all his allies utterly defeated and the Jade Emperor having ordered the Monkey King’s execution. The celestial guardians take the Great Sage to the monster execution block and bind him to the monster-subduing pillar. There the monkey is slashed with a scimitar, hewed with an ax, stabbed with a spear, and hacked at with a sword. Yet none of this even slightly hurts Sun Wukong. Fire and thunder deities are then ordered to try burning him and striking the Monkey King with lightning, but “not a single one of his hairs was destroyed.” Baffled at the extent of this monkey’s invulnerability, the deities are left unsure on how they might destroy “a creature of that sort” until Laozi proposes that—as the immortal peaches, imperial wine, and divine elixir Sun Wukong had consumed “gave him a diamond body”—they should try smelting him in the Brazier of Eight Trigrams. There he could be separated from the elixir Laozi created, and his vulnerable body would then “certainly be reduced to ashes.” The Jade Emperor orders this sentence to be carried out, and also bestows many rare treasures and immortality-granting substances to Erlang Shen for his role in defeating Sun Wukong. The Little Sage returns to his temple.

Meanwhile, having been given Sun Wukong, Laozi removes the ropes and weapon that were binding the monkey and pushes him into the Brazier of Eight Trigrams before ordering the fire to be stoked so the smelting process can begin. Yet now able to freely move, the Monkey King recognizes that his life would be saved by crawling underneath the brazier’s compartment that symbolized wind, as “where there is wind, there is no fire.” Even so, the smoke the wind churned up permanently reddened his eyes, and (as we shall later see) Sun Wukong’s new “Fiery Eyes and Diamond Pupils” likely got some truth-precepting abilities from this process as well.

Times passes, and the Monkey King’s forty-ninth day in the Brazier of Eight Trigrams swiftly arrives. Laozi, believing his intended alchemical process had been perfected as he desired, opens the brazier to retrieve his elixir. Yet there is nothing inside but a Great Sage “covering his eyes with both hands, rubbing his face and shedding tears.” Hearing the noise of the brazier being opened and seeing light, Sun Wukong immediately leaps out of the brazier, kicking it over and, “wild as a white brow tiger in a fit, a one-horned dragon with a fever,” proceeds to fight his way out of Laozi’s lab and through the Heavenly Palace. And this time, “our Monkey King had no respect for persons great or small; he lashed out this way and that with his iron rod, and not a single deity could withstand him.”

Sun Wukong fights his way to the Hall of Divine Mists before he’s stopped for a time by Numinous Officer Wang, who’s able to hold his own against the Monkey King with his golden whip. Their ferocious battle is soon joined by thirty-six thunder deities. Sun Wukong, however, “was not in the least intimidated,” and changes himself into “a creature with six arms and three heads” while his compliant rod becomes three; “his six arms wielded the three rods like a spinning wheel, whirling and dancing in their midst. The various thunder deities could not approach him at all.”

The Jade Emperor, disturbed by all this “hustle and bustle,” sends the Wandering Minister of Inspection and the Immortal Master of Blessed Wings to “go to the Western Region and invite the aged Buddha to come and subdue the monster.” After these two sages relate the story to Tathāgata, the Buddhist Patriarch leaves his Thunderclap Temple in the company of two disciples and soon arrives at the gate of the Hall of Divine Mists, “where they were met by deafening shouts and yells.” Tathāgata order the thunder deities to retreat, while the Great Sage, throwing off “his magical appearance” approached the Buddha angrily and “shouted with ill humor, ‘What region are you from, monk, that you dare stop the battle and question me?’” Laughing in response, Tathāgata, after hearing the Great Sage’s account of himself and that he further intends to make himself the new ruler of heaven, scornfully tells Sun Wukong that he is “only a monkey who happened to become a spirit.” The Monkey King’s reply is that no matter their different statuses, the Jade Emperor must “move out at once and hand over the Celestial Palace to me” or else “there’ll never be peace!” Yet after goading the monkey to talk more about his magical might, Tathāgata offers his infamous wager: “If you have the ability to somersault clear of this right palm of mine, I shall consider you the winner. You need not raise your weapon in battle then, for I shall ask the Jade Emperor to go live with me in the West and let you have the Celestial Palace. If you cannot somersault out of my hand, you can go back to the Region Below and be a monster. Work through a few more kalpas before you return to cause more trouble.” Taking the Buddha as a fool, Sun Wukong agrees.

The Monkey King leaps up to stand “right in the center of the Patriarch’s hand” before, with a simple cry of “I’m off!” hurtles through space “relentlessly like a whirligig.” Soon enough he’s greeted by “five flesh-pink pillars supporting a mass of green air.” Sun Wukong believes that this must be “the end of the road.” Figuring that he’d better leave a mark of his arrival to prove where he was, the monkey changes one of his hairs into a writing brush soaked with ink and inscribes in large letters on the middle pillar “The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, has made a tour of this place.” He also, “with a total lack of respect…left a bubbling pool of monkey urine at the base of the first pillar.” Reversing his cloud somersault, Sun Wukong soon returns in what he believes triumph to the center of Tathāgata’s palm and demands that the Jade Emperor give him the Celestial Palace.

The Buddha but scolds the Monkey King as a “pisshead ape,” telling him to lower his head and take a look at Tathāgata’s palm. Doing so, Sun Wukong is greeted by the sight of his own writing on the Buddha’s middle finger and the smell of monkey urine from between Tathāgata’s thumb and first finger. The Great Sage is completely flabbergasted, and, screaming “I won’t believe it!,” is about to cloud somersault once again to what he had thought to be the edge of the universe before the Buddha “flipped his hand over and tossed the Monkey King out of the West Heaven Gate. The five fingers were transformed into the Five Phases of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. They became, in fact, five connected mountains, named Five-Phases Mountain, which pinned him down with just enough pressure to keep him there.”

The deities, including the Jade Emperor are quick to congratulate Tathāgata for having “vanquished the monstrous monkey,” and rapidly arrange a “thanksgiving banquet given for the Buddhist Patriarch.” Even the report from the Spirit Minister of Inspection that Sun Wukong managed to wriggle out from under the mountain enough to stick out his head doesn’t disturb the merrymaking; Tathāgata simply takes out a tag with the words Oṁ maṇi padme hūṁ on it in gold letters which, as soon as it’s stuck to the top of the Mountain of Five Phases, causes it to immediately grow roots and leave the Monkey King no room to do anything but breathe and move his hands around a little. After leaving the Jade Emperor and the deities, the Buddha, “moved by compassion,” also instructs a local spirit and the Fearless Guards of Five Quarters to both stand watch over the Five-Phases Mountain and to feed the Monkey King “iron pellets when he was hungry and to give him melted copper to drink when he was thirsty. When the time of his chastisement was fulfilled, they were told, someone would be coming to deliver him.” And with a poem on how Sun Wukong’s “evil’s full to the brim,” how he was left bitter at his piteous state under the mountain but still glad to be alive, and how he’ll yet serve the Buddha in the future with the journey to the west, the Monkey King’s time as the Great Sage Equal to Heaven is brought to an ignoble end.

How the beginning of that journey comes to fruition is a question that will have to be left for the next chapter.

#jtjttw chapter recap #xiyouji #journey to the west #jttw #jttw book club

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archivist-crow · 6 days

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On this day:

HUMAN LIGHTNING RODS

On May 20, 1946, in Kenton, Ohio, Charles Brown was struck by lightning for the tenth time while at the public library checking out a book. Brown is one of a handful of individuals known as human lightning rods.

Roy Cleveland Sullivan, a forest ranger from Waynesboro, Virginia, was hit seven times over thirty-six years. In 1942, while he on duty in a fire lookout tower, a lightning strike removed his toenail. In 1969, lightning scorched his eyebrows and knocked him unconscious. The 1970 hit, in his own yard, burned his shoulder. In 1972 and 1973, lightning set fire to his hair. He began to carry a container of water around after the first incident, and he used it to put himself out after the second incident, which also tossed him from his vehicle and knocked a shoe off. In 1976, a campground lightning strike injured his ankle. Hit while fishing in 1977, he was hospitalized for burns to his chest and stomach. His charred ranger hats are displayed in the Guinness World Record exhibit halls.

Carl Mize, affectionately known as Sparky, has been hit four times. Mize was first struck in 1978 when he was a bull rider in the rodeo circuit; he grabbed the handle of his pickup just as it was hit by lightning. In 1996, Mize explains, lightning "hit the tree and went over into a street light pole and knocked the top of it and followed that cable around to where I was working on it.... It went through my arm and then back out of my chest." In 1999 he was holding onto a swing chain when struck. In 2005, lightning blew a hole in the bottom of his shoe. "The guy that rides in the truck with me, he wants hazardous duty pay now," Mize said.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

#on this day #may #lightning #lightning strikes #human lightning rods

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bartallenweek · 4 months

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Bart Allen Week is exactly two months away (March 18th until March 25th 2024), so I figured I'd post a little reminder:

DAY ONE: Impulse '95 Cast or Body Swap DAY TWO: Young Justice or 30th Century DAY THREE: Thad or Neurodiversity DAY FOUR: Mercury or Legacy DAY FIVE: Preston's Home Movies or Lost in the Multiverse/AU DAY SIX: Lightning Rod or Hugs DAY SEVEN: (Flash) Family or Free Day

Guidelines | Askbox (if anything's unclear)

#dc #dc comics #bart allen #impulse #flash #the flash #bartallenweek

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bobbinalong · 2 months

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These are the prompts on the respective days, I'm still making the ultimate pick haha:

#i wanted to do more and i still might but i *definitely* wanna draw at least one thing for this sooo #help me choose

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namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou · 2 years

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Hi! Can you pls share your favourite hcs or images of Electra and the Components?

Well.

You just opened quite a can of worms, anon AJSKDJKSAD Be warned: Here be (probably) unpopular opinions!

My so far favourite hc I have of them and that I don't think I will ever deviate from again is that they are basically a pseudo-hivemind. Are they one consciousness separated into six bodies? Are they 6 consciousnesses that are just connected in some way? Who knows! They certainly don't, and they also don't really give much of a damn.

Additionally, Electronents is OTP. Well, OT6. They're not averse to adding to their numbers, either. Polycules are my kind of shit, if you've noticed djfkgjfg

I'll have you know that I'm working on a fic rn that basically covers all of my headcanons I have about them, so I'm trying my best not to spoiler too much, but the hivemind situation brings some issues with it, at least for other people around them. Because when you're never alone in your own head, thinking your own thoughts becomes kind of redundant. If you ask one of them a question, someone else might answer in their stead, but with the answer the asked person would have answered with. Who cares if someone else speaks it out loud? Doesn't make a difference, they've all thought it, after all. (Outsiders disagree. They make an effort, after some time, just to clear up confusion, but sometimes it's just too much of a bother.)

Now I'll get into them as individuals, but only one or two hcs per person, otherwise we'll be here all day XD

Electra: Canonically bisexual and genderfluid, and he couldn't give less of a shit what pronouns you call him. He calls himself a he out of laziness most of the time, but he'll just as well call himself a girl in the next moment, which confuses outsiders who haven't been enlightened of his position on gender yet. Volta's favourite pet name for him is "girlfriend". He gives off static electricity constantly, which is why his hair sticks up like that. Throw a lightning rod at his head and his hair would simply.. fall down and start coiling (if the air's damp enough). Building up the static energy so his hair looks like always takes up to three hours, so he only uses the lightning rod method in emergencies. On wash days, for example.

Volta: Always has some body glitter with her in her cooling compartment, because what if it wipes off? Unacceptable. She also sometimes draws little lightning bolts on her cheeks because Electra likes it and yellow suits her just as much as blue. She's the most experienced at racing and often gets called a coach even though she's a truck, which doesn't bother her, but bothers the actual coaches plenty. (She doesn't really understand all the fuss about coaches vs. freight trucks, but that just might be because Electra usually always brings his racing partners to competitions instead of choosing one after his arrival.)

Wrench: Is an absolute pro at all things to do with dance. She and Electra put down a mean tango or jive or quickstep at every available opportunity. She could bench-press a Diesel locomotive if she wanted to, but she only demonstrates this if said Diesel locomotive gets on her nerves. Whenever she comes across a not-electric train who might whistle or honk, she's immediately going 👁 👁 and will probably either stare at them or follow them around out of curiosity for a few hours (or days). The fact that this isn't really polite behaviour doesn't matter to her much.

Joule: Has the pointiest elbows known to man, uh, train, and is not afraid to use them. She borrows some of Electra's static electricity for her own hair sometimes, but on other days she just combs it back or makes Volta braid it. If it comes to races, she's just as if a tiny bit less competitive as Electra. In general, it's no big deal if the left-over Components choose other locomotives for the race and do their absolute best to win, because in the end they all know that Electra will win anyway, so why not have a bit of fun in the meantime? ;)

Purse: Wears goggles as his "racing helmet", and I will hear no complaints about it (other than my own, which is just whining that the racing masks/outfits for the coaches and trucks were cut after Stex left the USA. It's a shame). He doesn't race often, because there's that underlying fear that a defeated opponent will later claim Purse tried to bribe them, but he's a cold, calculating force to be reckoned with when he does. He's the tallest and most angular of them all, basically a glorified very long rectangle on wheels. He is extremely shaped and I love him.

Krupp: The only one of them who doesn't have pitch black eyes. He acts as their alarm system at night, so if you enter the room unannounced you might get face to face with Krupp's red laser eyes staring at you while shouting something like "intruder alert". He wears the shades not because said laser eyes might unsettle other trains, but because he's firstly a little light sensitive and secondly too lazy to put eye makeup on every day. Volta argues that he doesn't need it, anyway, because for some reason the rail gods have blessed him with the most gorgeous eyes in the known universe. He's also the one who puts the most effort in separating his own thoughts from those of the others, which results in him taking up to two minutes to answer a question because he has to sort through all of the constant background chatter first.

So. This got a little long. As you can gather, I do have a lot of thoughts about these six, I just have the Katzen on the mind much more often to do much with them. The fic is coming, though. Soon-ish. I hope. XD

Have a group pic! Bc I do Not have a Stex pic folder yet. For shame.

Thank you so much for asking and giving me a chance to ramble! <3

#namethat-i answers #starlight express #stex electra #stex volta #stex wrench #stex joule #stex purse #stex krupp #electronents #thank you! ♥#namethat-i writes #because of all that headcanoning that went on here sjfkjsdf

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cathythestupid · 2 years

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Found this old thoosie reply meme in my drafts, so i’m gonna redo it with all my current coaster opinions.

1. What is your coaster count?

193 coasters!!! kinda neat

2. What are your top 10 coasters?

never been good with ranking coasters, but off the top of my head:

Steel Vengeance

Storm Chaser

Skyrush

Phantom’s Revenge

Maverick

Cornball Express

Wicked Cyclone

Twisted Colossus

Phoenix (Knoebels)

Afterburn [this will always remain at the number 10 spot for emotional reasons, afterburn was there for me when no 1 else was in 2019]

3. An overrated coaster?

The year I’ve spent not being a thoosie means i have no pulse on what people discourse over. Fury 325 was disappointing for me, but also I rode it in November when I worked at Carowinds, so like, I have room in my heart to believe it does fuck in warmer weather. Similar deal with Lightning Rod.

4. An underrated coaster?

Idk, Raging Bull? again, no idea what people discourse over.

5. A coaster that gets way too much hate?

My answer in 2017 was Cedar Creek Mine Ride lol. It’s a jank ride with no terrain usage outside of the drop over the lagoon, but i’ve got some good memories with it. Also I didn’t find the restraints on Superman: The Ride at SFNE that bad, but idk, maybe i’m just built different. They’re not ideal tho.

6. Your thoughts on B&M Hypers?

When they hit, they hit. The powerful yet graceful airtime they deliver is simply euphoric. I like the speed hill on Candymonium, hope the hill on mako is just as good whenever I make it down to Florida lol

7. Your thoughts on Intamin Mega-Lites?

They look, pretty good. Coaster designs have becomes much wilder since, so I don’t have an urgent desire to ride one. But I would probably still find it quite fun!

8. Your thoughts on Maurer Spinning coasters?

The standard layout is alright. I think the gerstlauer spinners are better, but some of the custom maurer layouts look interesting.

9. Your thoughts on Schwarzkopf?

If only they were the more successful coaster manufacturer of their era... they knew how to shape track better than their contemporaries, and some of their design quirks are really cool, like the super postive heavy loops.

10. Your thoughts on Zierer?

I’ve been on a couple Tivolis, they’re fine. Impulse at Knoebels is an alright eurofighter knock-off, thank god they replaced the trains though, the originals from Zierer sucked.

11. Your thoughts on Gravitykraft?

They know how to make rides with good fuckin’ airtime. I love Boardwalk Bullet and Ravine Flyer II.

12. Your thoughts on Gerstlauer?

They have improved since their earlier days making janky coasters, but I definitely get why people might not vibe with their inversion-heavy layouts. I hope I get to go on some of their wackier rides in Europe someday

13. Name 8 parks you want to visit in your home country

Busch Gardens Tampa

Busch Gardens Williamsburg

Canobie Lake Park

Six Flags Over Texas

Six Flags Fiesta Texas

Silverwood

California’s Great America

Six Flags Over Georgia

14. Name 8 parks outside of the your home country that you want to visit

Canada’s Wonderland

Hansa Park

Europa Park

Phantasialand

Alton Towers

Gröna Lund

Liseberg

Tokyo DisneySea

15. Name three coasters you want to ride in these countries:

France: OzIris, Alpina Blitz, Toutatis

Italy: iSpeed, Katun, Storm

Germany: F.L.Y., Taron, Karnan

Netherlands: Untamed, Baron 1898, Troy

Belgium: Kondaa, Ride To Happiness, Anubis: The Ride

Japan: Steel Dragon 2000, Hakugei, Slope Shooter

Canada: Leviathan, Mindbender, Dragon Mountain

Country of your choice (Spain): Shambhala, Gotham City Escape, Muntanya Russa (Tibidabo)

16: How would you fix a coaster that you don’t like? (No Removal or RMC-ing)

Do an actually good retrack of Wildcat @ Lake Compounce! I don’t understand why it is the way it is (as funny as the jackhammering is to me)!

17: Your thoughts on Piraten (https://rcdb.com/4038.htm)

It’s a Mega-lite. see mega-lite question

18. Your thoughts on Takabisha (https://rcdb.com/9795.htm)

I’d like to go on it, it seems like a neat ride. I don’t totally fuck with Gerst, but I’m not completely uninterested in their various coasters.

19. Your thoughts on Olympia Looping (https://rcdb.com/13819.htm)

I need that weirdly shaped loop in my life. Have yet to go on a traveling Schwarz

20. Your thoughts on Monster (https://rcdb.com/12896.htm)

I need that weirdly shaped loop in my life. Despite not being as much of a thoosie anymore, I still really want to go to Adventureland in Iowa for the sake of writing a lesbian roadtrip novel.

21. Your thoughts on Nefekesen (https://rcdb.com/10831.htm)

this copypasta has some of the weirdest questions, I swear to god. I heard it’s a really short ride, so maybe it’s like Maxx Force? But I don’t think I’ll ever ride it.

22. Your thoughts on Verbolten (https://rcdb.com/9463.htm)

Funny German woman say things. the show building looks kinda eh, but i’ll probably still enjoy it.

23. Your thoughts on Abismo (https://rcdb.com/3185.htm)

The concept of an extended Maurer Sky Loop is cool, but I can live without experiencing it. Leaving the thoosie community due to thoosie trauma really make you reevaluate how much you need to ride coasters.

24. Your thoughts on Hydra (https://rcdb.com/2528.htm)

I had a pretty good ride on it in the front the one time I was at Dorney. The jojo roll is fun, and there’s also a couple good airtime moments. I think I like Bizarro better though? It’s tough bc B&M Floorless coasters are kinda eh in general.

25. Favorite coaster to ride at night?

Steel Vengeance! ride runs so fast through the first half at night the airtime is painful! and i’m into that.

26. Favorite coaster theme?

Hagrid bike, probably. Following the construction of it through bioreconstruct on Twitter was a fun time in my life, and all the architecture and scenery looks pretty good.

27. Favorite coaster logo?

The Millennium Force swooshy “M“. So slay. (i was not able to upload the file to tumblr for some reason)

#roller coaster

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