#i fucking hate consumerism i hate ads i hate consumerism i hate consumerism i hate money i hate life

[idsb]

okay so I just saw a tiktok about this and it had like, 20 views, so I'd just like to post here and raise some awareness here about how UMG's greed has now extended from shitty merch, to the exciting new ~*fucking over indie record stores*~ as well!!!!

A record store in upstate NY just kind of whistle-blew about this, by announcing the fact that they were only just now able to take preorders for The Tortured Poets Department. In their post, they explained that they'd be able to take orders from March 14th, but couldn't openly post about it or share that info until March 18th - after opening weekend of The Eras Tour Movie on streaming (aka an added boost of attention to Taylor and therefore, preorder sales). In this post, they fully blamed UMG for this, and also noted that the prices in their store are going to look incredibly more expensive than buying directly from UMG and Taylor's online merch store (Taylor's online merch store, which, notably, people are losing trust in for preorders due to the fact that for most people, the albums are consistently not arriving until over a month after the album release day). Why are the indie store's prices going to be so much more expensive? Well, that's because, instead of selling the albums to record stores at wholesale (a lower price a manufacturer sells to retail stores at so that the sellers can make a profit, which how it works for literally any retail store selling anything in the history of all retail stores), UMG is charging record stores FULL RETAIL VALUE on Tortured Poets Department CD's and vinyls in order to sell them. This means in order to make ANY kind of profit, indie stores have to add on $10+ to the price as compared to what Taylor's merch store, aka UMG, is directly selling it at. Leaving a customer who discovers this to either feel scammed by the indie store, or just purchase it from Taylor's store / UMG directly online instead.

I do not think Taylor, miss free surprise shipments of signed folklore's sent out to indie record stores to make sure they stay afloat during the pandemic, miss donating hundreds of thousands of dollars to Nashville based indie record stores to keep them open during the pandemic, would be very happy about any of this. I also know it's going to get blamed on her, and lumped in with some "a million vinyl variants billionaire greed", rhetoric, and it makes me so damn sad when I know it's the exact opposite of what she'd want. I'm happy she gets to own her masters but holy shit am I sad that she has less control over the things that actually matter in terms of fan consumerism, and I hope she is too and I hate that she is effectively powerless to fix it because big corporation music industry greedy label capitalism.

Fuck UMG. Fuck UMG to hell and back. Fuck them for screwing over fans, fuck them for screwing over small businesses and the dying breed of brick and mortar locations just to line their multi-billion dollar corporation pockets more than they already are. Fuck the fact that they wouldn't even need to do this if they just provided quality products that they shipped on time, but they'd rather squeeze out every last penny and don't care who they screw over in the process.

[beebobeebo]

Title: Mama's Boy

Fandom: Justified

Characters: Tim Gutterson, Greg Gutterson (erstwhile brother), Timothy Gutterson (father, POS), and Lara Gutterson (Mama, not great)

Warnings: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Smoking, Drinking, Child Abuse, Abuse... Listen Tim's dad is just awful

Notes: I will someday rewrite this.

Summary:

Drawing a bead on the boy he was.

If no one knows they can't argue.

Tim's smoking. He hasn't smoked since he's been stateside, but Mama dying had knocked him off his game. Dragging all that up made him long for hours lying in cold dirt waiting for a flicker of movement so he could solve a problem.

He had done well at the funeral. He looked appropriately sad and shook hands with people who never lifted one of theirs to help her or him, then he repacked up his shit and went straight to Kentucky.

After unpacking he realized he needed black socks for work. Once in the store, the liquor was just there and the cigarettes had been at the checkout. It was all too easy.

Thanks, consumerism. Good thing Tim put holes in all those bastards to protect his right to be drunk, coughing, and in matching socks all in one go.

“Greg, it's all yours. I don't want any of their shit.”

His brother pressing him to take mementos of his own personal hell was not helping his mental state. He flicks the ash into the toilet bowl at his feet and sticks his hand back out the bathroom window of his new, minuscule apartment. Perching atop his commode wasn't ideal, but he didn't need his clothes to smell like smoke tomorrow. “Hey, hey, you can forgive him for beatin' the fuck out of you, but I'm still angry about what he did to her. Your mother wasn't around so you didn't see the welts and bruises on her whenever you did anything he decided was wrong.”

“Tim, these aren't my things.” Greg's voice is strained and tired as it leaks out of the phone’s tinny speaker.

“Mine either, burn the shit, sell the land, and send me my cut. I need to buy a suit.” Tim gives up on the cigarette, dropping it in the bowl as he hops down to go grab the bottle he tucked in the freezer.

“Some of these things are yours. I can't believe you don't want anything of hers. At least her bible-”

Tim drops the phone beside the fridge as he yanks open the freezer. “Greg, you don't know me or my life, but I need you to understand I don't have time for this. She chose him, so she died a long time ago for me.” He pulls the bottle out of the freezer where it has crushed his bag of pizza rolls. Dinner was going to be lumpy.

“Timothy-”

“Greg, I have killed people for less than callin’ me that bastard's name,” he says evenly. They both know it's true, but Greg likes to play the game where Tim is a petulant teenager and not nearing thirty.

“Okay. Okay. You hate Dad. You hate Lara for some bullshit reason you won't tell anyone. You're distinctly not family.” Greg's exhale of frustration makes the shitty pay-as-you-go phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. “I will sell everything and send you a check.”

“A cashier's check. I don't want his name on it.” Tim pulls one of his three glasses from the cabinet and pours a questionable amount of vodka in it. He knows Greg is going to make some bid to remind him he is Timothy Gutterson’s child.

“It's our name, too,” his brother insists. “You can't just pretend nothing ever happened. You weren't born at Fort Benning.”

“You're right. It's obvious,” he says, forcing his voice to be low and sincere. “I don't have the accent. Dead giveaway.”

“Tim.”

“Bye, Greg.” He hangs up the phone before adding a legitimately sincere, “Go fuck yourself.”

He has now spoken to his older brother four times. That's three times too many. Two of those were within the last week. Three of those were as an adult. Three of those were about Tim's parents being dead.

“Shit,” Tim says as he gulps the cold liquid.

The outlier of the talks was as an eight-year-old. Greg wanted him to admit that their father abused Tim. The problem was he'd never raised a hand to him, which is what that meant to a child. That wasn't how you got to Tim anyway. His father understood that in a way that Greg never could. Tim would have welcomed every hit, slap, and punch to keep his father's hands off his mother.

Tim loved his mother violently. She had been the only person to truly love him, to know the things his father called him, and to cover his once small body with hers.

He takes another deep drink. Mama had been the one to find him clinging to Will Holt like a wet t-shirt. If he had grown up in a more tolerant household, he might have been grounded for being fifteen and being a moron who didn't realize that his doorless room was not the place to experiment in broad daylight, even if Mama was at the store. As it went, Mama just stared at them while Tim dragged a shirt back on and apologized over and over. She didn't say anything and just walked away. He hoped foolishly that had been the end of it. Embarrassment.

He rolls the glass between his hands letting the sharp cold cut through the memories. After that, it's a blur of her whispering to him that what he was doing was a sin while his father made snide remarks about being a real man even as he struck his wife. The day his father asks Tim what he did wrong to end up with a queer, a mama's boy, for a son, Tim breaks. He throws a punch that is more force than skill and his father staggers backward. He laughs at Tim's best effort. He swears anything Tim does to him, Mama will feel tenfold. Then he does the cruelest thing and asks Mama if she can still love Tim after knowing what he's done under their roof. She doesn't say anything. She can't manage to nod her head for her son. His heart cracked. He lived his life doing everything he could to save her from his father's hands, and she couldn't say “Yes.”

“Fuck you,” Tim says to the empty apartment.

That was the day he decided he needed to get as far from that Midwestern hellhole as possible. His plan had always been to run somewhere. He would run, and when he got settled, he'd get Mama on a bus. They'd make a quiet life. No one would punish them for someone else's actions. The sins of the son not visited upon the head of the mother.

But that day? That day, he decides he's going to kill his father because he can't leave her with him, but he can't imagine her willingly living with a son she doesn't love.

Like any early millennial, he turned to Netscape Navigator to find a way the fuck out of there. The Army. It doesn't take him long to learn that the Army came with a gun and a different court system that would be keen to put him down once his father hit the dirt. You just took a test. One of those standardized bastards that public education had started foisting on them with regularity. He just had to score high enough for placement, but not high enough to draw attention. Middle of the road that shit.

After three long years of being a ghost in a home that he only shit, showered, and slept in, he did it. He was good at it. Spending your whole life listening to every order down to the inflection of a syllable prepares you beautifully for being a cog in the military machine. It means you're attentive. Not able to sleep because you might get yanked out of bed at any hour? No, you're alert. Never complain because you know it won't do any good. Goddamn it if you aren't resilient. Don't talk back because you fear the consequences down to your marrow. No, you're a polite motherfucker, Gutterson.

Tim downs the rest of the glass and fights the urge to throw it at the wall. He should have used the plastic glass from the chicken place. He could chuck that bastard all day.

He had progressed, had excelled. There was talk of the RASP after he had a couple years under his belt. He could already hit every target thanks to Galaga earned hand-eye coordination and the hyper-focus of rage. The rest was just pushing himself to the physical brink. That was a goddamn Thursday.

Then his fucking brother calls him. He tells the clerk he doesn't have a brother at first, confusing them both so much that he just agrees to take the call out of politeness. He doesn't get out more than the sound of clearing his throat before Greg starts in.“Come home. Dad's dead and Lara’s a mess. She says she needs you.”

Tim holds the phone against his ear for a long minute. “The bastard's dead? She kills ‘im?”

“No! What‽ He had a heart attack. It was probably the smoking. Jesus, Timothy, come home.”

Tim doesn't even consider going home. He gently puts down the receiver without another word and decides to start smoking.

It's a bad habit, one he only does when he drinks, but he has to burn the bastards down for taking his kill shot. It doesn't hurt that it's an excuse both to remain silent and to talk as necessary. Useful. Tim respects useful things.

That blip between basic and the world going to hell for everyone else, too, is just full of running, digging in, and raising a gun. Then suddenly he's twenty and heading to a country he'd only idly noticed on a globe.

He rinses the glass in the sink and sits it on the counter. He figures it's sterile and he doesn't know where the dish soap went. Who else is going to use it anyway?

He grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket. Greg would probably call back. Tim would probably ignore him. He could only handle a call every nine years or so.

He had to get to bed.

Tomorrow he gets to step into a new world where not a soul knows him. He's not some scared mama's boy with a hairpin trigger and enough skill to back it up. He can be Tim Gutterson, sniper for the Rangers, new guy, nice enough when he's not talking out his ass. Keeps to himself.

It'll be fine if he just keeps to himself.

[ozmatippetarius]

also think everybody needs to go back and read this passage again

“She’s from Hell,” Charles said drunkenly. “Oh, she’s not that bad,” said Francis. “You just say that because she kisses up to you all the time,” Charles said. “Because of your mother and stuff.” “Kiss up? What are you talking about? Mrs. Corcoran doesn’t kiss up to me.” “She’s awful,” Charles said. “It’s a horrible thing to tell your kids that money’s the only thing in the world, but it’s a disgrace to work for it. Then toss ’em out without a penny. She never gave Bunny one red—” “That’s Mr. Corcoran’s fault, too,” said Camilla. “Well, yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I just never met such a bunch of greedy, shallow people. You look at them and think, oh, what a tasteful, attractive family but they’re just a bunch of zeros, like something from an ad. They’ve got this room in their house,” Charles said, turning to me, “called the Gucci Room.” “What?” “Well, they painted it with a dado, sort of, those awful Gucci stripes. It was in all kinds of magazines. House Beautiful had it in some ridiculous article they did on Whimsy in Decorating or some absurd idea—you know, where they tell you to paint a giant lobster or something on your bedroom ceiling and it’s supposed to be very witty and attractive.” He lit a cigarette. “I mean, that’s exactly the kind of people they are,” he said. “All surface. Bunny was the best of them by a long shot but even he—” “I hate Gucci,” said Francis. “Do you?” said Henry, glancing up from his reverie. “Really? I think it’s rather grand.” “Come on, Henry.” “Well, it’s so expensive, but it’s so ugly too, isn’t it? I think they make it ugly on purpose. And yet people buy it out of sheer perversity.” “I don’t see what you think is grand about that.” “Anything is grand if it’s done on a large enough scale,” said Henry.

Charles mourning how much his dead friend was fucked up by his family’s shallow, loveless treatment of him and their obsession with consumerism, and Francis and Henry interrupting to have their own vapid conversation totally exhibiting the behavior he was condemning, with no self-awareness whatsoever: this is the TSH experience.

[inairbinad]

Heaven, Indiana (2/3)

7k | T | also on ao3 | Part One | Part Three

A re-imagining of season 3, where Eddie and Robin are already looped in on the Upside Down madness, and Eddie joins Scoops Troop. Part of my Barb Lives AU from the Petals Verse, where everyone lives and the timeline gets wonky as a result. @steddie-week day 5 prompts: Together / Hold the Line cw: typical trapped in the bunker blood and stuff

Eddie regretted ever agreeing to anything Dustin Henderson suggested. 

“I’m never going along with another one of your harebrained schemes again, Henderson!” Eddie screeched as they found themselves rapidly descending in a secret elevator towards the bunker from hell. He wished he’d learned his lesson the last time.

He hated everything about this. He hated Robin for being genius enough to crack that goddamn code, he hated Dustin for hearing it in the first place, he hated himself for not listening to his intuition several red flags ago, and pulling the plug on this idiotic vendetta the minute Erica crawled into a fucking air vent.

The only thing he didn’t hate, in the end, was how Steve latched on to his hand in a vice grip as they plummeted towards their inevitable death. 

Even though the elevator didn’t end up killing them, being trapped in it probably would. Following Erica’s suggestion to drink the green stuff almost definitely would. And if all else failed, Dustin repeatedly suggesting that Steve ask Robin out would certainly do Eddie in.

“How about we let the man make his own romantic choices, hm?” Eddie grumbled, already weirded out by the triple-piss break the three of them were embarking upon together on top of the elevator. 

“Ohhhhhh,” Dustin exclaimed like he was doing his best Velma impression and solving a mystery. “Do you like Robin, Eddie?” 

Steve let out a hysterical shriek of a laugh, and Eddie sent daggers flinging in his direction by way of his glare alone. 

“Sorry,” Steve coughed. Dustin looked between the two of them like he realized he was out of the loop on something, now.

Despite feeling completely unspooled in that instant, Eddie was damn sure about one thing; this would not be how he came out to Dustin, if he ever got the chance at all. 

“What did I miss while I was at camp?” Dustin asked.

Eddie never thought he’d be so happy to be interrupted by Soviet henchmen.

———

By the time Robin was trying to use stilted Russian to confuse some communications officer into not shooting them, and Eddie and Steve had to take turns trying to knock him out until Steve proved he would use anything as a weapon (a phone, this time), Eddie was ready to go home. He was desperately wishing for another sexually confusing bout of wrestling on the floor with one of his best friends, whom he also happened to be in love with, a joint, about sixteen beers, and as many bags of Wayne’s chips as he could stomach. 

Instead, Robin had to wander off and find the big fucking super gun that was actively working on opening up a portal to hell.

“The gate,” Steve and Dustin said in unison, immediately recognizing it for what it was. Eddie had flashbacks to slimy, tooth-riddled monsters getting tossed around by El in her bitchin’ outfit, and was instantly ready to nope right the fuck out of there. 

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ,” Eddie breathed, peeking over Steve’s shoulder at the monstrous contraption hidden underneath a mall, of all places. He thought there was a metaphor for the seedy underbelly of American consumerism in there, somewhere, but he was too wired to examine it. He had to clench his fists just to stay present, to not find himself back in the tunnels with the slippery skin of a thousand monsters rushing past him. He sucked in a breath and asked, “Why would you want to reopen that shit?” 

“Call it the new space race,” Robin said, her face white as a sheet as she also looked on in terror. 

Steve leaned back into Eddie’s chest, ever so slightly, and Eddie was happy to give him the added support. He wasn’t sure how long his own legs would hold either one of them up, though.

Erica was just staring at the lot of them like they were insane. “You all know what that is?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dustin offered, then started shooing everyone back down the stairs to the comms room. 

“Uh, Steve?” Erica asked in a skeptical tone that Eddie thought she should probably have patented, at this point. “Where’s your Russian friend?”

Apparently knocking someone out with a phone didn’t have the best staying power. The officer was gone.

Alarms started blaring all around them, and before Eddie had a chance to blink, Steve was grabbing his hand and pulling, dragging him and the rest of their ragtag group along for a chase through a goddamn secret Soviet bunker. Eddie didn’t know how long they ran for, only that he clung to Steve with one hand and Dustin with the other, a train of slick palms grappling onto each other as they dodged and weaved through the corridors for any way to escape.

“I’ve fucking failed Phys. Ed before, Harrington!” Eddie shouted at the back of Steve’s head as he trailed behind him, his legs already feeling like jello from his poorly treated lungs failing to properly oxygenate the rest of his body.

Somehow that was the revelation that made Steve laugh, a contradictory and beautiful sound in that it was both gleeful and utterly dripping with stress. Before Eddie knew it Steve was flinging the kids, Eddie, and Robin behind a door, and leaning up against it with the strength of ten men. Eddie thrust his shoulder into it, too, doing his best to plant his feet and stave off the brigade of soldiers with guns pounding on the other side.

Dustin and Erica quickly found an escape hatch of sorts, and were urging the older three to follow. Eddie took in the distance between them and the kids, then the storm of hostiles ready to pounce the second he and Steve let go, and already knew there was no way they could make it. Not without getting caught. 

Robin could, though. She stood there, obviously torn and on the verge of tears, staring Steve and Eddie down like she couldn’t bear to leave them.

“Go,” Steve urged her. “Get them out of here and find help.”

“Steve,” Robin’s voice creaked with strain, her eyes never leaving Steve’s face as the door jostled behind him and Eddie. Robin’s feet, at least, seemed to know better than her heart. They were already carrying her back towards where Dustin was waiting for her, despite the obvious hesitation on her face.

“Go, Birdie,” Eddie assured her, heart wrenching in his chest as Robin’s eyes cut to his next. “I’ve got him.” 

Robin bit her lip, and something solidified in her gaze before she turned tail and ran. 

It didn’t take long after that for the door to give.

———

They left Eddie alone in a locked room and made him listen over an intercom as they tried to beat the truth out of Steve. 

It was unknowably excruciating, the love and rage and desperation to fix this that were all warring in Eddie’s chest, and he was helpless to do anything about it. Listening to Steve whimper in pain, begging them to stop, hurt more than any beating they could have given Eddie. He’d been punched and kicked and elbowed plenty in his relatively short life, but this was the worst torture he’d ever been made to endure.

They hadn’t left Eddie completely unscathed, of course. As the soldiers wrestled him into submission, he’d taken a hell of a backhand across the cheek that left him seeing spots—one even his dear old dad would have been proud of. Then when they’d tossed him in this hellish entrapment of a room, he’d landed on his left elbow, and still couldn’t quite feel the bottom half of his arm beyond the stinging of pins and needles, and the throbbing that came if he moved it too much.

But that was nothing compared to what they were doing to Steve. 

Over and over, they screamed, “Who do you work for?” 

Over and over, Steve would tell the truth and get punished for it.

With each blow he heard land, and every subsequent cry out of Steve, Eddie’s very skin prickled with the desire to crawl outside of himself, to scale the walls, to burn the world to make it stop. He wanted to beg them to beat him instead, knock him senseless until he forgot who he was. 

If only they’d let Steve go. 

But he knew that’s what these assholes were gunning for. They apparently had calculated that Eddie was the one more likely to cave, if they forced him to listen to his friend get battered half to hell. They thought if they left him in here long enough, stewing in the abject terror of his powerlessness, Eddie would offer up whatever intel he and Steve were supposed to have.

As if they weren’t just a couple of teenagers who worked in a mall. 

They think you’re the soft one, Eddie’s father’s voice rang through his ears, completely unwelcome. It’s no wonder, in that thing you call a uniform.

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned a loud, desperate to think up a miracle solution out of this. He hoped Robin and the kids had gotten out, were already on their way back with help, but Eddie knew that was unlikely. They’d walked through that goddamn tunnel for miles just to get here. It would take hours for anyone to find them again. 

He needed to come up with something on his own, he knew. He needed to make them leave Steve alone. 

Desperately wracking his brain for a solution that would get them out of this—from wrestling a gun off of somebody, to pledging himself to the Soviet Union in perpetuity, to managing to make a run for it and jumping through that goddamn gate and into the Upside Down itself—Eddie wasn’t coming up with anything concrete.

He had pulled his hair half to hell, though, by the time he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter coming from the room next door. 

Eddie wasn’t sure if Steve was delirious from taking so many blows to the head, or if he actually thought that bribing Russian spies with ice cream would work, but Eddie heard that hilarity for what it was—dangerous.

“No, no, no, no, no, no—” Steve cried next, and Eddie’s whole body flinched as he heard the sickening crunch of another punch landing. 

Eddie didn’t have a plan, exactly, but he couldn’t sit there any longer.

Eddie pounded on the door until his fists ached, and his left arm went completely numb. 

He’d make up a story if he had to.

———

Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d been begging for their captors’ attention for a hour or a minute, when the door finally opened and they tossed Steve’s limp, unconscious body on the floor. 

At least Eddie hoped he was only unconscious. 

He dropped to his knees in an instant, his desperate and shaking hands fumbling for Steve’s neck, looking for a pulse. For years, after, Eddie wouldn’t be able to properly express the relief that coursed through him in that moment, when he felt the steady thud of Steve’s heart against his fingertips. 

He didn’t get to relish it for long, though, before the goons (who Eddie thought might deserve to be the lunch of a demogorgon) grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him up into a steel chair. Eddie managed to get a good kick in on one of their kneecaps, but it didn’t do much to deter anybody. Then they did the same to Steve, and roughly tied them together, back to back. 

Eddie felt Steve’s head loll backwards onto his shoulder and turn ever so slightly, until he could feel each little puff of breath that Steve expelled against the back of his neck. 

It was strange, finding anything to feel grateful for in this predicament. But Eddie was thankful for every confirmation that Steve was still breathing. 

It meant there was still something to fight for. 

So caught up in the fact that Steve was back within his reach, even if from an awkward angle, Eddie almost forgot about the fact that a few soldiers were still in the room. That was until they started to leave, at least.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?” Eddie demanded, as if he was in any position of power. The soldiers ignored him completely, slamming the door shut behind them. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Eds?” Steve’s voice was so tiny and weak that Eddie didn’t think he would have heard it if he hadn’t literally felt it tickle his neck.

“Stevie?” Eddie responded, instantly snapped out of his mini-meltdown. He twisted as much as he could, until the ropes around him burned from how tightly they were lashed together. “You okay back there?”

“Been--” Steve paused, wheezed and coughed a little, then whimpered again before finishing, “—better.”

“Don’t talk,” Eddie said in a middling imitation of a soothing voice, since nothing about him felt soothed in the least. “Sounds like you might have a broken rib or two.”

“I’d be surprised if any weren’t broken,” Steve said, somehow managing to laugh. Eddie heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath follow quickly, though, and fondly shook his head at Steve’s inability to listen. 

“Can you reach my hand?” Eddie asked as he flailed his right hand around, trapped halfway behind him. He hoped Steve’s left was close. Sure enough, Eddie felt Steve’s fingers wrap around his own. Eddie gave them a little wriggle, then smiled, hoping Steve would be able to hear it in his voice. “We’re gonna get out of here. Promise.”

“I know,” Steve said, and Eddie wished he felt as confident as Steve sounded. “Are you hurt?”

“Not much,” Eddie replied, and felt a little huff of relief from Steve against his neck. “Nothing like you, my guy.”

“Good—” Steve started to say, but he was interrupted by the return of two hulking soldiers and some other important looking asshole. Eddie assumed he was in charge here, because he had a little hat and some extra insignia to complete his outfit. 

“Gentleman,” the man said with an eerie smile. He had a stereotypically villainous accent that Eddie thought was unfair to all of the Russians in the world who weren’t trying to kill him in that moment. “Are we ready to talk?”

Eddie still hadn’t really come up with a story he thought would get them out of this mess, but he did have an idea about something that might buy them some time. It might have been a shot in the dark, and a long one at that, but it was a shot. 

“You seem convinced we’re spies of some kind, yeah? Undercover in our funny little sailor outfits?” Eddie asked the interrogator man with his special hat. He only tilted his head at Eddie in response. “So what makes you think we’ll talk just because you beat the shit out of us? You think we’re not trained for this? That we don’t have backup on its way to us right now because we haven’t checked in as expected? Is that how you run things around here?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the man’s face, and Eddie knew he’d hit a nerve. So he dug in.

“I didn’t think you’d be such amateurs, comrade.”

Eddie wished he could say the next blow to his face was surprising, but he’d been expecting that reaction, if not searching for it. He just hoped the assertion that maybe they were backed up by some authority, other than that of Scoops Ahoy, was enough to put some fear in these dipshits. It seemed only fair.

And if not that, maybe they’d at least see Eddie as a better punching bag moving forward. 

The expense was getting thwacked in the mouth to the point where Eddie felt his lip split in an instant. Then, again, when the force of the next blow sliced the inside of his cheek against his tooth, and his mouth filled with blood. 

The pain was a stark relief, Eddie realized, just from knowing he was the one who had to take that blow instead of Steve. He tasted the iron in his teeth as he smiled up at his interrogator. 

Of course Steve had to go and ruin it, though. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he interrupted, thrashing and half-screaming, before anyone else could move. “Don’t listen to him. He’s—new, and just trying to prove himself, and is full of shit, okay? I’ll talk.”

“Steve—” Eddie jerked in the chair, trying to squeeze his fingers in a silent plea to shut up. But he felt Steve stubbornly shake his head against the back of his own. A cold dread pooled in Eddie’s stomach as the interrogator slowly crept around their chairs to look Steve in the face. Maybe Steve had his own ideas of how to talk them out of this, but Eddie was desperate for him to stay quiet and not get any more attention from Russian fists.

“Brenner sent us,” Steve said over Eddie’s protests. Eddie froze in place, trying to gauge the way the guy in charge was reacting to that information with his neck craned halfway around like a goddamn owl. His face seemed impassive, and Steve kept talking. “Okay? They got some weird readings on their science-y shit that I don’t understand, so don’t ask me to explain it, and sent us looking for a gate. Long story short, you find two dudes in dumb outfits wandering around, pretending to be teenagers from the mall who got lost.”

Eddie thought it was pretty shitty, as far as lies went, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything better. And at least Steve had a real name to drop, even if Brenner was dead. Eddie actually thought that much was pretty clever, considering it saved them from having to use the name of a living person for leverage.

Except for when Eddie realized it wasn’t clever at all. 

His whole body froze in fear as the interrogator unholstered his gun. He knew they were done for, and that he was about to watch the only boy he’d ever loved—the only one he had a chance to—die, with Eddie unable to do anything to stop it. Steve’s fingers twitched in Eddie’s grasp, just the tiniest expression of fear, and Eddie felt it viscerally.

He’d never bought into that whole ‘life-flashing-before-your-eyes’ business, but time did seem to slow in that instant. But instead of his whole life, Eddie’s mind was flooded with images of Steve. Steve with Dustin, showing him how to style his hair; Steve’s soft smile sent in Eddie’s direction when he pretended to be a pirate with spoons for hands; Steve hovering over Eddie on the floor of the trailer and licking his lips. Every moment that Eddie had looked at Steve Harrington and known, without a doubt, that he was in love with his best friend ran rampant in Eddie’s mind. 

And he’d never said it. Eddie felt so incredibly stupid for never saying it.

I love you, Stevie, hovered on Eddie’s tongue like a prayer. He could hardly think of any better last words.

But he wasn’t quick enough.

Eddie couldn’t see it straight on, but he heard the crack of the butt of the pistol as it met the side of Steve’s face. The blow came down so hard that reverberated through Steve and Eddie both, sending Steve’s head knocking into Eddie’s. Steve barely made a sound, just a low, garbled grunt around what sounded like more blood in his mouth. Then Eddie felt the absence of Steve’s head resting against his own, twisting around again to see that Steve had lolled forward from the force of it.

“Dr. Brenner is dead,” the interrogator said without an ounce of emotion in his voice. “Try again.”

Eddie began to jerk within the restraints in earnest then, his growing rage burning through his veins like wildfire. No one even paid him any mind, though, as another man entered the room, dressed up in a lab coat and apron like some kind of mad scientist. The look of him sent a bone-deep chill through Eddie. 

Their interrogator went over to talk to the new guy in hushed tones, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they were screaming. They were speaking Russian, and Eddie wasn’t a good enough fake spy to know what the hell they were saying. 

He could only guess it was nothing good.

“Hey, fuckface,” Eddie shouted, drawing the attention back to himself. He was entirely giving in to impulse now, but at least it stopped the two of them plotting whatever was coming next, even if only for a moment. Slowly, the interrogator came back to hover over him, then leaned down into Eddie’s space like he owned it.

“You’ll tell me the truth,” he smiled thinly, pressing his nose entirely too close to Eddie’s. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Eddie waited for another punch to the face, for them to threaten him with ripping out his fingernails or his teeth, whatever his next punishment might be. He didn’t care anymore. The anger was seething through him to the point where he wanted to burn this place right there in the ground it was tunneled into. Eddie wanted to watch each and every one of them suffer, and he wished his hands were free enough to let him act on the desire. 

So the damage he could cause with his mouth would have to do.

“If you say so,” Eddie said, before spitting blood in the face of the asshole who had just dared to pistol-whip Steve Harrington in Eddie’s presence. Eddie grinned wildly back up at him, leaning into the satisfaction of watching his blood and spit creep down the man’s cheek.

He scoffed in distaste before moving to wipe his face with his sleeve. There was a contempt in his eyes, but his voice was nothing but calm when he simply answered, “I do.”

Then he nodded at the creep in the mad scientist getup in the corner, who came forward with two needles that rivaled the one in Seattle in size. Eddie felt himself inadvertently squeeze Steve’s hand as he tensed again. 

“What—” Steve slurred, but before he could finish his question he must have seen what Eddie had been reacting to. “Fuck’s that?”

“Something to help loosen your tongues,” the interrogator answered. He turned on his heel and left just as Eddie felt the pinch of a needle sliding in his neck.

———

At first Eddie didn’t feel any different, and he wondered if maybe he’d built up enough of a tolerance to whatever the Russians had drugged them with by frequently getting high off his own supply. He also considered that maybe the heightened adrenaline that was carrying him through this otherworldly situation might have been staving off the effect for now. 

Either way, his focus was less on however he’d been poisoned, and more on keeping Steve talking. He’d been slurring his words and complaining about the room spinning ever since he’d taken that last blow to the head, and even if that was partly the drugs talking, Eddie was also pretty certain he had a concussion. Again.

Even though the two of them had managed to fend off Billy pretty well, last fall, Steve had still come away with a pretty impressive head injury to show for it. 

“Come on Stevie,” Eddie kept saying every time Steve lulled off into silence. “Keep talking to me. Stay awake.”

“Whaddya wanna talk about?” Steve asked, then started laughing to himself. “Your crush on Birdie?”

“Oh, god,” Eddie groaned, unwilling to rehash Dustin’s wildly inaccurate hypotheses about his love life at the moment. “Please, no.”

“But you lurve her,” Steve crooned, sounding very high indeed. “And apparently so do I, and we’re gonna have to fight over her if we want to stay manly men.”

“I think we all know Chris is gonna beat us both there,” Eddie said, trying to keep Chrissy’s name vague enough so that no one would go looking for her, if they were listening in now. 

Eddie also didn’t bother to pretend he couldn’t parse Steve’s ramblings. Even high and concussed, he made perfect sense to Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t sure what that said, really.

Steve laughed, surprisingly full of joy considering the situation. He didn’t stop, either. Eddie felt Steve lean forward with it, tumbling into more giggles as he probably imagined Chrissy Cunningham slaying them both like dragons for Robin’s hand. Or, at least, that’s what Eddie was picturing.  

No sooner than he’d had that thought, a wave of hilarity hit him. He wasn’t sure if it was just the contagion of Steve’s laughter, or the drugs finally kicking in, or both, but pretty soon they were both giggling ferociously at the thought of either one of them being in love with Robin Buckley.

Eddie wasn’t quite prepared for the wave of sadness that hit him when he wondered if he’d ever get to see her again. 

“Fuck,” Eddie winced, all of a sudden on the verge of tears. This was not a good high at all. It was too much of a rollercoaster, heightening every emotion well past the point of discomfort. “I miss her.”

“Me, too,” Steve said, sounding forlorn now as well. 

“Maybe we should talk about how we’re gonna get out of here, instead,” Eddie suggested. 

“Oh,” Steve sighed, dropping his head back to Eddie’s shoulder again. Eddie could just barely make out the top of Steve’s head in his peripheral. It looked swollen and lumpy already. “I don’t have a plan for that, actually. D’you?”

“Maybe,” Eddie hedged, glancing over to the table of instruments the mad scientist had left in the corner. He’d been staring at it for what felt like hours, now, even though it had probably only been minutes. “It’s a little harebrained, though. Like, Dustin would be proud.”

“Lay it on me, Munson.”

Eddie, by some ungodly willpower, managed to avoid making a dirty joke. He did snort, though, and heard Steve scoff in response.

“They left scissors in here,” Eddie powered through, nodding his head over in the direction of the table. “We could try to, I don’t know, scooch our chairs over towards them?”

Steve was already flopping around before Eddie finished talking, scraping the legs of his chair against the concrete floor as he did. 

“Woah, slow down, Stevie,” Eddie cut in. “We’ve gotta move together. Alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed, then waited for Eddie to count to three before they both moved in sync towards the table. They’d only managed to move a few inches, but it was enough to give Eddie a surge of hope. They tried again, and again, until they moved slightly off kilter and both went tumbling down to the floor in a heap.

Eddie landed on the same bad elbow again and, through the haze of pain shooting up and down his arm, rather nonsensically wondered if this might fuck up his ability to keep playing guitar. As if he’d ever hold a guitar again, now that his best plan had gone splat on the floor. Much like his elbow.

“Fuuuuck,” Steve groaned, and Eddie snapped back to what was important in an instant.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, worried he’d just made things worse than just being trapped and tied up, but now also on the floor. 

“No,” Steve answered. “That still felt shitty, though.”

“Here, here,” Eddie agreed, and then they both burst into laughter again. 

They laid there snickering for a while, and Eddie wondered if these drugs were designed not to be doing anything for the pain in his arm. Probably, knowing these sadistic bastards. 

He got distracted from ruminating on how the drugs were supposed to work when Steve started humming to himself.

“Are you singing Toto?” Eddie asked, baffled.

“Mhmm,” Steve answered without really stopping his little tune. “It’s been stuck in my head for a while now.”

“Why?” Eddie urged.

“Because when we were holding the door shut, we were holding the line,” Steve said like that much should have been obvious. The sad thing was, that made perfect sense to Eddie.

It was also kind of hilarious.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathed, still feeling some giggles bubbling up out of his throat an unable to stop them. He really couldn’t believe this was actually happening. From the torture to the Toto. “Is this how you thought us working together would go?” 

“No,” Steve snorted, still laughing too. “I thought us working together would just be us flirting and annoying Robin all day.”

Eddie wasn’t sure why that struck him like an admission, of sorts. It wasn’t like he didn’t know they were flirting, literally all the time. The only real question Eddie ever had about it was if it was serious flirting, or the type you did to pass the time with one of your best friends while you were bored and didn’t have anything better to do.

At this point Eddie didn’t even really remember what flirting without feelings felt like, but that didn’t mean Steve was in the same boat. Eddie snorted at the nautical pun in his own inner monologue, and Steve jostled behind him. 

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Eddie deflected. “I can’t believe you tried to convince them we’re real spies.”

“You started it!” Steve protested, sounding affronted but amused.

“I was just trying to buy time to make them chase their tails and stop hitting you!” Eddie said.

“So they hit you instead,” Steve pointed out in a deeply unimpressed tone. 

“I’m not the one who’s probably double concussed.”

“I’m fine,” Steve muttered, then went quiet. He did sound more alert than he had before, so Eddie opted to let the silence linger for a while.

He started contemplating if they were going to die like this, tied together and hanging on to each other for dear life. 

This really isn’t how I ever imagined tying you up, Stevie, Eddie thought with a wry smile. Or you tying me up. 

“Think about that a lot, do you?” Steve asked, and Eddie was pretty sure the whole world stopped turning. He stayed silent for a beat, but being tied to the object of his desire, he couldn’t exactly run away and dodge the question.

“Did I say that out loud?” he finally asked, dreading the answer. 

“Yes,” Steve laughed, and Eddie winced until he felt the split in his lip open back up. “I don’t mind being tied to you. But it’d be more fun if at least one of us had our hands free, though.”

“Damn it, Stevie,” Eddie grumbled, finding his encouragement entirely unhelpful. “We can’t flirt now. We’ve got bigger problems.”

“Eh,” Steve said, and Eddie felt a stilted attempt at a shrug behind him. “If we’re gonna die we might as well flirt.”

Eddie thought if they really were going to die, maybe he should tell Steve about  his feelings beyond how he wanted to tie Steve up. Or vice versa.

“I think maybe if we’re gonna die, I’ve got more important things to say.” He knew it was partly the drugs talking, but he also could create an itemized and detailed list of all the times he’d wanted to tell Steve while he was completely sober, too. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a beat, so Eddie started to panic that he’d passed out again. 

“Stevie?” Eddie asked. “Stay with me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Eds,” Steve said softly. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“I have stuff to say, too. But you first, ‘cause I’m a gentleman.”

“Could’ve fooled me—”

“Eddie,” Steve cut him off.

“Right, sorry.” Eddie sighed, wishing he could rub his eyes and clear some of the fog from his head. “I guess…I just want to say that you’re one of the most important people in my life, Stevie. My best friend, even—don’t tell Jeff I said that—and even if I’m not yours. And even though this whole thing is unbelievably shitty, I’m glad we’re together. If I had to pick someone to get stuck in a secret Russian bunker with, it’d be you ten times outta ten, Stevie. Except I’d avoid the you getting tortured part, because I’ve never been more scared or desperate to make something stop in my life.”

“Really?” Steve asked, somehow sounding like he could hardly believe his ears.

“Stevie, I can’t bear to see you hurt.” Eddie said with the utmost sincerity. “You have to know that.”

“I guess I do now,” Steve murmured.

“I’d do just about anything to fix it,” Eddie said. “I swear to god, Steve.”

“You could always kiss it better,” Steve said, a teasing lilt to his tone. But Eddie was too far down the rabbit hole of being earnest with feelings.

“Done,” he said without hesitating. Steve didn’t respond other than to let out a surprised sounding little laugh, so Eddie kept talking. “I never thought we’d even talk to each other, let alone be friends, you know’? But I’m so glad I accidentally stumbled on you and Dustin looking for Dart last year. Because you made my second go-around at being a senior fun, and you even make working a shitty mall job bearable. So even if we die down here, I just want you to know that I’ve been so glad to know you, Steve Harrington. The real you. Because you’re beautiful, to me.”

Steve stayed quiet for a long while, probably trying to let his truth-serum addled and re-traumatized brain absorb everything Eddie had just said. But it was so deathly silent in that room—so far underground and reinforced with enough heavy metal to make even Eddie shy away—that he thought maybe his own heart had finally caved in and stopped under the sheer weight of what he felt for Steve. 

“I feel the same, Eds,” Steve finally replied, gently but surefire.

“Yeah?” Eddie heard the wobble in his voice.

“Of course,” Steve insisted. “You’re my best friend, too, though.”

“Um,” Eddie huffed out a laugh, realizing Steve might be too high to function. “What about Robin?”

“That’s different,” Steve said immediately, but didn’t elaborate as to why. “Plus, you can have more than one, dumbass.”

“You’re calling me a dumbass?” Eddie scoffed, incredulous. “That’s your response to my heartfelt confession?”

“You didn’t confess anything!” Steve argued back. “You just basically said you’re surprised you don’t hate me!”

“I did not!” Eddie tried to defend himself, but in all honestly he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said already. He thought it was a lot deeper than that, though. “I said—”

Eddie’s attempt to explain himself was interrupted by the sound of Dustin Henderson barging into the room, waving around one of those long ass shocky-stick-things that the Russians carried around, and bellowing out his best war cry. Eddie was both astonished and impressed.

Once Dustin realized there was no one to electrocute, or even at his eye level, he glanced down to find Eddie and Steve on the floor. 

“How’d you two end up down there?” he asked. 

“Russian soldiers are kinky,” Steve answered, and Eddie couldn’t help the hysterical cascade of laughter that billowed out of him. He could barely believe whatever conversation he and Steve had just been having, let alone the fact that Henderson was here, already going for the aforementioned scissors and trying to set them free.

Dustin still scrunched up his beautiful little face in confusion at the way Eddie and Steve were giggling like a couple of sailors on drugs.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked as the ropes around Eddie’s arms finally loosened. Eddie felt the blood flow return to his uninjured arm much quicker than the other, but that didn’t stop him from helping Dustin undo the ropes around their feet. 

“Long story, Dust,” Eddie said, giving the top of his head an affectionate pat before twisting around to help Steve up. 

When Eddie finally got another look at Steve’s face, he was horrified to see what they’d done to him. His left eye was a mottled mess of bruises, and almost swollen shut. The other eye was turning black, too, but not nearly as badly. His nose was bloody and swollen, but by some miracle it didn’t actually look broken. He had a deep cut on his chin that Eddie thought would probably scar, but that was nothing compared to the laceration left behind by the pistol. It was still bleeding, leaving a trail of dried and sticky blood alike down the side of Steve’s face and down his neck. 

Somehow, Steve was still the most beautiful thing Eddie’d ever seen. 

Steve smiled at him dopily, looking about as high as Eddie felt, but Eddie didn’t have the time to bask in it before more alarms started blaring.

“That’s our cue,” Dustin said, before grabbing at Steve and Eddie both and shoving them ahead of him towards the door. Eddie wrapped one of Steve’s arms around his neck, ready to haul him out if need be, and let Dustin’s momentum push them towards the doorway.

Until the shooting started, at least. 

It all happened too fast for Eddie to even blink. He’d just poked his head through the door and into the corridor outside when the pop of a pistol sounded. In such close quarters, it loudly echoed through the halls of the bunker until Eddie’s ears were practically screaming. Distantly he saw the same officer Steve had clocked with the phone standing twenty feet or so down the hall, but the sight of him didn’t have time to register before Steve was shoving himself in front of Eddie, until Eddie went tumbling out of the line of fire and back into the interrogation room. 

As he tumbled backwards into Dustin, all Eddie knew for sure was that Steve cried out in pain again. Then there was a big crash outside, accompanied a loud squeaking sound, like sneakers on a basketball court.

Eddie didn’t care how many times he’d get shot, as soon as he had his bearings again he scrambled back to Steve’s side. He frantically checked Steve over for whatever had hurt him, until he landed on a new patch of blood seeping through the ripped fabric of Steve’s sleeve. 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, looking down at where the bullet had grazed his bicep. 

Eddie was speechless, unable to do anything more than take Steve’s arm as gently as he could into his hands and stare at the wound, looking for any sign of more damage. 

Steve had just thrown himself in front of a fucking bullet for Eddie, literally. He wasn’t nearly sober enough or high enough to properly process that information.

“Hey, dipshits, let’s go!” Robin shouted from down the hall, and Eddie had the wherewithal to look up for the first time. She was sitting at the wheel of one of the bright red carts the soldiers used to drive around down here, with Erica in the front seat and an unconscious Russian soldier splayed out in front of it. His gun had been knocked out of his hand, and skidded halfway down the hall when Robin had apparently run him over.

Between a phone to the face and a cart to the whole damn body, this guy was having a bad day of getting knocked around by the dynamic duo of Steve and Robin. 

Eddie thought that made Steve sound like Batman, a little, but he managed to suppress the thought into a snicker and move towards getting the fuck out of there.

Eddie tugged Steve along with him, despite his whines of protest, with Dustin quick on their heels. Then Dustin put two insistent little hands on Eddie and Steve’s backs and shoved them into the back of the cart, then crawled in behind them. 

“Aren’t you glad you still haven’t taught me to drive?” Robin shouted over her shoulder, presumably at Steve, as she maneuvered the cart around the the once more unconscious soldier. Then they took off speeding down the hall. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked Dustin first, though he was pretty certain of the answer. Dustin nodded frantically, though he did look a little pale now, and Eddie gave him a hopefully reassuring pat on the head before he turned back to Steve’s bleeding bicep. Not knowing what else to do, Eddie tugged the dumbass little ascot free of his own uniform, then used it as a bandage to tie around Steve’s arm. Steve hissed again at the contact, but Eddie merely shushed him. 

Eddie still couldn’t actually fathom that Steve had just taken a bullet for him, so he decided to voice his disbelief. “What’d you do that for? The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well I’ve been shot, for one!” Steve answered, incredulous. 

“What?!” Robin cried, twisting around in her seat while she was still pushing the cart to the maximum speed it was capable of. Everyone, but no one louder than Erica, screeched at her to put her eyes back on the corridor in front of them as the cart jerked to the right. Robin faced forward again, but she called back over her shoulder in a shaky voice, “Are you okay, Steve?”

“It’s just a graze,” Eddie replied as his trembling, still half-numb hands finally managed to tie the makeshift bandage into a knot. Then he looked Steve in the eye, or at least the one that wasn’t nearly swollen shut, and felt all the fight drain out of his body. He gave Steve as grateful a smile as he could manage and said, “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I know,” Steve murmured, then tentatively touched two fingers to the cut on Eddie’s bottom lip. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m gonna be fine, too,” Eddie promised. He felt Dustin’s eyes on them, but couldn’t be bothered not to take Steve’s hand in his own as they sped back towards the elevator.

[PART THREE]

[howtealightful]

So many Podcasts are getting Out of Control with the advertisements, if the full run time of you podcast is less than 35 minutes and you have more then 5 minutes of ads thats ridiculous, some of the shorter podcasts I try to listen to have more ads on their less than 35/40 minute run time than my podcasts with hour long episodes! I understand you have to have SOME ads since most podcasts are free to listen to, but I have been dropping podcasts left and right lately because I feel like Im spending more time listening to/ skipping ads then i spend listening to the podcast! And it sucks cause I like to listen to podcasts at work and when I'm cooking/cleaning but I'm constantly out of them lately. I try to listen to some that I used to like and it's all ads! I hate living in a world of constant advertising!! Fuck You corporations and fuck You consumerism! I'm not buying your shit! Plus podcasts that are advertising things that have been know to be shitty for a while (better help us the main one) not to mention that a lot of ads know are extremely annoying! Why am I suddenly listening to someone yelling! Fuck You!

[vadvis]

Drunk ranting I'm so sorry but do you ever think about fuckin. Like okay I hate the idea of "depression and anxiety are 'acceptable' mental illnesses" because they literally are not there is no one diagnosis which someone can hold that gets them treated "better" by someone else. Definitely certain diagnoses are more stigmatized than others, but literally the only reason in the past 5 years or so depression and anxiety have had this narrative built around them that they're "acceptable" is because of consumerism outright. These weren't cute things until they were aestheticized via self help apps and online therapy scams and $30 lavender bath bombs and essential oils and skincare products etc etc etc. Nobody *actually* thinks depression and anxiety are more "okay" for someone to have over another diagnosis the moment they actually exhibit symptoms of these, you've literally just been tricked into thinking this is something that happens because you've been taught to associate these two diagnoses with consumerism and celebrities. And it's such a toxic mindset from within communities of people w mental health issues bc you start to legitimately isolate people from these spaces with symptoms that can and often to literally fucking kill them because you've been conditioned to think they're somehow better than you based on a sponsored Instagram ad promoting ~self care routines~ you fucking idiots stop doing this nonsense behavior lmao

[frogwhispererer]

guess who’s mad about advertising again (spoiler alert : it’s me )

Meta (facebook / instagram/ threads) seems to have made their advertising settings as useless and laggy as possible so that going on to change what types of ads it shows me takes as long as possible. it doesn’t scroll properly, loads like shit and seems to be barely responsive at times. it should NOT be so difficult to have control over our online spaces. I hate advertising in general but i’ve accepted that it’s going to be present almost anywhere i go irl or online, but it could at least give me a little control of the type of shit being pushed into my face.

I don’t WANT to see weight loss apps or programs or diets pushed on my feed in a world where hating your body is forced on us. i don’t want to see shit advertised by groups that don’t believe in my rights as a person. i don’t want to see ads for fucking real estate I’ll never afford.

and yea. adblocks are a thing for browsers but not everyone has access to them. i have them on my computer but not my phone. that’s not the point though.

fucking consumerism is a curse

[rottable]

ads I hate you capitalism I hate you consumerism I hate you fuck you fuck you fuck y

[jankslide]

Individualism and Community

Something that I have been thinking about lately is how individualistic we are as a society. I was discussing with Matt. Basically we were talking about how Japan's population growth is so fucked, it looks very top heavy because of the absurd amount of elderly and the waning young population. Now by all means we are no experts on population growth or the social/political standards of Japan in general, let alone specific factors that can cause this. But the kinda general idea we were getting at was how could a culture as community based as Japan be having these issues? Like it's built into their culture the value of family and how they care for the elderly and the elderly stay active mentally/physically longer, in part because of sense of community within family and geographic neighborhood. Like the layman's understanding of Japan's issue is that the younger generation have no interest?, or some sort of barrier preventing them from having intimate interactions with each other. The Japanese young adult male has been characterized, the accuracy is up for debate, as isolated/lonely/overworked. Whether it's the work that leaves no mental energy for interpersonal connections. Or it's the overwhelming dread of the dating market. They have found solace in other forms, most recognized being anime or vocaloids. Which has in our amateur opinion, really harmed the population growth of Japan as a whole, causing these issues with a waning upcoming generation.

This entire discussion on Japan kinda just served as a precursor to some of the other issues with individualism. The use for television, and cable, as a member of the internet generation is basically nonexistent. You need it for sports, but streaming alternatives exists in league pass (or national games have the youtube TV option). Most people rely upon youtube, a number of streaming services, and various video sharing social media (tiktok being the largest that comes to mind, vine/musically once shared this market space) for video entertainment. The content that people engage in is so specific and individualized at this point. Couch socializing is dead. The fuck is couch socializing? I guess i would characterize this term I've just created as this: the communication and conversations that occurred from a shared bonding experience of indulging in TV. This is a time when everyone had the TV as their only source of video content. There were multiple people in the household, so the decision of what to watch may commonly have been an executive decision, but a decision that everyone would partake in ( a child's influence on what channel's on Friday night was likely nonexistent in comparison to their parent). This was a time when conversation could be had during the program, during the commercials, while you were waiting for "your show" ( another phrase that seems to have died) to start. This time just provided such a natural instance for you to converse with your family, roommates, whoever was there to watch.

I used to hate commercials, but I really see the positive perspective of them at this point. TV commercials were such a natural break in programming. The annoyance of the unskippable youtube ad doesn't exist here. You know roughly when the commercials are coming, you know roughly how long the commercials last. Need to use the bathroom? Want to get a snack? Need a beverage before the climax of the episode? The commercial gives you that break, involuntarily; yet so uniform was the experience, you could plan around it. The amount of marketing and consumerism fed to the average person cant possibly have been at a higher point than it is currently. Ads have more variety than commercials? Maybe, but not in my experience. I do have a strong guttural feeling that im exposed to more commercials(ads) than ever before in my life. Whether youtube midrolls, the youtuber's sponsor, or the myriad of scrollable suprise sponsorships on tik tok, the amount of messaging you're exposed are at astronomical levels. Theyre just as ivoluntary as TV, but the sheer number we must because of how diverse video content is; honestly, tragic how much of my visual intake must be ads at this point. You get trapped in the tik tok or instagram feed; the addiction of social media helps to feed more messaging to you (consequently increasing the value of advertising on their platform). Commercial were involuntary but uniformly lasted long enough for you be able to plan breaks. The trap of social media addiction doesnt allow this luxury of natural breaks. One swipe eliminates a tik tok ad. 5 seconds allows you to skip a youtube ad. This skippability is beneficial from an impatience stand point. But it secretly ruins youre self-discipline. No natural commercial break to let you think, yeah i'll turn off the tv and do something else. The ads are too short for you to divert your attention elsewhere, another design to help trap you in the app. It's crazy how these realizations have induced a longing for TV as it used to be.

The final point in this i want to mention is the value of limited television. There are just so many different shows, on so many streaming platforms, that cater to so many different demographics, it's hard to find the commonality of shows between people. Seinfeld is probably one of the most well-known examples of the idea I'm getting at. Seinfeld was a cultural phenomenon. Everybody watched Seinfeld and knew what it was. After the new episode premiered, you know that's gonna garner some level of discussion the next day at work. This was a show that brought so many different people together. It was so huge you knew that other people had seen it, so an immediate conversation topic presented itself. Streaming has its heavy hitters (stranger things for one) but it really isn't the same. You were limited to what was on TV. A show you didn’t love would still likely be one you indulged because the other options werent present. Now with such an abundance of media, you can find it hard to carve the time to binge a show. Binging has also killed this weekly conversation topic, but thats a discussion for another post. The point was the limitation of television shows helped to create that sense of community, which is somewhat lost at this point. Streaming, youtube, vimeo, access to bingeable older media has given too many options to oppose the popular culture show. You dont even need to watch other high production media as a substitute ( you got youtube with its variety of content). No need to buy the boxset of an older show with some reruns that intrigued you to watch the rest; streaming and piracy give you this option at limited cost or free. There's just too many options; the shared indulgence of visual culture is not gone by any means, but the point is how specific and catered it is at this point. The wide appeal and connection that this medium once provided has significantly been diminished. I just wish for a more community based environment; it's tough living in an individualistic society without a sense of how to socialize.

[transwrongs]

i’m so anti ads and marketing i know it’s an unpopular opinion because everyone looks at me like i’m crazy when i start grumbling about how much i hate them. i don’t click on ads i actively avoid them. i hate marketing so much shut the fuck up. stop trying to sell me shit. if i wanna fucking buy i WILL AND YOU TELLING ME TO DO MAKES SURE THAT I WILL NEVER BUY IT. FUCK YOU DIE DIE DIE. I HATE YOU MARKETING EXECS. I HATE YOU TARGETED ADS. I HATE YOU SPONSORED POST. I HATE YOU BILLBOARDS. I HATE YOU JUNK MAIL. I HATE YOU BIG TOBACCO. I HATE YOU BIG OIL. I HATE YOU MARVEL. I HATE YOU NETFLIX. I HATE YOU NO PRIVACY. I HATE YOU CONSUMERISM!!!!

[thehypermoth]

If I hear "feels like a dream, feels like magic" one more fucking time I'm actually going to off myself and everyone in this fucking country it fills me with so much unfiltered rage because of how fucking annoying it is and how it's everywhere it makes me want to kill at times I feel at peace with all, and it's just so fucking annoying I fucking hate consumerism and how the results of it force this annoying ass shit into our lives every day I well and truly despise it I hope temu CEO's eat fucking rat poison I fucking despise that ad. there's just so much I hate about it. the nasty ass idle animation that stupid box thing has, the annoying ass child chorus in the theme song, the way it all just feels so off, I just totally hate how fucking annoying it is AND on TOP of that there's like a 99.99999999999999999999% chance that the shit's spyware, cause like the history of the company, their overall "too good to be true" theming, the fact they have a bunch of bots under criticism posts about it trying to fucking pretend shit ain't off like be fr but like why are people fucking falling for this DOES THIS SHIT NOT PUT YOU ON EDGE? ID RATHER MY PRIVATE INFO STAY PRIVATE, NOT EVEN FOR A 50$ SWITCH! EVERYTIME I SEE LIKE A RELATIVE OR SOMETHING USING IT IT ACTUALLY DRIVES ME NUTS CAUSE LIKE DO YOU KNOW? YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST SOLD YOUR FUCKING SOUL AND BODY TO THIS STUPID SHOPPING APP EUGHHHH IT JUST MAKES ME SO FUCKINF MAD GOD I HATE TEMU AND ALLAT SHIT FUCKKKKK

images unrelated btw

[watersign-braindump]

Not to be like "I want to get rid of all internet/social media/etc" but YouTube finding a way to block all of my ad blockers and trackers is really fucking pissing me off. I hate capitalism, I hate consumerism, I just want to watch my dumbass videos in peace.

[themslash]

hungarian christmas ads worst of november edition

3. fucking dedoles rats. you found the worst rhyme and you're going to make me hear it 50 times a day because i'm too lazy to open my computer to watch youtube. this goes for all of the following but the dedoles rats really dont have much unique going for them.

2. ikea christmas ad. with grandma and the dogs. i hate grandma and i hate your dogs. the voice over going "everything can be replaced...... except for love <3" is a really sweet way to rub it in for anyone who might have any sort of negative family situations for any reason

1. i think it's yettel? the christmas carol ad? jó ajánlatok a webshopban? its like. i'm not even catholic or something but it somehow combines the annoying ditty nature of the dedoles rats and the offensive quality of the "only your family loves you forever" ikea ad. it genuinely triggers incandescent rage within me every single time i see it. killing any plausible deniability of christm*s' deep connection to consumerism that you might be trying to hold within your heart in secret which i do.

honorable mention: katy perry chicken commercial. in case you hadnt already despised her music. here's an advertisement for raw chicken where you can enjoy her music again, 50 times a day. i dont think its christmas themed, it just sucks.

[akireu-13]

i really like this video on the b4rbie movie. i did like the movie, to clarify. i thought it was fun, i thought some of the feminist stuff was really good. spoilers ahead obv, but i really enjoyed the section where she has a breakdown and talks about all the contradictory stuff women are supposed to be. i liked the section where shes talking to ruth about wanting to be human and to be a woman despite it all. i liked that part of the message was that a lot of men need to fuckin get hobbies instead of their personality being Woman-Liker. i LOVED the songs being camp and mostly actually made for and about the film instead of using generic pop songs (tho the billie eilish song was jarring and took me out of it).

However. i did think it was pretty,,, superficial. some of that was because its a corporate product and there wouldve been restrictions on what gerwig could do. like she cant criticize the mattel board too much, because it would "make the company look bad." like mattel refused to call the movie feminist, and i think theres an aversion to calling the movie anything too concretely subversive, maybe because that turns the "ive been saying this for years!!" aspect into not relatability, but being behind the times, or worse, performative. which it is.

BUT i also think it really played into the Girlboss feminist schtick. like that in the end they went back to a matriarchy. i dont think the film was saying matriarchy bad, and im not even trying to say that it would be equally as bad as patriarchy bc i dont know nor do i care. but i do think it had that vibe of "men are stupid, right ladies?!? we know best with our woman power ;)" which feels a little weird tbh. even the little comments like implying that a president would NEVER dress like that or a woman would have to be BRAINWASHED to want to be a housewife is uncomfortable to say the least. the final gynocology joke at the end felt really reductive even with a trans woman in the movie. it felt weird for her to go to the queer-coded b4rbies to get help and then they stop mattering when they arent helping cishet b4rbie society. and no butch b4rbies, obviously.

it felt like they were going "see? woman power!! but dont forget to be respectable!!" despite halfway through talking about how hard it is to be respected as a woman. and this is most egregious when they have sasha going on an honestly reasonable and well-founded rant about the negative social impact of b4rbie which is then not really brought up in a meaningful way again. shes played for laughs and its only addressed as a "we hear your criticisms but theyre very silly bc barbie stands for woman power so there. 😊" like she calls b4rbie a fascist and thats a whole joke, which is really fucking weird tbqh.

but my point is that its ok to be critical of the way women are treated and what is expected of women, and its ok to be weird or ugly or whatever!! up until the point it makes you ACTUALLY ugly or tooOo much of a deviant (like dressing in revealing clothing as a professional, or criticising consumerism which is just a silly thing to do because why would you EVER-), in which case you just hate women and make the cause look bad.

anyway, i thought the movie was fun. it looked great, the soundtrack was fun, the casting choices were pretty good, and i liked the real talk about how hard being a woman can be. at the same time, it was a very long ad for b4rbie. it was corporate, and mostly sold a very girlboss, shallow look at feminism. a good entry point for like, men who think women arent oppressed but love their girlfriend enough to TRY to understand, or for middle aged women looking to hear something nice about their existence, or people looking for a fun summer movie with a few funny bits. not a great movie for film nerds or riotgrrls or trans people or anti-capitalists.

[thechroniclesofnikevictoria]

Present. Chapter 3 – Beginning of June 2021 

“Then we are officially Best Fuck Friends!”  

“If this is the case I want an official update of my title” 

(TW: NSFW, smut, OC, MiloxOC, reference to MiloxCamus, HET couple, reference to HOMO couple, D/s, Dom!Milo, Scarlett Needle/Cuspide Scarlatta with creative uses)

Time passed after their last battle in Asgard. Everyone had come back to life, thanks to Lyfia and her intercession to Odin and the Gods seemed to have found their own sort of balance, and everything had gone back to some sort of normality. And actually, since Nike had become acting Hight Priest, she had been leaving way more freedom to the Knights, including letting those who could use their special lightspeed way of moving around for personal purpose. Taking time off and seeing family any chance they got were on top of the list. As long of course as their Sanctuary duties were not being left behind. In peaceful time, the most important for the Gold Knights was instructing all those in the world that manifested Cosmo, made the choice of following Athena and happened to belong to their sign. The kind of thing Milo detested to a point. 

He had just headed back to the Eighth House, quite frustrated from the training session he had just finished, when he remembered Camus was away that night. He decided to get a hold of Nike with Cosmo. 

‘Can you do me a favor? Can you put a word in for me with Aphrodite, the goddess, not your neighbor, and ask her if she can please stop making so many people be born under my sign?’ 

‘I don’t think it’s her doing, rather consumerism. If you do the math, nine months before Scorpio season we’re right around Valentine’s Day’ 

‘If this is the case, I really need to start drinking heavily’ 

‘Then come over here, got a Sbagliato with your name on it. I even brought dinner straight from Quadrilatero, I was about to call you myself’ 

‘Let me get rid of this hardware, quick shower and I'm on my way’ 

‘Yeah, move your gorgeous ass, I already popped the Prosecco’ 

Not even twenty minutes later he was knocking at her door, with a huge portion of those Greek fries she adored and that he had just grabbed from her favorite place downtown Rodorio. 

“Perfect timing” she said on the threshold handing him a glass full to the rim. Milo took a long sip and sat down on the couch adding his food to the delicious spread already in front of him. 

“Aren’t your parents away this month? What did you go to Milan for?” 

“Shopping of course! I don’t want my Black Amex to feel neglected. I got something for you and the popsicle as well” she said pointing at two bags, one from Prada and one from Armani. Milo peeked inside and saw the two most beautiful shirts he had ever seen.  

“Bright turquoise and fire red for your Bright Spring, aqua and ivory for Camus's Light Spring” 

“You shouldn’t have. Thank you. Now I have to find someone to help me think how to wear them” 

“Yeah, right. Mr. Metrosexual has trouble matching shirts now. Oh and please let me know how mad Camus gets when he figures out the brands. He's so Parisian he hates Italian fashion. I had even considered getting him a Milan’s jersey with Zlatan’s name, but then I decided I don’t really care for finding out if I can survive an Aurora Execution without my armor on” 

“Who’s jersey?” 

“Ibrahimovich” Nike sighed rolling her eyes. How could spend so much time with Camus and still understand nothing of soccer? 

“And what did you buy for yourself?” 

“Do you want the full runway?” 

“Why not?” 

Nike humored him. With a sip of Negroni Sbagliato and a bite of food here and there she modelled all the many outfits she had bought that afternoon, taking notes of all the comments her friend had to offer. He was objectively talented in the style department. 

The last outfit was a new black silk La Perla slip that would have joined the other dozen she used as house clothes, and a pair of Louboutin Bianca 140 Nude stilettos. 

“How do you even walk in those? They make you almost as tall as me” 

“Fourteen centimeters, one ninety-two. They make me exactly as tall as you. I studied ballet for years anyways, these are nothing compared to pointe shoes” 

“You are kinda the cheater on your homeland economy though with those French shoes” 

“I’m not a Nazi like Camus! I have a closet full of Chanel and Dior. Back home in Milan I even have a room with floor to ceiling walls of Birkins and Kellys” she explained, finally sitting down next to Milo, finishing her second Sbagliato and enjoying the Greek fries with feta he had brought. 

Since Camus and everybody else had come back to life Nike thought it was going to be all for that unusual emotional adventure she had shared with Milo from the attack to the Twelve Houses to the war with Hades and their adventure in Asgard. On top of that, she had made a point with herself not to sleep with her friends ever again. Besides, the Sanctuary’s perfect couple had returned as in love as ever, everybody could still remember the moment of their reconciliation. She was not jealous, quite the opposite, she was extremely happy for them and she was glad she could have helped Milo when he most needed to come to terms with his pain. When she needed to come to terms with her own pain, even if he didn’t know that. This is why she was in shock a moment later when Milo decided to kiss her. 

She pulled back abruptly. 

“What’s up?” he asked still on her lips. 

“Camus! Camus is up!” 

“It’s different with him” 

“I don’t want to be the other woman” 

“You aren’t. The relationship we have is not monogamous. Camus is... love but it’s almost platonic what we have, you are my best friend that I occasionally go to bed with in order to satisfy my... non Vanilla desires” 

“So he knows?” 

“He knows that sometimes I take my desires... elsewhere. He does the same and we are both ok with it” Milo picking up the kiss and sliding his hand under the hem of her silky skirt. 

“If you don’t want just tell me though” 

‘If you two are ok with it...’ 

“You are the one who said...” she sut him up, finally responding to his kiss. 

“Make me come, Scorpio, and give me some of your venom” 

Just like an old habit they picked up when they had started fucking after the death of their friends, Milo picked her up and carried her to her bedroom. She tried to take off her shoes, but he ordered her to keep them on. Of the two, she was the one with authority over the other, but, ironically, during sex she loved being commanded and being told exatly what to do by him. 

Milo saw a full figure mirror in a corner of the room. 

“How long has that been here?” 

“Years, I think it’s Saga’s” 

“Why don’t we use it then?” he said putting her down right in front of it. 

“I think I'm wearing too many clothes” he stated taking off his tee shirt and jeans, remaining in his tight underwear that accentuated his growing excitation. She looked at him with a sigh. Gods, he was gorgeous. His face, his toned and defined muscles, the bulging veins on his arms, the proportions of his body. His V shape. His package. It all seemed too perfect to be human. Nike wondered if Athena had purposely chosen her Knights based on their beauty and attractiveness.  

“Why don’t you kneel for me this time” he ordered. She obeyed without breaking the eye contact, but running her hands on his extraordinary muscular body. When she made it all the way down it was pretty obvious for her what to do next, considering he had started moving her hair off her face and collecting them in a ponytail behind her head. Still keeping eye contact, Nike lowered his boxers down to his ankles and started licking the tip of his hard cock. After a while he invited her to take it all in her mouth slightly pushing with his hands on the back of her head. She didn’t hesitate and started moving up and down following a rhythm, reaching deeper and deeper every time. He was observing the scene through the mirror, getting even more turned on by the show. It was most certainly not the first time, but he still had trouble believing that reality. The goddess of victory, quite literally the most beautiful, sexy and desirable, not to mention lethal, woman in the entire world was kneeling before him with his cock in her mouth. She heard him declare his upcoming orgasm and she held her breath in anticipation. She swallowed down to the last drop while he stared from above and through the mirror, turning himself on all over again like he didn’t just come. He made her stand up, picked her up again and gently deposited her on the bed, taking off her sikl slip but not her shoes. 

“That red stiletto... reminds me of my Needle” he said sticking his tongue in her throat, grabbing her breasts and lying down on top of her, slipping inside her harder than before. 

“You are so tight and wet. I love it” 

As usual, she was a pleasure machine. Hers, but also the pleasure of the lucky man, Milo in this case, she bestowed the privilege of her body to. On the threshold of their shared ultimate pleasure Milo prepared himself. He gently grabbed her neck to cut off her breathing. She opened her eyes. 

“Trust me. When I tell you, take a deep breath” 

He gave her two more deep thrusts, really bringing her to the brink; he moved his right hand to her chest and rose his Cosmo to charge his Needle. 

“Now Μωρό. Breathe” he said, letting go his hold on her neck. She obeyed. In that very moment he gave her the very last thrust she needed to come, and at the same time 

“Scarlett Needle” he hit her with two stars. 

As predicted, she lost her mind. Her nervous system, attacked by the venom, amplified her already intense orgasm beyond any imaginable limit. Seeing her, feeling her was too much for Milo and he finally let go to the strongest wave of pleasure he had ever felt, a pleasure that made him lose his consciousness too for almost a minute. 

When Nike woke up Milo was lying down beside her on his side. He caressed her cheek and kissed her softly.  

“How was it?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant the Needle” 

“Even better than I remembered. Thank you” 

“I was quite scared to be honest. The other time, forgive me, we had nothing to lose. Now we have everything” 

“It’s not the first time you hit me. On your best days you made it to eight if I'm not wrong” 

“My record with you is eleven in God mode. But in training it’s different. You have you Cosmo active and your guard high. But looks like you handle it pretty well even with your shields down” 

“And do you still like it?” 

“You have no idea.it drives me out of my mind. To see you and to feel you when you come like that... I'm getting hard again just thinking about it” 

“Keep some for Camus” 

“No come on, it’s different with him” 

Then he panicked. 

“Oh gods, what would he think of me?” 

“Oh come on, I was kidding” 

“No but seriously. Should I be worried?” 

“For what?” 

“Oh I don’t know. My best friend, who independently is also my Goddess, and by definition the most beautiful woman on the planet, bestows me the privilege of having sex with her. And what do I do? I give her my venom” 

“Please, don’t be so hard on yourself. It's in your Scorpio nature to be a little on the sadistic side. Otherwise how do you explain the fact that all our friends’ attacks, and mine, consist in one single blow while yours requires fifteen excruciatingly painful hits?” 

He looked into her eyes. 

“You do know that I would never seriously hurt you, right? Besides the vow I took to protect you because you are my goddess...” 

“Athena is your goddess, and mine” she interrupted. 

“You are a very close second. Anyways, even if we weren’t stuck with this life, if I had met you I don’t know in university, remember for you I would die and kill” 

That statement that had just slipped his mouth shocked him. He hadn’t realized that maybe, beside attraction, he could feel something for her. Something beyond their friendship. He hoped she hadn’t heard him, or that she wouldn’t care too much. 

“Milo, just accept this side of you. Don't be dramatic. I for one absolutely love it. I know you would never hurt me for real” 

He smiled in relief. He wasn’t ready to face his feelings, not in that moment. 

“Why were you playing hard to get?” 

“Come on I told you why” 

“Yeah, yeah, Camus and that tale you tell yourself you don’t sleep with your friends. You were the first one not believing your own words out of your mouth” 

“See, the problem is when the friends I fuck end up falling for me. I already lost one this way...” 

Milo swallowed, thinking back to what he had said and thought just a minute earlier. No, no way, tho chance. It had to be the afterglow speaking. And losing her? Losing her frienship? No, he was not going to let it happen, at whatever cost. 

“Anyway, thanks for not giving up. I was this close to turning into a virgin again” Nike brought him back. 

“Wait, how long had you not...” 

“You’ve been the last one in here. Do the math” 

The night before hell. 

“Come to think of it you’ve been my last woman too, you ruined me for all others! But it seems hard for me to believe that someone like you could have a hard time finding people to fuck. The word gets out and we get a line out the door” 

“Do I look like the kind of person that goes out to pick up guys for a one night stand? Never been my style. With everything I have to handle now I wouldn’t even have the time for that. And besides my beauty and performance standards are sky-high. My only option is fucking one of you guys but like I said the friendship is ruined if we don’t pay attention. Speaking of which, you and I are still best friends right?” 

“Μωρό I'm a Scorpio. Sex for me is like breathing. And with the history we share, being afraid of ruining a friendship like ours with sex is like being afraid of ruining fries by sprinkling feta on them” 

“So you don’t mind if we keep this thing on between us?” 

He smiled. 

“If I have to choose who to take advantage of my agreement with Camus with, I couldn’t pick anyone better. Otherwise what’s the point for a girl of having a male best friend?” 

“Then we are officially Best Fuck Friends!”    

“If this is the case I want an official update of my title. Milo Nomikos, Gold Knight of Scorpio, official Best Fuck Friend of Nike Martinelli of Winged Victory. I think I'm going to have business cards made” 

Nike hit him with a pillow and bursted into laughter almost to tears while he was saying all that. She had missed spending time like that with him. And that he was no longer depressed nor mad at the entire world it was going to be great. Even better that it was when they had met as kids. 

“What do you say, shall we finish the food?” he asked as soon as they stopped laughing.  

They teleported the food to the bed and enjoyed it all like they had done many, many times and they would have kept doing forever, laughing, joking, talking, confessing, until they fell asleep. 

Finally, after years of suffering and sacrifice, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.  

[tbhstudying]

hi seo! how is your project pan going? i can’t remember if you’ve talked more about this, or if it was a fleeting segment in one of your livestreams / PWMs.. more specifically, what are some tips you have to successfully declutter products you already own?

- sincerely, a hoarder anon

it’s actually going quite well! i’ve panned 19 makeup products + decluttered 22 other products for a round total of 41 products gone from my collection. admittedly, a large chunk of that was half-used lip balms and concealers, but it’s nice to have them out of my collection. now, my only problem category left is eyeshadow and blush, and i’m close to finishing a blush and an eyeshadow palette. i caved during black friday sales and bought more makeup but oh well. 

this isn’t related to makeup specifically, but i’ve also been giving away and donating a lot of my unused stationery and gently-worn clothes + i’ve also been successfully panning skincare products. for things that were completely unsalvageable, i’ve taken them apart and dropped them off at greendrop + terracycle locations at my school. 

something that’s helped a lot is creating an inventory on a spreadsheet. i put down the name of the product, the original price of the product (even if i got it on sale), and then i calculate the total cost of that “collection.” not only does this help me keep track of what i have and what i’ve used up, it really helped me realize my spending habits and what i was truly spending my money on.

here are some reasons that i decluttered things:

expired (ex: expired lipstick, pens that dried out, etc)

no longer fits me + can’t be altered to fit me

never wore / used

didn’t work for me + alternative methods of using it didn’t work for me either (some skincare that breaks me out can be used on my body without breaking me out, but some just don’t work at all)

had many similar things of greater quality (ex: i had two blushes that were the same color but i kept the one i liked better. i also had 5 pens that were the same color, but i only liked the formula of one pen.)

ways to use up what you currently have:

have a box with the things you want to use for the week or the month + focus on using only those. selectively using those things for that week or month helps you realize if you genuinely enjoy using it or if you don’t really need it in your life. 

focus on one thing to use up at a time. i used up a lipstick a lot faster when it was the only lipstick i was reapplying throughout the day.

use one thing in multiple ways. i use a lipstick and as cream blush. i use a marker as a highlighter, marker for drawings, and as a pen for headings and diagrams. 

keep your empties as a reminder for what you’ve currently used up + dispose of it in one big go later. i find that seeing the pile of empties grow is really motivating and it’s also a reminder of how much stuff you allowed to accumulate.

don’t buy any more things!!! you can’t reduce your collection if you constantly have more things coming in than you have going out!

i hoard things and collect things too. i swear i have a magpie brain where i look at things and go “shiny, i want.” i’m not a minimalist by any means + i’m not doing this to become minimalist. i’m doing this so that i have a better relationship with the items that i own + to gain better control/awareness over my purchasing habits. i now genuinely love the things i currently own, and i don’t feel like i have to stay on top of the trends and constant new releases. wishing you all the best with your own collection!