#my mom never let me listen to anything but gospel music

[hadenclairee]

Grew up listening to “Christian Rock” and K-Love, so now I’m cursed to have “He Reigns” by the Newsboys be the soundtrack for my nostalgic recollections of childhood

[mamispersonal]

Bit of a random personal rant down below the cut

Growing up in a Christian household, being able to express myself to my mother as a goth metal head was...never easy, and was very nearly impossible. Throughout the years, I always felt it necessary to keep things very secret from her and she's asked me why I hide things from her, when I know very well what her reaction has been. For example, the one time I was very out with the fact that I enjoyed metal, she was very quick to shut that down.

We were sitting at a table with my sister and her boyfriend, and of course, I just wanted to try and make a connection with my sisters boyfriend on our shared love for metal music. But, whatever was I thinking? How dare I say I like metal. So she cuts in with a very snippy, "I don't listen to that shit." Okay then, that was the end of that. So I did confront her on it afterwards, telling her how rude and hurtful I thought her remark was. Unfortunately for me, the attempt at a conversation and trying to make her see reason ends up falling flat on it's ass.

She tells me that she doesn't think she was being rude and that what I'm going through is just, "a phase." Which, if it was...then why get so uppity and outspoken on your opinion? It almost felt like she was scolding a teenager version of me and making her "opinion" to be more important and righteous than my own. Like okay, you don't hear me dissing your choice to listen to country music, or hell, gospel music. This is also from the same woman who never let me listen to Michael Jackson growing up, didn't let me watch or collect Pokemon cards, or listen to anything she considered "screamo/demonic music."

Which, last time I checked...Three Days Grace wasn't screamo. Nor was any other band I was listening to at the time, and Heaven forbid I listened to Motely Crue, AC/DC, or Metallica. Going to the mall was also another thing that drove me up the wall, I was never allowed to go to Hot Topic, Spencers, or anything that housed rock/metal/alternative clothing. So, I learned to keep things a secret...and sadly, this hasn't changed for all the years I've been a part of these two very formative communities that made up a majority of my tween/teen years. So, I hide my collection of metal CD's when she comes over, as well as my shirts with bands that would probably make her faint.

As for my choice to dress darker, she's aware of this and after numerous times of getting on my case about it, she's learned to be more quiet and accepting of my decision to "identify as a goth." (Which, I don't go around saying: EVERYONE LOOK I'M SO DIFFERENT AND COOL AND DON'T I JUST STAND OUT??) Which mom and dad seem to think I do it for the attention, but...I don't. I dress this way because I feel the most free and happy when I do. Even if it were to all be "just a phase" let me enjoy it and ride it out until it no longer is a part of my life anymore.

Yet, having conservative Christian parents was never really fun when you wanted to dress up as a "witch or a vampire or like it's Halloween everyday." And to put the nail in the coffin, when I finally did move out of my moms house and into my own apartment space, I was finally able to make my own rules about how I dressed and expressed myself to others. Boy...was I wrong. Turns out, she had church and school friends driving around town without my knowledge and looking at me as if I were some walking circus.

What was so bad about wearing a black velvet dress, a choker, creepers, as well as experimenting with black lipstick and eye makeup? Well...after all this was said and done, we literally sat outside of my apartment building in their truck as they proceeded to dig into me about my "choice to represent the devil." Which, I'm not...? If I wanted to get that across, I'd wear a Baphomet shirt, upside down crosses and occult symbolism, but I choose to stay away from those symbols because I TOO AM CHRISTIAN! But I guess because I chose to wear a black dress and walk around wearing black makeup, I might as well have been representing Satan himself.

Dad's logic was, "You look ugly when you dress that way." Which fucking hurt. Secondly, "Wearing black is representing darkness and therefore, the devil." Erm...isn't black just a shade on the color wheel? Yet, when I finally got angry at them for feeling like I was being ganged up on, I was berated with: "There's a demon on you, a rebellious spirit that's trying to hurt us and we rebuke that." So, even getting angry has me marked down as being demon possessed and wanting to hurt them. Mom starts to silently pray and my fault was getting mad at her and telling her to "stop praying" because it was making me feel fucking terrible in God's eyes.

Which, it always has. I love my creator. I adore him, I talk to him every single day about my day-to-day life, and he's always on my mind when I just wanna vent or tell him about the things in life that make me happy. So, whenever mom has begun to pray, it makes me feel like I'm being scolded by the Holy Spirit or like God's looking down at me with disappointment. So, thank you for that mom. After all this, they had the nerve to ask me for "a hug" as if they hadn't spent the last hour chewing me out and breaking down why I was wrong and they were right.

Safe to say, I didn't want to and they left being the ones who were "hurt by my coldness." LIKE OKAY?? HOW DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT YOU SAID COMPLETELY BROKE ME??? I don't like using such a term, but I had a mental breakdown in my apartment after they left, throwing out all my gothic clothes, shoes, items, etc. I even went and cut up some shirts because I just wanted them to stop. And for about a month, I let them believe I gave up the alternative/goth lifestyle, when really, I was only doing it to appease them. But deep down...I wasn't happy. Luckily, a good friend of mine held onto my clothes for me let me have it all back after I was done pretending.

So yeah...I wish I could be more "out about things" if I knew that being lectured and possibly riled up wasn't on the forefront of my mind. I keep my metal tee's in a box at the bottom of my closet and only wear them at night if I go to a party or to a bar where I know for a fact mom's friends won't be there to "report me to my mom." I'm 24...not 14 anymore... I don't like sneaking around like this, but...when I've been made to feel ashamed for enjoying what I do, I'm gonna wanna keep that secret like I'm some teenager sneaking back in at night.

Don't know what to do about it anymore and when you live in a small town where most people are Catholic or Christian, people are bound to notice me and almost always say things back to mom. First of all, I wouldn't make fun of how you dress or choose to be "normal." At some point, it begins to feel like mom doesn't want me to embarrass her in front of her friends because I'm her "goth/weird daughter." I know exactly that dressing this way will turn heads because of how out there it is, it would be the same if I wanted to dress like it was the 80's or the 1920's.

At the end of the day, I'm, not hurting anyone. I'm minding my own damn business. I'm just trying to enjoy my freedom. What's so wrong about that...?

PS: Her church friends suck. I heard from my older brother that back in the 90's-2000's when he dressed in a tank top and cargo pants, those same nosy women were alleging that my brother was a Nazi/Skinhead? All because he worse cargo pants and a tank top. Last time I checked, Debbie, the Bible tells us not to judge a book by it's cover. Shut your righteous pie hole. In the words of my heroine, Elvira: "If I want your opinion, I'll beat it outta ya."

[gaysindistress]

Don’t mind my ramblings 😂

I have to go to the town I grew up in with my dad this weekend and I’m dreading it because I haven’t been back in like 5-6 years. That and it’ll be a 2 hr drive on super winding roads.

Anyways….I’m feeling ✨angsty✨ so if y’all want some insight into where my self proclaimed angst writing powers came from, read ahead.

Or don’t, I might delete this later. I haven’t decided if this feels like oversharing or not.

Warnings: mentions of racism, religion, and country music

I usually don’t listen to country because it’s awful most of the time and it reminds me too much of home. But when I do, that shit s l a p s and Im not talking Zach Bryan or any of that mainstream shit. ZB is great but I’m talking Colter Wall, The Death South, Uncle Lucius, the Devil makes three, and even late Johnny Cash.

I grew up in a tiny ass town (the population is literally under 200) and the only thing for miles are ranches and hundreds of acres of open land. We didn’t have wifi or cell service until 2018 and i learned to drive on a forgotten forest service road in an old manual farm truck that didn’t have seatbelts. It barely had seats to be completely honest. We would walk to the church on the hill every Sunday wearing our Sunday best where the preacher would be drenched in sweat as he spoke about the Bible and told us that the End Times were coming. We needed to ask for forgiveness, pray any chance we got, and turn off the radio. The songs that out society loved were the Devil’s music and gospel was the only thing acceptable. I couldn’t say the Lord’s name in vain or my great grandma would whack the tops of my hands and make me help her clean. God was something to be afraid of but to be loved reverently as he was out Father.

Afterwards, my great grandma and grandma would make supper for all of us. The staples of homemade jams and bread were always there but the meat and veggies would change depending on what we had available.

We did laundry in a ringer washer and dried the clothes on a line in the front yard. I learned how to sew and mend anything you could think of before I turned 10. My dad and uncles made sure I was the best shot in the family. My mom taught me how to befriend a horse so that you became one when riding. She’d say that there was nothing more dangerous than a rider and a horse who weren’t in sync. It was a running joke that I was Annie Oakley and my grandpa tried for years to get me to do rodeos but my parents wouldn’t let me. Granted I didn’t want to either, the people could be vicious and as I got older, the racism grew worse. My dad was whiter than my grandpa so few people said anything to him but if I was with my grandpa, people would say some of the foulest things you could think of. When I was probably 8, I remember asking him why that group of men yelled at us to “go back to the Rez” and to hide the alcohol. He didn’t answer me and dropped me off with my great grandma. When he came back maybe 30 minutes later, his knuckles were bloody and he tried to wipe them off before he sat down next to us but I still saw them. I knew better than to ask him about it because the look he gave me when he noticed me staring at his hand was one full of hatred, anger, and a deep pain that could never be erased and it told me everything.

My mom wasn’t safe from it either and in their ignorance, people would say whatever they thought might be the most hurtful. Her mom used a mix of Arabic and English when she spoke to my brother, cousins and me but that stopped when all the news would talk about was the war in Iraq and terrorist groups infiltrating America. My mom was terrified that someone would accuse us of being connected to these groups even though her family was from a different country entirely. So my Sitto stopped speaking Arabic and no matter how hard I try to learn it again, nothing sounds as beautiful as hers.

For the most part, I blended in but if anyone looked at me long enough, they’d see what I’d learn to hide. I bleached my dark brown hair and straightened every curl until it no longer held its shape. I covered my face in makeup so that it looked pointed and no longer held the soft flat planes it used to. I used accents of gold and similar colors to lighten my nearly black eyes. Before only the sun could bring out the yellow flecks but I refused to go out for long in order to keep my skin a lighter shade. During the summers when I spent all of my time outside and away from others, my skin would brown until it looked like the dirt and clay beneath my feet. I did all that I could to make myself blend in better and when I failed, my work ethic of sun up to sun down and my ability to keep my mouth shut made it so I was forgettable. No one bothers the average in a town like the one I used to call home.

We’d spend every weekend in late summer and early fall cutting wood for the elders in town. My dad knew everyone’s addresses by heart and didn’t need navigation when he dropped off the wood. After those long days, my great grandma would lay out old quilts she’d made over the years on the lawn so all of us could sleep under the stars. We’d laugh and giggle as we pointed out the constellations and told each other stories. It was then that I learned how our grandparents painted the multicolored hills that surrounded us. Sometimes when we all began to fall asleep, we’d hear the coyotes and once I swear I heard a wolf howl even though my dad said they hadn’t been around in decades. Rarely did I see the big black bear that liked my great grandparents’ Apple trees. I would see the aftermath of his feast though as the raccoons took their share. Sometimes the turkeys would scare them off but that was only seasonally.

I can’t relate to most country music because that’s not the world I grew up in. We didn’t have bonfires on Friday nights after the football games or go mudding when it rained. We didn’t hunt or fish for fun because it was a necessity as the nearest store was an hour away. My childhood in those rural ranch lands was beautiful but harsh and makes any spaghetti western that featured Clint Eastwood or John Wayne look like child’s play. People try to liken to it Yellowstone but i always say it was closer to the prequel 1883.

Country music has always been deeply intertwined with religion but I can’t relate to the way that Tyler Childers and Zach Bryan sing about their god even though I should. I didn’t pray to the God they sing about because the one I grew up with was something from the Great Awakening. The God I grew up with was an old one that demanded sacrifices in the form of our days spent in service to Him and forgoing what modern society offered us because it was deeply sinful. I feared the Devil would one day walk amongst us because that’s what our preacher told us would happen if we listened to the radio or watched any new movies. I imagined when he did claw his way to earth from the depths of Hell, he would wear a suit and tie with a great grin full of teeth sharp enough to snap my bones in one bite.

The “country” I grew up in is nothing like what people imagine when they listen to its music media. It’s not like Yellowstone, any of those homestead shows, or whatever else is labeled as western. The “country” I grew up in, the one that feels most like home albeit a distant one, was more like the one that Colter Wall, Delta Rae, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Death South, Uncle Lucius, the Devil makes three, and of course Johnny Cash all sang about.

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Once Upon A Dream | Kyoutani Kentarou/Reader

Characters: Kyoutani Kentarou, Reader, Aoba Johsai Club Members

Pairing: Kyoutani Kentarou/Reader

Genre: Fluff, just happy fluffy times

Warnings: I don’t think there are any, but if you see any, tell me please!

Word Count: 2111

Summary: For almost 3 years, Kyoutani had seen glimpses of your life in his dreams. It was his favourite part of the day. So, when you move to Miyagi, he's far too excited to meet you. Only, he doesn't know your name or your what you look like. And what's a soulmate supposed to do when you go silent at school?

A/N: This has sort of been shoddily thrown together to help me get out of my weird funk lately, but I like it, so sue me. UwU. Check it out, I posted it on AO3 too (here)

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Kyoutani hated school. Not for any other reason than the fact that the people just annoyed him - much less the fact that he wasn’t particularly good at his - his grades could attest to that. Sure, he loved volleyball, and that might’ve been his favourite part of the day; except his favourite part was sleeping. That was because during the times of slumber, he could see glimpses of what happened during his soulmates day - what happened during your day.

He’d never admit to anyone how happy it made him. He’d do anything to learn everything about you.

At this point, he was sure he knew just about everything about you. Most nights you’d feign studying to your mom - you’d always end up watching far too many episodes of the latest anime that had you hooked - even so, you somehow had almost perfect grades. Every time you were in lessons, you took notes effortlessly, though he only ever saw those notes during class. When you weren’t watching anime, you were writing, listening to music far too loud; a thousand playlists that he could never wrap his head around - he was never sure how you’d managed to memorise where one song in each playlist was all because it took you too much effort just to like it. You couldn’t sing very well, that didn’t seem to stop you - he thought the same about your dancing - but something about seeing a section of that from your day always made him extra happy in the morning. You got along well with your mom, most of those clips you were laughing about something incomprehensible. You seemed to get along with a lot of people, though your closest friends were a pair of twins by the names of Anaka and Anoko. You lived in Tokyo, which hurt his heart far too much than he’d admit.

The one thing that irked him was your dislike for sports, you put in little effort to gym every time. Waking up after those clips of your day were his least favourite thing - he’d even put school before that.

Despite the fact he knew everything about you, or as much as he could, there were two things he didn’t know: your name or your face. He hated that so much. It was as if you never looked at your reflection, or took any pictures of yourself. He had a basic idea of what your hair looked like, but most of the time the strands were out of his vision.

From what he could tell, you were in the year below him; it wasn’t that that particularly mattered to him, it just meant he’d been seeing your life for a year longer than you’d been seeing his life. For the almost three years that he’d been able to see you, you’d barely had two years.

One night, a week before he’d be transitioning into his second year, he’d dreamt of you:

The world zipped by through the car window; you rested your elbow on the door hands, leaning your head into your open palm, forehead pressed against the glass. The view wasn’t one he was used to seeing, it looked more like the countryside rather than the cityscapes; a gentle wave of sadness mused inside of you.

“I know it’s going to be a lot to get used to-”

“You have no idea…” you cut off your mother, not even bothering to glance in her direction. Sadness was replaced with an eruption of aggression. You hid it, opting to clench your fist. Your jaw tightened so much that it ached.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Her voice was soft. You let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “I mean, you were so happy when you found out what high school he went to. Although, even the idea that you’re going to meet your soulmate won’t take away from the fact we’re leaving behind…” she paused, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

You finally tilted your head to look at her. Something swirled in the pit of your stomach and you reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

There weren’t any more words needed between the two of you. It was easy.

Kyoutani woke up, running his hand through his short hair. That felt different than normal. He couldn’t explain it, not well, at least. And what had your mom said about meeting your soulmate? None of it made sense. Did you actually move to an entirely new place? Why?

It frustrated him more than it was worth.

----

Weeks passed and nothing.

Kyoutani had hoped for something, anything. There hadn’t even been a single sight of you in person. He saw you in his dreams; in class, your stare would be focused out of the window intently; you were quiet, rarely interacting with your classmates. You looked at them with such an indifference.

He loved the days when he could see you at home; you did your usual song and dance, but this time you had a small puppy at home. You’d shower it with endless affection. You didn’t seem to watch as much anime before - he even saw you studying sometimes - but the joy in his heart when he listened to you lazily sing an opening was unfiltered and so pure.

He still had yet to see your face, to hear your name.

At the start of volleyball practise, Oikawa announced that the team would be getting a manager - as long as things went well with them, that is. Most of them were confused, Kyoutani included, until Iwaizumi explained that unlike the others, and there had been so many others, this girl wasn’t interested in Oikawa in the slightest - in fact, she didn’t even know who he was. Kindaichi confirmed this, since she talked to him about this.

Out of nowhere, a girl appeared at the door, she seemed frazzled. Completely in a daze. By that point, Kyoutani had zoned out, choosing to focus on literally anything else.

He missed the looks she gave him the entire practise.

----

Sleep could not come sooner for him. He wondered what you were seeing right now, if you were even asleep; he wanted to know so badly what you thought of him, how you felt, he wanted to see your face. Just once. That was all, if he saw your face just once, he would be happy.

----

Time passed and still nothing. He hated it. He hated how close you were to him, yet how out of reach. Things didn’t change much. You were still as quiet as ever in class; you were still as loud as ever at home. He memorized each word you spoke like it was gospel, because what if you just happened to talk near him one day? How else was he supposed to recognise you if it weren’t for your voice?

He didn’t learn much about the new manager. She was quiet, too quiet. She agreed to things too quickly and acted like she would break. Because of that, everyone treated her like she was going to.

He had caught her staring at him a few times, something that pissed him off because he didn’t want her, he wanted his soulmate. Wherever she was…

If he were being honest, he’d really tried his hardest to find her. No one in particular caught his eyes. He searched every first year classroom several times a week to make sure that he had never missed anyone on any particular day, the idea that you could be somewhere else other than right there hurt him. He looked at the desk where you normally sat. Every time he went it was empty. It sucked.

Oikawa only noticed his mood get more foul as time went on - even managing to hold off on commenting about it considering how he looked like he might actually kill someone.

One night, during his dream, it felt like all the pieces finally fell together.

You stared down at the ground- were you wearing sneakers? -rubbing your thumbs together nervously. There was light conversation in the background. He couldn’t make out a lot of what was being said. Not until you stepped towards a bench, grabbing a vibrant yellow water bottle. “Thanks, L/N!” Kindaichi’s voice chimed, puffing out his chest. He was dripping with sweat.

You gave him a half smile before your eyes wandered around. This sight had become a typical one for you, watching the volleyball club running around and practising. Your eyes land on someone in particular and your heart races, although it doesn’t last long, not until he turns and meets your eyes, glaring.

Maybe you just had your hopes too high; he clearly wasn’t interested in having a soulmate. You turned your head away quickly. Giving him a side glance. “Oh Kyou…” you muttered, turning away.

Kyoutani shot up awake. Never had his body been more alert in the morning. The volleyball manager hadn’t just been some girl, but it had been you? All this time you never said a word to him about it, and he had just glared at you like you were nothing.

It made him sick. The idea that he had been hurting you.

Never had he rushed to get dressed faster. Never had he been so excited to go to school. His uniform was haphazardly tossed onto his body, he almost forgot his bag. Everything felt heightened. The wind was hitting his face harder than normal - that might’ve been because he was sprinting - the ache in his legs was nothing compared to the excitement in his heart. The closer he got to the gym, the more nervous he became.

“You’re here early…” Yahaba snickered - normally Kyoutani would have threatened the brunette, but not today. His eyes were almost frantic as he changed into his gym clothes, darting around like there was something big he was waiting for. Because there was something big he was waiting for. That was you. For you to finally appear. So that he-

“Good morning, L/N!” Kindaichi cheered towards the door of the gym, waving frantically at you. You smiled and offered him a small wave before yawning, glancing towards Kyoutani. When you met his eyes, you seemed to pause mid-yawn, tears building up in your eyes.

He walked over to you. Not really knowing what he was going to say. Not really knowing what he wanted to say. Just knowing that he needed to be next to you. To talk to you. To hear your voice again, right now, right in front of him.

When he stopped in front of you, you almost seemed scared, sucking in a deep breath and leaning back slightly. You averted your eyes, not wanting to upset him in any way. He didn’t move, not an inch. His eyes danced over you, examining every part of your face that he hadn’t been taking the time to examine. This was his first time actually seeing you.

“Beautiful…” it slipped out before he could do anything to stop it. A warmth rushed to your cheeks as you smiled awkwardly, looking away from him.

“Um… thank you… Kyou…” The look on your face could only be described as elated, even as you avoided his eyes, you knew he meant it.

All of the other members looked at you confused, trying to understand what Kyoutani had said that had made you so flustered. That was quickly washed away when he grabbed your chin, lifted your head up and smashed his lips against yours.

Your eyes shot open wide, body frozen before you seemed to collapse. His arm caught you, holding you against him with such a need that it was destroying you. When he pulled away, the gym erupted into screams.

“Took you long enough.” You muttered, gently punching his chest.

“I… I never saw your face before-”

“You see it every day?” You tilted your head.

“No. I mean… t-this…”

“Oh…” He didn’t need to explain. You knew exactly what he meant, “I don’t really like my own reflection. So I just… avoid it?” An awkward laugh slipped out.

“But you’re beautiful.” He caressed your cheek, such a softness in his eyes that you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Can someone explain what just happened?” Kindaichi yelled, eyes darting between both of you as you shared such a tender moment.

“That’s what a pair of soulmates looks like,” Oikawa mused, wrapping his arm around the first year, “well, at least she’s cute. Sucks she has such a… strange soulmate.”

Kyoutani slipped away and pounced on the setter.

You simply laughed at them.

After all this time, you’d finally met him.

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[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Yes, Father (August Walker x Reader)

A/N: Hey folks. It has been a while. This piece has been sitting on my drive for over a month and I finally decided to post it. I hope you enjoy it. I based all the mass rites on my own experiences, even if it has been a while since I last went to church. 

Summary: AU! After much insisting, your fiancé convinces you to go to church with him and you find yourself strangely captivated by the priest celebrating the mass, which so happens to be your fiancé childhood friend.

Pairing: August x Reader

Genre: Smut; AU   

Wordcount: 2,9k

Warnings: smut (dirty talk and fingering); It’s worth noting that this is a seriously sacrilegious fic, so if you’re religious and think it might bother you or conflict with your faith, maybe it would be best not to read it.

You were never one to particularly care for going to church or anything like that. You weren’t raised in any faith and if it was up to you, your future children would be educated the same, but it was so important to your fiancé James.

He came from a feverous catholic family and he grew up going to church, Sunday morning mass, and being part of every possible event his church was involved in. He was ever an altar boy growing up and he hoped that he could continue the tradition with his own children.

And after a lot of cajoling on his part, you agreed to start attending mass on Sunday morning with him. He promised that the current priest presiding his church wasn’t one of those misogynist and full of prejudice old farts but actually a good old friend of his.

“I promise you’ll enjoy August’s sermon,” James assured as you combed the inexistent wrinkles on your plain, knee-length grey dress.

James insisted you were being too conservative with your attire choice. That it looked more like you were going to a job interview than mass, but you rather be safe than sorry. His parents would be there as well and for some reason, that made you even more nervous with this whole attending to church thing. As ridiculous as it might sound, a part of you was slightly afraid of busting into flames the second you stepped through the threshold of the building.  

“Honestly, it still surprises me that out of the two of us, August was the one that ended up with the collar and not me,” your fiancé declared with a chuckle as he parked the car and you two stepped out to see a considerable group of people, mostly women from the looks of it, quietly making their way inside. “He was such a ladies’ man.”

“Doesn’t seem like much have changed,” you commented as the two of you walked up the steps, making him chuckle and nod.

James’ parents were already waiting and after a quick greeting, you were all made the way inside, miraculously finding seats in the front pews, right in front of the altar. The ample ship of the church seemed to amplify the buzzing of conversation all around, but it all came to a halt at the first chord of the piano.

The silence was heavy and it seemed to you that if someone dropped a pin, it would be heard by the very heavens. Finally, the eerie melody started and you felt your heart beating to the tempo of the music as everyone rose and the procession started.

Front and center, leading the group was a young boy, no older than 12, carrying the processional cross. The dark, shaggy hair and green eyes reminded you of James and you could picture your fiancé in your mind’s eye performing the same task as a child and it brought a smile to your lips.

You watched as the group advanced in time the melody playing, some members of the congregation carrying images of saints and other holy objects and finally, closing the group, Him.

Father August was a tall man, broad shoulders and built like a bull, the white and green clerical robes barely disguising his bulky form. His dark hair was neatly combed, one stubborn curl falling over his left eye but he seemed unaware as he walked and murmured the words of the hymn under his breath, his ocean blue gaze never wavering from the altar. He would look like the picture of a Godsent angel if it wasn’t for the dark stubble covering his face and the abominable mustache that in anyone else would look ridiculous but on him was actually attractive.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you realized your treacherous thought and your gaze fell to your polished shoes. You were really thinking of a priest as attractive? How much of a sinner could you be? Ashamed by the betrayal of your mind, you didn’t dare to look up again, not until the velvet smooth voice of Father August asked all to be seated and the ceremony started.

You let his voice washed over you as mass progressed as expected, taking your cues of when to rise or sit from James, that remained next to you oblivious to your suffering. You barely listened to the gospel reading or the adoration too focused on tracking Father August’s every move despite your best attempts of ignoring the handsome man presiding the celebration.

Finally, the congregation was seated once more to listen to his sermon. You kept your eyes on your clasped hands as August took his place at the pulpit and started speaking. You didn’t hear a word said, only the calm, husky tone of his voice that seemed to set your very soul on fire if the wet warmth between your legs was any indication.

Despite your brave attempts to keep your mind clean, you couldn’t help but daydream of that very same voice whispering all sorts of sinful pleasures in your ear. Clearing your throat, you dared to look up, finding his blue gaze fixed on you as he spoke and that was enough to set your heart racing and lock the breath inside your lungs. It felt as if Father August could see deep inside you, all the unholy thoughts you had been entertaining during his sermon.

Finally, he ended his speech and another hymn began. The congregation started rising, taking their place in line for Eucharist.

“You’re coming?” James whispered, startling you.

“I shouldn’t,” you replied quietly, your eyes darting to the priest feeding the congregation the wafer.

“Come on,” James encouraged with a smile and a wink. “No one will know.”

You rose from your seat against your better judgment. Your brain was unable to reign in the dark desire that pushed you toward the priest. As you took your place in line right behind James, your heart was pounding and your nerves wrecked as each step brought you closer to Father August, until finally, you stood in front of him, under his piercing all-knowing blue gaze.

“The body of Christ,” he spoke, voice haunting as he presented the wafer and your whole body shook as you let your lips part in welcome, eyes focused on his as he set the wafer on your tongue.

There was something so intimate and arousing at been this close to Father August, to let his thick fingers brushing against your lips as he fed you, his eyes darkening and his nostrils flaring as if he could see and smell your sin. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds as you two stared at each other.

It took the small cough from someone behind you to break you from your spell and you scurried away, shame bitter and acidic in your stomach, drying your mouth and throat as you forced yourself to swallow the wafer and move back to your seat, feeling the weight of your guilt as you waited for the mass to be finally over.

You had hoped to be free from the priest as soon as the proceedings were over but instead Father August remained at the door, exchanging polite words with the members of the congregation, and of course, James and his parents got in line to speak to the holy man.

“Amazing work as always, my dear,” you heard James’ mom, Magda, said as she kissed Father August’s cheek. “But when will you remove that awful thing from your face?”

“I don’t know, mom,” James interjected with a smirk, hugging his old friend. “I think it suits him, gives him a star quality. Of the porn variety.” James’ mom gasped in horror, while August just chuckled.

“You’re jealous because you never managed to grow a single hair in that baby face,” the priest joked back, completely unfazed by the teasing as his gaze set on you. “And who is this?”

“Oh! You haven’t met my fiancé, yet…”

You barely heard the rest of James’ words as he ushered you forward, presenting you to Father August and as his large hand enveloped yours in a warm touch, you could feel the flitting throb between your legs once again.

No man had such an effect on you before, and you wished you could run away, put as much distance between yourself and the temptation in the form of a man.

“So, what did you think?” James asked once the two of you were in the safety of the car, on the way to his parents’ house for Sunday lunch.

“I know it might not seem like it, but it wasn’t my first time in church, James.” Your words earned you a chuckle from him.

“I know, sweetheart. I meant of August.”

“Oh!” You could feel the heat returning to your face as you shifted on your seat, looking away from him. “He seemed nice and you’re right, his sermon was ok.”

“Is ok enough for you to consider coming along every Sunday from now on?”

The look in James’ eyes was pleading, like a little puppy dog that was kicked out of the moving truck. The look of a man that was used to get his way and he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I’ll think about it,” you conceded it as he pulled the car in the driveway, right behind his parents’.

It wasn’t like you could say no point-blank. Not without a good reason for it and saying you were lusting over his ordained childhood friend wasn’t exactly an option.

“That’s all I ask.”

James smiled brightly at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you two stepped out of the car just as a third vehicle pulled in the driveway, and the last person you wished to see got out.

August was donning a pair of black slacks and a black, long-sleeved dress shirt, the clerical collar being the only evidence of this man’s chosen career.

“I’m glad you could make it!” James greeted his friend cheerfully and August smirked.

“I wouldn’t miss this delicious…” he paused for just a second, his eyes flickering towards you, making you gulp and look away. “Meal for anything. Sister Agnes has many talents, bless her soul, but cooking isn’t one of them.”

James snorted, leading the way inside as August walked right beside you so close his arm brushed against yours, raising goosebumps on your skin as it tingled with the brief contact.

“Why don’t I help your mother?” you announced as soon as you crossed the threshold, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the priest as you could.

James didn’t protest. Instead, he led his friend into the sitting room and as you disappeared behind the kitchen door, you could almost feel the cold blue gaze of August on your ass, if that was even possible.

You managed to relax some as you helped Magda with the meal, chopping vegetables and stirring pots as the two of you talked about the upcoming wedding, only months away. You never thought you would be this excited about it, but you loved James with all your heart, and you couldn’t wait to become his wife.

The sound of the phone cut through your chatting and Magda’s face opened into a wide smile as she reached for her phone. It could only mean one thing: Her daughter Mary, who had been in a charity mission in Angola, was on the line.

“Go on,” you encouraged with a smile as you surveyed the kitchen. “I can manage everything.” She flashed you a grateful smile before scurrying off, phone already pressed to her ear.

You hummed to yourself as you worked, tasting the potato salad and adding a little more seasoning before your attention turned to the roast on the oven. You bent over to get a better look, smirking to yourself when you sensed someone standing right behind you, close enough you could feel the heat of his body,

Of course, you thought it was James. Who else would you expect? Instead, As you straightened up and glanced behind yourself, you were startled to find August there, browsing the pots over your shoulder. Too close for comfort.

“Father,” you croaked awkwardly, unable to really move without risking touching the man and that was the last thing you wanted. Your body was already heating up just by his mere presence. Anything else would be too dangerous.  

“Sorry for the intrusion, I wanted to give them some privacy to speak to Mary and I thought you could use some help.” His words were innocent enough but there was this edge in his voice… a sort of dark tone that made you doubt his intentions.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” you managed, shimmying out of the way so you could move to the sink to start on the dishes. “But I got it covered.” The priest hummed in response and for a moment, a tense silence reigned between you two.

You were very aware of every sound, every motion of your body and his. You wished he would leave already or, against your better judgment, press closer, blanket your body with his, let those long, elegant fingers trace the skin of your thigh, inch under your skirt, and towards your throbbing cunt which was soaking your panties.

You let out a gasp, cutlery clattering loudly into the sink as your mind registered the filthy thoughts circling your brain. How could you? This was a man of God, for Christ’s sake, and a good friend of the man you loved.

“You know, James and I were always very close,” Father August spoke suddenly, making you start because once again he was standing right behind you, his hands resting on the marble of the sink in front of you. “We shared everything.” He whispered those words right in your ear.

One of his hands came to your stomach, not yet touching but close enough that you could almost feel it, the ghost of his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, making your breath hitch and your body shake as it paused right at the edge of your skirt, hovering there so, so close…

“Please,” you whimpered, not sure if you were asking him to move away or touch you, even if your body was obviously aching for him.

Father August decided for you, dipping his fingers below the hem of your dress, tracing your thigh up until he found your center, the brush of his fingers featherlight against your drenched center.

“Dirty little slut,” he mocked, massaging your cunt and making you moan and rest against him. “I could tell all your filthy thoughts when you stood in front of me at the altar. Did you want to get on your knees and suck my cock in front of the entire church?”

“Yes, Father,” you whimpered, rocking against his light touch, desperate for more.

“In front of James?” he asked, pushing your panties aside and dipping one finger inside your hungry little slit that seemed to almost pull his digit in.

“Yes, Father.”

“Whore,” he clicked his tongue, fingering you roughly now, his middle finger buried almost to the third knuckle as the heel of his hand rubbed against your throbbing clit. The pad of his finger rubbing that sweet little spot, and all you could do was squeeze the sink and press your legs together around his wrist, keeping his hand trapped there.

“You better cum soon or James will find out exactly what kind of slut his fiancée is,” August taunted, his voice like smooth honey dripping against your ear as he rubbed his hard cock against your ass.

“Yes, Father,” you gasped, rocking between his hand and his erection, lost in the ecstasy of such filthy action. “I’m so, so close…”

“Do you want my cock, slut?” he asked, his other hand coming to your throat, squeezing just slightly and you nodded desperately as his motions sped up. “Want me to fuck that tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Father,” you gasped.

“You’re gonna come to the church on Wednesday. I don’t care what you tell James. Just be there.”

Even if you wanted, you couldn’t find in yourself to answer, your whole body going taut with pleasure as your orgasm washed over you. The sort of white-out ecstasy that blinded and deafened you to anything and everything around you with the exception of your body quivering and quaking and the gush of warmth soaking his hand, your thighs and dripping to the floor below.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to your cheek.

Father August stepped away from you, hands in his pockets as you tried to recompose yourself just moments before the kitchen door opened and Magda walked in.

“Wednesday. Don’t forget,” he said, his smile, to anyone looking from the outside, was completely innocent but you caught the malice in his ice-cold eyes before he left.

“What’s on Wednesday?” Magda asked, checking the roast.

“Father August is just gonna help me with something,” you managed, brain still hazy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “For James.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Magda grinned. “He’s such a good man, isn’t he? Our August. A true man of God.”

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat. If only she knew…

---

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[alirhi]

wtf is wrong with me? I'm such a glutton for punishment, I swear. ugh...

Okay. So here's the rundown, since y'all have been lucky enough to not know me when I was still on the worst of this ride:

Since I was 4, all I've wanted out of life was to be a singer. It was all I talked about, all I thought about, for about 25 years. I had other stuff on the side that I wanted almost as badly (mom thought I was fickle, dad understood I wanted it all) but singing was always it; always that one thing that got me through the day, that one dream that kept me from killing myself (or on occasion, was the reason I wanted to kill myself)

12 I had hope. I had range and power, and guys, I could sing. I could do a spot-on impression of Anne Wilson. It was uncanny. Voice was still super fucking girly, but at least I had talent.

By 16 I'd developed asthma. Goodbye range and power. Voice just kept getting weaker and more squeaky and childlike. I'm almost 34 now and I sound like I'm 12. Not me when I was 12. I fucking wish. No, I sound like a little girl.

I clung to the dream for a long time. Drove everyone crazy with it, dragged some friends along in my wake in various "bands" I tried to start that went nowhere... And then in 2015 I auditioned for The Voice. Fucking hell, this story... Okay. So.

I was in GA at the time, so my audition was in Atlanta. Aside from knowing I had to make it past 2 rounds with producers before I could even dream of getting to the blind auditions (aka the whole reason my ugly ass even picked The Voice, a show I have literally never watched), I had no idea what I was walking into until I got there. Not only did I have to audition for a producer who would be staring right at me the whole time, I had to do so in front of 9 other people trying to get in. I was 8th, after 6 amazing gospel singers (hello, it was GA XD) and one tone deaf hack.

I sat there, listening to these beautiful, powerful voices, and watching the producer look bored out of his mind. With each singer infinitely more talented than me that he was just so incredibly unimpressed by, I felt more and more hopeless. Following the hack didn't even help. I almost ran out, but I was too embarrassed to call that much attention to myself.

I got up there when it was my turn, with ten people staring at me, and I sang this song:

You know what didn't dawn on me until it was too late? We were in Atlanta, GA. Fucking everyone was singing gospel, and this dude was bored out of his mind listening to the same shit over and over again all day long. All that registered in my mind was that these people were so much better than me and none of them were good enough for this guy.

So anyway, I got up there, and I sang something different. I sang this, and I watched this guy sit up straight for the first time since we'd walked in. I watched him watching me like a hawk, actually look interested... and my throat closed halfway through the chorus (about 0:50). And when I didn't make another sound and just ran back to my seat, I watched him deflate and beckon the next person.

No one in my group got past the first round. I walked out of there in tears, absolutely fucking hating myself. It would be about two years before I could even tell anyone anything beyond "I didn't make it." I was so mad at myself for the way I psyched myself out and failed.

I'm still on NBC's mailing list for The Voice, so I still get alerts every year when they're starting auditions again. And people pushed me for years to try again, but I don't have the edge I did then. I'm back up north; back in a world of diverse music tastes, where not everyone is a damn gospel singer. Plus, now it's all virtual thanks to covid, so I'm up against the whole fucking country.

As hard as I fought for so long to keep that impossible dream alive, I've fought even harder these past few years to break free of it. Just let it die, mourn it, and move on. I finally got my friends and family to stfu and leave me alone about it.

And I just signed up to audition again. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?!

[ivybucky]

cookies and cable-knit sweaters (s.r.)

prompt: baking christmas cookies puts you in the best mood

A/N: this is day 2 of 12 Days of Winter fics! Knives Out and chris evans in that sweater got me feeling all sorts of things and I thought it was the perfect plot for Steve fluff. Some of my best friends have never had snickerdoodles??? ridiculous 

author: abby

words: 1395

pairing: steve rogers x reader

song i’m listening: winter song - leslie odom jr.

Cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air. 

The soft hum of your voice softly echoed down the hall, the melody of a slow rendition of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas” filling the moment went sound. Steve felt dragged down the hall to the kitchen like a cartoon smelling a freshly baked pie. 

In leggings, one of Steve’s sweatshirts you stole from the laundry, and apron, you swayed gently to the music playing in your head as you measured out cups of sugar. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Steve hummed, taking in your relaxed appearance, marveling in the simple beauty of you. “What’s got you up so early, doll?” 

You flushed at the nickname and the rough, sleepy voice of America’s wonderboy. You turned towards him with a grin trying to mask your redness. You took in his disheveled look, blonde hair sticking up in directions it shouldn’t, loose sweats hanging low on his hips, and t-shirt sitting off on his broad shoulders. “It’s almost Christmas, so I thought I would make everyone some cookies.” 

Steve huffed out a lazy laugh. “At seven in the morning?” 

“Well, I’m making a lot,” you chuckled. “Lord knows you’ll eat one batch alone.”

Steve smiled sheepishly, leaning his back and hips on the counter next to where you were working, crossing his arms over chest. The t-shirt strained against his biceps, causing your eyes to flit down to the material before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sorry you make the best food in the world. I just can’t help but eat it all.” 

You giggled, “I’m just teasing, Steve.” You looked at him with soft eyes. “You know I’d make anything you’d want.” 

Steve growled, sending a shudder down your back. “Don’t tempt me, Y/N/N,” he chuckled. “What kind are you making right now?” 

Your grin widened as you looked back at the ingredients in front of you. “Snickerdoodles! They’re my favorite.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had those,” he said, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“What?!” You stared at him in disbelief as he shoveled one of the countless sugar cookies already baked on the counter. A star shaped one with red sugar on it. “But they’re so good!”

Steve chuckled at your disappointed frown. “Maybe I can help you make them then,” he cleared his throat before stuttering. “That is if you want my help, doll.”

You blushed at the thought of spending the day with Steve doing your favorite activity. You smiled looking up at him, nodding. “Go get your apron on, Cap.” 

You chuckled as Steve smiled widely before jogging down the hallway to change clothes, sliding around the corner into his room in his socks. For an old man, he sure acted like a child.

____

Adorned in a white cable-knit sweater, jeans, and some leather boots, Steve bumbled into the kitchen with a large smile on his face. He quickly made his way to the pantry, grabbing a red apron from a hook and not paying much attention as he looked at you. “What do you want me to do?” he questioned, pulling the apron over his neck before tying it around his waist. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight standing before you. His flushed cheeks, eyes full of excitement, and an apron that read “kiss the cook.” Deciding not to mention it, you waved him over to your side. “So first we gotta beat the sugar and butter together, like this,” you motioned as you used an electric beater in the bowl in front of you. 

Steve watched with furrowed brows and a tight lipped frown in concentration as you smoothly walk him through the steps of making the snickerdoodles. The way your face lit up when giving him instructions. As he rolls cookie dough in cinnamon and sugar he ponders, “So how did you get so good at baking?”

You smiled softly, rolling dough alongside him. “My grandmother used to bake and cook every single day. After school, I would spend afternoons with her waiting for my mom to come back. It was always comforting to spend time baking with her. It just kinda became a habit to bake when I was feeling down or needed a pick me up ya know.”

Steve smiled, turning towards you and leaning his side against the counter. “It sounds like y’all were close. What made you wanna bake so much today? Something gotcha down, doll?” Worry clouded his voice.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “I think this time of year always get me down and lonely, ya know? It’s hard getting through the holidays alone.”

“But you’re not alone, Y/N,” he put his hand on yours, stopping your movement. “I - the team,” he corrected himself. “We’re always gonna be here for you.”

“I know,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “I just wish I could share this holiday with someone other than family if that makes sense.” You looked at Steve, his mouth parted as if he was about to speak. A timer went off behind you, signaling that the batch in the oven was done. 

“Oh shit,” you whispered, wiping your sugar covered hands on your Christmas apron. 

_______

You and Steve continued to make your batch of cookies, your conversation not leaving Steve’s mind. You meant the world to him and knowing that you’d been feeling lonely when all he wanted was to be yours. 

You stuck your batch into oven, taking off your apron and hoping on the only empty space on the countertop, letting your feet dangle. Smiling wide at Steve, you grabbed a candy-cane shaped cookie with red sugar on it and shoved it in your mouth, just as he did before. You giggled when crumbs started falling in your lap. Steve chuckled, pointing towards your mouth. “You uh- you got a little something there.”

The back of your hand, moved to brush off the crumbs, missing entirely. “Did I get it?”

Steve grinned, “Haha no, let me get it.”

He moved to stand in front of you between your legs. You held your breath at his closeness as he swept his thumb over your bottom lip, gathering what crumbs were left there. He brought his thumb up to his mouth without hesitation, gently sucking the sugary taste off. His eyes met yours, noticing your blushed cheeks, and widened pupils. Nervously, he moved his hand to cup your cheek. You leaned in without hesitation.

“I know you feel alone right now, Y/N,” he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your cheekbone. “But you don’t have to be.” He rested his forehead against yours. 

“Steve,” you whispered, breath entangling with his. “I’m about to listen to your apron.”

Confused, Steve pulled back just enough to look down at the white lettering on the front of his apron. Looking back up at you with realisation, you pulled him against you. His soft lips pressed against yours, tongue tasting yours. Sugary sweet, just like you. 

Your hands wound their way into his, pulling him impossibly close to you as his hands tightened around your waist. Steve fucking moaned against you, the feeling of you being too much to handle. Your lungs started to sting from the lack of air. You pulled back from Steve, his lips chasing yours, hungry for more. 

“Fuck,” he cussed in a whisper, leaning his forehead on your shoulder. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He laid a kiss on your neck, causing you to hum. 

“I think we can just agree we were both idiots for not doing that sooner,” you giggled breathlessly, fingers running through the hair on the nape of his neck. Suddenly, he sat up straight and looked you in the eye with determination. 

“Let me take you on a date,” he practically demanded. You laughed. 

“What, like right now?”

“No, silly,” he rolled his eyes taking your hands in his. “We can wait for the cookies to finish baking and then I’ll take you out.”

You smiled, rested a hand on his neck. “I’d love nothing more.” 

His smile widened, nearly blinding you. He brought is hand up to your chin, pulling you into another long kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled into the kiss knowing you wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone this year.

_____

Add yourself to the taglist

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Steve Tags: @cotidi3morimur​, @fruiterias​, @goldenkillmonger​

[ladyofpurple]

answer all of the questions!!

holy SHIT ok bless you omg

(sorry it's a full day late i took this shit SERIOUSLY. don't ask me how many hours this took, i was in A Mood™️ last night. removed the ones already answered xoxo)

angel; have you ever been in love?

yeah. didn't end too well, but i loved him.

petal; favorite novel and author?

this is like asking me to pick a favorite child. i guess favorite author would be stephen king, if only based entirely on the sheer quantity of his books i own alone. favorite book would probably be special topics in calamity physics by marisha pessl, and i'm only saying that because it's been my go-to response for years. i have lots of favorite books. ask me again in five minutes and i'll give you another one.

honey perfume; favorite perfume/scent?

freshly made coffee. lilacs. jasmine. cut grass. the ground after it rains. chocolate chip cookies in the oven. cigarette smoke on skin. my mom's shampoo. my grandma. my dog when he's just had a bath. thanksgiving dinner. acrylic paint on canvas. sawdust. that one cologne i can't name but can smell on a guy from a mile away. mulled cranberry and apple juice. vanilla. coconut. fresh laundry. peppermint.

sweet pea; what’s your zodiac?

virgo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising ✨

softie; talk about your sexuality.

i'm biromantic asexual, primarily attracted to men more than women (but have had too many crushes on girls to consider myself het), generally sex repulsed when it comes to the thought of having it myself. i prefer to call myself queer in passing conversation, it's easier than explaining asexuality and the differences between sexual and romantic attraction. if someone asks more specifically, i'll usually just call myself bi for simplicity's sake, even though the ace part is a much more important (to me) part of my identity. monogamous as fuck.

i'm still struggling with internalized homophobia and a lot of "am i even queer enough" thoughts, which is super fun. took me a long time to even consider the fact that i might like girls at all. i'll probably never come out to my parents. not that they'd, like, disown me or whatever, but they're juuuuust homophobic/transphobic enough that my few attempts to educate them when they say something A Little Yikes have shown me that i should probably just stay in the closet unless i absolutely have to come out. like i'm getting married to a woman or something.

sugarplum; what’s the color of your eyes and hair?

i usually say my eyes are green because it's easier, and they mostly are, but i have rings of greyish blue around the irises and sometimes they're more hazel in the middle. they always have a green tint to them though, even if the intensity of the green varies.

my natural hair is brown, a little on the darker and slightly ashy side of completely generic. currently a former blonde, although i'm hoping to bleach my fucking YEAR of growout soon, and then go some crazy color as a last hurrah before i have to go dark again. being broke fucking sucks.

wings; coffee or tea?

tea!! black tea. chai, to be specific, with an irresponsible amount of milk and sugar. chai lattes are a fucking drug okay? coffee makes me sick (not a judgement, a literal fact. last time i tried some i threw up).

fairytale; are you a cat or dog person?

cat!! but my family has a chihuahua named sonny and you can pry that little monster from my cold dead hands ok i will fight you.

snowflake; favorite time period?

okay, i wrote and rewrote my answer to this about 10 times. then i tried to divide it up into categories (aesthetics, history, fashion, vibes, geographical location, etc), but that didn't help. so basically: i don't have one, because i have too many.

i like the american 20s-60s for the aesthetic, music/movies, and the fashion. i also like the european 1600s-1800s for the interesting history and also vibe. i love the french and russian revolutions — the fashion! the art! the wars and political upheaval! I FUCKING LOVE HISTORY. then, of course, we can't forget the rennaisance. or the witch trials (pick your continent). and ancient greece? the roman empire? hello?? did i mention empires? how bout we mosy on over to south america — can i interest you in the mayans? incans? aztecs? what about china and japan? korea? vietnam? and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the black plague.

ancient egypt? sign me the FUCK UP. vikings? yes please. the celts? oh boy. the MYTHOLOGY. the ARCHITECTURE. the LANGUAGES and POLITICS and LITERATURE and REVOLUTIONS and GOD HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ANY OF THESE

i uh. might have gotten a little excited. basically i like history a lot. and mythology. and linguistics. and cultural practices. and the politics and prejudices behind wars and stuff. and learning in general. moving on.

vanilla; do you believe in ghosts?

let's put it this way: i don't not believe in ghosts??

listen. we don't know jack shit. we don't know what happens after we die, there are constant scientific revelations that turn our understanding of the universe completely upside-down, and there is literally no way to know which religions or myths or urban legends could have some grain of truth to them. like, dude, i've literally thought i was haunted before. psychology is bananas and the universe is infinite.

demons could be real. ghosts could be real. what if we just haven't invented the necessary technology to prove it yet? what if we never do, and they just fuck around alongside us, moving furniture and making shadow puppets on the walls just for kicks until the earth explodes? what if that one tumblr post was right and ghosts are actually real people from alternate universes or timelines that we see accidentally bc some cosmic wires got crossed? who fucking knows.

i love horror movies and scary stories and ghost hunter shows just as much as the next gal. but listen. psychics? mediums? people who accept every single creepypasta retold third-hand from their neighbor's kid's classmate's second cousin who "totally knows a guy"? doubt.jpeg

i don't understand the sheer amount of assumptions made willy-nilly about the nature of ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. the assumption that "oh this machine that totally doesn't look like a coathanger taped to a walkman will work because ghosts have this temperature and can always communicate like this and are electromagnetic" or whatever just baffles me. to a certain degree, following a general consensus is one thing — some basic things everyone can agree on? that's cool. ghosts can walk through walls and are probably dead people or whatever. but oh my god, taking every single story as absolute, undeniable proof?? taking these stories and expanding on them to infer intentions and scientific facts to something that by it's very nature is unknowable and assuming, like, every spirit is created equal?? and yeah, ghost hunting shows are fun and campy and kinda creepy but like. you really, genuinely don't think any of them have ever faked anything at all??? even if ghosts are real, it's fucking reality tv, my dude. it's the entertainment industry. at least maintain the slightest ounce of critical thought before taking zak bagans' word as the goddamn gospel.

and sidenote, maybe it's just my limited exposure as a white woman in the western world, but of all the shows and podcasts and movies and documentaries and whatnot i've been able to find and consume, there's the constant use of christian ideology applied to every situation that just really burns my bacon. what, there's never been an atheist ghost? if you see a shadow person and you don't know the lord's prayer by heart, are you automatically fucked? why are there never stories about, i don't know, viking ghosts? does your religion in life preclude you from becoming a ghost in the first place? is that why people never mention buddhist ghosts? i don't get it, and that's why even though i'm self-admittedly the most superstitious person i've ever met, true believers make me roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out. makes me come across as more skeptical than i theoretically am. I HAVE VERY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OK

but like, you couldn't pay me to fuck with a ouija board. i'm not stupid.

delicate; diamonds or pearls?

both have their appeal and their place, but diamonds, i guess. i like the sparkle. but fake ones!! or synthetic. diamonds are overpriced and artificial scarcity is a scam and i don't need a dumb rock that some poor person in a mine somewhere was exploited and possibly died for. no blood diamonds in this house, thank you very much.

if i ever get engaged, i don't want a diamond ring. i'd want something cool, a little unusual, like a ruby or a sapphire or some other sparkly gem that isn't literally shoved in your face every waking moment as the expected standard symbol of True Love. they're cheaper, they're cool-looking, as a ring they still hold the cultural symbolism of an engagement/wedding ring. and honestly, as long as it's well-made and durable, whatever hypothetical gem it is doesn't have to be real either. i'm a woman of simple needs and demonstrably low standards. no point in going into debt for a fucking piece of jewelry, regardless of ~tradition~.

lavender dream; favorite album?

oh lord. welcome to the black parade, i guess. or anything by panic! at the disco. there are dozens of possible options — my interests are mercurial and my memory is garbage. but i'll always be an emo little shit. black parade and vices and virtues were also the first two albums i ever listened to where i loved every single song on them, and i happened to listen to them for the first time at around the same point in my life (i got into mcr super late. like, 2012 late. rip).

silky; what’s your biggest dream?

it's cheesy but i guess i just want stability and, by extension, happiness. emotional stability, mental stability, financial stability, stable living situation, stable routines, stable relationships... you get the idea. i have ambitions and passions, of course, but my ultimate goal is happiness at this point in my life, and i'm pretty sure stabilizing all those things would go a pretty long way in achieving that goal.

a little apartment with walls i can paint because white walls make me angry. bookshelves and posters and fandom merch on every wall. a computer i can actually play games on again, and somewhere i can paint and draw and record my podcasts. someone who loves me, maybe. a cat, if i'm stable enough. space for people to come visit me, and a place for them to sleep if they need. a tiny balcony, if i really want to shoot for the stars. a job i don't hate. the spoons to hang out with my friends, and the money to not worry about buying little presents for the people i care about sometimes. i don't need much.

strawberry kiss; do you have a crush right now?

nope.

glitter; favorite fictional character?

another loaded question. like books, if you ask me again in five minutes i'll probably give you a different answer. but in this particular moment, caleb and jester from critical role (please don't make me choose between them). i won't go full shipping mode rn, but jester is so funny and silly and sweet, so much more complex than she seems, and she tries so hard to make everyone happy even when she's so sad inside. the healer who treats healing as an inconvenience in battle (she's so fucking valid and also mood), the glue that keeps the party together. and caleb learning to trust again, facing his trauma and coming out of his shell. he loves his friends so much he plays wizard as a support class and i love him so much.

i love the mighty nein in general, of course, and all the guests/honorary members they've had. pumat!! pls don't be evil reani!! keg!! shakäste and grand duchess anastasia!! cali!! kiri!!!! the brotps! empire siblings! chaos crew! nott the best detective agency! i still love molly and all his assholery to bits (fight me), and mourn his lost potential. i adore yasha, even when she's gone; fjord has grown so much; beau and nott and caduceus — i love all their flaws and disagreements and their character arcs and the excitement of watching them grow and learn. but if i had to choose, caleb, jester and molly have always been my top 3 since day 1 and, well, molly isn't really an option anymore.

but like i said, ask me again in a minute. i have a fucking list.

swan; share a quote or passage that means something to you.

a collection of things off the top of my head:

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. — Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

a tired feminist Mood™️

"What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not foolin' a soul." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

i got my love of books from my grandma — some of my favorites i got from her. sometimes, as a treat, she used to take my sister and i to bookstores and we'd stay there for ages, getting to pick one out, roaming the shelves, the mental torture of having to choose. the peace of being surrounded by thousands of potential worlds, so much information, so many stories just waiting to be told; being surrounded by strangers who share that same wonder. the anxious drive home so we could read them, being unable to wait that long so i inevitably start reading in the car and make myself sick. telling her in excited detail all my favorite parts. if we were lucky, maybe we got to split a bear claw, or she'd drive past starbucks and get us something there too (tall vanilla soy steamer with one pump of vanilla syrup, whipped cream on top that always melted too quickly and squirted out the hole in the lid, so hot it burned my tongue but so good i didn't care). i have never felt more at home than i do when i'm surrounded by books.

"There are a lot of different types of freedom. We talk about freedom the same way we talk about art, like it was a statement of quality rather than a description. “Art” doesn’t mean good or bad. Art just means art. It can be terrible and still be art. Freedom can be good or bad, too. There can be terrible freedom. You freed me, and I didn’t ask you to." — Alice Isn't Dead, season 1, chapter 2: Alice

as cringey as it is to admit it, this line made me cry a lot after my breakup.

"So you aren't American?" asked Shadow.

"Nobody's American," said Wednesday. "Not originally. That's my point." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

[side-eyes white america real hard]

there's more, of course. there's always more. don't even get me started on song lyrics, we'll be here all day.

lace; what’s your favorite plant/flower?

lilacs and roses.

mermaid; do you prefer the forest or the ocean? why?

both, i guess. but in different ways, and in different circumstances.

the sea is wild. it is endless and deep and unknowable. it is beautiful and dangerous. i am terrified of the ocean, and yet my favorite place in the world is an empty beach on the oregon coast. i have picked sand from between my toes for days with hair crusted in salt, danced around bonfires and watched the stars while marshmallows burn, gotten pulled under the waves as a child and nearly swept out to sea. picked starfish and crabs from small pools in the rocks, and swum (accidentally) with wild sea lions. in a long skirt, too early in the year to be swimming, i once took off my shoes and waded fully clothed into the water to my waist and just... danced. splashed and kicked and laughed with a boy i barely knew until our throats were sore and our toes were numb, walking home hours later with our soaked clothes clinging to our legs, shoes squelching, dripping algae as we went. the ocean is freeing and overwhelming all at once. i love it and am petrified by it in equal measure.

the forest is beautiful in a different way. it is silent and dense and serene. you are surrounded by life and yet, somehow, completely alone. there is magic in the forest, and history, and even when all else dies, that will remain. the trees grow from the corpses of their ancestors, and some have lived dozens of our lifetimes — with luck, a few dozen more. it is quiet there, peaceful, even the tiniest wood in the middle of a city muffling the outside world through the trees. you can feel the ancient ways deep in your soul as you follow winding paths strewn with fallen leaves, the mystery and wonder and superstitions of your forefathers. you wonder what it would be like, to run your fingers over the moss, to take off your shoes and socks and just run, leaping and dancing over rocks and roots, hair wild and air filling your lungs in deep, pure gulps as you shed the responsibilities and struggles of modern life, for just a moment remembering what freedom tastes like. it is primal, this connection to nature, one we have nearly forgotten over time. and as the sky grows dark and the silence of night presses against you, shadows looming, every footfall deafening, perhaps you begin to understand why some believed in monsters.

honeymoon; do you keep a journal?

i used to. honestly, that's a good idea, i should start doing that again. lord knows i have enough empty journal-type books.

starlight; do you believe in love at first sight and soulmates? why/why not?

i want to. i want to believe there's someone out there for me, the love of my life, someone to whom i'll be the love of their life, and that when i meet them i'll just... know.

but when i met my ex, i didn't really look twice at him for a while — no love at first sight. and when we were together, when i loved him and he swore he loved me back, i thought he hung the stars in the sky and knew i would marry him someday. couldn't even consider the idea that that wouldn't happen. and then when he broke up with me, he ghosted me so suddenly and thoroughly that he even preemptively cut contact with every single one of our mutual friends he thought might side with me in the breakup, before anybody even knew we'd had a fight. so, not soulmates either.

i really want to believe that someday the perfect romance will just fall into place and i can have the happily ever after i've always dreamed of. but the reality is i might never even have another s.o. for the rest of my life. maybe i'll get hit by a car tomorrow, or my hypothetical soulmate moves to argentina to become an alpaca farmer on a mountain somewhere and we never even meet. maybe i'm so traumatized by the betrayal and lies that i'll never have the courage to even try again.

and even so, happily ever after doesn't have to include a fairytale romance, regardless of whether i want it or not. i still like to cling to that hope though, deep down.

princess; what do you value most in people?

i'm going to assume you mean "real people" as in people i have positive relationships with, and not random strangers on the street.

loyalty. kindness. support. humor. similar values. patience. being able to grow together and teach each other things, so we can make each other better. honesty. trust. compassion. confidence. emotional vulnerability. communication. intelligence, or at least a willingness to learn. strength.

[cyle]

Chris is my hero

story time. this one goes all over the place, so buckle up. 90s kids are gonna cringe extra heavy.

The first CD I ever owned was Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication, which I begged my parents for when it came out. They eventually bought it for my 13th birthday (eight months later) and my mom warned me that she’d “take it away if there are any swears”. She proceeded to listen to the first song, “Around the World”, which of course has “motherfuckin’” in the first verse. She was appalled and shocked in the way only a mother can be, but let me keep the CD anyway, on the condition that I didn’t let my younger siblings listen to it and I never played it on anything other than my headphones.

I never bought or was given many other CDs -- maybe four or five -- but I pirated tons of music and burned loads of CDs in my time, and I had the Hot Topic huge-pocket pants so I could keep a CD player in my pocket at all times. In my backpack was a slim CD holder with the three or four CDs I wanted to carry on myself at all times, and one of them was always Californication. I’m not gonna try to argue that the album is amazing or anything (the mastering is notoriously among the worst of all time despite being produced by Rick Rubin) but it was just a staple of my teenage years, alongside Massive Attack’s Mezzanine and Deftones’ White Pony. Those CDs were just always with me from ages 13 to 18, and were the first things I put on my first iPod.

Fast forward many years... I thought it was March 2009 but it turns out it was January 2011... I went on a cross-country trip with an exgirlfriend and I brought along that small pack of the CDs that I owned, because all we had in the Subaru we were driving was the CD player and the radio (no aux cable). We stopped somewhere in New Mexico or Arizona to take pictures of the sunset or something and I took out that CD pack and put it on the roof of the car for whatever reason... and we drove away five minutes later. You can already guess what happened.

About fifty miles later, the CD we were listening to (I can’t remember what it was) ended, but we were pulling in to a hotel for the night so I left it in there.

The next morning we kept driving west, listening to some weird gospel radio stations, and probably sometime mid-afternoon I reached to the back seat to grab my CD case... and of course instantly realized that I had left it on the roof last night, three hundred miles ago, and it was probably in the dust on the side of the road. Long gone. We were definitely not going back for it.

To be honest, I wasn’t really that bummed about it, because we were only a day or so away from our destination and the CDs were just Californication, some Alice in Chains, and some hastily-made mixes for the road trip. I wasn’t really listening to CDs anymore anyway -- by that time I had an iPhone and was using that exclusively for my constant music-listening. (I am still one of the few remaining curmudgeons who purchases mp3s from places like Bandcamp and puts them on my iPhone instead of using Spotify or Apple Music.)

Despite it seemingly like no big deal, I distinctly remember having some kind of wicked nightmare a week or so later, in which I was desperately scratching around in the Arizona dust next to a highway with cars zooming by at a million miles an hour, desperate to find that Californication CD that my mom had been so upset about. I remember crying really hard in the dream and waking up desperately concerned, but the emotion dissipated as quickly as the dust had settled behind our awful Subaru.

I don’t know why but this whole ordeal popped into my head sometime last week while at work -- memory is strange and fun like that -- so I decided to drop a brief mention of it in a newsletter I send around the company every week (Cyle’s Engineering Gazette™) just to see if anyone would catch it amongst the somewhat-actually-useful information:

Of course, a few people did notice, and @fetherston went so far as to start a GoFundMe to get me a new Californication CD. To say that we at Tumblr take jokes too far is an understatement, which is one of the biggest reasons I love working here. It nearly instantly reached its donation target, thanks to possibly one special person:

Though somehow I don’t think that’s really Guy Fieri, a boy can dream. Lo and behold, as of today I have a Californication CD again:

... though I’m unsure whether or not I have the means of playing it. But for now, the nightmare is over. Thanks, Chris!

[lorena1956983584-blog]

How Many Completely different Genres Of Popular Music Are There? No. You are Flawed.

Genres in music are like branches of a tree. This can be a superb thing, culturally talking. The national music scene has never been this diverse. Too typically, particularly in rock's heyday, http://www.audio-transcoder.com/ it was dominated by acts that made their bones from taking nonwhite music and sanitizing it for white audiences. That custom undoubtedly lives on, in musicians like Justin Bieber, but the pop charts and critics' notebooks precisely replicate the American mosaic in a manner that they actually haven't earlier than. We could also be in the midst of a big leap backward as a rustic, but at least the music is good. Even the country charts are fairly woke.

Music Genre Classification is without doubt one of the many branches of Music Information Retrieval From here you can carry out different duties on musical data like beat monitoring, music generation, recommender methods, track separation and instrument recognition etc. Music evaluation is a various discipline and also an attention-grabbing one. A music session someway represents a second for the person. Discovering these moments and describing them is an interesting challenge within the subject of Information Science. Every technology seems to offer the subsequent one crap for its music. (See what I did there?) I teased my dad and mom about their disco till at some point all my Green Day and Good Charlotte sounded dated in my headphones. Previous people" used to inform us children that our songs have been a mirrored image of our disintegrating values, that music was worse than it was once. Positive, they missed their Elvis and their Bee Gees, however they also missed the days once we appreciated good morals. The lyrics we mouthed, the artists we worshipped, the genres we bumped were all proof of society sliding into the sewer.

Maybe unsurprisingly, Kenny finds that accidents - including car crashes and drug overdoses - are a huge reason for premature death for musicians, accounting for nearly 20 percent of all deaths throughout genres. But accidents are much more likely to kill rock, metal and punk musicians. Punk and metal musicians additionally appear prone to suicide, whereas gospel musicians had the lowest suicide charge of all genres. Homicide accounted for 6 % of deaths, however was the reason for dying for an unimaginable half of rap and hip hop musicians in Kenny's pattern. Overall, I think this project was an effective way for me to department out of the musical genres I most resonate with, and to teach myself on the history of different musical genres. In hindsight, I would have loved to include a bit and even dedicate a complete undertaking in direction of discovering the extent to which sexually explicit or violent content inside songs affect a person. This thought occurred to me once I finished a class on the College of Rhode Island which lined intercourse and violence within the media. It will have been interesting to compare the lyrics of recent songs the lyrics of older genres and see in the event that they correlate. I additionally wished to reflect on the part in my poster that includes responses to the query: what impression does music have on society". There wasn't one participant who had anything adverse to say about music, which helped me to appreciate simply how vital it has and will at all times be. Let's return to the question of Ambient vs. New Age music. In their lighter", commercialized form, well known for the reason that '80s, these may be some gently flowing, predictable pieces of music, typically utilizing just a few fundamental chords, inspiring melodies and easy, most likely synth - based instrumentation, with frequent use of piano and strings (or string-like synth pads), maybe some arpeggiated synth elements. However, in the late '60s, pioneers of digital music were already engaged on a compositionally and aesthetically a lot deeper degree to create Ambient items (and New Age music later within the '70s). The 2 albums generally credited with laying down the style's sonic and conceptual framework have been Chuck Individual's 2010 LP Eccojams Vol. 1 (a Daniel Lopatin , aka Oneohtrix Point By no means, facet project) and Far Side Virtual (2011) by James Ferraro. Whereas Lopatin sampled from Eighties pop songs and fused them with the 1992 online game Ecco the Dolphin, Ferraro aimed for ringtone music" by sampling issues like the Skype log-in sound and being inspired by Brian Eno-composed Home windows ninety five tone, although his music usually may sound like Philip Glass or even the experimental digital music of Laurie Anderson. Whereas its day has come and gone, these two Vaporwave artists and others like Vektroid—whose album Flortal Shoppe beneath the Macintosh Plus moniker is perhaps the genre's defining document—are still making and releasing new music. This compendium of differences between the cultures of jazz and classical musicians is a supply of ever-rising fascination to me. I used to feel pissed off when a violinist couldn't play a groove, or when a jazz pianist froze up in front of a written passage. However actually these are simply manifestations of variations in brain structure, variations in coaching, and finally differences in culture. When you incorporate individuals with such variations into your music in an adroit manner, you may—as a substitute of shedding one thing—augment your sources to create an art that's tremendously multifaceted and rich, that celebrates and even thrives on difference. Mr. SINNETT: With jazz? You understand, it is fascinating as a result of I used to be a musician, truly, once I first heard jazz, and once I first heard jazz - I wasn't enjoying jazz, I used to be playing traditional soul music and rock and funk and those sort of things, however after I first heard jazz, I actually did not get it because it was the whole antithesis of every thing I used to be playing at that second. In different words, you had - I was coping with music that you just had quite simple, repetitive rhythmic devises in the music. It was primarily based on a groove, a specific sort groove. The concord we had been coping with was at a much decrease level in terms of complexity and it was primarily vocal.

For these of you who assume that heavy metallic consists of the singer screaming as loud as they can, the guitarist playing the guitar as quick as they will, and the drummer banging on the drums as loud as they will, just take a moment to suppose: would it not ACTUALLY be that widespread if it was simply so simple as that? Strive listening to any heavy metal song. You may be pleasantly shocked, I promise you. The lyrics have a much deeper meaning than virtually every other style of music, and don't let the way some bands current themselves off the stage put you off. I do not prefer it when bands gown up in all-black and wear black make-up and all that stuff both, but attempt to just think about the music. There's much more to it than you suppose there is.

[ick25]

Rockman.EXE Episode 32 Review.

No, not that one, this one.

 Gray and boring Internet city from the early 2000′s.

The episode opens with Meiru-chan arriving at Netto’s house, she runs up to his room and turns on his computer while Netto is just waking up. She is excited to show him the new Net City aka Internet city, where she then proceeds to plug-in Rockman before the title card appears.

“You call my mom an old lady, come into my house, enter my room, log into my computer, and wake me up just to send my Navi to the very thing that made this game based anime even exist?”

Okay, to be fair, Internet city represents a solid place in cyberspace where Navis can walk freely and interact with eachother, all the times we’ve seen Navis travel through the net it is a tunnel created by electrical waves, which is basically what the internet is (and the Wave world, but thats another story).

After the title card, we see Roll taking Rockman somewhere that has strange cube like programs that gather around him, pressumely security programs since Roll is able access something leaving him behind. As Rockman starts to be scanned, Meiru tells Netto how to create an account to enter Internet city, you know, so he can get spam mail and stuff.

Roll takes Rockman by the hand and they run together to the gates that lead to Internet city, which was cutted from the dub for some reason.

Netto and Rockman are amazed to see the huge city, Roll-chan takes Rockman’s arm and shows him around like they were on a date. As they walk, Rockman recognizes Aki-chan on one of the floating screens.

American viewer: Hey, who is that? Why does Megaman know her?

Dub: She is obviously a famous pop singer in their world, Megaman knows her because she is famous, not because they met in some episode we never aired or anything.

American viewer: O_O ...Ok.

 Rockman and Roll are then greeted by Glyde who asks them if they are shopping together.

Yes, Rockman, shopping. Have you heard about something called Amazon?

Roll continues to show Rockman around internet city, making me wonder why is there a bank out in the street, but if that wasn’t weird enough they also pass by a Navi fitness shop where a program is saying that Gutsman is fat.

Navis can get fat? How? Wouldn’t it make more sense if they were saying that he was heavy because he had too many programs installed or something? That would at least explain why Gutsman is too slow compared to Rockman and maybe why he doesn’t have enough memory to articulate words. XP

We cut to Yaito in her very own tennis court where Glyde tells her that he is done with his errands, and mentions Roll showing Rockman around internet city.

Because she is not in the mood to use the gold bathtub, I’m serious, that is what she says.

One of Yaito’s butlers tells her that her order of strawberry milk shake is delayed and that he is going over with some maids to get it, meaning Yaito is gonna stay home alone for a while, I’m sure that is not gonna be a problem later on.

Yaito leaves to her bath humming Aki-chan’s song who we see in the next scene singing live at internet city for its grand opening. After hearing the long version of Aki-chan’s cheezy song, Roll gets pissed after noticing that Rockman is making a lovey dovey face while listening to Aki’s song and decides to take him away. Aki seems to recognize Rockman leaving by waving her noodle arms at him, something that didn’t made sense in the dub since the episode where they met Aki was skipped.

American viewer: “It looks like Aki knows Rockman”

Dub: “She would wave to any fan she sees leaving”

American viewer: ...I guess.

They are surprised to find Higureya in Internet city and decide to enter where they are greeted by both Numberman and Higure.

Netto, it’s the internet, anyone can put up a buisness site for free, which would eventually lead to many internet frauds.

Higure tells Netto about an exhibition match that he is gonna take part in to show everyone the Net coloseum and explain how Net battles have changed since the N-1 grand prix, I’m guessing this is a reference to BN2 that changed the battle mechanics from the first game.

Speaking of BN2, we hear a strange conversation going on with the exact same lines from the beginning of the game before heading over to the Net colloseum.

With Roll and Rockman joining the audience, Midorikawa appears to explain that the Net colosseum has different battle arenas, sadly, not once in any of the seasons of the anime do we get to see a different scenerio in the colosseum.

We are also introduced to Midorikawa’s Navi Toadman, who will battle Numberman for the exhibition match. During the battle we see Toadman’s musical note attack, and also, he moves so fast that I just now noticed that he is surfing on a lilypad.

Higure sends a Fire Tower and a cannon, Numberman summons the fire tower, but the cannon appears on the battlefield where Higure can control the fire, for Netto’s surprise.

Though, this seems to be the only change in Net battles because after this the rest of the battle goes on normaly, until Midorikawa attacks Numberman with three mini Bombs and Higure tries to send the Dream Aura only to realized that it is a rare chip, and poor Numberman is blown away.

Midorikawa and Toadman are the victors, and before logging out, she reminds everyone about the colosseum being the only place in internet city where Navis can use Battle chips.

Because it’s not like somebody can sneak a virus into the city or anything.

After commercials, Rockman and Roll-chan are enjoying the view of the city, until Rockman notices a strange Navi on top of a building.

The Navi is dressed in a cloak and seems to be scanning some data before jumping off the roof and dissapearing as he falls, leaving Rockman confused.

Shortly after this, Rockman receives a call from Glyde telling them that Yaito is in trouble. It looks like somebody infiltrated her mansion’s security program and started to leak poison gas during her bath.

I guess she should’ve went with the gold bathtub?

Netto and Meiru rush over to Yaito’s mansion with Rockman and Roll going on ahead through the network. The Navis arrive at the entrance of the system, that for some reason has gas in it, and they find Glyde on the ground who tells them that they must fix the water heater program. Rockman tells Roll to stay with Glyde as he enters the gate that takes him to a factory like place where gas starts to blow up from the floor.

The program is unstable for Rockman accidentally causes a path to fall apart. Needing to get to the other side to fix the water heater program, Netto developes an idea after seeing a screw nut conveniently fall into a pressurised air vent that blows it to the other side.

Netto tells Rockman to close the valve, then jump above it as he fires his Rock buster to open it up again, he then uses the air pressure to fly accross.

After Rockman successfully reaches the other side, he finds the water heater program where he is ambushed by three tornados. The attacker is a Navi named Airman who won’t allow Rockman to fix the program. Airman continues to attak Rockman with a series of wind attacks, but Netto, who finally arrives at Yaito’s mansion, protects him with a barrier.

“What? First you tell me I’m late, and now you complaine about me leaving you with a sword to defend yourself? It’s not like an actual human life is more important than you right now.”

Yaito’s butler comes back with her strawberry milk only to find Netto and Meiru trying to open the door to Yaito’s bath. After seeing that Airman’s intrusion doesn’t allow the butler to open the bathroom doors, Netto decides to use his classic bandalism skills to throw a probably expensive vase at Yaito’s glass door, (causing Meiru to lose her socks in that shot). Gas starts to pour out and Netto uses a folding fan to blow it away for Meiru to run inside and carry Yaito out.

With Yaito finally safe, Netto can focus on Rockman’s battle. Rockman asks Airman why he is doing this, and Airman’s netop, who’s name is Arashi, tells him that it is because she is the only daughter of the head of Gabgom.

Netto naturally gets pissed over this reason and begins to battle with everything he’s got. When sending a cannon battle chip, the cannon appears on the field making Netto remember the exhibition match from earlier and starts to fire at Airman.

Arashi sends in a triple tornado attack making Airman create a giant twister, this causes Netto’s PET to automatically activate the Style Change and Rockman uses the Heat Guts Style to destroy the twister.

But I think he might have deleted Airman in the process, always use the Heat Guts with caution, kids.

Yaito finally wakes up.

That is actually what she says in the game, and it’s just as uncomfortable.

Arashi tries to flee from where he is, but he is surrounded by the Net Agents. So I guess the whole conversation in episode 12 about “criminals only being arrested over the net” is thrown out the window here.

 After the police takes Arashi away, Commander Beef receives a call from the public phone where a mysterious voice tells him that Arashi was working for an organization named Grave aka Gospel, and that things are gonna get worse from there.

And the episode ends with giant dark clouds appearing over Internet city where it starts to rain.

Well, time to sing.

My thoughts?

I know, for a place called internet city, it isn’t what we would imagine the internet to look like, it focused more on the economic part of the web because all we see are businesses, shops and banking systems. Internet city is like the “kid friendly” and “safe” version of the internet where Net Battles are the only source of entertainment.

As always the dub changed lines and edited scenes, like the Navi fitness center where Gutsman finds out that he is fat, its changed to him losing in some game, like a cyber casino or something? I guess the idea of Navis getting fat would be a little confusing.

 The poison gas in Yaitos mansion was compleatly recolored to look like steam, instead of attempting to kill Yaito with toxic gas, Arashi had her trapped in a super sauna.

The idea of Internet city is a reference to the cyber squares introduced in Battle Network 2 that are virus free areas where Navis can hang out, buy stuff and enter chat rooms.

This is the first mention of the net mafia Gospel. In the game, Arashii was never arrested, after he lost to Rockman he recieves a call from the Gospel leader saying that they have no need for him anymore, Arashii soon finds out that they planted a bomb in his briefcase that explodes and destroys part of the metro station. We have to keep the anime kid friendly, though they stopped doing that once Axess aired.

[allthislove]

So. Jesus Christ Superstar Live.

I just wanted to type/talk about why I loved it so much. I’ve been thinking about it, this past week. There’s, surprisingly, not a ton of talk about it, even though it’s clearly the best “live” NBC has ever done. 

Most of the talk about it, recently, has been religious, which... I guess comes with the territory, when you’re telling THE story of a major religion. Anyway...

I think, for me, one of the very biggest reasons I enjoyed it was seeing black Jesus. Much the same way Hamilton captivated me, because I was watching a bunch of inspiring people of color. I gotta say, I haven’t really seen Jesus Christ Superstar before this live. I knew the show, and I knew songs from it. I think I had even seen the 1973 movie as a child. I’m not sure. I don’t remember it very well, but it looks familiar. But anyway, after watching the live, I went back and listened to a few different versions (well, watched the clips on YouTube), and while they were very, very good, I start to feel uncomfortable when I’m looking at a blonde Jesus and a bunch of brown people singing his praises (1973). I watched the Simon Zealotes scene, and while the actor playing Simon killed it, man, was it uncomfortable to see a brown dude like “Hey, white man, I worship at your feet!” Especially since that was the fucking early 70s. (And the Yanni looking dude from the 2000 movie really couldn’t do it for me. Even though he was a good singer. Possible that that version is just too 2000s and dated, but whatever.)

Seeing a young, black Jesus, and a black Judas as my first real experience with the show was electrifying. 

I also really like John’s soulful voice in the Jesus role. A lot of people who grew up on the earlier versions of the show are saying he was bad in the role, but I disagree. The only issue is that his voice sounded strained at times, which happens in live performances. And I’ve rewatched it several times, and guess what? Several of the performers sounded strained, at times. Pilate and Judas also have moments where they struggle for a note, or mess a note up. And no one’s mentioned those times. (I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of this is just nostalgia for the rocker-sounding voice. John Legend makes this music sound really gospel or R&B. Which is beautiful, too. It’s just a different sound. But nostalgia sometimes gets in the way.) 

What I also liked was that this live made me care about the Jesus story in a way I haven’t in a looooong time. I grew up in the church. Not just in the church, but INNNNNNN the church. Like, my dad has always been the Minister of Music at every church we’ve ever attended, and my mom generally did the youth message. Like, I sang on choirs and did solos since before I can remember. I’m a black girl from the South. Most of us grew up in the church, but yeah, I was from a church going family. As I got older, I grew away from the church. Partially because the message American Christians spread is too soaked in hatred of specific types of people, and partially because the Christian dogma is scary and really bothered me. Literally the only thing I ever liked about Christianity was Jesus. Like, real Jesus, not MAGA Jesus. Jesus is a unique figure, in that his message is purely of love, and acceptance for everyone. (Which is why I couldn’t figure out why, for instance, Christians were so hellbent on hatred for the LGBT community.)

But, yeah, this story right here? The Passion? It’s never, ever presented in a way which makes the listener/reader understand truly what was happening. I must have heard about the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Christ a million times growing up. This musical is the first time I’ve heard the story presented in a way in which I understood what was at stake for the Jews, why Jesus was even a problem, why Judas even decided to turn him in, and why he was actually crucified. Shamefully, I never even got that Pilate didn’t think Jesus should die, until this musical. 

Part of that is because the musical made me want to read up on this story more. But yeah, it’s presented more accessibly than it ever is in other works. (And, yeah, I skipped The Passion of the Christ, and I refuse to ever watch it. I don’t like torture porn, and I remember when everyone in my church was going to see it and talking about how bloody it was and how we all should see it because we should see how Jesus suffered for us, and I remember thinking “what does being Christian have to do with forcing myself to watch something horrifying?”)

That said, a lot of active Christians are afraid it’s blasphemous. Not just this live version, but the musical in general. My take, as someone who leans Christian, but is really rather agnostic? It didn’t once make me lose an ounce of respect or reverence for Jesus. Maybe some Christians are afraid to look at Jesus as a person... but for me, it helps a lot. To look at him as a man who physically walked this Earth and was a member of an oppressed group, who did what he could to help them, and died for them. And, tbh, I know Christians view Jesus as the Messiah, but I thought the whole point was that Jesus was an Earthly incarnation of/the son of God/Yahweh. That’s the point. So, looking at him as a man isn’t a bad thing. The whole point was God sending his son to Earth to walk as a man among men. I’ve seen criticisms that it makes Jesus look power hungry. But I don’t think so at all. In the song Poor Jerusalem, he quiets Simon the Zealot and the crowd by telling them they, nor the Romans, nor the Jews, nor his own disciples understand what power or glory is. He doesn’t WANT the power and glory that Simon says he’ll get if he fights Rome. He seems to understand that there’s a higher power that none of them can fathom. He also, later, tells Pilate “that’s who you say I am” when asked if he’s the king of the Jews, or the son of God. In no scene does he tell people to worship him, or tell them he’s God, he’s King, anything. He’s represented as humble and gracious throughout the piece. In Hosanna: “Sing me a song, but not for me alone. Sing out for yourselves, for you are blessed. There is not one of you who cannot win the kingdom. The slow, the suffering, the quick, the dead.” How is that a power hungry figure? Judas’ point is not that Jesus is power hungry. It’s that he’s allowing the people to say he’s the Messiah (which Judas, in this play, isn’t sure of. I’m not sure how he felt in the Bible.), which Judas fears will bring the wrath of Rome and Caesar. He tells Jesus he’s “letting it go too far.” No where, however, does Jesus ask for any of the praise he receives. He just receives it well, because, well, he’s Jesus. He’s a kind, loving figure. He’s not going to be like “shut up, you idiots! Don’t call me the Messiah, Rome will kill us!”

The other complaint I hear is from Jewish people who suggest the musical claims “the Jews” killed Jesus. I don’t think it does. Everyone in the musical who isn’t Roman is Jewish. Some of those people were Jesus supporters til the end. Some, were not. But, that’s like any group of people. You have to also realize that, in this context, the Jews are a people- in an occupied land. Some of them looked at Jesus (in the world of the play), and thought “FINALLY! This man will save us all!” Some of them looked at him and thought “Who does this guy think he is? Claiming to be the son of God? Claiming to be our King? He’s going to get us killed!” (At the time, Rome was ruling and would see any person crowing themselves “king” as a threat.) The chorus in this play works sort of like.. they all just play whatever crowd it is at the time. Sure, it’s supposed to be that some of Jesus’ supporters turned on him. But also, they chorus is just playing that particular crowd. And, I don’t think it suggests that “Jewish people” in general are to blame. Jesus is Jewish, and so are the 12, and so is Mary. Even in the Bible, there are Jewish people who still followed Jesus (who later became what we called Christians later.) There were also probably Jewish people who had no idea any of this was happening. It was, after all, like 30-something AD. News didn’t get around that fast. But, yeah, the story is about Jewish people. All of them are Jewish, except Pilate (who is Roman.) So, it’s a little hard to say “the Jews” killed Jesus, when everyone involved is Jewish, and the person who actually did the killing wasn’t even Jewish. I don’t think the play suggests that at all. It just tells the story as it’s supposed to have happened. That Pilate didn’t think Jesus should be put to death, and the community demanded that he be killed (largely because they were afraid his message would make them a target for Rome.) But again, everyone in the story is Jewish. Jesus didn’t die a “Christian.” He died a Jew. Y’all know how I feel about saying, like, “black on black crime.” It’s the same context. It only happened that way because everyone there was Jewish, not because Jewish people were especially keen on killing Messiahs or something. 

Anyway, I think this is all my thoughts on it, for now. Final thoughts: Brandon Victor Dixon is amazing. Sara Bareilles did a beautiful job as Mary. The cast in general was great. 

Ohhhh! I wanted to comment on this: John Legend’s acting, of course, left something to be desired because, well, he’s not really an actor. But I gotta say, I realllllly love him in Hosanna. Just, his cute, cheeky defiance of the Pharisees? The playing to the actual audience. His smile. AMAZING. He’s best as cheerful Jesus. (I think he plays Jesus a bit too angry, in some scenes. Like, I don’t think he’s angry in the Last Supper, as much as direct/calling them out. But John plays it a little too much like Dream Girls. You know, the moment where everyone gangs up on Effie? That’s almost how John plays it. Jesus is supposed to be his angriest in the Temple scene.) But, yeah, I wanted to give him his props for Hosanna, which is brilliantly played. I haven’t seen anyone mention it, but I’ve watched Hosanna a billion times, already, just because I love how cute John is there. He’s like, silly Pharisees... you don’t even understand that I can’t control this. (Black churches love to pull out that rocks and stones thing. Like “when God wants His praise, He’ll get it. If you don’t praise Him, the rocks and stones will sing out!”) Loved it. I wish one of y’all gif-making folks would make me a gifset. Please? Thanks. 

Bye. 

[erhiem]

Feather muthaland, Bibimutha’s songs play as if she is rebuilding her confidence in real time.

Photo Illustration by Renee Klahr, Aamna Ijaz/NPR; Courtesy of Muthaboard

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Photo Illustration by Renee Klahr, Aamna Ijaz/NPR; Courtesy of Muthaboard

Feather muthaland, Bibimutha’s songs play as if she is rebuilding her confidence in real time.

Photo Illustration by Renee Klahr, Aamna Ijaz/NPR; Courtesy of Muthaboard

NPR Music Turning the Tables A project envisioned to challenge sexist and exclusionary conversations about musical greatness. So far we’ve focused on reversing traditional, patriarchal best-of-lists and popular music history. But this time, it’s personal. For 2021, we’re digging into our own relationships to record the records we love, asking: How do we know as listeners when a piece of music is important to us? How can we break free from institutional pressures on our tastes in keeping with the lessons of history? What exactly does it mean to create a personal canon? Essays in this series will explore our unique relationship with our favorite albums, from unmatched classics by major stars to sub-cultural gamechangers and personal revelations. Because the way some music holds a central place in our lives is not just a reflection of how we develop our tastes, but of how we approach the world.

In April, two days after my partner got his second COVID-19 vaccination dose, a friend sent us an invitation to celebrate his birthday at a bar. “I’m not sure,” I said, citing CDC guidelines to wait at least two weeks before socializing. But I had another idea. While some dreamed of nail salon appointments as a return to normalcy, and others fled to Airbnbs on the outskirts, I suggested making a noise on the phone once again with the crew, three Geminis and Taurus.

Our first time together was in 2019, which we regarded as a rite of passage, playing Kendrick Lamar good kid, maed city (an epic, if not prestige update for the specific soundtrack) as our visions began to blur. More than anything, I noticed how the psychedelic influences calmed the ticking urgency I felt on a daily basis in order to make productive use of my time. That kind of urgency became too much to bear last year: With the world still in a pandemic holding pattern, I was also eyeing my 35th birthday in June, and I needed to answer questions from family incessantly. Didn’t feel closer – to where my career was headed, or whether I would have children, and if so – than it was ten years ago. Naturally, I didn’t tell this to my friend.

While I certainly yearned for pre-pandemic normalcy, or perhaps a time where my age was not nearly as consequential, I was also inspired by muthaland, Chattanooga, Tenn., the first album of 2020 by rapper Bibimutha. muthaland Helping me take myself out of this pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations. The album begins by promising a good time; In the opening skit, a game show contestant swallows an acid tab to enter Bibimutha’s world. This realm of her imagination ends up as a tangle of feelings and thoughts, where not a single factor – not her career or single motherhood – completely defines who she is.

I first heard about Bibimutha in 2016. Not long before artists like art rocker Björk embraced her. Even in this crowded music landscape, it’s hard to forget an artist who names their debut EP after an iconic makeup palette, or whose moniker dates back to their mid-20s as having two sets of twins. The latter is considered a badge of honor. Early singles like “Rules” and “Rose” were the talk of a smoky-eyed relationship that could make women completely in agreement (“I’m not going to waste my waist, my thighs, my time, and all my energy/effort. Can *** * which just not for me”). The ambitious concepts he had in mind for his debut album also looked promising. his first thought, prosperity gospel, as a result of her love-hate relationship with televangelist pastor Joel Osteen (“He can sell any f****** thing and you’ll just spend your money,” she once said). Later, she stated that she planned to call the album Christine; It would be inspired by a relative who killed men who either betrayed her or abused her.

Yet I didn’t really connect with Bibimutha until we were both at the peak of our frustrations with our careers. In July 2020, Atlanta’s NPR affiliate WABE dropped under the map, a Southern hip-hop podcast that I co-host, just as overall podcast listenership began to return to pre-pandemic levels. and until muthaland Arriving last August, BbyMutha was completely disillusioned with the music industry. “After this album I’m never doing it again,” she said. This rap retirement announcement ended prematurely, although at the time, listeners mourned the lost potential. In muthalandLong after that tab swallowed one of the most indulgent rap fantasies of all time, BbyMutha is a next-gen LA chat with wordplay inspired by Gucci Mane, a rare woman who navigates traps and orders sex from across the gender spectrum. But Bibimutha also emphasizes in “Holographic” that the journey is a “rave with roaches” swirling around her house. At the height of her musical talent, she could still find a place where she falls short.

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As the oldest of my cousins, I spent most of my life in Maryland oriented around achievement and success, setting a good example. After graduating during the 2008 recession, the older I’ve gotten, the harder it felt to be, shortly thereafter separated from my first and only 9-to-5 to pursue a culture journalism career. moved to Atlanta for what seemed frivolous or self-indulgent before this “Essential workers” became part of our lexicon. (“My mom actually ran away from the Vietnam War when she was 16, so I could see” My Block: Atlanta For work, I’m not a s***,” i once joked.) I attributed my lack of hustle to this fear of failure which only intensified over the years. and before muthaland, I looked for music that helped me wrestle with or push through those feelings. open mike eagle dark comedy Soundtracked my uncomfortable entry into the gig economy after college. I still turn to trap jeezy songs Let’s get on this: Thug Inspiration 101 Or DouBoys Cashout’s “started out as an activist” for a momentary boost.

In the spring of 2019, I learned that this persistently worrying and ensuing fatigue had a name: generalized anxiety disorder. (I’ve kept it a secret from my family; my uncle once said that Asians “take too much pride in going to therapy,” as statistics following the Atlanta-area spa shooting would show.) As I tracked my sleep and panic attacks in one notebook after another, I learned that perfectionism—my once default answer to job interviews—is, “What’s your biggest weakness?” – not really to be seen in a positive light at all. Still, my mother’s way of asking “How are you?” Keeps “Are you busy?” and “Are you making money?” And I still answer “yes” every time. It has taken me almost all the time in the past two years to accept that self-awareness is still a work in progress.

Last December, my therapist gave me an exercise regimen that I still use today. In a moment of crisis, I write down the first negative thought that comes to mind (“I always make the wrong decisions,” “My career is coming back,” “Christmas is ruined”). Then I write through a reality check, as if interviewing myself: Are all these ideas true? Or is there evidence that this situation is not as dire as I had feared?

I recognize this train of thought muthaland. Songs like “Roaches Don’t Die” become anthemic because when Bibimutha brags and boasts, it’s like “You don’t f*** with who’s who with who’s government stamp and wic, huh?” Like what happens between songs. When she looks in the mirror and longs for the confident woman she once was (“I miss that b**** sometimes”) she descends on a personal statement in the face of “heavy metal”. “They see the truth when they see me / They see they aunt and they mom and grandma, gee,” she raps. “They look in a mirror, it ain’t clear / I’m afraid of everything being b*****.” At the end of “Scam Likely”, Bibimutha mocks the pseudo-awakening, drag race-savvy listeners who insist on having her as a role model (“And she makes me feel so empowered that ****** is empowered – and i up“). I get her reasoning: Role models seem impenetrable. Bibimutha’s songs sound like she’s rebuilding her confidence in real time.

During my last visit, my therapist told me to work on my definition and measures of success. I still don’t have concrete answers that translate into neat life goals, though maybe that’s an answer in itself. muthaland Teaching me to lower expectations that may read as plausible but ultimately prove untenable. Its themes confirm how I felt after my first 2019 visit, which is that scientists should revisit the psychological properties of hallucinations, even after decades of government-imposed stigma. Bibimutha’s lyrics demonstrate that motherhood, as it would be, cannot replace a sense of self. Neither would career ambitions, for that matter: muthalandThe most obvious nod to any kind of rap pantheon is “outro (skit 5).” Game show hosts thanks “sponsors” Boosie, Webby, and Diamond and Princess from Crime Mob — and then in 19 seconds, it’s over. muthaland otherwise completely untouched by discussion about Rap’s Mount RushmoreHow sales and clout factor into greatness. In how its soul-searching slowly unfolds during its hour-long runtime, the album is teaching me that position is not everything, but timing is.

In the flurry of excessive social activity between getting vaccinated and preparing myself for the Delta version, here’s what I’ll remember most:

The post-vaccination journey that finally took place on a Sunday in May. By 6 p.m. the effect was gone, though my partner reading the tarot gave to our friend, the second Gemini, didn’t wrap up until close to midnight.

The first time I heard BbyMutha’s “GoGo Yubari,” a harsh indictment against her baby daddy and the nature of how she became a baby mama: “Another violent story, another self-esteem destroyed.” BbyMutha released it in June, one of several loose and unreleased EPs from this year. muthaland. (Thank god she didn’t actually retire.)

Finally, a passing comment from a friend ahead of her 35th birthday this month. The keyword was “milestone”, with this weighted expectation we had already achieved, suggesting that all this was not enough. “I’m always here to talk about it,” I said, and I meant it. After the past year of working as a stand-in confidant of BbyMutha, I feel ashamed personally, or a shame at all.

christina lee is a music and culture writer living in Atlanta. She co-hosts the podcast under the map.

The post BbyMutha’s ‘Muthaland’ Is Teaching Me That Status Isn’t Everything : NPR appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.

[neverforgetyourdreams442]

1. What’s your favorite way to spend a day off? Chilling, watching Netflix, playing my guitar and singing.

2. What type of music are you into? Classic rock, funk, gospel, jazz, bossa-nova, blues etc

3. What was the best vacation you ever took and why? Florida. It was the nicest place I’ve been to so far.

4. Where’s the next place on your travel bucket list and why? I want to go to Greece. It looks so dreamy.

5, .What are your hobbies, and how did you get into them? Playing the guitar, singing, drawing etc I loved doing them ever since I was little.

6. What was your favorite age growing up? I think 12-13

7. Was the last thing you read? I don’t remember the last time I read a whole book.

8. Would you say you’re more of an extrovert or an introvert? Introvert

9. What's your favorite ice cream topping? Cut up fruits

10. What was the last TV show you binge-watched? Ginny and Georgia

11. Are you into podcasts or do you only listen to music? Music

12. Do you have a favorite holiday? Why or why not? Yes, christmas. I love being with my family and having fun and playing games and doing secret Santa.

13. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? Burger

14. Do you like going to the movies or prefer watching at home? Going to the movies

15. What’s your favorite sleeping position? Belly down

16. What’s your go-to guilty pleasure? Chocolate

17. In the summer, would you rather go to the beach or go camping? Camping

18. What’s your favorite quote from a TV show/movie/book? “That’s what she said” - Michael Scott, The Office

19. How old were you when you had your first celebrity crush, and who was it? I was probably like 13 and it was Zayn Malik

20. What's one thing that can instantly make your day better? Laughing with family and friends

21. Do you have any pet peeves? Yes, when people come too close to me

22. Which meal is your favorite: breakfast, lunch, or dinner? Lunch

23. What song always gets you out on the dance floor? Chá chá slide

24. When you were a kid, did you eat the crusts on your sandwich or not? Yes

25. What activity instantly calms you? Singing

26. Ideally, how would you spend your birthday? Going somewhere to eat with my family and friends

27. What do you do on your commute to/from work? I talk to my mom and text my bf

28. Do you have a favorite type of exercise? Yes, I like weights and doing leg

29. What's your favorite season and why? Spring. It’s not that hot and it’s not cold either

30. What's the best joke you've ever heard? I don’t remember any lol

31. What's the phone app you use most? Instagram

32. Would you rather cook or order in? Cook

33. Have your ever disliked something and then changed your mind? Yes lol

34. What's your favorite board game? Monopoly

35. How do you take your coffee? Black with 3 sugar or with milk and 2 sugar

36 What's your most prized possession and why? My family. They are my everything.

37. Is there any product that you couldn't live without? Makeup

38. Do you sleep with a top sheet? Why or why not? Yes I do. It’s more comfortable

39. If you could have any exotic animal as a pet, which would it be? A tiger

40. What would be the first thing you'd do if you won the lottery? I would buy my parents a house

41. What’s your favorite thing about your current job? The friendship I have with my coworkers and my boss

42. What annoys you most? People coming too close to me, or calling me all the time.

43. What’s the career highlight you’re most proud of? Growing into my position in my company

44. Do you think you’ll stay in your current gig awhile? Why or why not? Yes. Because I love my coworkers and boss

45. What type of role do you want to take on after this one? I would like to be a wife and a mother

46. Are you more of a "work to live" or a "live to work" type of person? Work to live

47. Does your job make you feel happy and fulfilled? Why or why not? Yes most of the time.

48. How would your 10-year-old self react to what you do now? Probably think it’s disgusting 😂

49. What do you remember most about your first job? I used to do a lot of physical work and my back would hurt lol

50. How old were you when you started working? I started babysitting and teaching h.w to kids when I was like 15 and my first job in a place was when I was 20 I believe.

51. What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? My old job because I would have to be standing the whole day

52. What originally got you interested in your current field of work? The salary

53. Have you ever had a side hustle or considered having one? No I never did. Yes, I have.

54. What’s your favorite part of the workday? The morning time when I am here in peace and quiet and I can organize the office.

55. What’s the best career decision you’ve ever made? To quit my old job and come to the one I am currently in.

56. What’s the worst career decision you’ve ever made? I don’t think I ever made a bad decision. It was what I needed in that moment.

61. When will you know you've "made it"? When I have a husband, a baby and a house of my own and my parents have a house of their own and they can rest

62. Are you looking forward to retiring, or do you plan to work as long as possible? I plan to work as long as possible but I would like to retire when I get to a certain age.

63. Have you ever had "imposter syndrome"? No

64. What do you think about workaholics? I don’t think about tem lol

65. What qualities do you look for in a boss? Someone that will be beside you and a friend, someone that is kind and understanding.

66. Do you have a professional mentor? If not, do you want one? No I don’t have one and never thought about it.

67. Do you have a work best friend? Yes I do

68. Are you into after-work happy hours? No

69. How do you motivate yourself in your career? I just think of the money I will get

70. What's the best career advice you've ever heard? Be a good worker but never break your back giving more than you are valued for.

71. What's the worst career advice you've ever received? Never did

72. When you started your current job, what most surprised you? That I barely had to do an interview to get in.

73. How do you pick yourself back up after making a mistake at work? I just fix it as soon as I can and I apologize if I have to

74. How do you deal with work stress? I listen to music, talk to my coworker and I breathe and I pray

75. What energizes you about your career? Being able to buy things I couldn’t before.

76. What's one work-related thing you want to accomplish in the next year? I want to be more organized with some paperwork I need to do

77. Who has had the biggest impact on your career choice? My ex

78. What does your family think of your career? They think it’s a good job

79. What's the best thing you've learned in your current position? Communication

80. If you could do it all over again, would you pursue the same career? Why or why not? Yes I would. It’s a good career

81. How much time do you spend with your family? Not as much as I’d like to but as much as I can.

82. Who do you most like spending time with and why? My family and friends because I love them

83. Were you close with your family growing up? Yes

84. How do you define your family now? Amazing

85. What traits are most important to you in your family members? They are funnt, kind and smart

86. Who are you the closest to and why? My mother and sister. Not sure why lol I just am..

87. Do you want a family of your own? Yes

88. What’s your favorite family tradition? Waiting for the clock to be midnight when it’s someone’s bday and we will go to the person and give them a group hug singing happy bday

89. If you could change your relationship with a family member, would you? If so, with whom? No. I have a great relationship with them all

90. What was it like growing up as the youngest/oldest/middle/only child? It was a little hard because my parents were just recently became Christians so everything to them was wrong and I would get in trouble for stupid things. They didn’t know better

91. Does your family ever take trips together? Yes

92. What’s your favorite family memory? Going to florida def and camping

93. What TV family most reminds you of your own? A show in Brazil called a grande familia

94. Do you ever wish you were raised differently? No

95. What’s the best piece of advice a family member has given you? Stop letting people treat me less than what I deserve

96. Do you wish you had more siblings? If so, why? No. I have plenty lol

97. Did you ever hide anything from or lie to your parents? Yes

98. If you had a family business, what would it be? A movie place or gaming place

99. Do you and your family have any nicknames for each other? Yes

100. What's your favorite way to spend time with your family? Watching movies and eating

101. How do you show your family you love them? I do things for tem, I make them laugh and I hug them

102. Have you ever been to a family reunion? Yes

103. What's the most important holiday you spend with your family and why? Christmas. I love being with them and having fun

104. Who in your family would you describe as a "character"? My sister

105. How do you feel about family events? I love them

106. What's something your family would be surprised to learn about you? That I have sex with my bf

107. Which family member do you confide in most? My sister

108. How do you deal with arguments between family members? We just cool off and then say sorry

109. If you have children, how do you want to raise them? Like my parents raised me

110. What's more important: family or friends? Family

111. Do you have any friends you would consider family? Yes

112. Has your family ever pressured you to act a certain way? Yes

113. Did you ever get to meet your great-grandparents? Yes

114. What personality traits do you share with your relatives? I could be very impatient sometimes, very playful and I am kind

115. What physical traits do you share with your relatives? Big thighs, butt, fair skin

116. What stories did your family members tell you growing up? Many lol

117. How did your parents (and/or grandparents) meet? My mom was friends with my dads sister in school.

118. What makes you proud of your family? The way we are United

119. Who's the newest member of your family? My little sister

120. What can always bring your family together? A movie and food

121. What’s a relationship deal breaker for you? Cheating

122. If you had only one sense (hearing, touch, sight, etc.), which would you want? Sight

123. What is your definition of success? Being happy with a healthy family traveling

124. What makes you feel at peace? Music

125. What are you most proud of in the last year? Deciding to leave my last relationship

126. What makes you feel most accomplished? My way of thinking

127. Who do you admire most in the world? Compassion

128. Would you rather make more money doing a job you hate or less doing one you love? More money doing a job I hate

129. Which of your personality traits are you most proud of? My sense of humor

130. What’s the first thing you look for in a partner and/or friend? Sense of humor

131. How has your perspective on the world changed over time? It’s crazy how people are “cancelling” people and people get so butt hurt about everything

132. Do you live by any piece of advice or motto? No

133. How can someone earn your trust? By their actions

[breakmyreddieheart]

(Please Don’t) Say Anything - Ch4

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

++ Accompanying Playlist ++

Summary: It’s the last days of high school and the Losers are soon to be leaving for university, moving to different parts of the country. Richie is trying to figure out how to tell Eddie how he feels about him, but only ends up making things worse and needs to figure out how to apologize. Bev has a cunning plan, and Richie Tozier gets extra…

Setting: Derry, ME - the summer of 1995

Pairings: Reddie (main), Stenborough (on the side) also Bev is dating a girl and Ben and Mike are just wholesome individuals right now

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: dumb fighting? overbearing mother?

A/N: This was a pain to write but I hope it reads okay! I knew I wanted to get from point A to point B with this one, but I hope it was a believable thing? Have a read and let me know!

---

Eddie took the long way home; the way that took him around the centre of town, past the barrens and down through the train yard. He needed the fresh air. He needed time to think. He needed to talk to Richie.

The pounding in his head had subsided a little, but every time he tried to think of the words he might say, a fresh wave of tension would flash over his temples. He resolved to sleep on it and figure it all out in the morning. “No problem a good nights sleep won’t fix up some” his father used to say to him. He wished it was that simple.

Walking down the tracks of the train yard he thought back to when he would come here as a boy; before the Losers had started hanging out; before he had gotten so close to Richie. He smiled to himself as he thought of the first time that Richie had come too. Until then it had been his private place - the place he came to daydream and listen to the music from the nearby gospel church - but Richie had followed him home one day, insisting that they read the new Fantastic Four comic together. They had run the tracks pretending to be heroes and villains; Richie had voices for all the characters, but the terrible Eastern-European accent he gave Dr. Doom had Eddie in stitches.

From that day on it had become their place.

They’d hide in train cars and read comics together, throw food out for the seagulls and daydream about hopping a train South and running away together. One day a passing train conductor had waved to them and Richie had flipped him off, causing Eddie to hide and pretend he wasn’t with him. 

Good chucks, Eddie thought to himself.

He supposed that if he were a more optimistic person, he would have interpreted Richie’s interest as romantic. But he knew better. Richie was quick-witted and impulsive; if he liked Eddie as anything more than a friend he wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut. Besides, Eddie could have sworn Richie would linger a little too long on the comic book pages where Susan Storm was looking particularly busty.

Walking down Neibolt Street, a chill ran down his spine. His pace quickened as he passed a house on the left which he couldn’t bring himself to look at - the house where he’d broken his arm that summer so long ago. The details were fuzzy now, but the thought of that house made him sick to his stomach.

I’ll blow you for free!

He shook his head at the thought and broke into a light jog despite the tightening in his chest. He just wanted to get home.

---

“And what time do you call this?” Sonia’s shrill voice rang from the front room the moment Eddie set foot in the house.

“Sorry mom” he called absently as he made his way directly upstairs, ignoring his mother’s ranting.

“I don’t like this new attitude you’ve gotten, young man, you’ve been spending too much time with that Tozier boy!” she called up the stairs, but Eddie was in his room, door shut before she could finish.

He flopped back on the bed and lay for a second before jumping clean out of his skin at the sound of Richie’s voice.

“Not enough time with that charming young Tozier boy if you ask me” he rang in a shrill imitation of Mrs Kaspbrak.

“FUCKING--” Eddie screamed before Richie put a hand over his mouth.

“Shh! Shhhhh... As much as I like getting Mrs. K hot under the collar, it’s probably best if we don’t alert her to my presence” he smirked, releasing his hand and pinching Eddie’s cheek.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Eddie hissed, batting Richie’s hand away.

“Cinderella left the ball so soon, and I haven’t had my fill of Spaghetti for the evening” Richie grinned, though something in his expression seemed tense.

“Richie, I left cause I’m tired and just want to go to bed” Eddie exhaled, looking at the floor rather than Richie.

“Oh, ok...” Richie said rubbing the back of his head. He was flustered - something Eddie rarely saw. “Can... is it alright if I stay? I don’t really wanna go home yet...”

Eddie looked up to see a glassy expression on Richie’s face. He wanted to ask what was wrong, what was going on at home. He wanted to bury his face in Richie’s chest and hold him. He wanted him to not look at him like that.

“Sure, sure thing Richie,” he said softly, getting up to fetch some spare pajamas and blankets from the closet. This wasn’t the first time Richie had stayed over; sometimes they’d study late and Eddie would make up a blanket bed on the floor. He kept some sweatpants an old shirt that Richie had left one time since his pajamas were too small for Richie, but even those were getting too small for him now.

They got ready for bed in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Both boys had things they wanted to talk about, but felt constricted by nerves. Lying back in bed, Eddie turned his bedside lamp off, hearing Richie shift uncomfortably on the floor.

“Eds--”

“Richie--” they both spoke in unison.

“No, you first...”

“Oh...I was just gonna ask - and can you please not mention my mother - what are your plans for college? Honestly?”

Richie was silent for a long minute - something that concerned Eddie more than any joke he could make.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Richie said after a while.

Eddie sat bolt upright and turned his lamp on, leaning over so he could see Richie. He still had his glasses on which meant he wasn’t even trying to get to sleep.

“No idea? How can you not know!? You should have applied places by now, you’ve at least applied, right?” he blustered.

“Nope,” Richie said, matter-of-factly. 

Eddie paused in disbelief. He had mentally prepared himself for the idea of Richie moving to New York, but this outcome he was not prepared for.

“Wh...what are you gonna do then?”

“...well I’m not allowed to bring your mom into this, so...”

“Fucks sake, Richie!” Eddie huffed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “Do you really have to make a joke about everything? I just wanted to have a serious conversation with you for once!”

“Well it’s better than the alternative,” Richie spoke sternly. This was a voice Eddie hadn’t heard before. “Maybe some of us don’t get to leave, Eddie. Maybe some of us don’t have our whole lives mapped out already.” There was a harshness in his tone that Eddie didn’t like. “Maybe some of us don’t have parents who are just gonna throw money at our education, Eds. Did you think about that?”

“Richie...” Eddie spoke but Richie cut him off.

“Can it, Eddie, you don’t get to ignore me all evening and then start grilling me about shit I clearly don’t want to talk about!” Richie was standing now, slipping his boots on.

“So you’re leaving?” Eddie said with a touch of sass.

“Yeah, I can’t do this right now, Eds. There’s too much...it’s too much...I come here to get away from this shit, you know?”

“Richie, talk to me. That’s all I’m asking. Why is that so hard?”

“Yeah? Well, I’m asking you to shut the fuck up, think you could manage that?” Richie spat, regretting it almost instantly. Eddie clenched his jaw in shock at how Richie was speaking to him.

They were both standing now, eyes locked in fuming silence. Angry tears burned in both their eyes as they fumbled for the words they needed to say, finding nothing.

“See ya, Eds,” Richie said, turning towards the open window he came in through.

“Oh, walk away then. That’ll solve everything!” Eddie bit.

“Whatever.”

“No! You don’t get to just come and go from my house whenever you feel like it, Rich!” but he was already out the window. “Fine! Fuck off then, see what I care!”

Eddie slammed the window shut and threw himself on his bed, tears flowing freely now. He felt a wave of nausea come over him, followed by an intense feeling in his chest that he couldn’t place. Panicking, he fumbled in his bedside drawer for his old aspirator. Placing it shakingly in his mouth he pulled the trigger and felt the sensation wash down his throat, easing his breathing some. But it didn’t help like he hoped it would, there’s no medicine for heartache.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid! he repeated to himself. Why had it gotten so heated? Why couldn’t they just talk? Why--

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on his door.

“Eddie, what is going on in there? What’s all that banging?”

His mother entered without waiting for a response. 

“Eddie are you--” she paused as she saw the tears on Eddie’s reddened face and the aspirator in his hands. “Eddie is your asthma back!?”

“Mom, no--”

“I’ll have to call Dr. Adams first thing tomorrow and book you an appointment. You should have told me sooner! I know you don’t want me fussing but if you’re not going to look after yourself then I’m not going to just stand back and let you get hurt. You think you know what’s best for you but I’m your mother, and I know what’s best--”

Eddie placed his face in his hands as his mother continued on her rant. This was all he needed.

“Eddie.” Sonia spoke sternly, prompting Eddie to look up. He saw where she was looking and his breath caught in his throat. “Why is there a bed on the floor?”

“I...um...” Eddie fumbled for a lie, something he’d never been very good at with his mother, especially when she stared at him so sharply.

“Was he here? Did you sneak him into my house? Did he do this to you?” Her voice got shriller by the sentence. “I’ve told you time and time again that boy is no good. Honestly, Eddie! I feel like you don’t listen to me at all!”

And he wasn’t listening. Not really. He stared at the window and wished he could take the last day back.

It was going to be a long night.

- End of Chapter 4 -

A/N: Jeeze, Scoob. That was a challenge to write! Especially since I hate confrontation. I know they’re both overreacting and dumb, but hang in there it’ll get better. Maybe not next chapter... but we’ll get there. Also, watch out for Mrs. K, she’s not done being a pain just yet! 

Taglist: @richietoaster | @vimra | @wildcardtrip-blog | @starstruck-stargazing  | @noxatn  | @mysterious-fish  | @imnot-reddieforthis  | @fragilenights  | @justanothetfangirl | @tyrror | @angelgoddess13 | @i-believe-in | @cannibalistic-muffins | @reddieforlove

Send me a message if you want to be on the tag list for Chapter 5!

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Christmas in Connecticut-Chapter 16

In this chapter Sharon and Andy attend Midnight Mass with their family. Later Andy and Rusty have an unexpected conversation regarding Rusty’s sexuality.

I always felt we were missing a fathership conversation regarding Rusty’s sexuality. IMO it was all very ambiguous. We saw both Provenza and Andy being a little uncomfortable with Rusty being gay--Provenza accepted it as long as they didn’t have to discuss it. When Rusty went to Andy once to ask him his adviceAndy seemed a little uncomfortable  and asked if it was about him and Gus. However, by the time Andy was living with Sharon, and Rusty was angsting over Gus, Andy seemed totally comfortable with it all. Also, Andy was far more comfortable and accepting of Provenza’s former partner who turned out to be transgender, while Provenza was a real jerk about it. 

Anyway, this is a sensitive subject that I don’t have any experience with so I hope I did it justice and also kept Andy and Rusty in character.

Now available here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293105/chapters/31441479

and here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12789981/16/Christmas-in-Connecticut

and here:

O holy night! The stars are brightly shining It is the night of our dear Savior's birth Long lay the world in sin and error pining 'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices! O night divine, the night when Christ was born O night, O holy night, O night divine! O night, O holy night, O night divine!

Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His gospel is peace Chains He shall break, for the slave is our brother; And in His name all oppression shall cease Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we With all our hearts we praise His holy name Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we Noel, Noel

*****

Sharon held Andy’s gloved hand as they followed William and Colleen up the long walkway to a large stone church. St. Marys. Snow crunched under their boots, their breath fogging in front of them. It was a clear frigid night, the stars shining brightly in the black sky. Sharon shivered and hunkered deeper into her long wool coat. Her dad teased her about it but years in sunny Southern California really did seem to have thinned her blood.

“Papa Andy.” Tyler fell in step with them. “It’s gonna be really, really late when we leave church tonight. Do you think we’ll see Santa?”

Sharon gave Andy a sidelong glance, biting back a grin. They had been following the NORAD Santa tracker all night on the computer and she had just heard Nicole tell the boys that Santa was still far from North America. However, true to form, when their mom or dad told them something they didn’t want to hear, they turned to Papa Andy who often gave them what they wanted. Nicole called him a sucker. He called it being a grandfather.

“Sorry, kiddo. I think your mom’s right, this time. Besides, you don’t want to see Santa.”

“Yes we do.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you see him the magic’s gone and he disappears.”

Tyler’s eyes widened and now Scott was listening to every word. “So we wouldn’t get any presents?”

“Nope. The presents come with the magic.”

“Oh…“ Tyler sounded a bit shocked by that news. “Then I’m gonna keep my eyes closed all the way home.”

“Me too,” Scottie vowed.

“Good idea,” Andy agreed.

“I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about it,” Sharon said as they began climbing up the stairs. “If they‘re anything like my two when they were little they‘ll be sound asleep by the time we leave church.”

Andy opened the door, allowing Sharon to pass before following. Inside the vestibule, they both paused to dip their fingers in the fonts of holy water, crossing themselves before entering. The church was dimly lit, the sanctuary covered in fir garlands and red ribbons, the altar surrounded by dozens of large flowering red poinsettias. Each pew was decorated with garland, a big red velvet ribbon tied in a bow and a white candle.  Organ music filled the chamber with the soft beautiful strains of “Oh Holy Night”, which just happened to be one of Sharon‘s favorite Christmas hymns. The scent of frankincense permeated the air, bringing with it the sense of familiarity and peace that it always did for her when she entered a church.

There was something mystical about midnight mass. It brought back all the feelings of enchantment that Sharon had felt as a child. The rituals, the Christmas hymns, the excitement of being allowed to stay up so late, the strangeness of being at church so deep in the night and best of all  the titillating possibility of seeing Santa and his reindeer flying across the night sky. All of it had been as magical for her and Chrissie as it later had been for Emily and Ricky, and now Tyler and Scottie.

But for all that, her feelings as an adult ran so much deeper. Reaching out to thread her fingers through Andy’s, she looked down the pew at her parents, her children, her soon to be stepfamily, warmth spreading through her. She truly was blessed. She had a man in her life that loved her with all his heart and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Her parents were aging gracefully, her children were healthy, and with Nicole, Dean, and the boys, that family was expanding in ways she’d never expected. She couldn’t remember ever being as happy as she was right now.  

The only blemish on that happiness came when she turned from her family to take in the beautifully decorated altar. The sharp twinge in her heart caused her hand tighten on Andy’s and she had to blink back the quick sting of tears. When she thought about marrying Andy this was where she pictured herself. Standing at an altar covered in flowers, making their promises to each other in the presence of God. But what if they couldn’t make that happen?

As if he could read her mind, Andy looked over at her with a smile. Just a few hours ago, she’d tried to explain that smile to Chrissie, but it was hard to convey the power that it had over her. That smile could lighten her day and cause her knees go weak with lust. It could fill her with tenderness and make her heart soar with joy. And best of all there were times like tonight when it had the power to make her feel like no matter what happened; everything was going to be all right.

After a brief moment of silence that got everyone’s attention, the organist began the loud joyous strains of “O Come All Ye Faithful” which began in Latin but would eventually switch over to the English translation. The sanctuary lit and the congregation rose for the opening procession; the swinging thurible of smoky incense, ministers carrying the cross and candles, the deacon carrying the Book of Gospels and finally the priest. Standing at Andy’s side listening to the voices rise in the call of the faithful, the sense of peace she had experienced upon entering the church washed through her again. She smiled back at him. It didn’t matter what Jack signed or didn’t sign, as long as she had this man by her side, everything else would sort itself out. And with the joy of that peace, her voice joined his in the beautiful hymn.

Adeste, fideles, Laeti triumphantes, Venite, venite in Bethlehem! Natum videte, Regem angelorum Venite, adoremus! Venite, adoremus! Venite, adoramus! Venite, adoramus Dominum!

O come, all ye faithful Joyful and triumphant O come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem Come and behold Him Born the King of Angels! O come, let us adore Him O come, let us adore Him O come, let us adore Him Christ the Lord

*****

Trying not to wake anyone, especially the kids, Andy nearly tip toed down the stairs. When he got to the living room he found it dark, save for the blinking lights on the Christmas tree. They must have forgotten to shut them off when they all finally stumbled off to bed after returning from midnight mass and putting the kids gifts out under the tree. His feet barely made a sound thanks to the plush carpet runner, but he cursed at the loud click the lock on the front door made.

“Andy?”

“Jesus Christ!” Andy spun around, going for the gun that was not on his hip. He was barefoot, in new red and green plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a dark green waffled t-shirt--a gift from Sharon. It was an O‘Dwyer/Raydor tradition that everyone got new pajamas on Christmas Eve in preparation for pictures Christmas morning. It was easy now to see where Sharon got her love of tradition and holidays and how she‘d passed that down to Ricky and Emily who had been waiting eagerly, like little kids, for their new pajamas. Though Rusty was still fairly new to the whole tradition thing, he was sitting in the big overstuffed chair in front of the Christmas tree wearing the same new pajamas, but with a red shirt instead of green. “Are you trying to really give me a heart attack?”

“You just got engaged. You’re not running out on my mom, are you?”

“Yeah, barefoot in my pajama’s. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what are you doing creeping around in the night like a cat burgler?”

Andy rolled his eyes at the description. “We ate the cookies the kids left for Santa, but we forgot the carrots they put out for the reindeer. I told your mom I’d come down and grab them.” Andy sank down on the couch across from Rusty. “Why are you still up?”

“I dunno, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Too excited about your presents? “

Rusty gave him an amused smirk before his face turned serious again.

“I’ve been thinking a lot. Being here this week, getting to see where mom grew up. Now the holiday. Before I started living with Sharon, I never celebrated Christmas. Most of the time my mom was so strung out she didn’t even know what day it was. Even if she had remembered that it was Christmas, she didn’t have any money for a tree or presents or a big Christmas dinner. And we sure never went to midnight mass or watched Christmas movies or baked Christmas cookies together. My first Christmas with Sharon I acted like I thought it was all pretty lame, but that isn’t really how I felt. I like that she gets so into it--even when she makes me watch ‘White Christmas’ with her.”

Andy chuckled. “It is her favorite Christmas movie.”

“Sometimes when I listen to Emily and Ricky and they’re telling stories about what it was like for them growing up I feel like that little match girl in the story they were talking about the other day. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d been born to Sharon. If I’d had the chance to grow up with her as my mom and always had these big Christmas’s with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. To be tucked into bed at night with a Christmas story from the 25 Days of Christmas. To decorate gingerbread and sugar cookies and make popcorn and cranberry garland while we listened to Christmas carols. To sit in front of the tree watching all those classic Christmas movies together, even those cheesy Hallmark ones she loves. To spend a day making ornaments out of pinecones that she’d put on the tree no matter how ugly they were. And let’s face it, Ricky’s were pretty ugly.”

Having recently seen some pictures of Sharon’s earlier Christmas’s when her kids were young Andy could only nod in agreement. “They really were pretty ugly.”

“I mean, I know it wasn’t perfect. I know they had some hard times because of Jack. But Emily and Ricky were really lucky to have a mom like Sharon.”

“Yes, they were. And so are you. Sharon’s a very special person and she’s an incredible mom. I’m sorry you didn’t get to have those kinds of Christmas’s when you were young. But you get to have them now. And I bet they mean even more to you because you don’t take them for granted. I had a lot of lonely Christmas’s after my divorce and for a long time I was filled with anger and bitterness and regret. It ate at me and I wasn’t a very happy person. But since I met your mom, I find it’s a lot easier not to look back. I’m happy here and now in the present and that’s what’s important. I’m looking forward to my future. And so should you. You’ve got a lot going for you Rusty, don’t let your past take away the enjoyment of your present.”

“Mmm..” Rusty hummed in way that was very reminiscent of his mother, biological or not. “That’s not always easy.”

“Are you missing Gus?”

“Maybe a little.”

“It’s too bad he couldn’t come.”

“It’s probably for the best.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you know…” He gestured toward his grandparent’s bedroom.

“You know they know you’re gay, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Mom told them right after I came out. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things.”

Andy’s brow furrowed. After moving in with Sharon, he had become privy to some of the more personal details of Rusty’s love life. He knew Sharon had given Rusty the okay for Gus to spend the night at the condo, yet he’d never done so. It had become quickly apparent that Rusty’s inability to embrace his homosexuality publicly seemed to be a sticking point in his relationship with Gus and had been for a long time. But he’d kept that observation to himself. Which was funny, really. He’d never been shy about offering up his opinions on just about anything. He’d made no bones about his disdain of Slider when Rusty was doing his vlog and had no problem calling the kid out when he thought he was being selfish or taking advantage of Sharon, but unless Rusty had come right out and asked, he’d steered well clear of offering advice on his love life. As if by some unspoken, tacit agreement, he and Rusty had never discussed Rusty being gay. Andy always just figured it was awkward enough for any teen to talk about anything sexual with a parent, let alone for a gay son and the heterosexual live in boyfriend of his mother, so he hadn‘t pushed it. At least that was what he tried telling himself. The truth was more along the lines that he felt awkward about it, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was time to man up and just get it all out in the open. He took a deep breath and finally asked, “Are you ashamed of being gay?”

Rusty‘s eyes widened with surprise and he began to squirm. Fighting the urge to simply get up and leave, he clutched at the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms in an effort to quell his anxiety. Where had that question from?  He’d gone to Andy a few times for advice and had seen the discomfort on the older man’s face when he’d inevitably asked, “Is it about you and Gus?“ As if he would go to Andy Flynn for dating advice. The very thought made his gut clench. Andy was a macho guy’s guy, notorious within the department for his appreciation of beautiful women and serial dating. At least until he‘d fallen head over heels for Sharon and set out to win her heart.  How could a man like that understand him?  “No….Well, uh…I was…I guess I tried to deny it for a long time. I wanted to be normal. I wanted people to think I was normal. There was even a time I thought I might be able to fix it.”

“By seeing Kris?”

“Yeah. That didn’t work so well. I really liked her, and I tried, but I couldn’t like her that way.”

“You know you don’t need to be fixed, right?”

“I do now. Mom helped me see that. She said I was normal just the way I was and that she loved me no matter what.”

“Your mom is pretty great that way.”

“She is. “

“So, why are you still trying to hide it?”

“What do you mean? “

“Rusty, you had a big fight with Gus because he tried to hold your hand in public. Every time he touches you in front of other people, you flinch away from him.”

Rusty paled. Gus was always riding his ass about that; he had no idea that his discomfort had been so obvious to others. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to.” He’d also noticed that when they all watched a movie together, Sharon would lay her head on his shoulder, while Rusty made it a point to sit alone in a chair, never next to Gus on the couch. Yet, many times when he and Sharon came home from work or a night out they‘d often found the boys sitting together on the couch. It seemed to be only a problem when others were around.

“I guess I am still a little uncomfortable with it.” Looking up into Andy’s face, he saw none of the recriminations that had twisted the features of his biological mother. Instead, the honest curiosity and compassion in Andy’s eyes compelled him to open up about his deepest fears. “It’s just; I don’t want to be those guys that picked me up on the Strip.”

“Oh my God. Is that what you’ve been worrying about? Rusty you have nothing in common with those guys, anymore than I have anything in common with straight pedophiles that molest little girls. Sex between two consenting adults has nothing to do with what you went through. Gay or straight those guys who prey on underage kids are criminals.”

“I know, I do know that. It’s just…My biological mother said some things to me and I can‘t seem to get them out of my head.”

“Oh yeah, what did she say?” This ought to be good if it came out of the mouth of Sharon Beck.

“She said my being gay was disgusting to her and that knowing what I was is what made her turn to drugs. It‘s also one of the reasons she and Gary dumped me at the zoo.”

Andy gave a rumble of disgust. “Rusty, that’s what addicts do. They blame other people because they don’t want to blame themselves. Did you tell your mom about this?”

“No. She knows I fought with my biological mother but I couldn’t tell her the terrible things she said. I mean, obviously mom knows about my past, that I was hustling, but she doesn’t know all the dirty details. And I don’t want her to know, because I never want her to be revolted by me. I couldn’t stand that. I need her…I need her to love me.”

Andy shook his head with regret. Sharon Beck had sure done a number on this boy. Between growing up with her as a mother and having to sell his body at such a young age, it was no wonder the kid had an issue with his sexuality and intimacy and that he equated sex with being dirty and degrading. It was a good thing that Sharon had gotten him into therapy. He hoped that Dr. Joe was helping him work through all that. “Rusty, we can’t change the past or any of the choices we made but your mother loves you no matter what you’ve done. That’s the thing about unconditional love, there aren’t any conditions attached to it. You are your mother’s son and she is so proud of you and all that you’ve accomplished. “

“I know she is. It’s just …Sometimes I don’t feel worthy of that. She’s always been a great mom to me, from the first day she took me in, but I haven’t always been the greatest son.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Rusty’s head snapped up at the blunt response. One of the reasons he trusted Andy was because he was a “tell it like it is” kind of guy and didn’t waste time sugar coating things. Still he hadn’t expected him to agree so readily.

“Look kid, in my experience teenagers can be a fucking nightmare. I know I gave my own parents some gray hair and I’m sure Emily and Ricky share some of your feelings now that they’re grown. Your mom has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. She has this huge capacity for love and forgiveness. Hell, she fell in love with me and I used to call her the wicked witch of FID.”

Rusty snorted. He hadn’t heard that one before, but it didn’t surprise him. He’d had a front row seat to the animosity Sharon had faced when she’d first taken over Major Crimes.

“She knows everything about my past, all my flaws, all the mistakes that I’ve made and she still agreed to marry me. Because she knows, people change. There’s a saying we use in AA, ‘Don’t let yesterday take up too much of today.’ Most people have something in their pasts that they aren’t proud of, we all make mistakes, but who are today isn’t always who we were.”

Rusty nodded. He sure wasn’t the same person he’d been at 15, living on the streets, selling his body and living in fear every single day. But there was one fear he still had, a question that had always been there in the back of his mind but that he‘d left unasked. A topic he’d never quite been sure how to bring up. Taking a deep breath he figured it was now or never. “I answered your question, now it’s my turn to ask you something.”

“Okay, shoot. “

“Well, since you’re going to be my step- father sometime in the near future, there’s something I need to know before that happens.”

“Okay.”

“When I was coming out…It was really hard for me. That was mainly because of you and Lieutenant Provenza. The two of you, you were the only real men in my life and I was afraid you might be….well…”

“Homophobic?”

“Maybe, yeah. And now I know that you’re not. I mean you’ve been great to me and you’ve been great to Gus. You’ve never treated us with anything but respect and you‘re friends with Gavin and Dr. Morales and Dr. Joe and all. But when you and mom first started looking for houses and I was worried that I might be in the way, you said that if my mom thought you were trying to get rid of me she’d flip out, so I need to know. How much of your acceptance of me is because you want to please my mom? Does it bother you that I am…the way I am? I need you to be honest with me here.”

Andy took a deep breath knowing that his future relationship with his step -son might very well hinge on the way he answered this question.

“Look kid. Was I always sympathetic or understanding when it came to homosexuality? Probably not. But you have to remember, I grew up in a time when no one talked about it, and if they did, it was whispered as if it was something shameful.  Then I joined the LAPD in less than politically correct times. Things were different back then. Everything was a stereotype. I honestly believed there were no gay men on the police force, in the fire department, or in professional sports. It sounds stupid now, but that’s the way it was. We were ignorant. Then AIDS hit and it forced guys out of the closet. I had a friend on the force that had to come out. “

“What do you mean, “Had to”?”

“In the 80’s if you got AIDS, you pretty much died.”

“Oh.” Rusty swallowed tightly. He‘d been worried about AIDS too while he was hustling. “You said he was your friend. Did you think about him differently after you found out?”

“At first. I mean it was a shock. Like I said, I had an idea of what a gay man was in my head.  Steve was tough, a jock, he didn’t fit the stereotype I’d been taught to believe at all. Like I said, I was pretty ignorant back then. I had no idea that for years he’d been living a double life, pretending to hit on women when we all went out to bars, then sneaking off to gay clubs to pick up guys. He lived every day with the fear that people would find out who he really was and how they would react. That‘s no way to live.”

“I remember feeling like that. I thought for sure Sharon was going to throw me out when I finally had the guts to tell her and then I was really afraid to come out to all of you. I thought it might change how you felt about me. I tried to get Mom to do it for me.”

Andy gave a soft snort. That sounded like Rusty. “Bet that didn’t go over too well.”

“No, it didn’t. Your friend, Steve. Did he die?”

“Yes. He did. I went to visit him in the hospital. You could tell he wasn’t gonna make it, he‘d wasted away to nothing. His mom was there but his father wouldn’t visit him. I was pretty pissed about that. I just can’t see how any father could justify not being there with his son when he’s dying, you know?”

“Sounds pretty shitty.”

“It was pretty shitty. He wouldn’t listen to Steve’s mother, so I called him, told him how sick Steve was, and asked him to come and say good-bye. He refused. All he kept saying was that he didn’t understand how a son of his could be gay.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you understand how someone can be gay?”

“I…uh…Well, there are a lot of things I don’t understand. I don’t understand how your mother can be a Packers fan over the Rams when she‘s never even come close to living in Green Bay. But I do understand her passionate love of football.”

Rusty rolled his eyes at Andy’s attempt at levity. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yeah, okay, you want the truth? Here it is.  Do I understand being attracted to another man? No, I don’t. Not any more than you or any gay man can understand my attraction to women. But I’ll tell you what I do understand. I do understand attraction. And I do understand love. And I also understand that we can’t make ourselves love people or not love people and we can‘t help who we are attracted to. You found that out with Kris.  I found it out with my ex-wife and with Sharon. I tried to force myself to love my ex after I’d fallen out of love with her because I wanted my marriage to work. I couldn‘t do it, because you can’t make yourself feel something you don’t feel. And then, falling in love with your mom, I mean that was just crazy. The odds were stacked pretty high against us. She was still married, on paper anyway, she was my boss and there was a time when we argued all the time. We were fire and ice.”

“I remember that.”

“Even once we got past the FID stuff, we’re so different. She is a beautiful, cultured woman and I’m a street kid from Brooklyn. She’s fancy French restaurants and I’m hot dogs at Coney Island. She’s Mozart and I’m Jimmy Buffett.  She had a bad marriage to an alcoholic and I’m a recovering alcoholic. She’s a cool play it by the rules and I‘m an impatient, push it to the edge. We weren‘t supposed to click. I mean none of it made any sense. But as they say, the heart wants what the heart wants and my heart wants your mom. I understand that.”

“Mmm…Mom did have a pretty heavy duty case of denial going there for a while.”

“It’s never easy when you’ve had a bad relationship to allow yourself to trust in a new relationship.”

“Well, you’re nothing like Jack.”

“Really?” Andy raised a brow. “I’ve heard some people say we’re pretty similar.”

“Not in the ways that matter. The way you treat Mom is so different from the way Jack treated her. You don’t try to manipulate her to do what you want the way Jack did. You don’t hide things or have ulterior motives. You don’t try to guilt her to do what you want or use the people she loves to get at her. Those are all the kinds of things I’ve seen Jack do. You respect her. You do things you don’t want to do because you know it will make her happy and she does the same thing for you. And even though Jack’s known Mom a lot longer than you have, you seem to know her much better than he did.“

“You think?”

Rusty nodded. Because of the trauma and abuse he’d gone through each time his biological mother brought a new boyfriend home, he’d watched Andy’s relationship with Sharon carefully and warily. Expecting the worse, what he had seen instead was a lesson in true love.

A lesson brought home by the way his mother lit up when Andy walked into the room and the sappy adorable smile she’d give him when he brought her home flowers “just because”. It was the way she’d lovingly changed his bandages after his surgery and the way she fussed and worried about him while he was recovering. It was in the affectionate way she played with the buttons on his shirt or stroked his tie and the way she was always careful to wipe her lipstick off his face each time she kissed him. It was in the way she would take his hand in public, intimately threading her fingers through his.

It was in the way that Andy picked up her favorite Thai food for dinner because he knew she’d been busy and had to skip a meal and wanted to make sure that she had something to eat. It was the way he brought her Advil and green tea after seeing her rubbing her temples, instinctively knowing she had a headache.  It was the way he opened doors for her and held out her chair and the way he guided her along with a hand resting protectively on the small of her back. It was the way he would swing her legs onto his lap and give her a foot massage after seeing her wince when she took off her high heels at the end of a long day. She didn’t have to ask, he just did it

It was a million little things that to others might have gone unnoticed, but not to Rusty. At work, Andy might be brash, tough, and impatient but with Sharon, he was always attentive, thoughtful and gentle.

“When I was living with my biological mother I saw a lot of the bad stuff in relationships; rage, violence, cheating, but watching you and Mom and the way you support each other and  take care of each other has shown me how people are supposed to love each other.”

Andy’s brow lifted with surprise. After initially seeming to be okay with him and Sharon dating, Rusty had grown increasingly squeamish when their relationship progressed to the point that they were visibly affectionate with each other and even more so when he had begun spending the night at the condo. There was nothing unusual about that and Andy hadn‘t let it bother him. No son liked to think about his mom having sex, even if he liked her boyfriend. He got that.  But he hadn’t realized just how much the kid had been paying attention to the other aspects of their relationship. “I appreciate you telling me that. It means a lot for me to hear you feel that way. But I want to get back to your initial question because it’s important to me that you know this.  No, it doesn’t bother me that you’re gay and I’m not just saying that just because I love your mother and want to please her. I care about you Rusty, and I want you to be happy. Male, female, black, white, rich, poor, gay, straight, we‘re all just people and if there is anything I’ve learned through my experiences it’s that all that matters is trying to be the best person you can be. I think that’s all you can ask of anyone.”

Sitting in the stairwell Sharon’s eyes burned with tears, her heart swelling with love. Her conversation with Christine still fresh in her mind, it was hard to believe there had been a time she’d thought Andy was a jackass.

Andy looked at his watch. “You might want to head off to bed, I have a feeling those two boys are going to have us up at the crack of dawn.”

Rusty laughed. “I think you’re right. They were definitely excited. ” He rose to his feet and stood awkwardly for a moment before finally gearing up the courage to do something he’d never done before. Leaning down he gave Andy a quick half shoulder hug. “Thank you,” he said. “For being honest with me. I’m, uh, glad you’re marrying my mom.”

Andy’s lips quirked in amusement as he watched the boy quickly disappear toward his bedroom. What a difference from the enthusiastic, “Andy, welcome to the family!” bear hug Ricky had given him after he and Sharon had announced their engagement.

Sharon’s two boys could not be more different.

Rusty Beck was a hard nut to crack, no doubt about it. In comparison, Ricky was easy. He’d hit it off right from the start with Sharon’s eldest son, even before they were dating. Ricky was as open and friendly as Rusty was wary and guarded. He had an infectious, fun loving personality, not unlike that of an overgrown puppy. You couldn’t help but like the kid. And he and Ricky had so much in common. They shared a near obsession with the Dodgers and other sports and never had trouble striking up a conversation, most of them revolving around baseball, football, basketball and hockey.  And when he found out the kid liked to fish, one of his own favorite pastimes, he’d set up a deep sea fishing trip for the two of them off the coast of Catalina. They‘d listened to the Dodgers on the radio, soaked up the sun and caught an almost 20 pound halibut. It had been a great day, both enjoying each other‘s company. When they got home, they’d grilled fresh halibut steaks out on the condo balcony and told fish stories to Sharon, Rusty and Gus well into the night. The trip had been such a success and they’d had such a good time together they talked about going out again to try to catch Marlin, only this time Sharon and Gus wanted in on the action which left him hopeful that Rusty might give it a try.

It was easy with Ricky in ways it had never been easy with Sharon‘s prickly youngest. With Rusty he‘d often felt like he was walking on eggshells. The kid was moody and sensitive and had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. It hadn’t been easy to find a way to reach him. Rusty usually turned to his laptop when he and Sharon put a sporting event on TV, he didn’t even know the difference between overtime and extra innings and he found fishing a colossal bore. Yet, somehow, Andy had been able to forge a bond with the boy that grew stronger every day. They cooked together, played chess and cards, competed against each other in video games and when the new season of ‘Game of Thrones’ came out they could both be found, along with Sharon, in front of the TV sharing a big bowl of popcorn.

“Hey.”

At the touch of a hand on his shoulder, Andy was brought out of his thoughts, looking up to see Sharon smiling down on him.

“Hey, what are you still doing up?” He took the hand she rested on his shoulder and kissed the back of it.

“I was waiting for you to come back to bed,” she said, allowing him to pull her down onto his lap. “When you were taking so long I got worried.”

‘How much did you hear?”

“Enough. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Considering how long it took you to say it, I can never hear it enough.”

Sharon cupped his handsome face in her palms and leaned in close. “I love you, Andy Flynn,” she said just before her lips touched his.

And Andy could not think of a better way to finish off Christmas Eve then necking with his lady under the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.

TBC