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milkiane · 2 years

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I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

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summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe.

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him.

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.”

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh.

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it.

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see.

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across.

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.”

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it.

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!”

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you.

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk.

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy.

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around.

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady.

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too.

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

“did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree.

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain.

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second.

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van.

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van.

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson.

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair.

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine.

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that.

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again.

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners.

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up.

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically.

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you.

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna – that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love.

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie.

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 7 months

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#dream smp #dream smp shitpost #primeboys (derogatory)#abuse tw #c!dream being a Twitter stan is messed up. but also objectively funny.#The abuse is not funny obviously. but him being an inniter is

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justsomeguypoll · 1 year

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JUST SOME GUY: Semifinals

Stanley (The Stanley Parable) vs. Philip J. Fry (Futurama)

Reasons provided for Stanley:

he’s just an office guy. his whole job is to press buttons. he is not in a mundane situation though because his coworkers got Vanished and so he is the only person in his office. there’s a disembodied voice with a british accent following him around and telling him what to do

Reasons provided for Fry:

hes just a pizza delivery guy from 1999. he got froze and then revived in the year 2999

has no date, a two liter bottle of Shasta, and an all Rush mixtape. let's rock.

#stanley tsp #philip j fry #the stanley parable #futurama #just some guy poll #semifinals #tumblr tournament

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stellocchia · 2 years

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There's one take that has been floating around recently which is that c!Dream and c!Tommy are at the very least mutually obsessive (though I've also seen multiple people claim that c!Tommy is the only obsessive one of the two which sure is a take), so here's your reminder that c!Dream:

Used to hide in Tommy's walls and floor

Used to stalk Tommy, and has done it again after Tommy ran from Logstedshire and after he broke out of prison

Used to log off in Tommy's music room so he could log in if Tommy ever decided to play one of his discs

Followed Tommy around so much that Fundy joked about him being Tommy's stalker

Built tunnels connecting his and Tommy's base without Tommy's consent or knowledge

Tried to bribe Tommy and only Tommy into switching sides when L'Manburg just started (pre-independence war)

Addressed Tommy first and then continued connecting L'Manburg to him more than Wilbur (calling it 'L'Manchildbur' for example) despite Wilbur being the actual president

Chose to be the one killing Tommy instead of Wilbur in the FCR

Accepted the Discs as payment to give L'Manburg independence after he literally went to war and refused any possible peaceful solution before

Specifically gave a chest full of resources (which included Dream's prized crossbow) to Tommy and personally wrote a book for him during Pogtopia despite Tommy not being the leader nor the strongest fighter there

After switching sides he still allowed Tommy to go back to his home to get his stuff once he asked when they were alone

Spent most of his time pre-Pogtopia vs Manburg war with Tommy even after they knew they were enemies (and even after Tommy pointed out it was rather weird)

Gave a whole speech about how the only thing he cared about were Tommy's discs because they gave him control over Tommy in a believable enough way to make his best friend start losing his trust in him

Set Tommy up to get him exiled (framing him and later exaggerating his actions to get him punished for something that has never been punished before or after as it's commonplace on the smp) so they could spend time together alone and abused him into dependency during that time

He also sabotaged Tommy's communication with the outside during that time to further isolate him (intercepting his letter exchange with Ranboo and his party invites, as well as spreading misinformation about Tommy not wanting to see anyone)

Killed Mexican Dream for no other reason than the fact that MD was gonna move in near Tommy and offer him company that wasn't Dream

Tried to kill Ghostbur for the same reason

Gave a speech about his and Tommy's story would never be over because Tommy was "too fun"

Tried to kill Tubbo "to give Tommy an origin story"

Called Tommy the origin of attachment and the "key to everything" while announcing that he intended to kidnap him again and lock him away in the prison

Risked his final life when Tommy threatened to kill himself unless Dream went back and let Tommy kill him

When Tommy announced that he would stop visiting Dream in prison as it was not good for him, Dream resulted to begging to keep him there (he didn't show any interest in anyone else visiting at any point)

Organized an attack on the prison with Ranboo that had the objective of locking Tommy in there with him for at least a week (and demonstrated that he knew as much when he cited the prison contracts he wrote)

Always talked about "Tommy Tommy Tommy" while he was in prison according to Sam

Told Tommy they would be immortal together

Went after Tommy as soon as he got any basic gear once he was out of the prison, prioritizing that to getting back his armor and weapons, which everyone assumed would be his priority

Claimed Tommy was already immortal because he would keep reviving him over and over again

Dug a whole room under Tommy's home to leave an especially made torture mixtape there for him

As it has been pointed out already, in and out of universe, during the confrontation with Wilbur and Tommy in the prison he was staring at Tommy the whole time to assess his reactions despite Wilbur being the one who was threatening him

Admitted that he revived Wilbur only to torture Tommy

When trying to make himself look better in front of Sam he said that he set up the attachment vault as a little show for Tommy specifically

Meanwhile what people are using as proof of c!Tommy being obsessed with c!Dream is him saying that the server is about him and c!Tubbo against c!Dream (which is what it has factually been about so far for him for no choice of his own) and him thinking about c!Dream when someone triggers him by mentioning his canonical abuser.

There's kind of a difference there I'd say...

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #c!dream #c!tommy #c!primeboys #tw obsession #tw stalking mention #tw murder mention #to be fair dream did try his best to get tommy to be as dependant on him as he is on tommy during exile #he failed but he did try #long post

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anjaelle · 2 years

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White Light IV

Characters: Ghost!ATJ x Black Female!Reader Rating: T (slight flirting, mention of horny thoughts, ghost!bf being a little obsessed with his crush, and the hint of impending tragedy to come) Word Count: 3.0K Summary: In which the reader makes a brief list of pros and cons for reviving the dead... a/n: Not 100% where I want it to be, but I already know where I want the story to go and where it will end. And that's a new thing for me, because I literally never finish anything . HA! Please like, comment, and reblog! Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next updates.

You awoke to the sound of running water from your bathroom, and squinted to protect your eyes from the blinding sunlight. Your head was pounding like you'd been knocked out with a baseball bat. You moved to sit up, and your vision immediately began to double, causing you to slowly lie back down and roll over. Then you noticed the small bathroom wastebasket sitting beside your bed, just as bile rose in your chest and you vomited into it.

"Shit," you heard Aaron mutter behind you. The water cut off, and the quick thud of a cabinet closing seemed to rattle in your head.

"What happened?" You asked, hoarsely. As you rested your head on your hands, you could hear more busy rustling in the bathroom. "How? I can't--what's going on?"

It was like waking up in the middle of a dense fog, and you were unable to decipher which way was up. You didn't know what day it was, what time it was, how you ended up in this predicament. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep. Your eyes began to drift close again, when rapid footsteps crossed the room towards you.

"Hey, hey, hey, no. You gotta stay awake, c'mon." He crouched down beside you as the upper half of your body lie draped over the side of the bed. You couldn't remember how exactly you ended up in that position, but you couldn't be fucked to move.

"Too sleepy," you mumbled, sighing, "Give me 10 minutes."

"I can't."

He hesitated, and then you felt his arm wrap gently around your waist to prop you up in bed. You could feel how ice cold he was through the sweater he had on--your ex's sweater. You didn't remember bringing it. You should've probably given it back when you left. Or maybe you'd steal it for revenge and give it to Aaron.

Aaron.

"You can touch me? You can touch things?" you murmured, peeking at him through heavily lidded eyes, "How?"

You noticed that he was fidgeting with a damp cloth in a bowl with steaming hot water, and he shrugged.

"I really, really don't know what happened. One minute you were sweating in your sleep, the next you were up and staring at me...I don't know." A pause, then, "You seem a lot less surprised than I expected you to be."

On the inside you were screaming. You were beyond fucking confused. You wanted to call your grandmother and get some goddamn answers. But you were too weak to do anything but sigh.

"Why aren't you surprised?" You finally asked.

His hands stilled in the water and he sighed before continuing to wring out the cloth, "I was. I had my reaction while you were passed out. Um--it's--I guess I've just gotten used to it now."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as he pressed the hot cloth to your forehead. It was then that you realized how cold you were. The water was steaming hot, but still didn't feel hot enough. You shuddered under the warmth and shut your eyes.

"How long was I out?"

He said nothing and returned the rag back to the water.

"Aaron--"

"Three days."

You sat up straight in bed and stared at him with widened eyes. He no longer looked hazy and out of focus. He was here. Alive. Or, at least, the illusion of mortality. He looked at you with equally wide eyes and you could see the healing scars on his face and hands. He looked...older?

"Th-three?" You felt your hands shaking, and you shoved them into the blankets that you squeezed in your fists, "I could've been dead! Oh my god!"

"You weren't!" He responded, holding his hands up, "You woke up on and off, muttered some shit, and then went back to sleep."

"Why didn't you call someone?"

He shot her a look of confusion and motioned around her apartment, "You don't have a house phone. And I don't know how to use your mobile phone. What was I supposed to do? Scream out the window?"

"YES!" You responded, holding your head in disbelief, "What if I died, Aaron? Fucks sa--"

You leaned over and vomited into the trashcan again, though you couldn't begin to imagine what you were purging from your body. You couldn't have eaten anything. He cautiously pat your back as you retched uselessly into the trash and coughed your lungs out.

"That's also how I knew you weren't dead," he mumbled, passing you a bottle of water, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. You thanked him as you cleaned your mouth out. What did it all mean? What changed?

This started after he disappeared. What happened to him during that time? You briefly glanced at him as you spit water into the wastebasket, and you found him watching you intensely with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You asked before rinsing your mouth out again.

He worried his lower lip and looked you over.

"This is fucked."

You chuckled, "Yeah, no kidding."

When you were sure that your mouth was sufficiently clean, you sipped the last of the water. You already felt a little bit better, but you knew that this was just a sign of something more nefarious. He helped you sit back up, careful not to touch your skin, though you were hyperaware of how strong his hands felt on your waist. His fingers flexed against you as if he read your mind, and he offered you a small apologetic smile that you didn't expect.

"I've been careful not to get too close, since the last time seemed to have knocked you out good."

Oh...

You blinked at him as you tried to unscramble your thoughts.

"How do you feel?" You asked him with genuine curiosity. It couldn't have been exactly easy to go from dead to...whatever the hell this was. He seemed surprised by the question. You watched him work through his own thoughts.

"Cold." He simply stated with a small shrug. As he smoothed the thick comforter over your bare legs, absentmindedly, you felt your face heat up.

You hummed in thought, distracting yourself, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Neither. It's just a thing. Y'know? I went from feeling nothing, to feeling...cold. All over. Except when I sit next to you, mostly. You're kinda like a really hot furnace."

At this, you give him your best shit-eating grin and wiggled your brows, "A hot furnace huh?"

"Stop it." He crossed his arms over his chest, and you were mildly impressed by how good he looked in more modern clothes. He began to blush.

He definitely couldn't do that before.

"I-I just found this in your stuff," he explained nervously, "I'd never seen you wear it, so I figured you wouldn't care if I snagged it." He shoved his hands in the pockets of the gray sweatpants that also belonged to your ex and you schooled your features into complete nonchalance.

"You're fine," you said, "They were Marc--my ex's things. I don't think he'll miss them much."

You weren't 100% sure of that, but whatever. They weren't his anymore, anyway. You thought back on the running water from the bathroom, and noticed his wet hair and fresh face.

"Did...you shower?" You asked him, wide-eyed. Excited, he jumped up from the bed and motioned erratically.

"I didn't realize how much I fuckin' missed showering," he ran his fingers through his damp curls and let out a cheerful laugh in disbelief, "The water didn't feel like much of anything until I turned it to the highest setting. But god, did I miss it. I've been showering twice a day for the last 3 days!"

"Why are you not freaked out about this?" You asked. He stopped in his tracks and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"As my dad once said, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're dead, Aaron. You've been dead for 20 years. Now, out of the blue, you can touch things, and wear new clothes, and shower. And none of this is worrisome to you?"

It was then that he rushed to the bed and kneeled by your side, and you felt the goosebumps on your arms raise.

"I'm just as concerned as you--"

Doubtful.

"--but you don't understand how long it's been since I've been able to just do things for myself."

He grabbed your shoulders and you felt your body react through the thick fabric of your hoodie. Like you'd been splashed with cool water. You gasped and he removed his hands.

"Sorry. Got a bit carried away--"

"No, wait." You took a moment to sift through your thoughts again, and came to a certain conclusion. Maybe. You hesitated, and then reached out to touch his face, pressing a gentle hand to his left cheek. He shuddered, and you instantly began to feel tired. But you watched some of the color return to his face. His cheeks flushed red, and the blue in his eyes brightened as his pupils dilated.

"Oh." He whispered, leaning into your touch a bit more and shutting his eyes, "Fuck. That feels nice. So warm."

The gravely affect his voice took on was different from anything you'd ever heard from him before, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes landed on you again, and something flickered in his gaze. You felt your pulse quicken, and you could almost swear that you felt his heartbeat as well. His hand gently pressed over yours on his cheek, and then trailed down your wrist.

"This is different." He said, grinning at you with a newfound admiration you'd never seen.

You pulled your hand away from his face and you both shuddered with a small gasp. Energy returned to you in a slow trickle, though he still maintained some of the flush in his cheeks.

"I think," your voice cracked and your cleared your throat, "you might be like this because of me."

Aaron wanted to touch you again. Badly. The minute you found the strength to leave your bed, he trailed behind you like a faithful puppy. Admittedly, it was partially because you were still wobbly on your feet and he wanted to catch you if you passed out again. A bigger part of him wanted to grab you by your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes trailed down the curve of your lower back and ass as you searched though your closet for an old notebook that belonged to your grandmother. You muttered something about "witchy bullshit" and he couldn't help but laugh at the exasperation in your tone.

Though he probably should've cared more about the how and why of their current predicament, he couldn't give any less of a shit. He knew what it felt like to grab your waist and touch your skin, and he couldn't get it out of his mind. The way you not-so-casually brushed against him as you passed didn't make matters easier.

Aaron hadn't realized that he'd been watching you with the dopiest smile on his face until you turned with the notebook in hand and smiled back, confused.

"What?" You asked, scrunching up your nose at him.

Fuck, you were cute. And he had an undeniable crush. He wanted to hit himself in the face.

"Nothing," he lied. He nodded towards the book in your hand, "That it?"

You eyed him curiously. Whatever thought you had in that gorgeous head of yours was apparently not important enough to vocalize, as you shook your head to clear it.

"It is. My grandmother gave it to me when I last saw her, and I never even bothered to crack it open. Which was probably stupid of me." She called it a grimoire and mentioned that it was well over 100 years old. The leatherbound, thick book carried loose, yellowed pages and photos. Dried leaves and herbs seemed to poke out from every which way, and Aaron wondered how your family managed to keep it intact.

"Soooo you think you'll find out what's making me all zombie-like through that?" It's not that he didn't believe it, it's just that he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer. Going back to feeling the way he did before felt like a non-option now.

"Zombie-like?" You giggled and it sounded like a bell.

"Y'know," he stood over your shoulder, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you, "not-quite-alive, not-quite-dead."

As you slowly flipped through the thin pages of the book, scanning the looping cursive for familiar words, you snorted. "If that's how you want to classify yourself, go for it."

At this, he leaned closer and whispered in your ear, "How would you classify me?"

He heard your breath hitch and your hand faltered over the next page.

"I don't know," you said, softly, turning your head to him. It was so close that your lips just barely brushed his cheek. "You feel very much alive, to me." You lingered there for a beat longer, before returning your attention to the next page. Warmth fluttered in his stomach and he felt like he was going to throw up. If his mates could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it.

He should've taken a step back to regain his composure, and he was just about to when you suddenly pointed to a string of words halfway down the page.

"Here," you said, tilting the book up so he could read it, "'Transformation of the Incorporeal and Corporeal Forms: Parasitism and Symbiosis'."

He hadn't a clue what the hell any of that meant. One look at his face told you all you needed to know, apparently, as you broke down the rules like he was ten. Which he appreciated.

"I don't know what happened to you while you were gone, but something changed. Something made you more..." she motioned with her hand, "adaptable? The first time you touched me was when you nearly gave me a heart attack that first time. And that was the first time I saw you. So the more you interact with me, the more tangible you become." You flipped through the pages eagerly, reading as fast as you could as he hung onto your every word.

"But the first time you touched me wasn't as intense as this time. And you weren't able to continue doing it for so long after the first time. So something is different now. But what?"

He felt the familiar tingle in his left hand from the very first time he touched you, and he flexed his fingers.

"It was purgatory."

At this, you paused your reading and immediately turned to look at him with a look of pure horror on your face. Suddenly he wished he'd just shut his mouth.

"Purgatory? I--how?" As you turned to face him, you hugged the book protectively to your chest, but inched closer to him in concern, "That's not fucking good. Not good at all. You can't just come back from there. That's impossible."

He motioned to himself and shrugged, "I did."

You mumbled something to yourself and rapidly began flipping through the pages again, looking for something specific. He wanted you to stop and look at him. Just to explain what he was missing, as you seemed to know far more than you let on. Your eyes scanned the pages in your hands, and your jaw dropped.

"The darkness..." you whispered, "The thing with many teeth. Did you see this?"

You flipped the book to face him, and pointed at the crude illustration of the grinning thing that haunted him for several nights. Even with smeared ink and scribbles around the image, he shied away from its gaze, avoiding eye contact.

"Ugh. Yeah. That thing. It wouldn't leave me alone. I still feel it watching me sometimes."

You immediately slammed the book closed and rushed out of the room, headed for the front door as he trailed behind you. "Wait, wait, hold on!"

"I've gotta speak to the elders! This is way out of my hands."

As you crossed the threshold into the main hallway, he instinctively grabbed your hand and you both gasped. He felt like he was on fire, and you felt like you'd been thrown into a freezer. Still he couldn't let go of you. The iciness and the blazing heat turned into a low buzzing sensation. Even when he eventually released his grip on your hand, he still felt the vibrations crawling up his arm from where he touched you.

It was then that you both noticed that he was standing beside you in the middle of the apartment building's hallway, with the front door of your apartment wide open.

"Did you pull me outside?" He asked, partially impressed and also terrified. You swallowed hard and shook your head.

"It wasn't me, it was this." You motioned between them, speaking in hushed tones to avoid detection from the neighbors. Then you swiftly turned on your heels and rushed down the hall to call for the elevator. He felt a strange pull emanating from you. And though he wanted to go back into the apartment, he blinked and found himself standing right beside you again.

"This? What's this? What are you talking about?" He was beginning to panic from the lack of information you were sharing with him. You fidgeted with your fingers, and he pleaded with you, "Please tell me."

You shot him a look of pure sadness just as the elevator doors opened to you, "The reason you're like this--the reason why you have a steady form and why you can touch me? I was hoping this was symbiosis but it's not. You're haunting me, and it's parasitic."

He followed you into the elevator as the doors closed, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"What does that mean for you?" He murmured. You avoided his eyes and he knew right away what it meant.

"It means that you're slowly killing me."

#aaron taylor johnson x black!reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj x black!reader #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #jaelle writes #fic: white light

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intoxicatingimmediacy · 9 months

Text

Where Have You Seen Loki Season 2's X-5 Actor Before?

This post contains spoilers for the season premiere of "Loki."

"Loki" is back this week, and along with the return of Norse trickster god Loki (Tom Hiddleston), agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), and the rest of the Time Variance Authority, the show's premiere also sees the introduction of a few new key characters. Among them? Ke Huy Quan's helpful, tech-savvy Ouroboros (or O.B.) and X-5, a mysterious new TVA agent played by Rafael Casal. And it's the latter who is particularly intriguing.

So far, we haven't seen X-5 do much besides question whether jet skis are part of the sacred timeline, but the character already seems to be an agitating force within the organization. He's also quite possibly poised to become a recognizable Marvel villain. After all, a featurette for the second season had a couple bits of footage from behind the scenes that showed him in a TVA jumpsuit, as if he was being held prisoner. So that should be interesting to watch play out. But there's more.

As /Film's Sandy Schaefer pointed out back in July, the trailer for "Loki" includes a poster for a movie called "Zaniac!" which fans have tied to Casal's character via leaks and speculation. Zaniac is a noteworthy character in Marvel Comics, though he bears little resemblance to X-5. The character was an evil entity that possessed the man who would become Jack the Ripper, and later took over slasher actor Brad Wolfe.

Ahead of the show's premiere, Casal has been credited by several outlets as Brad Wolfe, not X-5, so it seems likely that he could play out some form of the Zaniac plot this season. Regardless of Casal's true role in the show, though, he's an excellent multi-hyphenate artist whose past works deserve attention.

If X-5 looks familiar, it's likely you recognize Casal from "Blindspotting," a fantastic 2018 musical comedy-drama that he co-wrote with longtime creative partner Daveed Diggs (yes, of "Hamilton" fame). "Blindspotting" was a labor of love for Casal and Diggs, who also produced the film about two best friends living in Oakland, California whose lives are disrupted by the broken policing system. As serious as that sounds, "Blindspotting" is also laugh-out-loud funny, and Casal is a totally charming standout as hot-headed Miles.

The performer reprised the role for Starz's "Blindspotting" TV show, which ran for two seasons and was recently canceled. A criminally underseen hidden gem of a series, "Blindspotting" takes place after the film and puts the focus on Miles' girlfriend, Ashley Rose (Jasmine Cephas Jones), as she parents the pair's young mixed-race son in a racist world, all while Miles is behind bars. Despite his character's incarceration, Casal still appears in the show frequently and his hilarious, soulful character is a fan favorite. If you're looking for a thoughtful, entertaining, dynamic watch – or just want to see what Casal's made of – you can't do much better than either iteration of "Blindspotting."

The performer has also made a name for himself in other projects, including several collaborations with Diggs. A poet and rapper in addition to his acting creds, Casal appeared on three seasons of "Def Poetry Jam" on HBO, released a mixtape with Diggs in 2010, and contributed to the soundtracks for "Blindspotting," including in the catchy (and foulmouthed, fair warning) song "Easy Come, Easy Go." He reunited with Diggs in the acclaimed 2020 miniseries "The Good Lord Bird," a wild historical fiction series led by a fiery Ethan Hawke. Casal and Diggs even started a public theater project called Bars Medley, which remixed classic literature into musical performances.

Other on-screen works of Casal's include a supporting role in the 2019 Hugh Jackman flick "Bad Education" (he played the love interest of Jackman's closeted character) and a multi-episode turn in the "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" revival. Casal played a ringmaster named Mr. Tophat in the reboot of the classic, kid-friendly horror series. Next up, Casal is appearing in "Wildcat," a biography of Southern Gothic author Flannery O'Connor that's directed and co-written by Hawke. The X-5 actor plays a character in one of O'Connor's short stories in the movie, which premiered at Telluride but hasn't been released to the public yet.

Whether X-5 is a frustrated TVA employee, a secret evil entity, a movie actor, or something else entirely, it's exciting to see an artist as talented and versatile as Casal take the stage in a major Marvel series. You can catch his next moves on Disney+, where new episodes of "Loki" stream Thursdays at 9pm ET.

#rafael casal #loki

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posttexasstressdisorder · 2 months

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1971, Vol. 1

A Mixtape

A History Lesson of sorts, Babies.

Composed of actual 45s I bought as a kid during '71, snap, crackle, pop and all. Recorded onto a Maxell C-60 low-bias cassette as a mix some time back in the '90s, the order much like it might have been back in '71 on any AM Rock Radio Station worth its salt, or on a hypothetical "American Top 40" episode.

Transferred from cassette to SSD sometime last year ('23). The old Nakamichi cassette deck don't miss a beat! Tape's in excellent shape, as well. No deterioration in 30 years. Currently listening to it via AM Broadcast, on a Zenith Transistor Radio, as The Gods Intended.

It's being played on a 5th Gen iPod (with the audiophile processor), the little hard drive of which I replaced with an SD card holder and a 256GB SD Card. It's playing over an AM Transmitter I soldered together from a kit about 10 years ago that's been essentially running 24/7 ever since I plugged it in first time.

Sonically, AM had this sort of expansiveness to it, like an automatic-level control with a degree of reverb, of sorts, that had this particular sound that lent itself really well to being listened to on the typical car radio, and on portable radios. The 45rpm "single mix" was always recorded "hotter" than the album track, so it was extra "in your face". That, combined with that reverb/compression inherent in AM was, and still is, Powerful.

It is essentially a Temporal Portal back in time, this experience of hearing them now, just as I heard them back than, on an AM Radio, that imperfect medium that seemed so perfect for this music...it is like being time-machined back.

Blogging about it to finally get the tracklist written down, since in my iTunes it's just 'Side 1 and Side 2' of the cassette xfer. lulz. Figured y'all would enjoy the selections. I'll have to dig through my tapes for Vol. 2 and the rest.

Side 1

1. I Feel The Earth Move (Carole King)

2. Another Day (Paul McCartney)

3. Maggie May (Rod Stewart)

4. Chicago (Graham Nash)

5. What Is Life (George Harrison)

6. Lucky Man (Emerson, Lake and Palmer)

7. Groove Me (King Floyd)

8. Sunshine (Jonathan Edwards)

9. Signs (Five Man Electrical Band)

10. 25 or 6 to 4 (Chicago WHEN THEY USETA ROCK!)

11. I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing (The New Seekers) (Yes, the Coke commercial song) (goddammit, we were so naive and innocent...why am I cryin'?)

12. Ooh, Child (The Five Stairsteps) (There, there, it's gonna be OK, baby...)

13. Where You Lead (Barbra Streisand)

14. Temptation Eyes (The Grass Roots)

Side 2

1. Day After Day (Badfinger)

2. Draggin' The Line (Tommy James)

3. I Hear You Knockin' (Dave Edmunds)

4. Nathan Jones (The Supremes) (Yeah, after Ross left, Mary and her two new Supremes came out swingin' with this killer song, cheesy phaser effect and bitchin' piano riffs included no extra charge!)

5. It Don't Come Easy (Ringo Starr)

6. Ain't No Sunshine (Bill Withers)

7. Beginnings (Chicago)

8. That's The Way I've Always Heard It Should Be (Carly Simon)

9. Friends (Elton John)

10. One Toke Over The Line (Brewer & Shipley)

11. Lookin' Out My Back Door (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

12. Me & Bobby McGee (Janis Joplin)

13. Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (Chicago) No, really, y'all, there was a time when CHICAGO DID NOT SUCK! REALLY!

14. Power To The People (John Lennon)

15. From The Beginning (Emerson, Lake and Palmer)

So that's Vol 1, and 1971 was an incredible-enough year that it took me at least 3 tapes to get all the killer 45s put on tape. I'll have to dig.

#1971 #music of 1971 #45rpm records #single mixes #AM Radio pre-hate #53 years ago? fuuuuuuuuuuuck i'm old

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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I just watched the new Hocus Pocus movie and I'm OBSESSED! keep remembering that one story about a cursed reader you made a while back and I thought of something like, a bunch of witches reviving the Reader every year to try and romance them but they fucking done with all of It. They think they finally got their eternal slumber only to be revived every year because of a bunch of dumbasses in love

"If you won't give me your heart, I'll make it impossible for anyone to steal it from me.."

How long have things been like this? How long.. have you been asleep?

It feels like decades have gone by since the moment you were cursed- and yet not a day goes by. While you sleep, everything is calm. Not a thing can hurt you; you can't even tell that you are sleeping. You neither dream; nor remain in darkness. The closest thing you'll ever achieve to eternal rest. This is of course, is only when you're allowed to stay asleep.

"Don't be too loud, you'll wake them before everything is ready."

Each year; as the days near Hallow's Eve, you received a guest. What once was a single party became many; that original face lost to the sands of time long ago. Scavengers, who came across a different prize by falling upon your grave. In the beginning years, their gaze held curiosity and mischief, but overtime it changed. Grew softer; affectionate. They too fell to the same affliction that original soul had sworn their life. The desire to claim your heart as theirs.

"Can we take a little peak? It's been ages since we last saw them."

If one were to ask you, you'd say you were fine with your current style of "life". Your best chance at a good ending, an escape from the hardships of living- a hiding place from the greedy hands trying to appoint you as theirs. If you had it your way, you'd stay like this for the rest of eternity, but from the day you were cursed you no longer had control of your own faith.

"You can wake them up now. Don't scare them like last year."

Unseen hands pry the lid off your coffin. You had been awake from the moment they temporarily broke your curse, but they seemed to believe you were still asleep. Last year's scare was when one of them tried to wake you up with a gentle kiss to the forehead, and you nearly bit them from surprise. The smell of spices and burnt wax hits you as light pours into your grave; smiling faces growing brighter from their small circle as you step into the waking world once more.

"Good evening, Y/n."

The witches take up different places on the lot. Some sitting on other graves; some at the foot of your coffin. Alongside the ingredients used to bring you back was a basket stuffed with food and small gifts. While resting you didn't need food, but when you were awake it felt like you hadn't eaten in years. One to be more accurate. You'd be thankful, if they weren't ones that caused the problem.

The group begins to crowd around you; already busy at chattering away. Going on and on about how much they missed you. Asked if you did the same. If you loved any of them yet. You were already exhausted.

"Please, everyone, calm down."You speak, hopeful - yet already knowing you were losing the battle. "Can we just skip our date this year."

They fall quiet at your words. The leader of the bunch tips through the rest, taking your hand and bringing it to their lips.

"Come now, don't be like that, Y/n. We're all just here to see our dearest and hopefully get rid of that nasty curse that you've been put under."

You hate how your frozen cells sap the warmth from their palms. You once believed them, and even humored the idea of breaking your curse. The idea of being free was intriguing, but things went south fast. There was only one cure according to them. True love's kiss. You weren't sure if you'd find love in this little group, or ever again considering what you've been through; and at this point you didn't want to find out.

"Oh please don't turn us away again, Y/n. Max made your favorite, and Emma made a mixtape of some songs from your time. We'll keep a distance!.. for most of the night."

The crowd begs for your attention despite the fact you literally couldn't get away if you wanted to. With that notion, and the one of your body slowly clashing without the supplies they've brought - you give in. From dusk to dawn, you entertain your idiots attempts at winning you over until their magic runs them and they're no longer able to keep you awake til the following year. If there was anything that put them in your court, it was how they'd put you back to rest each year. Holding your limp body as your consciousness slips with care and love, and a silent promise to return soon as they lower you back into the ground.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere story #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere insert #Yandere harem #yandere fic

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dustedmagazine · 8 months

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Marc Masters — High Bias: The Distorted History of the Cassette Tape (University of North Carolina Press)

There’s a popular theory, advanced with varying degrees of seriousness, that the best kind of music is whatever was released when you were about 16. There’s also a fairly well-known Brian Eno quotation about the way we tend to romanticize forms of media just as they fall out of currency, eventually becoming loved even for their shortcomings. One of the biggest strengths of Marc Masters’ High Bias, a new history of the compact cassette (as it was originally known), is that it refuses both the personally biased special pleading of the former and the possibly distorting format nostalgia of the latter. Instead Masters brings together a fascinating technical history of the creation, limits, and virtues of the cassette tape, an overview of some of the areas where the medium has been most richly used and adopted, and a reflection on its continued vitality.

That last aspect, which is reflected on throughout High Bias and forms the focus of the book’s last chapter, is one example of the balance Masters manages to strike. It would be easy to fall into a kind of strenuous insistence on the most optimistic vision of the cassette’s future, to tell us that it could or should regain a level of prominence it hasn’t seen in decades. But to do so would require a… selective choice of data, and would probably fall into a kind of “protesting too much” register for many readers. Masters instead has the confidence and knowledge of the actual current (vital, but subcultural) role of cassette tapes to make the more modest but resonant point that the ‘cassette revival,’ such as it is, is already with us and shows no signs of going away. And he both puts this in its proper, inspiring context and makes a persuasive case for its importance because of the book’s continual emphasis on the democratizing and personalizing aspects of cassette tape as a medium.

The opening chapters, which include relatively brief looks at the context of recording technology prior to and at the time of the cassette’s introduction, set the stage well. Masters doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the social, marketing and profit motives impinging on the development and success of the medium (and the sometimes panicked response of the music industry to it, “home taping is killing music” and all), and points out how those aren’t totally separable from the explosion in personal expression that tapes allow. From there, High Bias branches out, looking at various places and times cassettes have helped or even allowed particular peoples, scenes or genres to be heard and spread in ways other media haven’t managed. From Deadheads to the early days of hiphop, Awesome Tapes From Africa to some of the more extremely personal examples that sometimes overlap with those covered in Michael Tau’s recent Extreme Music (reviewed on Dusted here), this slim volume doesn’t pretend to be exhaustive but does manage to illuminate enough different areas most readers may find themselves surprised by at least one of the many little pockets Masters looks into.

The second-last chapter, “The Tape Makers,” may be where High Bias hits many of its intended audience in an even more personal place. Here the book shifts slightly from people making music onto, or then distributed via, cassette, and instead delves into the personal mixtape. The balance between creation and curation is never that clearcut, of course, and the chapter doesn’t pretend it is. But whereas after the cassette we have burned CDs and playlists, before the team at Philips first brought the compact cassette to the world there was simply no mass-available form that offered the particular form of expression that a mixtape does. As with the rest of High Bias, here Masters uses a blend of interviews, secondary sources and direct experience to convey the unique role and impact of the cassette, both in its historical moment and persisting into the current day.

It’s not that the cassette tape is a “better” medium than vinyl, CD, DAT, or saved or streamed digital files (what would “better” even mean in anything other than a subjective sense?), and it’s not that High Bias, despite its doubly accurate title (both a desired quality in a cassette and an implicit acknowledgment that this a very pro-tapes book), tries to make that claim. But Masters clearly had in his sights a compelling portrait of the strengths of the format, and what makes it different from those other media, and here he convincingly portrays it as a special and worthy one. He’s even set up a, well, mixtape for the book on Bandcamp (linked at the beginning of this review), 12 tracks all sourced from current tape labels he discusses in the book. Notably, you can buy that mix on a cassette.

Ian Mathers

#Marc Masters #High Bias: The Distorted History of the Cassette Tape #University of North Carolina press #Ian Mathers #bookreview #dusted magazine #cassettes #history #technology #DIY #mixtapes #Bandcamp

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 2 years

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c!Tommy was NEVER malicious towards c!Dream. He was annoying, and he stole, but he had no malicious intent. He genuinely just wanted to have fun and play pranks. He was naive, and he didn’t care about authority, but he never acted to intentionally cause serious harm. He's fought against c!Dream, but never out of any bad intentions- first, he just wanted his discs back, later on he was genuinely terrified for his own life. He has lashed out as a result of trauma, and has caused harm due to that, but these are actions born from genuine terror, and are something he needs help he isn’t getting to reliably move past.

Meanwhile, many of c!Dream's actions were both incredibly cruel and incredibly prolonged. During Exile, he systematically tore down c!Tommy's worth daily, continuing even after c!Tommy was nothing but kind to him, and only ever escalated his cruelty, to the point of essentially falsely imprisoning him in Logsted by the end (by banning him from the Nether, something he has NO authority over, with the implicit threat of death if he ever went). He knew Limbo was painful yet he left c!Tommy to linger for days. He repeatedly threatened c!Tommy with immortality despite his clear terror of the idea, and repeatedly pushed at his triggers. He made a whole torture mixtape and stalked c!Tommy, placing threatening signs, despite the fact he was already terrified and hiding.

The majority of the time, these actions were unprovoked- during Exile, c!Tommy grew to genuinely trust and care for c!Dream and was essentially harmless, after revival he was terrified and desperate and willing to go along with c!Dream's plans if he didn’t revive c!Wilbur, he was petrified after c!Dream escaped prison and just wanted to be safe. The initial act of Exile was because of c!Tommy threatening Spirit- however, c!Dream was already framing c!Tommy for griefs he didn’t do and aggressively pushing for Exile well before c!Tommy did anything to him, suggesting that he would have gone through with it another way if c!Tommy didn’t do so.

Meanwhile, what c!Tommy did in the prison was… question c!Dream on the revival book. Killing the cat was not the provoking incident, despite what some people think. c!Dream made no action to do so until c!Tommy doubted him. This isn’t me saying what c!Tommy did to the prison cat was okay, of course it fucking wasn’t. c!Tommy was angry and afraid and lashing out, like he does often after traumatic events- see when he tortured c!Fundy and c!Conner for information. But, like with Spirit, we are provided ample evidence it wouldn’t have effected anything in the long run.

If c!Dream was genuinely driven to torturing multiple people because a kid was annoying and stole his shit once, that’s on him. c!Tommy's actions could have been prevented easily by providing him a productive outlet. Hell, they probably could have been prevented without ACTIVE ENCOURAGEMENT, which c!Dream did multiple times, when it wasn’t aimed at him. That does not make out c!Dream to be a tortured soul- it makes him out to be dangerously unstable and hypocritical.

In addition, all the reasons c!Dream even cites weren’t even fully started by c!Tommy! c!Sapnap was the first to burn down the Lemon Tree in the events directly proceeding the disc war. c!Sapnap and c!Tommy both decided to kill c!Dream, yet only one of them was ever punished. c!Tommy was never the leader of L'Manberg, and while he was a founder so was c!Tubbo and c!Fundy. Yet c!Tommy gets the brunt of the impact for no fair reason. He is not uniquely flawed, yet he is always the one c!Dream focuses on, something c!Tommy could have literally no control over.

And if c!Dream and c!Tommy having ANY sort of mutual level of harm towards each other was the point of the ending… that’s genuinely a terrible ending! Because it’s completely logically inconsistent to the rest of the story, and requires leaps of logic that don’t make sense.

The idea that c!Tommy drove c!Dream insane falls apart the second you remember other people have done everything he did- and wouldn’t that drive him insane too? If it wasn’t c!Tommy, it'd be c!Fundy, or c!Tubbo. If his first response to non-malicious harm is to ruin someone’s life, not only is he too emotionally unstable to be trusted in ANY position of power, he's a cruel and vindictive person, and that makes any sympathy we are meant to feel fall flat. Why are we meant to root for his friendships if he's so easily pushed into violence? If he's willing to- without consent or proper knowledge- traumatise and irreparably harm many on his way to a big happy family, how am I meant to trust his definition of it is not horrific?

It leaves the finale feeling incredibly confused and emotionally unsatisfying. It feels like characters are changing too quickly, in a way that lacks any catharsis, and it feels inconsistent to the rest of the story. Why is c!Dream suddenly willing to open up? He wasn’t the other times c!Tommy tried to ask him why he did any of this- why is now any different? Why is he suddenly willing to change goals he’s had for years when he’s previously been characterised as having an almost self destructive drive towards them he doesn’t ever let go of?

Why would the man who threw himself into a blackstone hell box to prevent any suspicion from forming in the future despite it not being a pressing issue change his whole plans in fifteen minutes because he learnt “okay, maybe other people also want friends and a simple life”? It’s rushed to the point of incoherence, and makes the whole story feel pointless if it was just building up to a finale that feels like it came from some bootleg version of canon. It’s like a fanfiction written by people with third hand knowledge on the characters and settings.

Besides, even basic logic aside, it’s just not emotionally satisfying. c!Tommy has never gotten a single win on the server that hasn’t been turned against him later, and none of it meant anything. His struggles were pointless, and the whole server would have been better if he didn’t exist, apparently. He continues to be blamed and tormented, and the unfair nature of how he’s treated is never addressed, and he's still being blamed for everything minutes before his death. His suicidal tendencies and trauma are only brought up to be laughed at, and they’re resolved by placing the responsibility on c!Tommy, when he’s already had too much on his shoulders, and that’s framed as a good, positive thing.

Meanwhile, c!Dream never has a single consequence for anything he’s done to c!Tommy- unless you count c!Quackity's torture, but that’s debatable and mostly offscreen. Even the Disc Finale was a win for him all along. He keeps winning and winning and even when he dies it's not portrayed as a consequence, it’s a tragedy. The consequence is placed on c!Tommy, if anything. And that’s generally not a satisfying arc for an antagonist! Hell, it’s not one for a protagonist, even, but for an antagonist, it makes the whole story feel completely pointless, if all we're seeing is our point of view character lose and take all the responsibility.

And, of course, there’s the issue of abuse and suicide being a VERY REAL issue people suffer through. Seeing them portrayed in a way that’s uncomfortable and places the blame on a victim is something that alienates and hurts viewers who are a victim of these issues, potentially spreads harmful messaging, and does nothing to improve a story.

Of course, it is not the responsibility of a story to provide good moral lessons, but if you write a story with uncomfortable implications, that is genuinely a flaw. Improper handling of topics like suicide have been known to cause genuine harm when shown to a large audience- and the DSMP has an audience of millions. Besides that, it’s just not good storytelling to introduce delicate real world topics, and then treat them disrespectfully. It’s uncomfortable, pointless, and makes the characters seem unlikable and cruel at best.

If the CCs didn’t want to handle topics like this, they shouldn’t have. If they didn’t want to deal with the implications of c!Dream torturing c!Tommy, they shouldn’t have had him do that- and they definitely shouldn’t have brought it up in the finale even though it makes the whole thing seem illogical and weirdly cruel towards the character who’s a victim for no reason. They could have stopped at any time, but they didn't.

#dream smp #dsmp neg

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