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subwalls · 3 years

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WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 2/30

No. 2 - TALKING IS OVERRATED garotte | choking | gagged

Also available on AO3!

It’s not that Ranboo doesn’t want to protect Snowchester.

He lives here. Of course he wants to keep it safe. And it’s not like he hates his kwami, either! Voyd is a blessing more often than not, a calming voice to keep him steady when the times get rough.

The other Miraculous users are the same way. They all love their kwami and their power, and it’s unfair to expect everyone to hand them over just because the ex-Guardian said so. Fighting Dreamons is a good thing. Trying to separate Exdee from his wielder is a good thing.

It’s just…

Ranboo doesn’t like Enderman.

Which is stupid, he knows. Ranboo is Enderman. Kind of.

Part of him is.

“Ranboo,” Voyd says, and Ranboo looks up from the cracked jewel of his cufflink. The kwami floats closer, her chitinous purple shell gleaming in the lamplight. “Honey’s pinging for Enderman. Are we going?”

Ranboo could say no. Voyd would understand—she’s understood in the past, and it’s not like there’s a lack of Miraculous users to pick up the slack—but, contrarily, that just makes Ranboo feel worse about it. She deserves a better wielder. One who doesn’t hesitate out of fear and misplaced sympathy.

There is no other user she’d choose, though. There’s only Ranboo.

Ranboo, the Guardian without a guide, who can’t even meet the empty eyes of the body his brother used to inhabit. But he’s still here, isn’t he? Dream is still alive, empty or not, which means he has to be doing something right.

He takes a deep breath. Lifts his chin. He’s already in position to transform, anyway; nobody’s around.

And Honey is asking for his help.

“Voyd,” Ranboo calls, and her body flashes a deep purple, already twisting into liquid light. “Warp in!”

His Miraculous lights up. Sparks erupt from the hairline fracture across the otherwise smooth face of the amethyst jewelry, but the magic runs its course anyway, armoring him in the light fabric of a suit and cloak, Enderman’s classic look settling cool and familiar over his body.

He doesn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he tries to cradle a single thought like trying to protect a candle in a hurricane, repeating it like a mantra: Don’t hurt Nightmare, don’t hurt Nightmare, don’t hurt Nightmare, don’t hurt Nightmare. Every transformation, he tries to remember that Nightmare forgot why he gave up Guardianship, only for Ranboo himself to forget the moment the light settles, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Don’t hurt Nightmare, don’t hurt Nightmare, don’t…

… But why shouldn’t he?

Ranboo frowns to himself as the transformation completes in a rush of sparkling purple energy. He’s certain there’s a reason for that, because there always is, but he can’t remember what it could be.

Eh, it’s probably not important. Besides, Ranboo isn’t the one planning to punch Nightmare six feet into the ground once he’s found; that’s more Honey and Mellohi’s thing.

The guy deserves it, anyway. Unleashing Dreamons into the city is clearly an abuse of power much greater than anything they’ve ever done. So there.

Nodding to himself, Ranboo slips out of his hiding space to climb up the side of a building. With a flick of the wrist, his silken gloves darken and extend into sharp, tough points. The shadowy claws dig into the brickwork easily, letting him clamber all the way up to the roof without leaving a single dent in the wall behind him.

He spots the fight quickly. The Dreamon this time is a massive spider, easily three stories tall with even longer legs that go tap-tapping up the side of a mansion like it’s trying to climb inside. When its mandibles part in a hissing scream into the sky, the rest of its body flashes a violent teal under the sunlight.

A blur of gold and black movement highlights Honey in the fray. He’s keeping the oversized bug occupied, poking irritably at its eyes with his lance-like weapon. There’s no tell-tale shine of Stinger in action, though, so he must not be having that much trouble.

Ranboo leaps buildings and rooftops—very much enjoying the rush of air and that lightweight feeling of being less affected by gravity than he’d normally be, untransformed—until he lands within shouting distance.

“Hey, Honey!” he calls cheerfully, and Honey turns with a bright whoop and greeting.

“You’re a bit late, Ender,” Honey says, grinning. “We had to get started without you!”

Ranboo snorts, and darts in to rake his claws against the Dreamon’s leg to stop it from advancing on them. “Why don’t you try sprinting halfway across the city in half a minute, and then you can talk?” he asks over the monstrous hiss of the recoiling spider.

“No need,” Honey says cheerfully. He does a little spin, clearly showing off the iridescent bee-like wings humming against his back, before swooping in to stab into the Dreamon’s eyes.

As the spider backs away from them, stumbling, Ranboo takes a moment to look it over properly. “Do you know where its Mask is, Honey?” he calls.

“Oh! Yeah, it’s somewhere under it, I think.” Honey points at his own stomach. “Like here-ish. It won’t let me make a dive for it, so do you think you can handle it, big man?”

“I hope so,” Ranboo says. Getting there the easy part; once Dreamons lose their Mask, they tend to go crazy until they get it back, and they don’t care if who or what stands between them. “Any idea where the victim is?”

“You know that bookstore next to Nihachu’s bakery?”

Oh boy. Non-transformed knowledge. Ranboo flounders for a moment, trying to grasp the fringes of his civilian self’s memory, and manages to pull up a mental map of Snowchester. “Yeah?”

“Think they’re in the back room somewhere.”

“Okay, okay.” Ranboo watches as the spider gets its bearings back, its body flashing teal again as it bellows at them. “So, you distract, I go get it, I Pearl out, and you Sting like my life depends on it because it most definitely does?”

“Read my mind,” Honey says, giving him a thumbs-up. “Make a bee line for that bookstore, and it’ll all work out in the end!”

Ranboo can feel himself withering at the halfhearted puns, which he swears Honey doesn’t even like that much (mostly because he tends to stumble over them a lot), it’s just to bother him with. “No.”

“No?”

“No, please, I can’t stand it.”

Honey laughs, throwing himself into a loop before buzzing up towards the spider’s face again. “You can’t hate puns this much, it’s a requirement to be a Miraculous user!” he shouts, barely audible from the growing distance between them.

“That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about Miraculouses to dispute it!” Ranboo retorts, and promptly dives out of the way as the spider staggers and its leg drives into the ground where he’d been standing a moment before.

They’re too far to communicate further, but Ranboo trusts that Honey’s occupying the Dreamon’s attention as much as possible. As for him, he maneuvers himself under the spider without much effort; the hardest part is getting up to the shiny abdomen.

Maybe the plan should be tweaked just a little. Pearl into it, grab it, drop off, and just make a normal run for the bookstore on foot.

Ranboo waits exactly twelve seconds just in case that idea is, in fact, so awful that they would’ve needed the Journalist to turn back time and stop him. No amnesiacs in eye-searing sweaters show up to stop him, so Ranboo taps his cufflink.

Light flashes across its surface, still catching on that little crack, but eventually the sparks it shoots out coalesces into a green glass orb that fits neatly into the palm of his hand.

Faintly, Ranboo catches a glimpse of an eye within his Miraculous that shuts. He’s on a countdown now; five minutes at best. Unfortunately, with his Miraculous broken the way it is, this is the only warning he’s going to get.

Five minutes should be plenty of time, though.

Ranboo takes a deep breath, rocking his weight back, carefully positions himself right under the pale glimpse of porcelain embedded in the spider’s abdomen. He heaves once, twice, and throws—

The Pearl shatters on impact, and Ranboo feels the world drop out beneath him. He digs his claws into the tough exoskeleton of the spider (spiders do have exoskeletons, right? He thinks they do, they’re bugs) and yelps, trying to flatten himself to the underside of the Dreamon as much as possible as it sways abruptly to the side.

It probably knows he’s there now, so he has to act quickly. Ranboo carefully extracts one hand and jams the sharp talons of his glove into the edges of the circular mask. It creaks, and then pops free with a quiet snap.

Above him, the Dreamon shudders.

“Alright, time to go,” Ranboo says, mostly to himself. He drops down just as a sickly wave of teal energy emanates from the Dreamon’s body, managing to avoid it by ducking under an overhang. The civilians who hadn’t yet evacuated abruptly keel over, coughing wet and sickly, and boy is Ranboo glad he didn’t get caught in that. Yikes.

The spider throws what can only be called a tantrum, stomping its feet and reeling about with furious screeches. Ranboo’s starting to think he isn’t going to be able to leave the street intact when it suddenly freezes in place, rippling with the honey-warm glow of Stinger.

Paralyzed, at least for the moment. Thank heavens for Honey.

Ranboo sprints for the bookstore.

It’s not too far, thankfully. Dreamons usually try their best to take the victim’s Mask as far from them as possible, which maybe has something to do with the whole ‘distance themselves from their worst emotions’ thing, but it looks like Honey managed to cut it off before it could get too far.

Maybe he’d been on the scene as a civilian? Ranboo makes a mental note of that. They don’t know each other’s identities, and he isn’t trying to know, but it would be useful to have an idea of where to look in case something happens.

Regardless, he’s here now, and he has two or three minutes left before he’ll need to recharge. He can only hope his civilian self brought Voyd those sprinkles she likes.

Ranboo walks through the door and immediately gets caught on something—a thin line of some kind, pressed up to his throat.

He coughs, immediately reeling back, but the wire goes with him, refusing to let up from his neck. Ranboo twists to the side, thrashing, and nearly slips out before someone pulls him down from the back and kicks the smiling Mask out of his hands.

The pale porcelain skitters over the floor with a rasp.

Ranboo can’t even reach for it. He paws at the wire, but the shadowy claws of his Miraculous suit can’t cut or damage anything. They can only catch against it.

The line goes tighter, somehow, and Ranboo makes a wheezing noise when he tries to cry out. “Shush,” says an unfamiliar voice, low and grating. “You were going to put that Dreamon back in me, weren’t you?”

Well, not usually phrased like that, Ranboo would say, if he could get the air to. He just coughs, hands at his neck. The line feels thick, but not metallic, like he’d expected. More like… silk.

Spider silk.

Definitely the Dreamon’s victim, then. They always think they’re better off like this, letting their deepest emotions run amok without them, leaving the original person a seemingly logical shell of themselves with a few extra powers left over from the gaping hole in their heart.

They don’t usually take the initiative when it comes to attacking Miraculous users, though.

“Don’t worry,” the person says, as Ranboo’s vision starts to darken, “I’m not in the business of murdering children. I just want your Miraculous—Nightmare will let me have the Dreamon forever if I bring it to him…”

Ranboo never sees the smile flash across their face, the unnatural glow of a Miraculous at work, because the next thing he knows, his cufflink is flashing purple and his half-mask is dissolving from his face and the rest of his suit is fading into light and his memories fall back into place and oh, is he going to die, is this where it ends, is he going to be the next failure of a Guardian who can’t even pass on the others properly, he still can’t breathe—

A blur of purple darts across his vision, a smear of color Ranboo blearily identifies as Voyd in squeaking anger, “Stop it, Dream, he’s your brother!”

The line slackens, but Ranboo tumbles into unconsciousness anyway.

#my fics

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moviepasstor · 6 years

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March 2018 Movies Reviewed from Just Their Trailers

Here’s a look at this month’s new releases and which ones I’m most looking forward to based on their trailers, using the following rating scale:

@@@@ = I definitely plan to see this @@@ = I might be interested in seeing this @@ = I probably won’t see this @ = No intention of seeing this, ever.

youtube

DEATH WISH (2018) @@@@ (definitely plan to see this)

I like vigilante movies and Death Wish is the hallmark, but it’s old and could use an update. One difference I noticed in the trailer: Bruce Willis is going after the people who killed his family, whereas Charles Bronson never caught those bad guys so went after all bad guys with a vengeance. Seems like they’re trying to play it safe and make Willis more sympathetic, which misses the point of the original. Still, I can’t wait to see it.

youtube

SUBMISSION @@@@ (definitely plan to see this)

Stanley Tucci is a college professor tempted by an attractive student whose work seems to reveal her erotic fantasies about him, but when he doesn’t respond the way she hopes, she accuses him of sexual harassment. What will he have to do to make the charge go away? Looks like a contemporarily relevant update of David Mamet’s Oleana.

youtube

THOROUGHBREDS @@@@ (definitely plan to see this)

Dark teen comedy that may have something to do with a girl trying to bump off her stepfather. The trailer doesn’t give away much plot, but it does contain some clever writing and characters I want to know more about. I was already on board before the late great Anton Yelchin shows up in the trailer; the chance to see one more performance from this gifted artist whom I’ve never seen in a bad movie, other than The Beaver, who left us way too soon, makes this an absolute must-see.

youtube

FLOWER @@@@ (definitely plan to see this)

Zoey Deutch stars as a snarky teen trying to entrap a teacher in a sex scandal, I think. I'm not totally clear on the plot, but at least I can tell stuff happens. Like Lady Bird, but with a story.

youtube

UNSANE @@@@ (definitely plan to see this)

A small psycho-thriller from Steven Soderbergh. A stalking victim somehow ends up stuck in a mental hospital and the shit hits the fan. Looks way more cool than the same old CGI end-of-the-world tentpoles.

READY PLAYER ONE @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

Gamers enter a VR world in search of “Easter eggs” as if they were Willy Wonka’s golden tickets, hence the omnipresence of “Pure Imagination” in the trailers. Loaded with pop-culture references, this is Spielberg’s first sci-fi outing since War of the Worlds. On the other hand, I’m not a gamer, so I don’t think the movie was really made for me and, likewise, I don’t need to be one of the first to see it.

A WRINKLE IN TIME @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

To be honest, I tried reading the book once and couldn’t get into it. I don’t expect I’ll become a fan of this movie, but as long as I’ve got MoviePass buying the ticket, I’ll give it a chance.

STRANGERS: PREY AT NIGHT @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this) Home invasion thriller sequel. Don’t remember much about the previous installment with Danielle Panabaker, other than it was acceptably entertaining, so I’ll probably see this new one, especially since Bailee Madison is in it.

JOSIE @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

A teenage girl moves to a white-trash town and shakes things up in this dark erotic thriller. Seems intriguing but the trailer’s ambiguity could be a sign of poor storytelling.

MIDNIGHT SUN @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

A teenage girl who’s allergic to sunlight starts a nights-only relationship with the hot boy next door. Feels like a YA novel, and not the best kind, but if I have the time and I’ve seen everything else that’s out that I want to see, I’ll give this the old MoviePass try.

SHERLOCK GNOMES @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

I admit it. I had fun watching Gnomeo and Juliet. I wouldn’t rush out to see this sequel opening night, but I can think of worse ways to spend time than to laugh at these cute little gnome puns again.

ISLE OF DOGS @@@ (I might be interested in seeing this)

I’m cautious about going to this one because I’ve never liked a Wes Anderson movie, but I like dogs and dog movies, so I’m hoping this will deliver more than The Secret Life of Pets did (which I guess we’re not allowed to watch anymore anyway because Louis CK).

And the rest...

RED SPARROW @@ (I probably won’t see this)

Jennifer Lawrence plays a Russian whore forced to become a Nikita-like kick-ass chick spy. I used to like J-Law, so there’s a slight chance I’ll see this one.

LOVE, SIMON @@ (I probably won’t see this)

A closeted gay teen struggles with his sexuality. And?

TOMB RAIDER (2018) @@ (I probably won’t see this)

Video game heroine Lara Croft reboots for an all-new adventure with Oscar winner Alicia Vikander picking up the torch.

PACIFIC RIM UPRISING @@ (I probably won’t see this)

There are a lot of shots in the trailer that look really cool. However, I don’t make a habit of seeing movies that are just about looking cool. A movie like this still needs to have a clear and interesting premise to hook me.

GRINGO @ (no intention of seeing this, ever)

Judging from the trailer, this movie looks like a mess. All I can tell is it’s supposed to be an action-comedy that has something to do with drugs and crime as an excuse for a story, and isn’t the least bit funny.

THE HURRICANE HEIST @ (no intention of seeing this, ever)

High-octane heist movie set during a hurricane, from the people who brought you xXx and Fast and the Furious. Guns, cars, special effects upgraded from Twister. If that’s what you want to see, looks like this movie will deliver. It’s just not what I’m looking for.

I CAN ONLY IMAGINE @ (no intention of seeing this, ever)

Faith-based story behind the creation of a hit Christian song I never heard of by a Christian rock band I never heard of.

ACRIMONY @ (no intention of seeing this, ever)

An angry divorced woman turns psycho against her ex-husband, and the trailer suggests the movie wants us to side with the villain. I don’t want to go anywhere near this movie. I almost want to avoid entering a multiplex that's showing this even if I'm going to see something else.

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mjallanwrites · 7 years

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Save Me A Dance

SAVE ME A DANCE — in which ( Y/N ) has had a crush on peter parker since freshman year, though he’s never seemed to notice having been too preoccupied with her best friend liz allan. with homecoming around the corner ( Y/N ) is determined to make her feelings known, even though telling peter the truth may just result in absolute heartbreak

WARNINGS — none !!

WORD COUNT — 2.8k

AUTHOR’S NOTE — this is my first peter parker imagine, and i’m really excited to post it but also super nervous ? this is also my first time posting any writing for a year now so truthfully i’m super surprised that this imagine is actually going to see the light of day. but anyways, with that being said i hope you guys enjoy it and requests are officially opened again so please feel free to send me some !!

PETER PARKER HAS been staring at you for the better portion of lunch—or at least in your general line of direction that is. As luck would have it, Liz Allan ( Midtown Tech’s ‘It Girl’ for all intents and purposes ) sits to your left, body perched over her Spanish textbook and perfectly coiled tendrils sliding across her face like a velvet sheathe. While your heart radiates a foolish kind of hope, one which screams of ‘Look! He actually noticed me!’, your head knows that his stare is reserved for the girl who remains unaware of his distinct affection. It’s a scene straight out of your everyday playbook, a routine which resinates with you like clockwork—though you play coy and oblivious for the group of girls who practice a saccharine kind of apathy. And you’ve become good at it too: pretending. Averting your eyes, careful not to meet the soft hearted boy’s mocha hued gaze. You’ve become accustom to a quiet indifference, and as a result it’s become your inherent trademark. ( Y/N Y/L/N )— the precocious, observant one whose penchant for sarcasm could rival the humour of both Michelle and Flash Thompson.

Curious irises flicker beneath spider lashes, and for a moment you consider sparing one more glance for the sake of closure. You know it’s stupid—that the same pathetic longing which you’ve unintentionally harboured for Peter is the same one he holds for Liz. And you know that should the girl’s blasé resolve ever dissipate, the brown haired boy would choose her in a heartbeat. Still you hope, quiet but fervent in your yearning, stealing glimpses across a crowded cafeteria or an empty corridor. It’s an unrequited love at it’s best, but you figure any love is better than none at all.

The spontaneous tug of your fleece sweater induces an actual perception of reality for the first time that hour, your lips parting until they form a dull ‘O’ shape. It takes you a moment to register the sudden sound of Liz’s sugar sweet syllables, though when you finally do her words seem to hit you like a ton of bricks. “Who’re you taking to Homecoming this year ( Y/N )?”

You chew the end of your number two pencil, a habit which only seemed to rear it’s ugly head when you were stressed out or nervous. “I haven’t given it much thought to be honest.” The lie rolls off of your tongue with ease and is followed by a sharp smile. If only she knew how many times you had envisioned yourself descending down the steps outside your Outer Boroughs apartment, only to be met with a dopey smile worn by the boy who had never left the house without a shirt which adorned a corny science pun. You’d beam in a girlish kind of way which had only been reserved for someone worthy enough to warrant a full fledged crush, and he would present you with a corsage—the key component to every girl’s dreamy fantasy— bearing a ribbon that he’d picked out with the intention of matching your dress.

If only you’d been that lucky.

“C’mon you’re telling me that the Vice President of the committee doesn’t have a date?” The pink plush corners of your best friend’s mouth begin to twitch as she pokes the length of your arm, prompting you to swat away her hands.

“You know I’ve been way too busy for all that—and it’s not like you have a date either.” You poke your tongue out momentarily, before replacing the foul taste of eraser which lingers in your mouth with a spoonful of lemon yogurt.

“I’ll admit you have a point there, but it’s not like there isn’t still time.”

“The dance is in two days Liz.”

“Semantics.”

You roll your eyes, a series of sarcastic remarks pooling beneath your tongue and threatening to fill the abundance of space between you two. Instead, slim digits grasp at the plastic tray which rests atop the slick table surface, coiling around the edges until your grasp was almost too firm. “I’m gonna get another plate of fries, you want anything?”

“Ooh, I could actually go for some fries too.” You watch as Liz pushes her absurdly large Spanish book to a side, replacing the space with her backpack which had previously been resting on the floor. She fishes through a leather pocket before finally retrieving her wallet, promptly handing you a crisp five dollar bill.

You raise a perfectly plucked eyebrow, nose crinkling as if the brunette had unknowingly done something to offend you. “I think I can afford to pay for both our fries Liz, you can put that away.” You’ve already turned on your heels before she can protest, eyes trained on the hot foods section—your strides so fluid they could rival the instinctive flux and flow of water.

You’re almost near the line—and God do those fries smell divine—when your field of vision is suddenly obstructed by familiar features. And for a moment it’s almost as if you’re paralyzed—jaw slack, and pupils dilated until sharp vision is replaced by an unfamiliar haze.

“Uh—hey ( Y/N ), what’s up?” Peter’s voice holds a comforting softness, inducing butterfly sensations beneath the surface of your skin.

“Hey Peter, I was just about to get some fries for me and,” There’s a brief hesitation as you glance behind your shoulder where Liz throws her head back in delicate laughter, though you’re too far away to decipher the root cause of her reaction. You bite your lip as if to stop the sigh which remains caught in your throat, “Liz. Sorry—the name escaped me for a moment. But yeah, that’s where I’m headed.”

And when her name leaves your lips you can’t help but to notice the way Peter’s disposition seems to change. His spine unfurls from it’s unbecoming coil until it’s rigidly straight, a nervous gulp eliciting the involuntary bob of his Adam’s apple. Suddenly the butterflies in your stomach are nothing more than knots. “Oh cool…well I actually came up to talk to you because I was wondering if…”

You can barely focus on the words which actually fall out from his mouth, as your own rosy hued reality consumes the focal point of your thoughts. ‘Ask me to Homecoming, ask me to Homecoming.’

“You wanted to come over tonight, and you know—study for the Chemistry test coming up.”

The hopeful expression that was unknowingly etched into your features seems to crumble in the same fashion as your confident resolve. You try to contain your disappointment in the hopes that the evident frown which had just emerged upon your lips hadn’t already betrayed your cool temperament.

“Yeah sure, that would be great.” You lie, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the greasy smog which seemed to permeate the cafeteria air. “I’ll see you after school then.”

“Great! I’ll text you my address.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well I don’t wanna hold you up any longer, so I’ll let you get your fries.”

You nearly grimace as he makes his way past you, peering into the line which lies ahead. Given the undesired sensation which had been stirring beneath your surface, the idea of fries wasn’t nearly as appetizing as it had been a few moments ago.

What a pity.

“You must be ( Y/N )! Peter’s told me so much about you.” Peter’s aunt is younger than you expected, pretty and vibrant—with auburn tendrils which coil near her ears, and high cheekbones that accentuate her smile.

You’re just about to extend your hand when the motion is quickly halted by an enveloping hug. “It’s so nice to meet you Ms. Parker.” Your tone is polite and almost timid—though the latter attribute is a rarity for you.

“Please, call me May.” She pulls away, resolve still warm and reminiscent of flickering fireplaces and cinnamon aroma. “Peter’s just in his room over there, you can let yourself in.”

The fuzzy material of your pink socks feels odd against the contrasting hardness of wooden floors, and you wonder if the oddity stems from an inherent unfamiliarity.

You arrive in front of the door to Peter’s bedroom before you have the chance to dwell on it.

Bony knuckles meet the door’s peeling surface, delivering soft raps until a muffled ‘Come in!’ emerges from the opposite side. You push forward only to find Peter sprawled out across the floor, a wide array of binders, loose notations, and notebooks surrounding him. It’s utter chaos, a mess which could rival the disarray of a hurricane’s wake—and you don’t do well with messes, but somehow you don’t mind when it’s his. Feelings of indignation are instead replaced with a flush of red in your cheeks, butterfly sensations marking your innards as territory.

And you know you’re absolutely screwed. How could you not be when your heart was nothing more than fair game.

“I see you’ve already started studying, although I’m not sure how effective your methods could be considering your review sheet is all the way over there.” You point to a lone sheet of paper which rests near the lanky boy’s feet, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Peter’s eyes go wide as he reaches for the subject of conversation, a nervous laugh erupting from his throat. “It’s a good thing you’re here to keep me organized ( Y/N ), seriously I would be lost without you.”

You’d been study buddies since Freshman year, though your meetings had always been confined to Midtown’s library or the pizza joint residing across your neighbourhood. In truth, this was the first time Peter had invited you to his home—and while there were few things you considered to be daunting, this had been one of them.

You tuck a stray tendril behind your ear, the padded material of your knapsack sliding from the surface of your shoulders and onto plush carpet. “We should probably cover some of the Lewis Dot Structures again, I heard there’s a good chance that they’ll be on the test.” You clear your throat nervously, and for a moment you could kick yourself. Because you’re never nervous, the countless wins at Academic Decathlon and Mock Trial are proof of that. National competitions have prepared you for nearly any situation, prepped and groomed you to remain confident in the face of any crowd. And because you’re ( Y/N Y/L/N ), you excel in all areas of human interaction. Your gaze stubborn and sturdy like solid foundation, never wavering even when met with opposition. Yet here you sat, the plaid material of your skirt grazing the fleshy surface of your knees—fidgety digits toying with strands of frayed material in the hopes that you could remain distracted. Infatuation prohibits you from making proper eye contact, and when Peter questions what’s wrong you simply shrug in response. And if you had been spending the night with any other one of Midtown’s sophomore boys, they would have deemed your behaviour as tiredness or perhaps boredom.

There was only one problem: Peter Parker isn’t anyone, and so he’s quick to observe your tepidness.

His consideration is both a symptom of personality, and rooted in the innate attentiveness which he’s harboured for you and you alone. Like you he’s always remained keen, observant even. But more than that, he always seems to care. “You okay over there ( Y/N )? You kind of haven’t been yourself tonight.”

For the first time that night you meet his eyes, fingers running through carpet for something to grasp, a feeble attempt to suppress your involuntary trembling. “I’m fine! I’ve just uh, been stressed out about Homecoming.”

“Oh what about it?”

Polished ivories dig into the puffy surface of bottom lip. “Well, it’s in two days and there’s still so much to do. Not to mention that I still have to find a date so, yeah— I guess there’s that too.”

Peter’s oblivious features light up with the same curiosity which society thought to have killed the cat. “You’re one of the smartest girls at Midtown ( Y/N ), not to mention the fact that..uh, you look the way you do too. I’m sure someone’s gonna ask you soon.”

You blink back unwarranted tears, wanting nothing more than for the floor to open up beneath you, engulfing your body into a big, black, nothingness. There was something to be said for the juxtaposition that was your character, how you could be both brilliant and foolish at the same time. You wonder how many times you can make the same mistake, hoping for an outcome which defied the very logic you’d documented within your mental playbook. It was almost palpable—the adoration Peter reserved just for Liz—and how despite the fact that she’d been your best friend, you couldn’t help but to compare yourself to her. She’d become a staple in your life, and suddenly it seemed as if you couldn’t have one without the other. Liz and ( Y/N ), ( Y/N ) and Liz. The two of you completed each other in ways that only the best of friends understood, and while you were grateful for her presence it was times like these where resentment seemed to bubble beneath your chest—threatening to boil over, to spill and pour and seethe until there’d been nothing left. Nothing but an intimate emptiness. The only thing special about you seemed to be your friendship with Liz, and the notoriety which seem to come with being a sophomore girl who’d manage to warrant the respect of the seniors. But in the real world that hadn’t been enough—in the real world you hadn’t been enough.

And so you always seemed to find yourself settling for second place.

You found yourself settling for the reality where you’d never get the boy.

“Peter can I tell you something?” Your breathing is sharp, and you hope he doesn’t notice.

“You can tell me anything ( Y/N ), I mean what are friends for?”

Previous sharpness contorts into something flat and shallow. Your stomach can barely contain the butterflies which fail to cease the rapid fluttering of wings. “I like you Peter, and I know it’s crappy timing because you like Liz—and you were probably gonna ask her to Homecoming. But I just wanted—no, needed you to know, that I really do like you. And—”

“( Y/N ).” Peter’s voice is calm, a district contrast from your own.

“Yes?”

“I like you too.”

“Wait…what?”

He clears his throat this time, calloused hands meeting your own and fingers interlocking like the woven surface of basket. “I like you. I’ve liked you ever since we started meeting at Papa John’s every Thursday for study nights.”

You blink. “So..since Freshman year?”

“Y-Yeah, since Freshman year. I just didn’t know how to tell you, I mean it’s like I said: you’re smart and beautiful. And you were friends with seniors, so I never thought you’d even consider looking my way.” For a minute you swear he’s speaking in tongues, his words lost upon you though the warmth of his palms keep you tethered to reality.

You shake your head in disbelief, shock washing over you and contorting delicate features into something sharp—something more aware. “I thought you liked Liz—this whole time. I mean you’re always gawking at her from across the room, I couldn’t help but to notice.”

“( Y/N ), I can promise I was looking at you.” Warmth drips from his smile, and for a moment it’s almost as if you’re awning in it. You realize he’s always been like this—warm. As if he’d found a way to bottle the sun and conceal it underneath the surface of skin, until he himself was something akin to that burning star. He radiates a genuine kindness, as if embers burn beneath him for the sole purpose of keeping others well, warm. “And if you’d allow me, I-I would really like to take you to Homecoming.”

“I would love that.” You squeeze his hand with your own, heat creeping up your neck as the intricate details of your conversation finally seem to resinate with you.

“Oh and ( Y/N )? One last thing.”

“What is it Peter?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

And just like that you’re fully immersed in his warmth, gentle lips meeting your own—parted and expecting. A liquid gold sensation fills your lungs, momentarily impeding the stability of your breathing. For the first time in forever, you’re full—you’re content.

For the first time forever the boy you adored was finally going to save you a dance. 

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker #tom holland #peter parker fluff #spider-man: homecoming #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagines #peter parker imagines #tom holland fluff #spider-man imagine #honestly this is good enough

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dapperfvck-arc · 6 years

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DASHBOARD GAME: CHARACTER DETAIL !

GENERAL .

NAME John Constantine NICKNAME(S) The Laughing Magician, Conjob, The Constant One AGE 46 SPECIES human..................possible Demi-god

PERSONAL .

MORALITY lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true. RELIGIOUS BELIEF SINS greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice. PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE Predominately survival in the eye of the hurricane that his existence generally boils down to. I also think John is perpetually trying to find himself and figure out some kind of greater purpose to his life LANGUAGES KNOWN Mostly dead ones, tho I have this dusty old head canon that he probably did something ridiculous like respell himself to understand the most basic forms of every language on earth. Like some regional dialects will fuck with him, but he’ll get the basic gist. SECRETS L M A O John has all of the secrets. He’s the keeper of secrets. Really name one, though most of them boil down to the truly awful ways he used magic in the past, either out of greed or just not being proficient enough at that point in is life. SAVVIES Highly observant and manipulative. He’s able to suss a person top to bottom usually within an hour of meeting them. Investigative skills. High degree of latent magical ability. A second kind of sight, can perceive ghosts and other ephemeral spirits and energies. Wide knowledge of magical theory, disciplines, demonology, and theology.

PHYSICAL .

BUILD scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average. HEIGHT 5′11 WEIGHT 150 lbs SCARS/BIRTHMARKS Canon fact he has a scar over one eye from some demon nonsense, and I have a somewhat complicated head canon that the tattoos he had for that one story arc and you know, the fact they vanished afterward, never to be seen again until Injustice of all fucking things. (And you know, I get it. The design was hella intricate and I’m sure as an artist, maybe you don’t wanna fuck with it. idek) Anyway because I can’t leave shit alone, I decided well the ink wasn’t kosher so it faded but there’s mild scarification remaining. ABILITIES/POWERS medium (ability to see and communicate with spirits), guided strongly by intuition, various feats via magic, hypnosis, sleight of hand, traversing between planes of reality RESTRICTIONS mortality, lingering shreds of conscience, ptsd

FAVOURITES .

FOOD Asian and Indian cuisine DRINK tea, liquor, coffee PIZZA TOPPING John doesn’t really care much for pizza COLOR dark blue MUSIC GENRE punk, most rock genres in general BOOK GENRE Mostly reads non-fiction, occasionally reads urban fantasy to see what the kids are into these days and rolls his eyes to the back of his head MOVIE GENRE documentaries, older, hitchcockian thrillers SEASON fall SCENT(S) he tends toward natural scents, woodsy, earthy, even floral, but also sweat, skin, and blood. John himself has two scents. To most, he smells like cigarette smoke, sage, and occasionally faintly of the last liquor he drank. For cologne he favors more citrusy scents. To people/creatures with preternaturally strong senses of smell he has a much more mysterious scent related to the fact that he’s a magician. Detailed here.

FUN STUFF .

SINGS IN THE SHOWER Yep. If you happen to have John in your shower often enough, you’re gonna here him singing. LIKES BAD PUNS .....sometimes. Depends on his mood and company.

CURSE WORD Swears quite a bit. Both familiar like shit, fuck, ass/hole, but also common British vulgarities such as bugger, shite, arsehole, and other various slang terms that are very cute and quaint but are actually incredibly filthy.

TAGGED BY @crimebat TAGGING E V E R Y O N E

#;about

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squidinkwriter · 5 years

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“How To Be Super Popular in High School”

10, March 2018

***NOTE: THIS IS SATIRE!!!!

“How to Be a Super Popular in High School”

Congratulations boys and girls. You have officially made it through the hell of middle school. Feeling proud of yourself, are you not? You are? Good? Now it is time to end the party.

As much as I want to say that you need not fret about bullies, pesky and annoying girls, immature boys and cafeteria food that looks like it could hop off your tray and dance out the door, I unfortunately cannot. High school is littered with all these horrors and much more!

Your first day of high school is hurricaning towards you and if you want a chance of surviving, you better prep, and you better get shrewd.

Already feeling wimpy? Fortunate for you, I am the guy who can give you the essential tips you need to Mad-Max your way through your first year of high school.

Want to arrive at the top of the high-school hierarchy by your freshman year? I mean, you do want to be popular, right? Who in the universe would not? After-all, popular kids never have to worry about getting stressed out, or being made fun off, and they always have those other cool kids to hang out with so they are never, ever lonely.

Case in point, your ultimate goal in high school should be to fight to be number one---to be the person who is adored by everybody else.

So, how do you do this? I will make it super easy. I will lay out step-by-step instructions. Absolutely no need to think too hard about any of these.

Step One: Be fake.

This is the most important step because it makes everything else possible. Your teen years is basically the time when you squeeze out every bit of individuality from your life. Remember this, nobody cares about the things that make you unique. Do you like corny puns, or punk-rock bands, or anime? Then trash it--unless those things are totally “in” of course. If everybody else is doing it then it is the right thing for you to do too. You will find that high school is all about keeping up with the latest trends. Being hip mostly means worshiping the newest applications for your phone. Oh, and never forget, fashion is god.

Ideally, every girl should be thin and use mounds of makeup on themselves. If you are a boy you will find all the acceptance and happiness you want if you just become a hunk and work your tail off to win your school’s sport championships. Nobody should deviate too far from this standard.

Of course, you may start to feel sad. Maybe you will wonder if any of your friends legitimately care about your well-being. Maybe they are all fake. Just staying with you because you plug and chug. This is a perfectly normal feeling, and all you need to do is remind yourself that your worries about fake friends are probably sound, and that you will soon enough realize that this is a tiny price to pay so that you can be popular like everybody else.

If you do want to be unique and separate from the crowd though, I need to warn you about the terrible consequences that will very likely follow. You might (heaven forbid), come across real friends who are honest with you and will hang out with you because of who you are. People that are genuinely happy, and who do things that are totally original! It is terrible to imagine, I know.

Step Two: Be uncaring.

Never ever show that you care. See someone who is not popular and is super lonely, let them remain so. Some might say go and try to be their friend, but you and I both know that doing that will take time and energy away from you trying to gain popularity.

What if one of your tight friends are going through a rough time and constantly needs your help? Just toss them to the curb. It is plain and simple. Those kind of friends would just chain you down anyway. You do not need any added obstacles. It is already a difficult climb enough.

Step Three: Make sure you date the alphas.

In high school you will find it beneficial for you to date someone else who is popular. It will give you high social status as well as make your other cohorts and enemies super jealous of you. Which is always a good thing!!

And I am not talking about just any semi-celebrity high schoolers here. No, I am referring to those figures who are downright legendary. The students in your school that everybody and your grandparents want to be. We are talking about girls who are the life of the party; the ones who have legions of admirers who will gladly smear any rumor they speak across the whole school. We are talking about the want-to-be Schwarzenegger boys that have got Himalayan sized muscles that they flash to everybody down the hallways. If you still do not know who I am talking about I guarantee you will be fully aware of these people by the end of your first full week of high-school. Trust me.

It is crucial that you learn to spend a good chunk of your time obsessed with snatching these alphas. It is true that none of them will ever give a rip about your character but you should never feel bad about this since it is a completely normal phenomenon. Actually, you should be grateful because they are likely more concern with what really counts--how your body looks.

Here is the cool thing though, after you strike it up with them, feel free to flaunt your status wherever you go. The wisest thing you can do is to take time away from studying for a test so that you can announce to your friends that you now have access to a super hot babe who will never ever leave you--that is, unless someone more amazing and good-looking comes around and steals their attention.

Well, now you know the basics. Follow these to the tee and you should do fine in the social arena that is high school.

Shall we move on to the next lesson? You look like you might need some advice on how to navigate the academic side of high school.

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angry-old-asian-man · 7 years

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The Adulting Tips Masterpost

A lot of you are newly adult or soon to be. This generally isn't what this blog is for, but I've come to realise it's sorely needed--apparently also Millennials, many kids of Boomers, but some kids of my generation--didn't really learn how to be an adult and try to avoid it? I'm part of the latchkey generation. That happened with a guardian when I was in high school anyway, but when my dad and granparents were still alive and I lived with them, I got taught stuff and learned stuff. Then some, I did figure out, either as a latchkey and abused kid, or just as I went once I was on my own. I've been on my own for this entire century. So lemme pass on a little bit of helpful tips to prepare you, whatever your situation. THIS IS THE ADULTING MASTERPOST! You know stuff like "you need to learn how to manage money," or "having a fridgerator is a good thing." This is a bit deeper. It aims to be comprehensive and there are multiple sections. The need for this is pretty Western. When I mention "X also exists in Japan," I mean that and America are all I ever lived in and I'm saying there's a chance this thing is nearly universal. Let's begin: Things every home should have: A wet-vac (shop-vac) A hand drill Hemostat clamp (trust me--they're a irreplaceable household tool) (not the veterinary ones) A tape measure A fire extinguisher Surge-protecting outlet extenders ALWAYS KNOW WHERE YOUR FUSE/BREAKER BOX IS A flashlight or two (yeah, you have a phone. Get dedicated flashlights) A pail or two a bit bigger than a sand pail A cold compress and a heating pad A well-stocked toolbox A well-stocked first aid kit A few extension cords, at least one outdoor-use grounded one Some all-metal pots and pans I would recommend a landline phone, but they now depend on electricity coming through a modem, so they're not a lifesaver as they once were. Speaking of which, a radio that can run on batteries. Even better if it has shortwave (SW) bands, in Japan and America, at least, meteorological stations exist on SW (短波[たんぱ]) Bug bait on reserve--whatever bug is the worst in your area. On that note, many spiders, such as daddy long legs, will actually eat bugs like gnats and ants. Don't panic if the spider isn't a poisonous variety--they're there to help. A strong cement. Not Krazy Glue, but actual cement Always know where is your nearest: Hardware store Urgent care and hospital Library City hall Thrift store (these may have different names such as Recycle shop, outside of America) Recycling/E-waste centre (but please donate to that thrift store if your old electronics are still functional!) Public transit, even if you drive. Cars break down. On a similar note, memorise one taxi company number. Pay phone (just trust me) Repair shop for your appliances/electronics. Sometimes you just can't do it at home, hopefully you can always afford it Learn to do as much as you can, though Learn the hours of your closest corner store in case you need some medicine for a sick baby or sick self, etc. Befriend at least one or two neighbours. You'll be a great help to each other. Have plans for whatever natural disaster is known to strike your area. Tips for the ones I know: The best tip for earthquakes are: You can't outrun them Door arches are way better shelters than flimsy modern tables Arrange your house for the least things falling on people--especially in bed For hurricane, the evacuation route will change, but have a plan if you don't have your own car on how to get out of town Learn basic repair of household items. Good pantry foods (always keep some of these, according to your diet/intolerances): Powdered milk or canned milk (evaporated is not sweetened and therefore more versitaile) Pickled vegetables Dried fruits, vegetables, and grains Canned meats Beans you like, canned or dried Dollar/100 yen/whatever-your-equivalent-is stores should have most of the above. Get whatever groceries you can here. Suggestions include dried cuttlefish and canned media crema, too Pan spray is totally your friend unless you want oily food LEARN TO COOK! I know today's young adults don't, and we men have been discouraged from it unless as a job, but that's bad for both your health and wallet. Yes, even if you don't gain weight. You don't have to be four-star caliber, just be able to make basic food that tastes as you like (having friends/family like your cooking is super-rewarding, though) On that note, keep something that is simple to prepare (nattou and insta-rice/can of soup) for "low spoon" days if applicable If at all possible, please regularly see your doctor. Not seeing one doesn't make you "superior"/"manly" / "strong" /"not part of the sheeple," it makes you an idiot. An idiot with bad health Shower daily if at all possible. People have been bathing since Ancient Greece/Stone-Age Japan. It literally reduces bacterial illness. People in equatorial climates like Haiti bathe twice daily--might need this in more places with global warming Simple destressing tips: Live in a warm costal area? Invest in a beach towel and a large cold thermos Cold rainy/snowy? A nice sweater (okay for me, I'd get a yukata if I did, this varies), keep around one nice canister of tea/coffee/bouillon/pipe tobacco/bottle of wine/whatever. Pull up a seat, enjoy the view Don't do this after ten PM and before ten AM, and take night working/chronically ill neighbours into consideration, but enjoy your records out loud once in a while. Multitasking is actually rapid task switching. Actual multitasking is non-extant Find an easily accessible/low cost hobby you enjoy. It could be productive, like hunting, fishing, repairing and upselling stuff you find at thrift shops, or it could be absolutely nothing to do with gathering resources, like hiking or reading Edwardian poetry. Do it regardless. Carve out a little time once a week. If you're a single parent, there are ways to make it bonding time for most ages Make your bed. Trust me People Stuff, Yourself and Others: Above all, be kind to yourself. There's a whole lot of people that will be hard on you, no need to add yourself to that number Do unto others as you'd have done to you. But don't worry about some bullshit moral high ground with people who demean, belittle, and attack you. They don't deserve you Don't fall into that "I have a partner, so now I'm not supposed to socialise with anyone else/without them." That is SO not healthy. That can destabilise your relationship. Rapunzel didn't do well in that tower--isolation, even if self imposed, is very bad for you Having a counsellor isn't a bad thing. There might be people you don't wanna tell, but trauma is real--ask a veteran or assault survivor. If you think you need one and you can get to one, go. It's okay. There are thresholds, but consider different opinions. Not "your people are inferior savages" --that's crossing a line. But one of my best friends, I found out, likes modern folk rock. I only like the original folk rock, like America (band). You might argue whether more business and job creation in your town or building a new public middle school is better for the poor in your community, and you might disagree. There are certain beliefs that are bad (these are most always a belief in inherent inferiority /servility/ primitive, dangerous, or mystic quality in a [non-dominant] demograph, also known as bigotry--this is that inexcusable line) but not everyone who disagrees on everything is bad. I also tend to stay away from "morally superior lifestyle" (moral vegan, moral "I only watch TV on the Web," moral "I only smoke expensive weed and not stuff poor people of colour do," (this is a very real dichotomy in California, USA), moral yoga-er which can apparently also seep into pricing Indians out of yoga, I've heard, the quinoa/pork belly/greens gentrification--a lot of this morality in being rich [and white] is very western and rooted in Victorian British culture) because that's pure classism, see bigotry, but your mileage may vary. Disagreements on "I like mayo, you like Miracle Whip" or "Jobs for the poor! No, library for the poor!" are pretty trivial. You still both seem like good people. (And there are totally times for Miracle Whip, L O L!) Growing up means being able to handle your own stuff--it doesn't mean having to hate cartoons (Thank Archie for that misconception. At the same time, note that was never absolute. See stuff like Fritz the Cat, City Hunter, Lupin III, Patsy Walker. Before Archie, think about Betty Boop and early Blondie in the actual context of the 1920s) It doesn't mean you have to hate puns and the music you liked in High School. I love both, and I'm making you this list. Don't be embarrassed about what you like. Life's too short. Don't worry now or ever. Like 50 Shades? As long as you know that in real life, you should stay safe from abuse, and you know real BDSM isn't that and don't treat people in that community shitty or put yourself in danger. Be critical of what you like but only dislike it if its shittiness ruined it for you, like how I feel about David Bowie after "China Girl." And people having limits is okay. White people frequently tell me I have no right to dislike David Bowie after that song because... I have no right to complain about the fetishisation/assault/other oppression of Asians because they want to keep oppressing me, I guess? I have a right even if I weren't attacked more times than I can count because of the treatment of Asians in America. They have no right to tell me what to enjoy or not to enjoy. Similarly, people might tell you your interest makes you immature or whatever ("O M G, you STILL listen to New Kids on the Block!? What are you, 13?") this is like the point about the person who likes Miracle Whip v the person who likes mayonnaise. What you like isn't impervious to criticism, but it doesn't make you morally anything. You might not want to tell your co-workers you write fic, but just know sometimes things aren't worth dealing with and still liking The Muppet Movies even when you turn 35 someday is no judgement on you. (I have a couple of those on VHS) I've been literally beaten for reading in my mother tongue and not only ever English. I buy/check out my books. I don't have to listen to them. And that's the thing about being an adult. You're in control. Yeah, you're responsible for you, and depending, you might not have anyone to fall back on. My dad died in my high school years. My grandparents had already died when he did. Some decided they really didn't want to fulfill the duties of parents because you turned out too different. That isn't fun. I know, as you see. But it would seem young people now are afraid to grow up? It's a good thing. As long as you do no harm, you're (supposed to be) free. You can bake a cake and have it for breakfast on Sunday morning. A la mode, even. Watch that movie--no one should be able to tell you no! ((They can tell you wait if they have to sleep or the TV is shared, but they shouldn't be able to disallow you--controlling shit like that for an adult happens, but that's the realm of abusive partners or staying at mum and dad's for the weekend) If I think of anything else, I'll edit this post. For now, that's it. (Remember to brush your teeth!)

#adulting #being an adult #adult problems #life advice #life hacks #advice from adults

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thesylvalining · 6 years

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Recently, an Italian friend of mine noted sharing my recent bicycle tour experience and outlook on life is one of the best things I can do to make my society better. I didn’t even consider enriching society when undertaking this cathartic journey; I did intend to try and comprehend my country — but even more so, I wanted to understand myself.

Pause: just in case any of you were asleep during the last five and a half months (four and a half of which I was dragging my crazy butt, bike and crap from Berkeley, California to St. Augustine, Florida)… well, I just laid out what you missed.

The Southern Tier route — however I started in Berkeley, California and cruised down to connect with the route in San Diego.

Turns out, I undertook a rather timely experience. During the era of “me too” I traveled across the USA as a solo female. Simultaneously, I threaded through areas of our very divided country — like the South — that many Americans view as unfriendly and unwelcoming. However, I discovered a very different America: a kind, welcoming America, across the board.

I also interacted with countless people who cling to “buts.” Not the cute, Italian variety — no, the kind that allows folks to evaluate their own lives and positions. They’d say things like “I always wanted to hike the Pacific Crest trail…but…” or “I wish I was as brave as you are… but,” with Borat-like pauses:

I connected with a whole slew of sympathetic souls — black, white, brown, yellow, conservative, liberal, female, male, somewhere in between — who seemed to be living lives differently than the ones they really wanted to live.

Waiting until dark before (spoiler alert!) I rode through the closed slide in Big Sur, California.

Simply showing up on their doorstep (in a guise not often spotted in rural America), in their section at the restaurant or their checkout isle at the grocery store, I became a mirror. I reflected back their own unfulfilled dreams, desires and fears. And occasionally, I was lucky enough to inspire. For example: meet Freda, a remarkable woman (and Warm Showers host) in Gautier, Alabama. I stayed with her over a weekend; in her listing on Warm Showers, she clearly states she doesn’t host cyclists on weekend — but it’s fine to ask anyway. I asked, since the weather was wetter than a whale’s back and luckily, Freda didn’t want to turn me away.

But, she wanted me to “know what I was getting into.” Every Friday and Saturday, three more people turned up the chaos dial at her house and one was her friendly daughter, a recovering drug addict. Fred said I’d have to keep a very close eye on my valuables. Her daughter simply couldn’t help it; if something was in plain sight, she’d take it.

Sunset on Dauphin Island, Alabama (my next stop after staying with Freda). Incidentally, Freda was the one who took me to that nationally renowned BBQ joint I mention (The Shed).

I decided to stay. Freda’s honesty won me over — and the fact that staying in the rain would put a real damper on my weekend (pun intended). Freda’s daughter didn’t end up being around but her grand-daughters were. After a refreshing rest day with Freda and the girls (one about eight I believe and the other an early teen), I was reluctant to leave. Freda and I kept in touch and she sent me pictures and once, a video of the girls at a Mardi Gras parade. She said they’d only let her snap away because she was sending them to me — apparently I made an impression on them as a solo girl, adventuring by bike.

So among the other missions I inadvertently signed up for, I think sharing my experience in order to impress upon and inspire people to truly follow their hearts’ desires is one. I know change is difficult and not everyone has a gypsy soul like yours truly; nor is everyone able or willing to literally pick up and move out into the Great Unknown. Society and socio-economic status are powerful enough without adding in drug addictions, hurricanes or wildfires. Or being part of (as some folks I encountered) a struggling family of farmers or ranchers to whom time off is a necessary foreign concept. However, I encountered so many people with regrets and potentially conquerable fears that I can’t help but want to instigate a little change.

Enjoying the h*ll out of Mardi Gras season in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Below is a video recorded on March 7, 2018 (shortly after the butt crack of dawn) at my dad’s Rotary International meeting in St. George, Utah. Both of my parents are champions of support, not only during this powerful, wondrous chapter of my life but generally speaking. My dad gave weekly updates at his Rotary meetings while I was riding and got enough people hooked on the journey that there were 20-25 Rotarians in attendance.

I apologize as the pictures on the screen aren’t visible in the very low-tech recording I rigged up by leaning my cell phone against a half-full cup of lukewarm coffee. The pictures throughout the blog and in the slide show below the video are the same ones I employed in the presentation. Taking a gander ahead of time may help as I refer to pictures often.

Sometimes when it rains, it pours — like it did when I hid out for three deluges this day on my way to Morganza, Louisiana.

So here’s my little challenge to you: share this post and/or video with someone in your own life who is clinging to a “but.” We never know what will stick, like a patient, helpful bur and someday, cause a great, wonderful change.

This little lady has all the gear she needs for a cross-country bike trip…

On this bike! Just kidding.

My bike is in the bottom of the cart, in pieces. Above is all the crap I carried — which my dad refers to as really heavy 🙂

Awesome, self-explanatory sign south of Santa Cruz, California.

Me hanging out with (left to right) my brother Kyle, his girlfriend Kathy and Uncle Brian in Berkeley, CA.

Meeting the sisters on the ferry from Oakland to San Francisco — Colette, in the purple, offered to put me up in Pismo Beach later if the stars aligned.

A perfect example of guerrilla camping.

That ubiquitous, gorgeous bridge in Big Sur, California.

Schlepping bike and gear up the dirt trail the locals used just south of Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California.

Riding the closed road in Big Sur with very little traffic.

Sage and Kiyan and I enjoying the festivities at the bridge reopening party just south of Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California.

Nothing to do but ride on through…

After riding through the closed slide, a chance meeting in San Simeon with docent Alan. I stayed with him and his wife Judy for four days in total. Here we are in Morro Bay, California.

Staying with Colette in Pismo Beach, California.

Meeting fellow biker friends like Swiss Phil and Rosy and Canadian Dan (I think that was his name 🙂

Taking the left turn in eastern San Diego.

Heading into the agricultural desert in California’s Imperial Valley.

Discovering the border wall in Jacumba, California.

Making the most of a rest day in Jacumba, California.

The 2500-3000 foot descent after Jacumba, California.

A glorious new friendship with Katherine and her bike, Jonie in Glamis, California.

Meeting up with mom and dad in Phoenix, Arizona.

Salado cliff dwellings near Tonto Basin, Arizona.

Making friends with Alan and Myrna in Globe, Arizona (here we are visiting Besh Ba Gowah Native American ruins).

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona where I spent Thanksgiving.

My castle in Duncan, Arizona behind Simpson Hotel.

A big climb on the way to Duncan, Arizona.

Fred, the mastermind behind fixing my broken rack with bailing wire, screws and electric tape.

Riding up Mule Creek road after getting help from Fred, almost to…

New Mexico!!

Hanging out with Eleanor, who put me up for a few days near Cliff, New Mexico.

Hiking with Joseph in or near the Gila Wilderness.

The mother of all flats…

Gila Cliff Dwellings with Noel, Susan and company outside Silver City, New Mexico.

Entering Texas, where even the dinosaurs are bigger.

Broken pannier clips in El Paso, Texas.

The Beehive in Marathon, Texas (my home for two nights).

Navigating the Chihuahuan desert in Texas… for a long time…

Christmas in Del Rio, Texas.

Spending Christmas with Lisa and Eoin.

My drinking buddy and awesome uncle Casey.

Christmas at the Cottons, which includes hanging with Beth, who rocks.

Hydroponic lettuce farming in Rockne, Texas.

The infamous Warm Showers host, Carol in Carmine, Texas.

Baby Sylva, born in Richards, Texas.

The awesome crew at Live Oak Nudist Resort in Texas.

Welcome to Louisiana!

Getting marooned in Merryville, Louisiana.

Braving the roads after the winter storm.

Frozen swamps near

Drying everything I own at a Catholic church in Morganza, Lousiana. The secretary, Retta and her husband took me out to dinner, which was an amazing surprise.

Finally arriving in Baton Rouge, sightseeing (here, I am at the top of the Capitol building).

Meeting Mike — LSU’s mascot — with another amazing WS host, Mark.

Heading to New Orleans, sleeping in a garage (another WS accomodation) in Lutcher, Louisana.

Arriving at where I was staying: Tami’s! She’s a friend of a friend but we were instant buddies. Here, we were eating King Cake for breakfast on her sweet balcony.

There was some sightseeing, some voodoo…

And of course food! First, beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde.

Then a seafood boil while it poured outside.

Here I am at the Shed, in Gautier, Alabama.

One of many heavenly sugar sand beaches in Destin, Florida.

A cloudy day to enjoy a different kind of beach beauty in Inlet Bay, Florida (staying with yet another wonderful WS host, Martin).

And then I had to suck it up and ride inland through A LOT of rain…

Staying with John after the WS host never showed at the Pizza Hut in Blountstown, Florida.

Heading further east out of Tallahassee…

Camping behind a church in Wellborn, Florida (night of the sprinkler fight).

Helping with a couple simple farm chores with WS hosts Diane and Maria in Monticello, Florida.

Enjoying Ichatucknee Springs State Park on Priscilla’s recommendation!

And meeting the awesome guys at Amigo’s dive shop, thanks again Priscilla!

Quality time with my new friends Mildred and John in Palatka, Florida.

Celebrating with beach time in St. Augustine, Florida, my ultimate destination.

Meeting up with my bro and going to Universal Studios (thanks to Alycia for the ticket hook up!).

Relaxing by the pool at my friend Chris’ house in Apopka, Florida.

Spring training baseball game with Kyle-bro and Chris.

Still curious? Good! I have an ebook in the works regarding the whole experience, with lots more pictures. Stay tuned and sign up for the blog (if you haven’t already) to receive a notification when the ebook’s ready to download. Grazie, gracias and thanks for reading!

Presenting Roads Less Traveled Recently, an Italian friend of mine noted sharing my recent bicycle tour experience and outlook on life is one of the best things I can do to make my society better.

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dwestfieldblog · 6 years

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2018 - NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS

(Solve et coagula)

Untying the Not and Never Was...back from Britain...Hello pagan heathens, welcome to the 14thyear of the blog and variations on the theme of transcendental dystopia in the key of F sharp. Feeling positivelypriapic today...with a private new list of ancient sins that would make even a priest blush...in joyous celebration of Bacchus, Aphrodite and Apollo... I have my own morals, but morals they are and are followed as such. I don't remember what I am taught, I remember what I learn.

Within two minutes of walking past airport customs into the English speaking world, see a display of Newsweek magazines with the front cover blarting 'Putin is preparing for World War 3 -is Trump?' So good to be back so fast into the feculant nightmare. Great to hear the baldhead is running for yet another presidential term and barring his most serious rival from taking part in the lip-service of democratic process. And threatening him with imprisonment for daring to suggest the polls be boycotted. Wonder who will win? Here's hoping today's pig is tomorrow's bacon.

I watched no TV news at all but of course read the Daily Horrors with my breakfast every morning for three weeks...The Golden Reptile in the mickey mouse white house...he doesn't believe in exercise because it is unhealthy for the body and has a Very busy working day from 11am to 5pm...with 'executive time' between the hours.... a separate bedroom with 3 TV screens and cheeseburgers to lull him to sleep until he awakes to tweet his dawn chorus of mindless excremental bilge. Direct quotes from his twitter feed –'My two greatest assets have been mental stability andbeing, like, really smart'... 'a very stable genius...' America....truly serving as a genuine example to the world. How does it feel to be pitied by those you despise and despised by those you pity?

Trump has a 'much bigger and powerful' nuclear button on his desk than Cheese Boy in North Korea... 'and my Button works!'. (How would he know? Hard to test.) Penis measuring across continents. Mentally unstable is a very generous description of these child presidents....And speaking of dumber than paint leaders with bad hair (nice segway eh?) I heard a wonderful description of the lying wannabe UK prime minister Boris Johnson... 'like an arsonist pretending to be a fireman', returning to the Brexit crime scene to save the day...

Another foul/fowl pretender to the throne of PM in the UK, Mr Gove, coming out in sudden favour of chlorinated chicken from the USA and GM crops via the ever popular Monsanto corporation. Follow the lobbyists, follow the money trail. Ignore (or defenestrate) those who speak for corporate interests until you have checked whether their words are actually an opinion based on long running verifiable tests of good health or sound bites paid for by a wedge of serious wonga/moolah/cash into their bank accounts... and/or a future job when they leave politics. Shameless filth. Eg. David Cameron now accepting a role with the Chinese government's one and a half billion pound infrastructure programme.

China said recently that the 1989 British ambassador's claim that 10,000 students were murdered in Beijing is a little extreme. Well it was. Running tanks over unarmed students cannot said to be anything else. 200 has been given as a more realistic death toll. It took them 28 years to come up with this number.

'Oh Lord make my enemies ridiculous'. (Voltaire) Thank you lord...thank you lord.Hallelujah, to coin a phrase...

Pope Francis used his Christmas message to advise his masses to drop 'all sorts of useless baggage'...'the banality of consumerism, the blareof commercials, the stream of empty words and the overpowering waves of empty chatter and loud shouting'. This is the sort of stuff which should indeed be spoken by spiritual leaders but shame he didn't mention talking snakes, pregnant virgins, burning bushes, self inflicted guilt over original sin or the endlessly Unchristian behaviour by his flock. (And there is a special circle in Hell for priests of any faith who rape children.) 'Useless baggage' almost covers it all. As Francis said; '...rediscover what really matters'... Or discover what reality matter is made of..

.'A cross on every hill, a star, a minaret, so many graves to fill, Oh love, aren't you tired yet?'Cohen, The Faith. Why not not eat pigs together?

The same evil government shit as ever after a massive storm destroying homes... Hurricane Irma wiped out almost every home on Barbuda (Caribbean) and as in New Orleans and dozens of similar cases after a force of nature, the greedpigs move in fast. Deals between the politicians and land developers overpower the rights of those who lived there, such is the freedom of a life without morality. Rebuild and replace communally owned land with dwellings for the wealthy and push aside all former residents. If ever a group of men deserved the force of nature/an act of the Goddess against them and their property, it is these swinefeed.

The West and the East, the East and West, condemning each others' subversions... What came first, the pot or the kettle?

Demonstrations in Iran by the lower classes of all generations across more than 100 cities and towns against the endless drift of power upwards to Khameni and the mullahs...and money outwards to various non charitable organisations (fill in the blanks with live ammunition, missiles, rocket launchers, suicide bombers etc.) the lack of hospitals and social support, the lack of aid after natural disasters, corruption and price rises. 40 percent of young people are unemployed and starting to wonder where the billions are going...or else knowing where. Most, if not all of the above bullet points (ha) are strong factors in the West too...but in America the tension implodes and is directed against ethnicitiesrather than those actually responsible.. and in Britain/ Europe... hmm...Civil unrest is contained in blaming foreigners, thus encouraging Nazi opportunist populists to manipulate the easily persuaded angry mass into voting for them. And the suckers fall for it everybloody time.

Issues of utterly irrelevant social media opinion, autistic entertainment saturating the global human mind to applaud the lowest common denominator, rocking back and forth with glee at the latest exploits of the hollow kardashians and their foul ego stroking ilk, famous only for being famous...a mass debate on the meaningless, billions of people being trained to focus their tiny, blurred attention deficit spans on a multitude of soul numbing emptiness. All looking in the absolute wrong directions while meanwhile....

The strong and immoral arise and laugh their arses off, stirring, provoking, initiating... and they prepare...America and Europe are weaker and weaker. A few computer viruses here and there, shared passwords, blackmail via disinformation, man made disasters, plenty of random shocks, a constant underlying panic, threats and needling rhetoric result in.....on one side, an aggressive focused mobilisation of forces with intent and on the other, half a billion people with the spiritual bravery and intelligence of a pillow. At some Rubicon of a breakpoint, paranoia becomes common sense. The clock is now at two minutes to midnight. Be aware.

BE AWARE.

'The universe is a total construction of waves and vibrations whose inner content is 'Meaning', and Man is a micro system of the same vibratory nature, floating at some depth in the universal and meaningful wave system. The universal wave system is qualitative or value structured according to its vibration rate spectrum (faster frequencies have more informational capacity).David Foster

'Information is not knowledge, knowledge is not wisdom, wisdom is not truth, truth is not beauty, beauty is not love, love is not music, music is the best'.... speaking of which...Sufferers of schizophrenia with audio and visual hallucinations could be aided by learning an instrument or by listening to music, says new research... Musical aptitude has a strong effect on 'the white matter integrity of the corpus callosum', which protects against the disorder. Quite tempting to comment on the plethora of musicians of all creeds who are obviously unbalanced, unstable and dangerous to themselves and others. Maybe too much music eh? Arf. Never. Anyway, Love IS music and music IS love Sorry Frank.

'All lovers young, all lovers must, consign to thee and come to dust'. Shakespeare -Cymbeline.

'Micro dosing' is one of the 'new' trend things...(as opposed to non functioning overdose situations) brought to you all the way from Silicon valley. That's right... just one tenth of 150 micrograms of LSD will aid you in your chosen field (no pun intended, almost) to break through, focus, go within, go OUT and open neural pathways blocked by the mundane and logical. I have not tripped on acid since 1985 (and that last trip was just over 21 hours long before I took sleeping pills to make the galaxies stop flowing through my brain.) Have been very tempted over the years but truly didn't want or need such an eternity of multidimensional senses while still in flesh...(once the doorway is opened, it stays opened.) This micro dosing is highly interesting however and I will do this this as soon as the first possibility appears. Still think I prefer October mushrooms....Where the Heart Is, in a Halo of Stars.

Picked up a leaflet yesterday...Non stop erotic massages and hotel escorts in Prague... 'Your imagination has no limits'...ermmm...ahhh..hmmm...probably not, but there are laws and only so much available cash this evening..Or, as Alien Sex Fiend sang, 'Everybody's got what everybody wants and everybody wants what everybody's got.' Well, almost.

If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.' So sayeth (saideth?) George Orwell. Doesn't seem to apply to British and American universities where the mind fecking 'Safe Space' ethic is rigidly enforced by the twenty something brain police. Anything which could be offensive or disagreed with, is banned.....That comedian who once made a joke ridiculing transgenders... REMOVE him from the list of those who should speak... that woman who said the holy land is bollocks because the old testament was just some non verifiable book which told the Hebrews what they wanted to hear? No platform for her, no stage for them unless it has a gallows pole upon it. (Yeah, self fulfilling propaganda works like a dream every time. Bullshit is half of the charm.) You university morons. You MORONS, working for the enemy, for ones who seek to bring YOU down. Who seek to cage and contain thee. To limit the horizons of creative expression and put a sterile tank around truth. Poor little fragile youth, too delicate to be offended, WHY AREN'T YOU ANGRY? The ancient schools of Sumeria and Greece would be disgusted at your level of human intelligence.

You cannot make up your own mind until you have exposed yourself to all shades of opinion and distilled all. Read what you disagree with with, it is a fascinating comedy...and very often reveals that what you thought you know, you do not Feel.

The man of the crowd is a weakling; people who need people are the stupidest people in the world. Evolution requires individuals, a union of outsiders working in random harmony...or...'Talent hits a target no one else can hit. Genius hits a target no one else can see'. Schopenhauer. I know some of this may seem like nonsense. But it's a discipline and I do it with purpose.

Meanwhile, remaining emotional attachments to the socially acceptable drugs...I Want a cigarette or a Strong Drink, or at least, at long last, a painkiller that actually works. Arnica Montana and DL-Phenylalanine don't quite cut the mustard. Thirty minute pause while I go for a walk in the cold dark park, come back home and cut my own hair for the second time in my life. (Not bad at all, just as good as all my last cuts by semi professionals...) One side is half an inch longer but WT actual F? Who cares? Fate is gonna find you with a glass of champagne? Make it a triple espresso and half a bottle of good whisky and then we can talk. And a cigarette...my lack of smoking is making me want to claw and bite this wood table into splinters. There...a normal paragraph of usual life...just in time for the end of a page.

Favourite depressing headline from the new year...'Couple who left son to drown in lake were poor parents, judge concludes.' The wisdom of Solomon. My favourite headline from last month has to be ;A fried egg has no place in the nativity, say 77 percent of parents”\ My first thought was, uff, so 33 percent think it is ok?? My second thought was, well, why not eh? Makes as much sense as anything else in that twisted story....I read a useful column in a newspaper last month, called 'Failsafe ways to spot a Liar'. Glad to see my instincts were right according to researchers and clinical psychologists. Some humans are bereft of as much emotional intelligence and morality as AI machines. Blame it on childhood trauma,always an easy way out. How was the first year of your life? Use trance hypnotism recall, recall and release.

'The key task of a muse is to allow the artist to see his own feminine aspect that is otherwise invisible to him and to be a screen that fits the artist's projections. What completes the artist isn't the intrinsic qualities of the romantic interest but the artist's own feminine archetype. So, to the extent that the artist's projections dominate or replace the muse's own qualities, the muse's soul is dissipated.' Allan Showalter, psychiatrist.

Time to go back to being oblivious to the 'news' again, in the two minutes which are left, there is space to become plenty of nothing and locate your Will. See you in a few weeks after my probable final birthday, which falls upon an Easter Monday this year. Too late for a resurrection (well, there are pills for that anyway) but in time for the beauty of rising Spring with the binary healing of cabala chakras...every man and woman is a star...Stay well....

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13thfloornz · 6 years

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Twenty-one years after their breakthrough album, Moseley Shoals, Ocean Colour Scene were set to play on Auckland’s Powerstation stage to a veritable ocean of expatriates. I felt I needed a passport to get into this gig, and having never been to England, after tonight I don’t think I need to: England came to me.

The drinking was effusive and the crowd showed their appreciation for opening act Stillia by mostly standing by the bar and moistening themselves for the Ocean. This young four-piece from St. Helens didn’t seem to take the empty space before the stage too hard though, pumping out a set of melodic, inoffensive pop-rock, of the sort one’s mother might like, no doubt. This music wore painted on jeans and silk shirts, periwinkle boots and mod haircuts, but it was all a little forced, like a cheap Halloween costume popping at the seams before its even halfway out the bag. But maybe I’m not English enough to appreciate songs that seem designed to be belted out in football stadiums, or in pubs with the pint glasses swaying and spraying.

As soon as the singer, Jack Bennett, mentioned the need to take a photo for his mum, and could the audience please oblige him and move closer to the stage, said audience filled the gaping hole on the dance floor. Once there, boy did they like what Stillia was laying down – anthemic, faux-sixties slow-builds, propelled by every beat the Stone Roses already wrote.

The crowd was rapidly getting three sheets to the wind now: hell, this was becoming a laundromat in a hurricane. A packed house of pissed up Poms were amping for their heroes to come charging out the gate. Maybe some just wanted to see what their favourite band from 1996 look like now, and hear the one album they were touring, the one album people really cared about: Moseley Shoals knocked Oasis of the number one spot after all, and that at least deserves to be remembered (if you’re in the band). A handful of punters I talked to had come to last night’s gig purely out of curiosity, expressing wonder at the fact that these four West-Midlanders were still alive, let alone still playing, and saw it as a chance to get a taste of Ol’ Blimey before preparing for a Christmas on the beach.

Ocean Colour Scene opened, as they and we knew they must, with The Riverboat Song, a scintillating, syncopated riff over ¾ drums that anyone who listened to music in 1996 must surely struggle to forget. This crowd hadn’t, and boy did they let OCS know it. Steve Craddock has amassed an impressive battery of pedals over the years, and his recent work with Paul Weller, The Specials, and The Beat has kept his fretting fingers nimble, and his ideas fresh. Special mention here to Oscar Harrison on drums too. On this opener, and on several tracks throughout the gig, especially You’ve Got It Bad, Harrison is doing most of the heavy lifting (on the latter, to carry an average arrangement), nailing the beat right down and giving the others the slack to play around a bit. I’m a fool for a fill, and he obliges as often as he can.

OCS have been accused of playing the Beatles card, and if you’d only ever heard the gig closer The Day I Caught The Train, their other big hit from Moseley Shoals, you could be forgiven for thinking that. However, and certainly after last night’s performance, it seems a little unfair. Where someone like Liam Gallagher’s voice never left home, Simon Fowler’s vocal style regularly crosses back and forth across the Atlantic. The Downstream could be Lynyrd Skynyrd, (really, it sounds like the verse melody to Freebird. I can’t be the only one…).

This is not an admonition: I like it. Traveller’s Tune from 1997’s Marching Already could have been written by The E Street Band. And rather than making the easy-lean on Lennon or McArtney, as so many 90’s Brit-pop artists seemed to want to do, (though Fowler and the rest of the Scene does channel Macca a little on Its My Shadow), the band sound more at ease referencing the music of the studio their sophomore album puns. Joe Cocker gets a nod, and who wouldn’t fancy themselves a stab at God’s gift to gas fitters when your penchant is for emotive, big crowd sing-a-longs? Ocean Colour Scene are a better band when they cross the Atlantic anyway: the emotions sound more honest; it feels like people are finally swaying because of the music, and not the booze.

This emotional connection to the audience suffered a swift kick to the joolies after a soaring rendition of the ersatz-Dylan strum-along Profit and Peace near the end. Fowler remains in such fine voice after 30 years in part, I suspect, because the audience sings almost every word to every song at, one supposes, every gig. It is a remarkable thing to witness, and on this track they were really belting it out. The band faded out, the crowd continued, and you thought, you expected, that they would maybe start to flow back into the refrain. Maybe strum along, you know, build the momentum back in and end the song on a high, together with the crowd. But no. Fowler killed the audience with a jarring key change into So Low, from 1999’s One For The Modern. End of song, guys. We’re the band. Ouch.

All in all, this was an impressive performance from a band that clearly still loves to do what it does, a band that recognises that the material they wrote 21 years ago, and focuses almost exclusively on tonight, is the stuff of gold for their devoted audience. There was rapture, some rupture (average age was perhaps 48), and a whole lot of bro-hugs, and raised-glass sing-shouting throughout the two hour set. It was a bloody blast for all concerned, and who knows? In another 21 years, when they could legitimately be compared to the Rolling Stones, if only for their age, they’ll come back again. Maybe we could finish that rendition of Profit and Peace then.

Thom Ruttan

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Michael Flynn:

Michael Flynn Photography

Ocean Colour Scene – Powerstation November 20, 2017 Twenty-one years after their breakthrough album, Moseley Shoals, Ocean Colour Scene were set to play on Auckland’s Powerstation stage to a veritable ocean of expatriates.

#13th floor #Auckland #concert review #Michael Flynn #NZ Tour #Ocean Colour Scene #Photos #Powerstation #Thom Rutten

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