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#Jello Rollins
flibbertygigget · 1 year
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iruinedpunkrock · 1 year
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iconic punks based on their ability to slay gash
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ministry-of-acid · 9 months
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whu-oh there's some punk lookin spiderman dude now and now we all get to sit thru one too many posts about the real true meaning of punk! It reminds me of the time a fella told me, to my mohawk wielding battlevest wearing, wrists full of spikes bitchass that the true meaning of punk is kindness! That's nice buddy! I like Henry Rollins and Fear and Jello's pretty cool but. I'm a metalhead dude cmon. We like brutality.
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music-polls · 4 months
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punkrockhistory · 5 months
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Jello Biafra, HR, Ian MacKaye and Henry Rollins were the frontmen during a standout period of American hardcore punk.
Hard to pick an absolute favorite, but do you have it?
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#punk #hardcorepunk #punkrock #legends #history #punkrockhistory
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saiyanprincessswanie · 10 months
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SaiyanPrincessSwanie - Reading List Week 147 & 148
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Welcome to Week 147 & 148
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal boosting them. Author is listed next to title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community.  💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
My Masterlist click HERE
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ & header by me
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
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Mine Part 1 - (Steve x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie​​
Secrets Chp 12 - (Steve x OFC, Brock x OFC) - @nekoannie-chan​
Distorted - @ironlady1993​
Baby I’m Preying on You Tonight - (Hannibal x Reader) - @the-soulofdevil​
Collared part 13  - (Dean x Reader) -  @spnexploration​
Collared part 14 - (Dean x Reader) - @spnexploration​
Heart of Glass - Part 4 - (Curtis x Reader) - @syntheticavenger
Bad Night - (Bucky x Reader) - @winter-soldier-vibes
Bucky Drabble - @indyluckycharlie
His Inheritance - Part 18 - (Steve x Reader) - @jtargaryen18
Little Bird - Part 3 - (Bucky x Reader) - @gogolucky13
Real Life Tasks With Ransom - Day 10 - @wiypt-writes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
Secret Sierra - Chp 8 - @lloydsbitch
Huge mistake - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
Time to Study - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Like Jello - (Ari x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Breaking - (Steve x Reader) - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
Thirsty - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog
Hunger - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog
Breakfast - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
DBF! Ari Drabble - @angrythingstarlight
Under the Blue - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista
Air - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista
Threadbare - (Steve x Reader) - @ronearoundblindly
Though I Have Never Read It - (Bucky x Reader) - @tuiccim
The Perfect Storm - (Andy x Reader) - @targaryenvampireslayer
Man with a plan - Part 1 - (Stucky x Reader) - @sidepartskinnyjeans
Man with a plan - Part 2 - (Stucky x Reader) - @sidepartskinnyjeans
Digital Bath - Part 1 - (Bucky x Reader) - @syntheticavenger
First Mother's Day - (Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Hands off - Part 1 - (Steve x Reader) - @darsynia
Second Time Around - (Steve x Reader) - @cockslutpadalecki
Secrets Chp 13 - (Steve x ofc, Brock x ofc) - @nekoannie-chan
After Hours - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista
Normal, not boring - Kinktober 25 - (Steve x Reader x Bucky) - @holylulusworld
Sibling Rivalry - Part 33 - (Steve x Reader) - @imdarkinme
3 Billion Divorce - Part 1 - (Lloyd x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival
Just Right - Chp 1 - (Steve x Reader) - @darsynia
The Root of all Ransom - Part 1 - (Ransom x Reader) - @ronearoundblindly
Fresh Fallen Snow, Part 1 - (Curtis x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513
She - (Brock Rumlow X Reader (platonic), Jack Rollins X Reader - @nekoannie-chan
The psychos find a new toy - (Mr Freezy x Reader) - @the-iceni-bitch
Smother - (Frank C x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty
Light - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
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missrayon · 9 months
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the thing about punk is that there just isn't any set political or social message it is sharing. punk reaches from far left to far right to totally apathetic. you have paul weller and johnny rotten and sid vicious and johnny ramone and keith morris and greg ginn and henry rollins and jello biafra and gg allin these are all dramatically different figures in punk saying completely and totally different things and even within the same specific subgenre like look at black flag they're a great example their music is so personal and emotional but the black flag bars are an eponymous punk symbol. get a grip
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undeadvinyls · 3 months
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first oc fun fact of the day!
majority of my music zombies r inspired/modeled off actual musicians!
graham is modeled after jello biafra and dexter holland mac's hair is inspired by billie joe armstrong and his his attitude is based off henry rollins cass' hair was modeled off joey ramone and poly styrene quinn was modeled after poly styrene too, but also kathleen hanna personality-wise dazzling starr was rlly modeled after joan jett and the rest of the runaways octavia was modeled off poly styrene and inspired by afro-punk bands like bad brains, as well as poison ivy rorschach of the cramps sev was based off lux interior wanda is inspired by wanda jackson
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ridenwithbiden · 5 months
Video
youtube
Soundbites From the Counterculture feat 
Hunter S Thompson 
Abbie Hoffman 
Henry Rollins
Jello Biafra 
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doublearmbars · 1 year
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fic: full werewolf off the buckle (part 1)
summary: the mox is a werewolf fic, part 1. A series of vignettes about how he copes with the change over time.
word count: 1581
characters: Jon Moxley/Dean Ambrose, Eddie Kingston, Seth Rollins
Read on a03 here or below the readmore
 He wakes up in the woods. There’s mud caked to his bare back, clumps of it matting his hair. Everything hurts. Not like he took a bad bump. This is bone deep and everywhere. He sits up, shivering. His vision is still too sharp for this body, but he can make out the back of the motel he’s staying at. At least he’s close.
 The bed of leaves he’s sitting in does nothing for the cold. It’s frigid. Early December in Indiana and he tastes blood on his tongue. He wretches and nothing comes up, the muscles in his back quaking.
 His legs aren’t steady but they’ll hold him as he leans heavily on the nearest tree to stand. The bark opens scrapes on his hands and the hot blood steams in the air.
 He limps around to the parking lot. It’s still early in the morning, just after dawn, nobody around, but his hackles are up. Naked in a motel parking lot is not a great place to be.
 His only thought is that Eddie can fix this. Eddie can do something. He can’t even think the pain is so loud right now. They were sharing a room, he remembers because Eddie made some joke about not bringing anyone home. He finds it, the rough sidewalk is cold beneath his feet. He knocks, putting most of his weight on the doorframe. When he hears the familiar grumbling coming towards the door his heart finally stops racing. The door opens and he tries to push his way in.
 Eddie Kingston is a solid wall. He’s still scowling from being rudely awakened, but his expression flip flops to something gentler when he sees who’s at his door, then back.
 “Get in here.” Eddie rasps, gesturing with a hand urgently.
 When he doesn't move, Eddie pulls him in by the shoulder, shuts and locks the door, quick with the flimsy chain. Eddie’s in his sweats and a big worn shirt, socks cause it’s freezing even inside.
 He’s still fighting to get his parasympathetic nervous system back online, eyes darting around, catches a glimpse of himself in the TV reflection, momentarily captivated by his own trainwreck of a face.
 “Mox, you with me?”
 Right that’s. He’s Mox. That’s him. It always takes a minute to remember. He turns to face Eddie.
 “It happen again?”
 He nods.
 “I heard you leave, thought it was for a smoke.”
 He shrugs, shakes his head.
 Eddie’s hand is on his chin, turning his head from side to side, inspecting. His head feels so heavy, like he can’t hold it up on his own.
 “Jesus Moxie, you look awful. You need help cleanin’ up?”
 He spooks, pulls back, shakes his head rapidly. It doesn’t make sense, Eddie knows him. Eddie has seen him. This is too far though, Mox is too raw.
 Eddie puts up his hands, backs up a step.
 “Alright, try this. I’m gonna grab you somethin’ clean and help you to the bathroom at least.”
 He stamps over to Mox’s bag and pulls sweats and a shirt off the top, then hands them over.
 If Mox had any energy left and didn’t feel like his joints were jello, he’d push Eddie away when he half picks him up, barely letting Mox put any weight down. Once he’s inside the door he shrugs Eddie off, and shuts the door in his face when he opens his mouth, brain tuning out the gruff complaints from the other side.
 The tub’s too small but he sits down in it anyways, just lets the water pelt his back. He can feel the dirt loosening. He doesn’t want to scrub. Scrubbing would mean acknowledging his body and he       can’t.    Thinking about it makes him nauseous. Washing the grime out of his hair, that he can do. He lets it stick to his forehead and cover his eyes. Any way he can have less sensory information to deal with is great.
 He sits for a while, turns around and lets the water slide down his chest. There’s blood under his fingernails, which isn’t unfamiliar. He puts one in his mouth, using a canine to scrape the muck out and spitting it into the murky water between his legs, then repeats with his other fingers.
 Eventually he does lather soap between his hands and does a cursory clean, standing and letting the remaining filth run down his legs and into the drain. He goes through the process of toweling off almost robotically, eyes closed, and gets dressed.
 Mox’s face in the fogged mirror is a reminder. He’s still here, he’s still human. Even if his body doesn’t feel much better, his brain is more together.
 He opens the door, and Eddie’s right there.
 “No arguing. Fucking freezing in here.” He says.
 Eddie has his blanket. Mox’s favorite, the one he commandeers every time he and Eddie drive together. Must have gotten it out of the car while Mox got clean. Eddie wraps it around Mox’s shoulders. He curls it tight around him, pressing it against his nose, his face, letting the soft fabric somehow soothe.
 “Thanks.” Mox’s voice is rough, almost a whisper. His throat is better from the steam in the shower, but not by much.
 “You hungry? Need something for…. Whatever the hell that was?”
 He nods emphatically. He’s fucking starving. Needs something that's not copper on his tongue.
 So Eddie practically feeds him cold pizza, and hands him two ibuprofen which he takes gladly. And when they’re done, both sitting on Eddie’s bed, nothing but the sound of the half-working radiator to listen to, Eddie yawns and stretches.
 “You’re sleeping with me. No buts.” His tone allows for no argument. He turns off the light and lays down.
 Mox wraps arms tight around Eddie’s middle, burying his face in his chest and tucking his legs up. Small, but inseparable from Eddie’s warmth. He feels Eddie drape an arm over him and pull the covers up. And he is warm and safe enough that the pain fades to dullness.
 _____________________________
 It’s okay for a while after that. Whatever happens to him keeps happening, like sleepwalking, but he always wakes up close to wherever he was staying. He also starts remembering more of the missing time. It’s so full of sensory input that trying to recall anything clearly is like standing in a wind tunnel of scent and sound. There’s flashes, like once in Florida remembering the exact taste and sensation of biting through a crocodile’s hide into the soft flesh beneath. But consciousness in the change still eludes him.
 As he moves up, it gets harder and harder to hide. Roadside motels in the middle of nowhere turn to larger chains in suburbs and cities. The wolf gets restless. It chafes under the spotlight. He really doesn’t want it slipping loose, not when he’s got two people whose careers are tied directly to his. Roman knows better than to poke at his secrets, but Seth? Seth clocks him so fast it scares him. Insists on going with to watch.
 Seth shows him the video later. It’s dark as shit and the quality is awful.
 In the video he- Dean- is standing at the edge of some woods. He’s sweaty, fidgeting. He jerks his neck one way, suddenly, like he heard something.
 It starts. A low keen in his chest, frantic breathing, and then his shoulder-blades snap in unison. He doubles over, and the sound he’s making is so human. More cracking bones, and a strange wet sound as muscle knits itself into new shapes. There’s a glimpse of his head as his spine realigns in a sickening roll, visible under the remaining skin. It snaps up, and one yellow eye barely catches the light. Something falls to the ground. Teeth. They rain from the bloodied wet maw as it contorts into a muzzle, tongue writhing like an eel. The wolf is on its knees, or it is until they fold violently back into digitigrade position, putting it onto all fours, back arching.
 It’s not a real wolf. Someone who had never seen a wolf in real life might think so, if you saw it in the dark, in passing. The back legs bend like a dog’s would, ending in massive paws, but the front retains something like an elbow, with a strange mix of hand and paw at the end. It’s the size of a small bear, and the fur, when it shakes off most of the blood, is tawny, shaggy and coming out in places. It turns its head towards the camera, pulls its long ears back, and growls like no other creature on earth can. Then the feed cuts.
 It should probably be horrifying. That’s his body, after all. Somehow it doesn’t scare him. It's comforting, in a way, to know that his pain is justified. That it's a traumatic event once a month like clockwork. He has experience with those.
 Seth said he drove away as fast as he could. That the wolf ran alongside until he hit the highway. He was real messed up about it, didn't ask to come with ever again. He was there after Dean changed back, which he supposes was the important part. But the shine of having a werewolf for a partner came off real quick after that. There would be no oversized dog kisses, no wet noses, no running with the wolf. Only Dean, before and after, and the beast between.
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eddiemunsongf · 2 years
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so, scrolling through the eddie tag it occurred to me that some of yall might not know that he/his storyline is pretty transparently inspired by a real crime/historical event, and i thought it might be of interest.
SPOILERS FOR STRANGER THINGS 4x1-3. CONTENT WARNING FOR TRUE CRIME, MURDER, CHILD MURDER.
iykyk, i’m obviously talking about the west memphis 3. if you don’t--
the case:
in 1993, three eight year old boys were found murdered in a small town in arkansas. the scene was horrific, and immediately overwhelming to the small police force, who fumbled the case from jump. this occurred when america was still deep in the throes of the satanic panic, especially in rural areas like west memphis. within a week, the police were circling 18 year old damien echols and two younger teenage boys as suspects, based on little more than them being edgy. a year later, the three boys were convicted of the murders, based solely on image, rumors, and circumstantial evidence. the two younger boys were sentenced to life, and damien was put on death row.
in 1996, hbo released the first of three documentaries about the case (more specifically, about it’s unbelievable mishandling). they were massive hits, creating a fervour similar to serial or making a murderer at their height. metallica, eddie veder, jello biafra, henry rollins, and filmmaker peter jackson, as well as many other celebrities and musicians, became invested in the case, and produced a benefit concert, CD, and a further documentary to draw attention to it and help fund the boys’ defense.
finally, in 2011, the west memphis 3 were released from prison. though they were forced into a shady plea arrangement that did not exonerate them and prevents them from suing the hell out of the state of arkansas, they maintain their innocence. 
ok but whats that got to do with eddie, dude?
damien echols was a long haired teenaged boy in a small midwestern town during the satanic panic. he wore black and liked metal. he was an extremely poor outsider, but also made himself something of a leader among local outcasts and fuck-ups. he laughed at his sheeple peers and authorities. he instigated, in the way that otherwise nerdy teenaged boys often do: if you can’t beat ‘em, freak ‘em out. what’s more, it was fun to him.
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when three children were murdered in his town, the above was enough to convince local authorities and townspeople that damien was the leader of a bonafide satanic cult, and had sacrificed the boys. to these people, these crimes could only be the work of satan himself, and damien was the closest thing to satan that they knew.
of course, the case of the west memphis 3 is much, much more complicated than eddie’s. the first crime scene was in his home, and he ran. and the police misconduct in the WM3′s case is to such a level that it would comedic if it weren’t so fucking tragic. i do not think this is a 1-1 retelling. i am only trying to illustrate that eddie is (imo) undeniably inspired by damien echols.
if that isn’t enough to convince you, one of the murdered boys’ names is christopher byers, and i have long wondered if he is (once missing) will byers’ namesake. for me, this confirms it.
(there also may be something to be said about the state vecna’s 3 victims are left in, and how it relates to the WM3, but i’d rather not elaborate publicly because it could be quite upsetting. if anyone wants to talk privately, i’m open.)
cool..... why should i care?
you really don’t have to. there’s nothing wrong with enjoying eddie as he is or as you headcanon him. i understand if it’s uncomfortable to tie him to this real tragedy, especially if you were previously unaware. godspeed.
to me, it adds depth to his character. most stranger things characters are based on popular 80s tropes. not eddie. he’s representative of something real. a real person, a real victim of the era the show glamorizes. it expands his character two-fold: it adds real weight and gravity to his situation, and it creates a sweeter alternate reality. one where damien echols is believed, helped, and hopefully, cleared. 
true crime is a deservedly controversial form of media. but when stories are this big, and this emblematic of a certain time and place, they get sucked up into the zeitgeist in a way that is quite different than an episode of mfm or unsolved mysteries. they shape culture, they leave an impression on those who grow up to make art, they become historical touchstones. i don’t think ST is being exploitative by taking inspiration from this story (though im open to being wrong on this). however, i suppose i was a little bothered scrolling through posts, thinking of the people who may not know the history behind this character. i suppose that’s why im typing this now. this happens to be a subject i know something about, and it felt right to share.
finally, i would like to offer proper acknowledgement to the survivors and victims.
damien echols, jason baldwin, and jesse misskelley jr were just kids. they were profiled, tricked, and failed repeatedly by the system. echols trusted in the justice system so implicitly that he felt safe cracking jokes to the police, assured that his innocence would protect him. baldwin was initially suspected for wearing a metallica t-shirt. misskelley was initially suspected because he had spiked hair. they each lost nearly 20 years of their lives.
steve branch, christopher byers, and michael moore were denied a proper investigation of their murders. as far as the state of arkansas is concerned, they closed this case in 1994. may they rest in peace.
if you’re interested in learning more, i offer two warnings. one: this is obviously an inherently dark subject. but know i intentionally underplayed the details of this particular crime. it is horrific. i advise against going deeper if you are sensitive or if it is inappropriate in any way for you to do so. two: this was an extremely popular case during the rise of the internet. there is an absolute avalanche of information, discussion, and forums. if you are a person who can get sucked into rabbit holes, be aware this is a deep one. i recommend starting with the book devil’s knot by mara leveritt. of note are also the paradise lost documentaries, and the two books by echols himself. good luck, friend.
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combatfaerie · 1 year
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Ficlet: Dusty’s Kids
Title: Dusty’s Kids
Word count: 1,081
Rating: Gen
Characters: Becky Lynch & Cody Rhodes (with a Seth Rollins cameo)
Prompt: “Two people reach for the last bottle of the same drink in a gas station fridge.” (Late for the challenge, I know.)
"Fancy meeting you here."
The voice startles Becky enough that her fingers stop just short of the juice bottle, and she laughs with relief when she turns and sees Cody reaching for the same one. "You're having toddler issues too?" she asks, glancing down at the empty bottle in his other hand.
Cody nods. "I'd say terrible twos and all, but Libby's not quite there yet. Maybe she'll get it out of her system by then." His gaze skims over the assortment of bottles with obnoxiously bright labels, clearly aimed at young children. "I was given strict instructions to get, and I quote, the purple flavour." His shoulders flinch reflexively as he peers closer. "Is this the last one?"
Becky gives the shelf a quick glance before nodding. "Looks like it. Purple's popular because of the penguin." Since Cody isn't making a move for the last purple bottle, Becky grabs it and hands it to him. "It's yours. Roux likes the red one too," she says, tapping the raccoon on the bottle before picking it up, "and I didn't have strict orders." Her gaze drops to her purse; with her luck, that would be the cosmic cue for Seth to text her from the bus and say that Roux wants a particular flavour.
Knocking the new bottle with his empty one in a mock toast, Cody hesitates. "You're sure? I don't mind. I could probably get the blue and Libby wouldn't know the difference."
"Between a penguin and a bear?" Becky raises an eyebrow. "Honestly, it's fine. The red one will make Seth laugh, if nothing else. He's still on about the soup-or-jello thing...."
Cody's nod is almost solemn, at odds with his cheesy grin as he grabs a blue bottle as well for good measure. "Truly a battle for the ages. Well, thanks for this. I appreciate it." He raises the fresh bottle in a salute and then pauses. "You would have been a cool sister."
It's so out of nowhere that Becky almost drops the red bottle. "What?"
"You know, the whole Dusty's Kids thing." Cody's mouth twitches in a rueful smile and he rubs his neck tattoo absently. "I know I can get a bit sensitive about it, but I remember Dad talking about so many of his NXT kids and you... somehow it never bothered me when he talked about you. I felt like I could relate to you. I know we came into this business in entirely different ways, but...."
"Thank you." When Becky had stepped off her family's tour bus and headed into the gas station, she didn't expect to see anyone she knew, let alone have a heart-to-heart conversation that brings tears to her eyes, but memories of Dusty always touch her heart. He was by no means a replacement for her own father, but he was a lifeline all the same. "That... means a lot. Though I'm sure my actual brother would tell you to reconsider," she adds, hoping humour will buoy the mood.
Laughing, Cody nods. "My sisters would probably tell you the same. For what it's worth, though, I'm glad he was there for you."
"Me too." Becky's  breath catches a bit and she knows she'll need to take a moment to compose herself before getting back on the bus so Roux doesn't think she's upset. "Have a good night."
"You too." Cody turns and heads to the cash register and Becky's left shaking her head, unsure how to process the random confession as she picks out drinks for herself, Seth, and the bus driver. To her surprise, when she gets up to the register, Cody is still there, pouring half of the new purple bottle into his empty one. "Siblings should share," he says simply, fastening both caps in place and putting his bottle in his bag before heading for the door.
The clerk doesn't comment and Becky's grateful, because she's not sure what she would say. She pays for her drinks—and a small bar of mint chocolate—and heads back to the bus, coat collar pulled up high around her neck. When she knocks on the bus door, Seth is already there waiting for her, hand held out for the bag. "Was that Cody's bus?" he asks, kissing her cheek once she's inside.
Becky glances out the window to see another tour bus pulling out of the gas station lot. How did I miss it before? she thinks, going on tiptoe to kiss Seth. "Yeah. He was stopping to get a drink for Libby—she likes the purple flavour too," she adds with a smile. Then she glances around for Roux. Normally her daughter would be waiting for her at the door, nose pressed to the glass. "Where's Roux?"
Pressing a finger to his lips, Seth motions to the back of the bus, and Becky follows him to find Roux sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over her bedtime book. "Leave her," Seth whispers, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over his daughter. Then he opens the mini-fridge and starts to unload the bag, pausing when he gets to the half-full purple bottle. "Did you get thirsty on the walk back?" he teases, setting it near the front and putting the drink for the driver on the table.
Shaking her head, Becky dips her hand in the bag and retrieves her chocolate before Seth can hide it. "There was only one," she replies softly. "I told Cody to take it, but he split it."
"He should have taken the chocolate instead." Seth pretends to make a move to snatch the bar from Becky, but he kisses her instead. "I'll go tell the driver we're ready."
"Thanks." Becky watches him take the extra drink up front as she settles beside Roux, careful not to disturb her. She wants to tell Seth what Cody said—he was one of Dusty's Kids too—but that can wait until tomorrow. She's heard so many stories from second-generation wrestlers about what it was like growing up with a parent who was always away and she's glad that no longer has to be the case. "Thanks, Dusty," she whispers, looking down at her daughter, down the bus aisle to where her husband is chatting with the driver, down at the wedding ring she doesn't get to wear nearly as often as she would like. This is her dream, and thanks in large part to Dusty, she gets to live it every day.
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attzi-gearburst · 2 years
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DWC Day 1: Chastity/Lust
One of the Reasons I Quit My Old Job Word Count: too many Warnings: goblin hedonism and debauchery (jello wrestling). This whole thing happened because of a tmog I made that Attzi would never wear unless under duress. It's long, because it was mostly written before DWC started.
@daily-writing-challenge
“Ya want me ta what?” Attzi put her hands on her hips and stared over the table at the goblin on the other side. No wonder the Baron had asked to meet her at the tavern himself–if he’d sent his assistant with this kind of request, she’d have tossed What’s-His-Name out on his ass.
Baron Revilgaz took a drink from his tankard and flapped his other hand dismissively. “I don’t want ya ta do nothin’. The client does.”
“He wants ta wrestle me.” Her voice was flat. “Ya know how I feel about that.”
“Yeah, but this one wants ta make it fun.” Revilgaz grinned. “Gelatin or oil, he says you pick.”
Attzi huffed. “Neither! Get someone else. I ain’t th’ only one who works this job for ya.”
“He likes ya most, Atz. Ya know how to make an impression. That’s why you’re my best.”
The flattery was wasted on her, as he should have known by now. “I ain’t doin’ it.” She crossed her arms across her front and scowled. She’d have to remember this the next time her ma told her there was nothing wrong with being an overachiever. 
Her boss’s voice turned wheedling. “I’ll pay ya double.” He held up two clawed fingers.
“Double?” She let her voice get a bit shrill. “For rollin’ around in dubious food with some guy ya wanna cheat?”
“Look, them Area 52 guys’re just plain weird. I think th’ netherstorm gets to ‘em. Ever been? Place is a wastela–”
Attzi cut him off. “I want triple. Up front.” She locked eyes with the baron.
He countered immediately. “Double up front, an’ a week off ta visit th’ family. Plus, he said he’d have a gift for ya of his own for bein’ so obligin’.”
She made a frustrated noise through her teeth. “Yeah, I bet he did.”
“Nah, he said somethin’ about bugs. Said ya brought up ya like ‘em.” 
Her ears perked, and she cursed internally for showing interest so clearly. “...I ain’t got a place ta do this, or th’ stuff we’d need,” she protested lamely.
Revilgaz gave another dismissive wave. “Tell me gelatin or oil an’ I’ll have it all sent ta your place. Do it on th’ roof by that bar a yours.”
Attzi cocked her head, considering the location. If her opponent got handsy, she could always knock him off the roof, right? Sure, there was a privacy fence, but that was for hiding her when she was sunbathing, so it wasn’t super tall.
“...An’ how can I be sure th’ assistant’s gonna get all this set up in time?”
“I’ll be bringing it all personally.” Possibly to reinforce this, he finished his drink and set it down on the table with a loud ahh.
“Ta my house? You jus’ wanna watch!” She pointed a gold-painted claw at him accusingly.
He smirked and leaned back in his chair. “If I’m payin’ ya double up front, I’m makin’ sure you’re puttin’ in th’ effort.”
Her head cocked. “He don’t seem th’ type to want me ta throw it, then?”
He spread his hands wide. “Too bad, right?”
“You’re enjoyin’ this too much, boss. Bring gelatin. I don’t wanna get oil in my hair. An’ ya own liquor. I ain’t indulgin’ ya tonight any more than I gotta.” Attzi whirled on her heel and stomped out of the tavern, the heels of her boots thudding pointedly as she made her exit. Most days she loved her job. This wasn’t one of them. And she needed to get back quickly enough to remember who this guy from Area 52 was, get dressed, and get the roof ready for company.
She knew better than to check her notes while walking after nearly spilling off the boardwalk and into the bay more than once, so she forced herself to wait until she was back in her house on the top row, nestled between the hill of the jungle behind them and the bay far below. She closed her front door and immediately scrambled for her notebook, finding the page on her current mark and reading it over. 
He hadn’t really struck her as a creep so far, at least, and they had talked about bugs. He was a trader, and apparently he had a cousin who traded in the big bugs that you could ride over the water. She’d liked that idea enough to write it down, so he must have picked up on her enthusiasm. Kizzie wasn’t a super great name, but at least she’d be able to remember it for the night, because the sound of it made her giggle. 
Oh, and she’d even put down a little sketch with her descriptions. Kizzie must have gotten too interested in what she’d been writing. She usually drew them to distract them when they got too nosy.
She snapped the notebook shut and slid it into a drawer before moving to her bedroom next. She opened the closet that spanned the entire wall the door was on, and started digging around in her many, many bathing suits for a specific set she remembered having made. She may not have done much wrestling, but she’d done plenty of swimming, and she knew that hands grabbing the wrong strap could quickly cause a wardrobe malfunction. So, after a bit of searching, she produced what she hoped would be her saving grace with the gelatin: dark red bottoms with a belt that sat above the hips, just high enough to cover her belly button. The sides of the bottoms were high and showed off nearly all her leg and half her ass (it was really hard to find bottoms that covered it, honestly), but the belt kept what was there from falling off when diving… or being yanked off by creeping fingers. She said a brief prayer to nobody that they’d still fit as she shimmied into them and buckled them closed. The buckle was gold, and set with a pretty little diamond. She’d wanted it to look more like a fashion piece than what it really was: a deterrent. 
Next, she found the top she often wore with it: a lace-front crop top with a bottom band that buckled on her back, just below the bustline. The laces let her adjust how much cleavage she felt like showing; today, it was going to be laced completely shut. She didn’t want to dig gelatin out of her top later.
Also, didn’t it melt? 
She shuddered and got to work strapping and lacing herself in. As she did, she tried not to envision how it was going to feel squishing between her toes. 
Nah, nah, she wasn’t gonna let that happen. She pulled out a sliding shelf that held her boots, sorted by color and condition, and found a pair of old red cloth knee-highs that would match the suit. Stepping into them, she laced them up and then took a few test steps. They should still have enough tread to work for this. If Kizzie didn’t like it, she’d complain that someone had stepped on her foot once during a wrestling match, and it had hurt for days. Sad pouting. 
Attzi closed up her closet, bringing the mirrors covering the doors back into view. She stared at the final result for a bit, turning this way and that. Part of her was self-conscious about her bare arms because people generally didn’t expect them to be so buff. Most of her was self-conscious about the sheer amount of ass and thigh visible; she’d inherited her father’s upper half, and her mother’s lower half. There were benefits to calling attention to each, but she usually didn’t go out around clients with both on show. It gave them ideas she didn’t always want them to have. 
If a single person asked if they could try to bounce a gold piece off her backside tonight… Her head cocked, and she stared at the door. How many people was she going to be dealing with, anyway? Revilgaz, for all his teasing, wanted to be there to seal the deal while her mark was breathless, sticky, and distracted. But would Kizzie be bringing anyone?
She had just enough time to put on her lipstick before there was a knock at the door and the sound of several sets of shuffling feet from the open window beside it. “Special delivery!”
“It’s open,” she called, walking back into the main room. When the door opened, her heart sank. Baron Revilgaz walked in briskly, followed by six of his men. Two were holding a kiddie pool, and the rest either had buckets of water, or large boxes of powder. 
“We need all these guys for this?” Her voice was incredulous. 
“Two’ll stay ta help with drinks. Th’ rest are just here for setup.” Revilgaz directed them up her spiral staircase, and was about to follow after when Attzi called out.
“Hey! I ain’t seein’ any sign ya BYOB’d.” 
Just then, a seventh goblin came in, holding a heavy crate of bottles. Her boss chuckled, and she sighed and fell into step with everyone else, heading for the roof.
Once they were up top, Baron Revilgaz turned and looked her over. “Ya look like ya wrestle all th’ time in that outfit. This happen more often than I knew about?”
“Nah.” Attzi turned in place with a little flourish. “This’s what I wear when I take clients cliff divin’ off your statue’s big dumb face in th’ bay. Belt keeps everythin’ in place when I hit the water.”
He squinted at her, trying to decide if she was being honest or not. All she did was wink, and then start shifting furniture around to create a space for the pool. Begrudgingly, she moved all the seats so that the spectators, if there were any, could get a clear view of the match. Revilgaz immediately sat down in the leftmost lounge chair, snapping his fingers. In seconds, he had a cold bottle of ale in his hand. 
While Attzi was moving the furniture and seeing that the bar was properly stocked, some of Revilgaz’s henchmen started mixing water and powder in the kiddie pool. She sniffed, and then wrinkled her nose. 
“...Cherry? You serious?”
Her boss shrugged. “We had th’ most a that flavor.”
“I wonder why.” That was gonna look real appealing on skin. She should have at least requested a not blood-like color. Attzi groaned and started mixing herself up the first of her three drinks for the night, and then went and sprawled out in the lounge chair next to Revilgaz, leaving her bar to the two tenders he’d brought along. “Might as well get some sun before Kizzie shows.” She sipped her cocktail through a straw and then tilted her face to the sky.
“Right.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the gelatin pool boys split off and scampered over. “You. Go tell Kizzie he got his wish.”
Attzi stared daggers at the baron as his henchman scampered off, but all he did was smile and give a small cheers with his drink. She sighed, lounged back, and closed her eyes before holding a hand out in his direction. “Pay up.”
He grumbled, but pulled a hefty bag of gold out of the box of alcohol beside him, settling it into her open palm with a flourish. She sat it beside her hip without counting it; he knew better than to cheat her. That done, she stretched out in the chair and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her skin while she waited for the inevitable.
****
Her current best friend did show up with guests. Attzi had nearly fallen asleep in the chair next to the baron when one of the henchmen scampered downstairs and answered a knock at her door. She opened her eyes, good ear taking in the sound of several pairs of shoes on the spiral staircase. They turned out to belong to Kizzie, an orc she hadn’t met, and two other goblins.
“Go time,” murmured Revilgaz, taking her glass from her. She scowled at him ever-so-briefly, before turning it into a cheerful smile and shifting her attention to the new arrivals. Attzi rose from her lounge chair and approached the guest of honor.
“Kizzie!” She met his eyes and beamed. “All this trouble just for me?”
“Booty Bay’s known for its…” he trailed off as he took in her outfit. “Interestin' attractions. I figured I might as well check an’ see if this was a possibility.”
She took his arm and led him to the bar, where more henchmen were ready to serve. “Let’s get some liquid courage in ya before we get in th’ ring.”
He ordered a drink, and she longed for hers. A side-eye to Revilgaz told her that he was finishing it instead of handing it back, even though he had his own liquor right next to him. She caught his eye and made a slashing motion at her neck with a claw before Kizzie caught her attention again.
“So, how we gonna do this?”
Attzi gestured at the pool. “Hop in, get a bit dirty?”
Kizzie cleared his throat. “Right, but who’s th’ ref? How many rounds?”
“I’ll be th’ ref,” Baron Revilgaz called from his spot. “How many rounds ya want?”
“Best a three?” Attzi suggested, because she knew one match wouldn’t be distracting enough. 
Kizzie agreed immediately, taking his drink in hand and having a sip as he looked her over. “I ain’t convinced a my chances, seein’ you outta clothes. Your tailor knows how to hide those arms.”
She smiled and nodded, putting a hand on her hip and flexing her arm slightly. “If ya wanna back down….”
He shook his head and tossed his drink back, before pulling off his shirt and sitting to remove his boots. “Nah. This’ll be memorable, one way or another.” 
Kizzie’s frame was wiry, which gave her hope she wasn’t going to be immediately smashed into the ring. Once he was down to his trousers, Revilgaz gestured with the remains of Attzi’s drink toward the pool. “Contestants, take your places,” he said in his speech-giving voice.
Keeping a smile on her face, she stepped into one side of the pool, ignoring the way the partially-set gelatin squelched underboot. Kizzie stepped into the other side, barefoot, and spread his arms in front of him, clearly readying himself to grapple her. She kept her hands at her sides and spread her legs slightly to help center her weight.
“On count. Three… two… …one!”
Kizzie launched himself forward, reaching for her shoulders. Attzi grabbed him by the neck and side-stepped, guiding him front-first into the pool of cherry-flavored gelatin. He sputtered, and she sat herself down on his lower back before she looked over at Revilgaz, smirking.
He blinked. “Well, that’s round one. Kizzie, I gotta warn ya, she grew up with… how many was it?”
“Five cousins. Four boys.” Attzi rose and held out a hand to assist Kizzie to his feet as he wiped gelatin from his face. 
“‘Xactly.” While her mark was cleaning up, her boss made eye contact with her and suggested using the power of a jaw clench that she’d better not do that again. Attzi sighed and returned to her initial spot.  
The next round was counted off, and this time she let him hit her full-on. His fingers found the sleeve of her top, but the laces and buckle held. They topped backwards into the mess of the pool, and she immediately worked at hooking a leg in his so that she’d be able to flip him. Everything smelled like cherry, and the more they wrestled, the slicker their skin became. It was getting hard for her to keep a grip on him. Eventually, she resorted to wrapping both her legs around his waist and clenching her thighs, sending herself up hard against his body. It was a dirty tactic, but when he gasped, she used the distraction to roll him. His back hit the gelatin, and she shifted her hips as she sat up so that she didn’t have to feel what that particular move had done to him.
Attzi grimaced as she realized there was gelatin in her hair, but remembered what she was here for and turned it back into a smile. “Another drink might limber ya up a bit,” she suggested, straddling his thighs and smirking. “Though there’s no winnin’ at this point. Wanna call it?”
“Call it? Nah.” He laughed and ran a hand down her bare back. “Drink, sure. An’ a request.” He pointed behind them, to one of his entourage. “I know when I’m beat. Let him try ta save face for me while I watch th’ last round.”
Attzi followed his finger, and her eyes went wide as she saw he was indicating the orc. “I, uh–” Her eyes cut to the baron, who was grinning and lounging in his chair, her now-empty drink in his hand. She returned her face to a pleasant smile, and rose, holding a hand out to return the mark to his feet. He came back up into everyone’s view with very little shame, considering the state she’d left him in.
“Come sit by me, Kizzie. I’m sure Atz’ll oblige. We’ll get ya another drink for tha show.”
She stared at Revilgaz for a moment, eyes narrowed, and he helpfully held up two fingers. Double. She’d been paid double. Fuck.
He set her glass down, and smiled over at the orc. “Can we get ya a refreshment, sir?”
The orc shook his head and stepped forward, hauling his shirt over his head and exposing a very muscular torso. She’d put money on him being Kizzie’s bodyguard. “No need. I’m fine.” 
Attzi and Revilgaz had a quiet, brief eye-fight, but in the end she stepped back into the pool to face off against someone roughly half again her height. He clambered onto the opposite side, and they stared at one another for a moment as the baron got Kizzie situated with a drink and a good view.
She knew what was going to happen: this fight was going to run long because her boss would refuse to call it, and while she was pinned and struggling underneath her opponent, Revilgaz was going to talk business, hoping their mark would be so focused on the event that he’d sign whatever just to get back to it. She also knew it was going to work. But she still needed to put on a show. So when her new opponent stepped in, she smiled up at him and stretched her arms over her head, releasing some very real tension in her back and shoulders. “Think ya can handle me?”
All he did was blink at her. Her eyes darted from his face to his hands, which most definitely were going to be able to handle her. She grinned and winked at him, which made him smile faintly. 
“I’ll go easy on you,” he said.
“Where’s th’ fun in that?” 
This time, he did smile. 
The baron counted down the round, and the two of them simply stood there for a moment. Attzi was waiting for him to react, and he was taking his time. After a few seconds, both his hands reached for her waist, and she tried to twist away. She avoided one hand, but the other caught the belt of her bottoms and hauled her across the pool, dragging her boots through the gelatin as he pulled her close. She braced her hands against his chest and tried to push off, but he slipped his arm around her, pulling her in close against his middle by sheer force of muscle. 
“Ya got three feet on her, Dral!” she heard Kizzie call. “C’mon!”
“I can fix that.” He chuckled, wrapped both his hands around her waist, and then just lifted her into the air so that they were at face level with one another.
Attzi kept a smile on her face and giggled breathlessly. “This ain’t wrestlin’, big guy.”
“No. It’s entertainment.” He smirked and lowered his voice to a murmur. “I know what he likes. Just play along.”
“...Okay, sure.” She shoved at his shoulders with her hands, and then raised her voice. “Pretty sure ya gotta pin me to win, buddy.”
He set her down, then flicked two fingers, beckoning her to come at him. She looked up to meet his eyes, and he winked. “Then let’s get you pinned.”
Attzi took a deep breath and decided to trust that he, too, was just an employee. She heard laughter behind her as she stepped in close and tried to wrap a leg around his to bring him down. Laughter, and the sound of Revilgaz wheeling and dealing. Just a few more seconds, then. 
There was absolutely no way she was strong enough to bring him down, but he still stumbled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her down on top of him. She ended up sprawled across his chest and stomach, and tried to pin him and fix that at the same time: one hand to each shoulder, and she pressed down.
“You’re as strong as you look,” he chuckled.
“Likewise.” She tried to get back onto her feet, but he grabbed her again, squeezing her in close with his arm.
“The only place you’re going is down,” he said, enunciating enough for the spectators. Then, he rolled her.
Attzi shrieked as the gelatin squished into her back, her hair, and against her legs. Secondary to that sensation was the feeling of many, many pounds of muscular orc pressing against her. The lip of the pool kept her from seeing their audience, but she could definitely hear them cheering. And, as expected, her boss wasn’t calling the round.
It was honestly hard to breathe underneath him, but at least her new ‘rival’ seemed completely disinterested in what was going on; they were both performing for their employers, and that fact made the whole charade a little more fun than it would have been otherwise. She wrapped her legs around his middle and futilely tried to flip him like she’d done with Kizzie earlier. Of course, it didn’t work, but it looked good. He grabbed one of her thighs with a hand and pulled her leg back down, and she yelled in frustration at being pinned again.
For his part, he laughed as he held her, and then scooped up some of the gelatin and smeared it across her face. When she made a very genuine disgusted noise, she heard their audience cheer again. She took the cue and retaliated, using both her hands to smash gelatin right back into his face.
He pinned her hands then, holding her down, and she kicked her legs and struggled with literally all her might. Everything was slippery, and he was too big to really do anything against, and for a brief moment she felt genuine panic. Her opponent must have heard it in her voice, because he lifted off of her just enough to give her free room to breathe. 
And then, right at the edge of her tolerance, Baron Revilgaz called the match. The orc immediately rose, offering out a hand, and she stood, breathing hard. Her eyes found Kizzie, and she saw a signed contract in the baron’s hand. Revilgaz gave her a small nod, and then one of the henchmen came up to her with a towel. It was one of hers; had they gone through her house? She snapped and gestured at the orc, who was then given a towel, as well.
He wiped his face and hair clean, and then held out a hand. When she shook it, he grinned.
Did he have any idea what he’d just helped do? She studied his face, but found no answers.
Soon, her nice white towels were stained with cherry. She smiled around gritted teeth and moved for the bar, asking for her second drink of the night.
****
The rest of the night was drinking and chatting and wishing for a bath. Kizzie had to be carried off by his entourage at the end; he’d been a bit too liberal with her bar. Before that, though, he’d promised that she’d have a present from his cousin delivered within the week. Dral, her new orc friend, had caught her gaze and winked before taking the staircase down into her main house, his boss slung over his shoulder. She’d blown him a kiss as he left.
Once everyone was gone, Baron Revilgaz shooed his bartenders out of her house and mixed up her favorite drink himself.
“I already had three,” Attzi protested as he settled down in the chair beside her and offered it out.
“Ya don’t gotta perform anymore tonight. Ya did good. Now take a break.”
She sighed and stretched out in the lounge chair, accepting the drink and having a sip. “Do shit like this ta me much more an’ I’m gonna quit, ya know.”
“Ya’d break my heart like that, Atz?” His voice sounded fond, and completely unbothered. 
Attzi turned her head, meeting his eyes, and nodded. “In a second,” she said, before having another drink.
“An’ that’s why I call ya my best.” He winked, and then crossed his arms behind his head, tilting his head to the sky. “I’ll have someone clean th’ roof for ya tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Attzi looked up at the stars, and tried to ignore the prevalent smell of cherry. 
The two of them fell into a comfortable silence. Once she finished her drink, he wished her a good night, and then saw himself out.
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ministry-of-acid · 8 months
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If I add another goddamned Jello Biafra song to my playlist dedicated to an evil capitalist I feel like the iww is gonna take my card lmfaoooo I know I struggle with media that isn't communist in some flavor but come the fuck on, homonationalist, you can't beat back the gay feelings with more Henry Rollins
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thedaveandkimmershow · 2 months
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Turns out the story I've been telling this whole time is really Part 1... because Part 2 actually happened last night.
By the way, time elapsed between Part 1 and Part 2?
Forty-one and a half years.
Ish.
PART 1
After high school graduation, a bunch of us spent a weekend during the summer at Ocean Shores. One afternoon while we were there inside the lodge, one of my friends walked us through a relaxation exercise where we all lay down on the floor on our backs. After that, we're instructed to contract each muscle in our bodies one at a time, and then release.
Every muscle. One at a time.
Contract.
The. Release.
Followed by...
Close your eyes.
So we close our eyes and our friend walks us through the visualization. From this distance in time, I don't remember anything about the narrative. Linzy, though, would recognize it as a rudimentary dream patrol because each of us had parts of the visualization to fill in. For example, at one point we're walking along a path when we come upon something. What color is that something?
Orange, was my answer. Orange, because earlier that day, walking on the beach, I think I found an actual orange. Or maybe it was an orange ball. Something like that.
Orange.
By the way, that was the last thing I remember because right after that, laying on the floor with my eyes shut, I fall straight into a deep sleep.
In the middle of the afternoon.
Heckuva thing, that.
PART 2
Okay so forty-one and a half (ish) years later, I'm at the bedside of a little boy who's doing everything in his power to not go to bed. He's very clever about it, this little one. He also happens to be my honorary grandson.
So I'm sitting at the end of his bed while he's thinking about what his next move's gonna be 'cause I'm not playing by his rules just now. Because what I just said is
You don't have to go to sleep at all tonight.
Huh?
No really. I told him that.
You don't have to go to sleep.
At all.
Tonight.
Now, next to his bed's a little radio looking gizmo that's playing a bedtime story.
It's on a little loud, though. So I turn it down to one or two, maybe three.
"I can't hear it," complains my little bedtime combatant.
"You can," I say. "In fact, the most powerful hearing we do is for soft sounds when our ears work harder. Here. Let's both be quiet for a sec and just listen."
So we do.
And then I say
"See what I mean?"
No idea if he does, by the way. He's just rollin' with it. So I continue.
"Now, there are a couple things that make this work better. The first is to close your eyes. Don't do that yet, though. Just know that when our eyes are closed our ears work extra hard to hear what we can't see."
"But I can't see the screen," he objects.
Turns out the little radio has a screen built into it as well. A bit of over-engineering, in my opinion.
"Well," I say, "that's what your ears are gonna do for you. Because you're going to imagine in your head everything you hear from your radio. "
He nods.
"Here's the most important thing, though. You need to put your arms to either side of you. And you have to relax all your muscles."
I shake my shoulders and arms in such a way as to give him a sense of jello.
"Okay. So remember. The most important thing is to relax all your muscles. They all have to be loose."
Hmmmmm.
So far, so good.
"Now. What's gonna happen next is I'm gonna turn the volume down another click. You're gonna relax all your muscles like jello with your arms at your sides. You're gonna close your eyes. Then you're gonna imagine inside your head what you hear from the radio.
Ready?"
He nods his head.
So I turn the volume down a click. Then I turn out the light.
In a moment, all I can see is by a colored string of lights hanging by the bed.
"You doing okay?"
He doesn't say anything.
I look at him a little more intently in the dark and see that he's flashing me a thumbs up.
And so, with my work done, I exit stage left with a "I love you, buddy" and close the door behind me.
It worked, by the way.
He didn't turn his lights back on, didn't get up and leave his room again. Because at some point...
He fell straight into sleep.
Man... I love it when a plan comes together.
😉
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punkrockhistory · 20 days
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Which 4 punk rock musicians would you put in this picture?
Ian MacKaye
Henry Rollins
Dee Dee Ramone
Jello Biafra
Btw - > I would blow up Rushmore and give it back to the natives 🙂
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