#i bought a photo card stack

[trashmouth-richie]

master list

eddie! x fem reader

summary: 3 years later; happy birthday

I can’t believe this is almost the end. It is so bittersweet to be uploading this and thanking you all for the continued support on this story. I hope you will miss eddie + tooty just as much as I will. The epilogue is next and then a fun little surprise for you all.

trigger warnings: fluff, sweet sweet fluff 💕

Crinkly paper streamers twist down into even boughs along the cedar planked walls.  A homemade banner crafted with the best paint Melvald’s could offer, hung over the sliding patio door, freckled with glitter and deep hues of scarlet and onyx. 

  Carefully stenciled uniform letters spelling out a greeting for the birthday boy, line the banner— perfectly positioned.  

  Looking at it now, you can nearly feel the backache it caused from the leaned over pretzel position you were tangled in while attempting to make it look store bought. Instead it took hours and a ruined shirt to paint each letter with precision on your living room floor. 

  Red plastic cups were stacked in a corner on top of a cheap plastic table cloth adorned with paper plates and plastic utensils. A smaller card table from the Wheeler-Byer’s held a two tiered homemade cake, dolloped with sticky whipped strawberry frosting. His favorite.

  Polaroids of the birthday boy were placed, in no particular pattern, with sticky tack to the wall above the card table holding the presents. 

  Various shots from the past year capturing adventures big and small. He had wanted that.

  Wanted to remember every detail— an important step to moving forward, leaving the past in the dust and enjoying the second chance at life you had both been given. 

  The pictures were mostly candids, snapped in the blur of a moment, memories to be cherished for a lifetime to come. And although some of them were cheesy, or horribly cliche; they held delicate moments of the past two years of you and Eddie, together at last.

  You suck the sticky remnants of frosting from your thumb as you carefully arrange a framed picture of his graduation day just so on the table, stepping back and admiring the hard work and weeks worth of planning you had done.  

  Your fingers dance along the sharp edges of the selected photos you had given Jonathan to print for you. 8”x10”, 5”x7”, colored, sepia tone, and even black and white you had wanted to give it more of a collage feel to the project, and Jonathan did a great job. 

  The pictures varied from moments that probably didn’t need to be remembered and ones that should have been taken by a professional, but it was perfect, exactly the way you had envisioned it. 

  A snapshot photo of Eddie’s plump lips wrapped around a brown beer bottle after a night of helping Wayne paint the outside of his trailer, his signature middle finger in the air, the rings glittering with the flash— was propped next to a candle.

  One of Wayne and Eddie hugging on Christmas last year, a small tree tucked into the corner of the yellowing smoke stained walls and part of your finger covering the lens, and another one right after the first of them both looking shocked that you snapped the picture. 

  A picture of you and him, holding fishing poles on the bank of Lover’s Lake. His arm wrapped around your waist, your pole holding a sizable fish, his line snagged on moss and a tattered beat up tennis shoe, a proud smile on his face as he looked down at you, you mid laugh as Wayne teased Eddie behind the lens.

  Another of just him in black and white, asleep on the bed you shared his dark tattoos looked piercing against his bare chested. Long angelic lashes closed against pinked warm cheeks, the silver scar barely visible on his bottom lip. 

  One with Eddie and the boys, sitting in the backyard, the tails of the fire licking into the sun fading sky, his hands wild in the middle of explaining a campaign idea. 

  A candid of Steve, Eddie, Robin and Dustin wearing their tuxes and running into the ocean. Shoes snug into the sand and socks left forgotten. Steve’s white jacket thrown into the air, half of a laughing, Leighanne all dolled up and beautiful on their big day. 

  A photo from the same day, but of only you and him, your lips perched on his cheek as he held you in his lap in the back of a limo. His other cheek sparkling with the residue of a lipgloss kiss, one hand holding your strappy lavender heels, the other wrapped around your waist. His dimpled smile wide and toothy.

  And finally, your favorite one: one of just you and him, dressed in your homemade costumes as Mario and Luigi. A felt mustache falling from under your nose,his white gloved hands holding up rock n’ roll. Right before you two had won the Halloween costume contest at Nancy and Jonathan’s house. 

  Wayne had brought baby pictures that he had dug out of an old box in the forgotten storage shed when you had moved in. Dust lining the frames showing a brown haired baby with doe eyes, drooling over a washcloth while in the sink for a bath. A curly haired toddler with a big smile while on the swings at a park. And many more that were placed around the house. 

  The most special of them all sat on Eddie’s bedside table: a woman with soft honey muddied curls sweeping down to the middle of a white blouse, sunglasses pushed into her hair atop her head, kissing the forehead of a baby swaddled in a blanket.

  “Tooty!” Gareth called from the kitchen, “phone call!” 

  You set the napkins next to Nancy who was meticulously adjusting the m&m dish  into its correct place. Trying to balance out the clashing colors with the black and red theme. 

  “Looks perfect as always, Nance,” you murmur as you squeeze her arm gently when you pass her. 

  She huffs in disapproval, sweeping a permed curl behind her ear, her finger to her lips as she tuts, “it’s missing something.” You squeeze her arm again and trot into the living room. 

  Gareth is holding the blue phone by the long cord twirling it around like a pair of nunchucks, shoving the last bits of a hot dog in his mouth, ketchup wedged into the corner by his lips. “ it’s Hig D,” he announciates horribly, “somthin’ about heddie— shit that’s good— something about them just getting ready to leave work.” 

  laughing at him you can only roll your eyes, “you’ll make a good whore someday deep throatin’ like that,” you tease, taking the phone from his hand. 

  Gareth chuckles and shoves your shoulder, “haven't had any complaints yet, Oh! By the way, I need a three day extension on rent. Cool?” 

  Rolling your eyes again, a smile escapes your lips as you flip him off. 

  Of all of Eddie’s friends, Gareth was the hardest one to crack, but now he was easily your favorite. He reminded you a lot of Eddie in high school. A wild haired mess, always down for a crazy adventure to surely land him into trouble. But a big ol softie when it came down to people he cared about, especially Will. 

  Curling your fingers around the telephone cord, you talk into the receiver, “hey D, what’s up?” 

  —-

  Argyle and Jonathan arrive through the front door, smelling like purple palm tree delight and balancing pizza boxes in their arms. 

  Robin spins at least a dozen times trying to find a place for the tower of cheesed pie and nearly knocks into Jonathan in her pursuit of frenzy. The boys slide them into place onto a card table against the kitchen wall, a photo of you and Eddie holding the keys to Hop’s cabin with wide grins on your faces hanging above it. 

  The brisk May breeze flows through the house, flickering the candles and making the helium balloons bump into one another in a lazy staticky dance. 

  A blur of red stalks into the house holding two bottles of liquor in each hand, a baseball hat backwards on her head, “hope Eddie likes whiskey because that’s all Walt would sell me,” she says heaving the bottles onto the counter in a clunkered manner, wiping the sweat from her freckled forehead, sporting a fresh new bob cut all thanks to you, “stubborn ass, he charged me nearly double,” she huffs, folding the paper sacks haphazardly, “son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t even let me use my employee rate!” 

  “Thanks for getting it Maxi-pad,” you say over your shoulder stifling a giggle from the old nickname you hadn’t called her since middle school, “Eddie’ll drink beer from a boot as long as he got a buzz from it—let me know what I owe you.” 

  She spins on squeaky sneakers and grabs a slice of pizza from one of the leaning boxes, squishing the greasy cheese between her teeth, talking with a mouthful “quit— we’re square for all the times you’ve come over since moving back.” 

  A sad expression falters behind the mask on her porcelain complexion. But she’s quick to shove it all away. It had been months since she’d been back in Hawkins, and your friend since elementary school was just starting to get her life back into order.

  “Eddie’s offer still stands by the way,” you gently whisper, turning away from placing candles into the pink frosting to give her a quick squeeze, the fringes of your friendship mending together after years of not really speaking. 

  Holding Max at arms length you raise your eyebrows at her, “I’m serious,” a clip in your voice that even Nancy would envy. 

  She shrugs quickly and looks back with wet blue eyes, not willing to let her guard down on the eve of a party, “I’ll think about it,” her jaw set tight. 

 “Let's have fun tonight, okay?” she begs, “it isn’t every day Eddie’s old decrepit ass turns forty.” 

  The giggle she was hoping for to ease the tension tickled your throat, “he’s twenty nine, Maxine,” you tease back. 

  “Oh-ho-ho,” she chuckles, crossing the linoleum to the fridge in a swift motion, throwing open the door and leaning into the illuminated box, fingers dancing along the brown neck of a Bud Light, a smug smile on her salmon lips, “government names huh, T? I’ll remember that.” 

  —

  Will and Mike were in charge of moving vehicles behind the north tree line away from the driveway and out of sight. Each car owner silently held their breath and the litter of anxiety rising higher as Mike got behind the wheel of each car. 13 tickets by Hopper’s deputies hadn’t slowed him down yet. 

  Leighanne, and El had just finished hanging the decorative white lights on the back deck and around the trees. The backyard looked like a little cozy oasis. And it warmed your soul to see it all come together. 

  It was rough when you had first moved in here. Hopper had a buddy who owned the cabin you now call home. It was far from town but hadn’t been renovated in years. Nothing a little elbow grease and nights after work wouldn’t fix, it took six months with help from just about everyone you knew, but the place was perfect. 

  And after everything that happened in Hawkins, Eddie’s promise stuck. 

  He got you both out. Started a new life away from the wandering eyes and whispered lies. Even after he was cleared, people still wouldn’t let it go. 

  But, the cabin was everything you could imagine and more. Perched into a thick grove of trees. Secluded. Secretive. Exactly what you both needed. 

  It was  heaven. 

  Lounging on blankets in the soft grass, bare toes curled into the soft comforter, the girls sat back and laughed as Steve nearly tipped over the entire pan of grilled burgers and hot dogs.  

  “Yeah laugh it up you two!” Steve scolded playfully, tugging and shoving a hand into the thick tuft of hair on his head, “you won’t be laughing when there’s nothing to eat!” 

  “Such sass from The Grill Master,” Leighanne giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, a large diamond on her ring finger.

  Before Steve could whip up something cheeky, Arygle’s smooth baritone voice broke amongst the laughs, “Damn my dude,” he chuckled, leading Eden’s small frame through the patio door, “smells good out here.” 

  Steve huffs again, “Thanks, I’m just doing what I’m told, don’t mind the peanut gallery back there,” he gestures with his spatula to the two giggling gals on the blanket. 

  The keg was perched on the small back deck, ice melting slowly around the tin base. Steve had been grilling burgers for the last half hour, smears of grease rubbed on the bottom of his red apron embossed with fancy lettering, kiss the cook.

  “And you’re doing it man,” Argyle salutes him as a fellow culinary soldier, “it’s art what you’re doing dude, pure fuckin art—like Picasso if he was a chef… piSteveo.”

  “Okay man—yeah, I get it,” Steve says all in one breath, rolling his eyes and cracking a grin back at his bride who was biting her own cheek and trying not to laugh. “Dustin and Susie ride with you?” 

  “Yeah,” Eden scowls, crossing her legs and dragging Argyle down to sit on the picnic bench, her black pixie cut fluttering in the light breeze resembling a real life goth tinkerbell, “that four eyed little shit kept going on and on about the ecosystem and methane gas or whatever, so yeah they’re here— probably terrorizing everyone else about the election or some shit.” 

  Steve snorts and flips another burger onto the grates, the sizzle of charred seasoned beef signaling the first signs of summer, “sounds about right.” 

  “Alright guys,” you say stepping through the sliding patio door, the sun close to setting in the west taking the warmth with it, “D said they’re just leaving so everyone get in position.” 

  -

  “..I’m just sayin’ is all,” D barks, finishing wiping the grease from a gas station bean burrito on the back of his hand from his pudgy lips, “I’ll give you top dollar for it.” 

  Eddie took another sip from his Mt. Dew, barreling down the highway and thumping his thumb along the steering wheel, contemplating heavily on what Big D had been asking of him. 

  “fuck I dunno man… it’s like a part of me y’know?” 

  Eddie rubs the beginning of his scruffy chin, unable to grow a full beard even though he’s nearly in his thirties, Peter Pan syndrome hitting him square in the jaw. 

  “had it since I was fifteen, fixed it all up with my uncle,” he mumbles lighting a cigarette between his teeth, “it’s a staple to the Munson name.” 

  D rolls his eyes and tosses the foil wrapper to the floorboards of Eddie’s truck. “that was like twenty years ago man, you don’t even drive it anymore.”

  Eddie chuckles through a cloud a smoke, turning the steering wheel to the right down the hidden driveway, overgrown grass on both ends of a rotted through fence post, “easy there asshole— ‘sides, thought you were buying Jeff’s mom’s car?” 

  D slides belches loud and throws his chubby hand out the window, fresh air wiggling his fingers slowly, “I did, just gotta fix it up, but the van would be my daily driving chick magnet.” He wiggles his eyebrows like two black caterpillars dancing a tango. 

  Eddie smiles to himself, memories of past times booze cruising to Rick’s and hauling band equipment to the Hideout. Times long gone and fading like the moon into dawn. 

  A time when he was ruthless, chaotic and hungry for the world’s shittiness just so he could add his own fucked up version to it. A big fuck you to anyone who ever doubted him. 

  A time before you were officially his. 

  Nowadays the bear inside of him was tame, licking its paws in laziness, hibernating with the sounds of a calm beating heart. Fed and cared for, content. 

  “We’ll see,” he replies, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “you still owe me $40 for that service you gifted to that waitress last week, fucker.” 

  “Pffft,” D says lighting a cigarette, “take it out of my check boss man.” 

  Eddie cranked his lips into a smirk, it still didn’t feel real.

-

  The roar of Eddie’s diesel truck echoes along the tree line, vibrating against the fallen branches from the late winter storm that snapped full grown Red Oaks like matchsticks when the ice built heavy onto its branches. 

  The cabin lights were dim, curtains pulled tight to barely show the glimpse of any crack of light. It wasn’t unusual, your lives were kept pretty private after everything that happened, doors always locked. 

  “The hell?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling the stick into neutral with the palm of his hand and killing the engine, the old dodge sputtering out to quiet, “thought you said Gareth was comin’ over to practice tonight?” 

  D fumbled for words, reaching for the metal door handle “no, yeah he’s here— maybe Will dropped ‘im off.”

  Eddie quirked an eyebrow, the exhaustion from work taking over his features as he let out a loud yawn and arched his back against the velour seats, he climbed out of the pickup, lunchbox in tow. 

  “alright man, ‘m just gonna shower quick,” he hooks a thumb behind his shoulder, walking up the stone path to the front door, “think Tooty still has the hose hooked up if you wanted to rinse off.” 

  D stomps around the truck, leaning a thick arm onto the hood, “don’t make any special accommodations for me dude, I’m cool.” 

  “Yeah yeah you’re pretty cool alright,” Eddie said climbing the two steps with heavy footsteps, and putting a brass key into the knob, twisting it in his grasp, “why’d you think I had the window dow—”

  Eddie is almost knocked back into the wall by the room full of his friends shouting surprise! as he entered the cabin. 

  Shock and a racing heartbeat wash away to a dimpled smile and squinted eyes. It was worth the weeks of planning and aligning everyone’s schedules to make it all work out. And in the end, the crowd turned into a blur when you peaked your head behind the kitchen wall grinning wide at the handsome man at the door. 

  His girl. His one and only. Spoiling him with a surprise party. Mouthing “happy birthday baby,” from across the room with a warm smile that still was able to tinge his cheeks in the prettiest shade of bashful. 

  Backs were slapped and shoulders clapped as Eddie made his way around to the guests. His smile was wide and toothy, lighting up the room with his deep laugh and dimples. 

  He hugged friends like he hadn’t seen them in years, pressed cheek to cheek and apologizing later for grease smudges left on their shirts. 

  “Shit,” Wayne breathed, as he stepped into the doorway, finding you immediately and looking sympathetic, “sorry we’re late, the missus was wrappin’ a last minute gift.” 

  Nancy and Mike’s mom stood tucked beneath Wayne’s arm. Four gifts wrapped tight and pristine, held in her arms. The alimony from Ted was still treating her more than well. 

  “Wayne,” Karen giggles like a schoolgirl, a long manicured hand to his denim jacket, dismissing him with a wink, “here Tooty,” she gleams, walking towards you with her arms outstretched, embracing you in a hug, “it’s just a little something for the two of you, saw it at the mall and couldn’t resist!” 

  It was an adjustment for the youngest Wheeler when Karen left Ted. Nancy and Mike didn’t seem to care, having already been moved out of the house and living their own lives. But Holly took it hard, refusing to see her mother at all. 

  “It’s perfect thank you Karen,” Eddie said, sneaking around you, his fingers dragging along your lower back  and down your hip, sending shivers to your core. A quick wink to you as he grabs the gifts from her and Wayne. 

  He was happy for them, he had never seen Wayne with someone who treated him so well before  in his life, he gave his shoulder a squeeze, “next time put your glasses on so you can see while driving, might get here on time, old man.”

  Wayne rolled his eyes and put Eddie in a headlock, “I ain’t here to see you anyhow, came to see my favorite daughter in law to be if you’d just marry her already, didn’t even know it was your birthday you little punk.” 

  “Yeah yeah,” Eddie scoffed, “that’s why it says ‘Ed’s birthday’ on the calendar in your office, right? Because you didn’t know?” 

  Wayne releases Eddie and gives him a side hug, “been celebratin’ this day for twenty-three years with y’ boy, I ain’t never forgettin’” 

  Karen was always like a mother to you. The Wheeler’s held such a special place in your heart, and you’d always be grateful for the kindness both her and Ted had shown you when you were growing up. Seeing her now with Wayne surprisingly wasn’t that odd. They balanced each other well. 

  Wayne pulls you into the other side of him, keeping you and Eddie under each arm, “looks real good in here darlin’” He says, looking down at you with icy blue eyes, “sure am glad  y’ learned how to tame this wild li’l shit.” 

  you smile up at the Munson’s and Eddie sticks out his tongue at you. 

  “Now,” he says addressing only Eddie, “I swear on my mama and daddy’s graves, Ed, you better marry this girl someday or ‘m gonna hang y’ from your toes by that clothesline out back.” 

  Eddie rolls his eyes, but before he can speak, Nancy  waves at her mother and stands atop a metal chair.

  “Alright everyone, let’s go out back and we can start eating.”

  Once the room emptied it was just you and Eddie. The tension was always thick in every room you were in with him, electric in ways that buzzed between your legs and made your head feel fuzzy. 

  You waited your turn patiently. 

  Eddie coins a coy grin behind his plump lips, walking with his hands behind his back and moving his shoulder low, cocking his head. 

  Your hands, busy themselves with arranging presents, fingers slipping between the silky ribbons and plucking the ends to watch them curl.  Warm arms surround your waist and you act surprised and let out a squeal. 

  He sets you down and pushes the collar of your shirt to the side, pressing his lips like angel’s wings to the skin on your shoulder, relishing in the way the goosebumps crawled across your flesh. 

  “Eddie,” you hum, working your fingers behind you to pull on the tendrils of sweaty hair tucked behind his neck. 

  “Hmm?” He breathes hot across your neck, working his way up to the dainty gold necklace, the same one brandishing the ring he gave you for Christmas in 1992, nothing compared to the one he was eyeballing at the jewelry store in the mall. 

  Rubbing the underside of your chin with the bulb of his nose, you shudder and feel his grin on your skin, “all of this for me?” 

  You nod and whine when a large hand dances across the waist of your jeans. And almost let out a moan when he nips at your earlobe. 

  Eddie’s work days were long but the nights spent between the sheets were longer, both of you never getting enough of each other. The passion and static was always there. 

  “Wanted to surprise my birthday boy,” you breathed as your head fell back into his shoulder, and he bucked his hips into you, pushing you into the rickety table and shaking the presents. 

  “You’re too good to me,” Eddie whispered into your ear, his fingers digging into your hips. “How am I ever going to thank my pretty gir—?”

  “Hey you guys comin’ or what?” Steve asks, hands on his hips and a scorch mark on his apron, “Nancy’s making a fucking seating chart out there, and I really hope you have liability insurance because Argyle is trying to teach Dustin yoga.”

  Eddie takes his lips from your neck and turns to face Steve, “I mean, we coulda been if you hadn’t barged in.” 

  “Eddie!” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly, and straightening your shirt, “we’ll be right out Steve, just going to give Eddie his birthday present.” 

  His eyes sparkle in mischievous wonder, “oooh you think we have time?” He says unbuttoning his work blues, “I like the way you think dirty sweetheart.” 

  You roll your eyes and tug him down the hallway to your bedroom. 

  “Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, shaking his head and making his way through the patio door, “nah don’t worry I’ll entertain the guests,” he says in annoyance, “maybe we can play parcheesi or hotdog Jenga.” 

  —

  “Don’t peek!” 

  “Oh c’mon!” 

  “Eddie.” 

  “Ugh fine, but you better be naked or I’ll pout.” 

  “Such a brat...”

  “Don’t act surprised babe.” 

  “Alright open, but I am very much still dressed, that part of your present is later tonight.” 

  Eddie had showered and was getting dressed shoving his feet into a worn pair of converse when you waltzed into the room, a small oblong box behind your back. 

  Dropping the carefully wrapped present into his awaiting hands, he holds the box like a carton of eggs. One eye peeked open, “well,” Eddie says rubbing the corners of the box with the calloused pads on his thumbs, “this doesn’t feel like a puppy.” 

  “You poor boy,” you tease with a shove to his shoulder, and a kiss to his cheek, “how will you ever live?” 

  Eddie tears the paper with a hook of his finger where the tape joins the pieces, wet tendrils of hair dripping water marks onto the wrapping, “it’ll be hard but I think I’ll manage.” 

  Biting your lip in anticipation you watch as Eddie tears the paper in boyish glee. And you aren’t sure who’s smile is wider when he finally opens the small rectangle shaped box. 

  It took awhile to save up for it. Cutting countless heads of hair in the renovated room above Master Mechanic’s, the auto shop Eddie co-owned with Wayne in Bridgeport, and earning a small wage by cleaning houses for a few hours on the weekends. 

  But every scrubbed toilet, every rolled perm rod was worth it when Eddie opened his present. 

  “It's about time you saw them live, yeah?” 

  Tickets to Metallica, the same gift. But this time with the promise of actually going and witnessing their magic. 

  “Oh baby,” Eddie nearly cried, running his fingers over the inked words carefully, he set the tickets down on the comforter and wrapped his hands around your waist pulling you into him, “why are you so good to me?” 

  And just like the first time he asked you, years ago, before you were his and he was yours. When you were just roommates exchanging gifts on Christmas. You told him what you should have then. 

  but you don’t fight to find the words anymore, or wonder if it’ll sound dumb. Everything you've been through with Eddie you could never imagine living life with anyone other than him. 

  The words come easy, and it’s one of the truest things you’ve ever said. 

  “Because you’re a good man. Because you’re the reason I wake up smiling every morning. Because I have never loved anyone the way that I love you, and I’ll always, always regret not telling you sooner.” 

  Eddie smiles with a quivering lip and you lean down to wipe the tears from his eyes, his arms wrap around you tight like a vice grip.

  Looking into his eyes, he somehow looked better with every year passing, truly aging like fine wine, and you were drunk on him.

   “Don’t cry on your birthday baby, it’s supposed to be a party,” you smile warmly at him, bringing his chin up a bit

so you can press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

  Pulling you into him so you’re straddling his hips, he whispers an I love you into your ear with your real name attached at the end, all satiny on his breath like a Hershey kiss.

  You don’t hear your God given name very often, having hated it for as long as you remember. Stubbornly telling everyone at a young age that your name was Tooty. Even writing it on all of your school papers as early as kindergarten. 

  But when Eddie said it, it set your soul on fire. Like a secret kept finally being told. Like another wall breaking down with him holding the sledge hammer. Like the first bite of a warm brownie from the oven. It felt good. 

  He presses slow kisses into your neck and moves his large hands to rock your hips against him, “you’re never gonna get rid of me, you know that right?” 

  “Fuck I hope not,” you whisper as you nip at his bare  shoulder,  “I made your favorite cake for tonight and everything.” 

  “Mmm,” Eddie purrs against the column of your throat, “strawberry?” 

  Gathering skin between your teeth you suck a small bruise into his pale neck, tongue swirling soft then firm, his pretty noises filling the bedroom walls. 

  “Yep,” you breathe with swollen lips, and popping the ‘p’, “extra frosting.”

  “Lady evil at it again,” Eddie teases, capturing your lips into a hungry kiss, his hands scoring down your back and bringing your hips impossibly closer to where you were both aching. 

  You giggle as he breaks away, and tickles your sides. He flips you onto the bed. The bulb of his nose wedging between your neck and shoulder as his hips hold you in place, his fingers dig into your armpits, and your ribs. 

  You laugh until your face is red and your neck is slick and painted with a stain of raspberry teeth marks and the lap of his tongue licking the bites better. 

  He gives you a wicked grin, out of breath and his lips swollen, his demeanor changes into something serious. 

He holds his hand on your cheek, sweeping your skin delicately with the pad of his thumb, holding you so gently as if you were made of porcelain, “I’m gonna make you my wife.” 

  Your fingernails scratch lightly down his chest, skipping over the tattoo of little angel wings and a halo for the unborn child you didn’t get the luxury of holding, matching the one on your inner arm. The date etched below in Eddie’s own handwriting. 

  It wasn’t the only new tattoo he had gotten since that day.

  He also had a mockup of a cartoon lady, devil horns on her head and a long black demon tail wagging behind her, that sat on his bicep. A pout identical to yours on her pretty little face, arms crossed in a fit.  ‘my girl’ in old English font beneath her little stiletto heels. 

  Your fingertips trace the lines of blank ink on his chest. And you lift your eyes to his. 

  Opening your soul to him for the millionth time, spreading its wings and joining with his into that dream land he swore he’d take you to, dancing on the rings of Saturn, bathing in the springs of Jupiter. 

  He smiles softly and so do you, heart soaring and beating fast, “about damn time,” you whisper softly just before his lips close around yours.

  Although your life would never be the same after that awful day, the one you were crafting and coloring outside the straight black lines with Eddie by your side, was pretty damn great. 

  And you wouldn’t change a thing.

🤧

🏷️

@bebe07011 @dashingdeb16 @hiscrimsonangel @luxaeterna13 @enam3l

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #honey I’m home series

[idesofrevolution]

Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

[mothandpidgeon]

Forgive Me (Joel Miller x f!reader/ofc)

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/ofc (unnamed, no physical description)

Words: 3.5k

Rating: E 18+

Warnings: masturbation, the male gaze, dub con (looking at nudes without consent), references to p in v sex and blow jobs, references to drugs and alcohol, violence, general Joel Miller angst and self-loathing [let me know if I missed anything]

Summary: When Joel finds himself in possession of some sexy photos, temptation makes him question himself as he's fascinated by a woman he's never met.

A/N: She's back! I think it's been a year since I've posted any Pedro fic. I've been kind of uninspired but mainly focused on publishing my first novel. But Joel's got me all kinds of distracted from revising my manuscript. Please enjoy some angst.

...

It rained. A gray sky blanketed the QZ making everything look even more bleak. As if it needed help. Joel and his customer had taken cover under some scaffolding. Luckily, the weather meant that there weren’t a whole lot of people around, no suspicious glances in their direction. 

Joel opened his wet bag to reveal a pair of work boots to the buyer. Vince’s eyes lit up. 

“Hell yeah,” he said. 

Joel flipped the backpack closed again. These had been hard to come by and he’d gotten pretty good at this beat. Nobody got their hands on any goods without paying first. 

“Alright. I got you, man,” Vince said. This wasn’t his first rodeo either. He’d been doing business with Joel since the very beginning. He bought all kinds of shit— a radio, chocolate, tiny bottles of shampoo. Joel wasn’t sure if Vince resold the stuff but it was better not to know about that kind of thing. 

Vince put his cards into Joel’s hand and Joel counted. 

“What the hell is this?” Joel asked. 

Tucked into the stack of ration cards were a couple of photographs. A quick glance showed him they were all the same woman, naked or nearly naked. Vince had tried to pawn this stuff off on him before. In fact once he tried to pay with porn and Joel had to tell him he only accepted ration cards. 

“Just a little something extra,” Vince said with a wink. He happily took the boots and gave them a once over. “You got my size and everything.”

“I’m not interested,” Joel said and tried to hand the pictures back. 

“Come on,” Vince chuckled. “A stiff prick for a stiff prick.” He gave Joel a friendly slap on the shoulder which only deepened his scowl. 

“See you around.” Vince walked away and Joel had no choice but to tuck the bundle into his jacket. 

When he got home, Joel hid the ration cards away as he always did. He put the photographs into the hole in the floor as well. He hadn’t given them another look since they went into his pocket. Joel might’ve just gotten rid of them but nothing went in the trash without careful consideration. Everything in the QZ had value and these pictures were obviously worth something to somebody. It didn’t feel right to sell them but in a pinch, it would be good to have something that could grease some wheels. 

He put the floorboards back and promptly forgot about them. 

...

Joel’s hand reached into the hole in the floor. It was the end of a long and awful week. The Fireflies were causing trouble which meant the FEDRA rats were out in force. Joel hadn’t done any lucrative business in days. The honest work he could get was as degrading as ever. He smelled like trash and shit. He needed a fucking drink, couldn’t wait to feel it burn in the back of his throat. There was no chance his muscles would uncoil without a couple of shots. As he fished his bottle out of its hiding place, his fingers caught on something else. The slick side of a photograph stuck to his sweaty palm as he drew his hand out from under the floor. It’d been a while since he’d put the nudes down there and he hadn’t thought about them at all since. 

Joel looked at it. Curiosity, plain and simple. It was a Polaroid, taken on long-expired film that gave everything a tinge of sepia. The woman in the photograph looked out at him, a coy smile on her lips. It wasn’t her face that caught his attention. She sat on the edge of a bed, tits bare. One of her thumbs was hitched in the elastic of her panties. 

He pulled the other two out, just to see the variety, and took them over to his bed along with his bottle. The photos got more explicit. In the first she was laying back, completely exposed and touching herself. The other one had her on all fours, looking over her shoulder at the camera, at Joel. 

At first Joel chuckled to himself. He never considered himself to be the type to go for such exaggerated, porny stuff. And he hardly lost control of himself. There wasn’t room for desire in his life. Pleasure wasn’t a part of his vocabulary anymore. From the sludge that passed for his morning coffee to the hard mattress he lay on at night, there was nothing enjoyable to be found around him. 

Still, he felt himself twitching in his jeans. She had a nice body, the kind he used to like when he thought about things like that. She looked soft and he bet she smelled good. 

Joel began to wonder about her, if she’d taken the pictures for her lover. Or maybe for an ex who’d traded them to spite her. Either way, they weren’t for him. She might’ve posed for a creep like Vince to get a few ration cards. 

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like knowing that he was the kind of man who got stiff gawking at her. Joel did all kinds of things he wasn’t proud of but he had a good reason for them. Getting off on some woman’s private pictures just seemed wrong. 

She wasn’t his daughter but she was somebody’s and that made Joel’s gut twist. 

He tossed the photo aside and laid back, draping his forearm across his eyes. For a while he laid there trying to will his hard on away. His muscles were even more tense than before. He ground his teeth and screwed his eyes shut but the image of the woman had burned itself in. Soon he was absentmindedly touching himself through his jeans, dragging his fingertips over the lump in the denim. He craved that release. Each slow stroke made him pulse with want. 

He growled. What fucking difference did it make? Joel was acting all high and mighty like it meant something. He wasn’t any better than the man who’d given him these pictures. He had his own vices and he always felt about an inch away from violence. This poor girl had no idea he was looking at her body, that seeing her flesh was getting him hard. If that was the worst thing that ever happened to her, he told himself, she was lucky. 

Human decency be damned. Joel gave in to that selfish part of him, the animal inside that cared only about his own survival, his own desire. This world had taken everything from him and he was going to steal something from her. He knew what that made him but he didn’t care. 

Joel unzipped his fly, his cock weeping furiously and straining against his boxers. He took up the last photo, the one that was doubled over ass-out, and spit into his other fist. He pulled at himself as he glared at the picture. It felt good. Slick and tight. 

He could see a trail of wetness at her core reflecting the camera’s flash and he imagined how fantastic it would feel to plunge into her, to hold onto her hips and groan and buck against her. He kept tugging on his cock, squeezing at the head and dreaming up the noises she’d make, the sounds of their bodies connecting. He sped up his fist. He wanted her to cry out his name. He wanted her to take him away from all of this shit, just for a minute, just sixty fucking seconds when he could forget. 

A spasm ran up from his groin, an electric shock that travelled up his spine, and he moaned and swore through gritted teeth as he came. His heart pounded in his chest as he lay back, sticky and sweating. The photograph was still in his grip as his breath evened out. 

That wasn’t the last time he used her picture. Whenever he was amped up or way down, he’d retrieve the photos and get to work on himself. 

There was one photograph he favored over the others, the one where she was on her back. He liked to think about standing over her, taking in the sight of her. His eyes would move over every velvet inch of her before he went any further. 

She could be whatever he needed. Sometimes he would imagine her seducing him, straddling his hips and lowering herself onto his cock with a luxurious sigh. Others, he liked her to be sweet and innocent, just for him. When he was having a shitty day, he’d picture himself fucking brutally into her mouth until tears ran down her cheeks. It was messed up and he knew it but the guilt wore off quickly. He had next to nothing in this world, at least he could have this release.

... 

Joel had been waiting longer than he wanted. He’d circled the block three times already and he was getting impatient. He was meeting a buyer who was late and if they didn’t show soon, they’d be out of luck. Joel didn’t like to linger. 

He rounded the corner on the square and did his best to blend in. Another round of executions were underway. Above the crowd, four people were lined up on the catwalk, ropes around their necks. Joel chose to ignore it. He scanned the faces around him until he saw someone familiar. It wasn’t his contact. He wasn’t sure where he’d seen her before. That happened often— he’d spot someone he thought he knew from his past life. Most of the time, it was just a trick of the eye, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the woman on the other side of the square. 

She had her arm around another woman. The other one was more than middle aged and crying, tears running over the wrinkles on her cheeks. The woman, the one that Joel recognized, pulled her friend in close and glanced around. She wasn’t crying but she had a lost expression on her face. That’s when he realized. 

Joel was looking at the woman from the photographs. There was no doubt in his mind that it was her. He’d spent over a year staring at that face. In person, she was just as pretty but her appearance was hidden under the same dirt and weariness everyone in the QZ wore. 

Joel’s chest went tight and he couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t breathe. His body was crushed by shame and disgust. He had violated her and she didn’t even know it. 

The FEDRA officer read out the charges and she squeezed her friend in close so she wouldn’t have to watch the bodies drop. Obviously there was someone up there that they knew. Joel watched her face go stony as the platform fell out. She barely winced, like she was just there to bare witness, but he could guess how she felt. You lost enough people, what was one more friend dying right in front of your eyes?

The crowd broke up and she lead her companion away, a tender hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Joel had no choice but to move and his feet decided to head in the same direction as the woman. He kept his distance because he wasn't following her. At least he told himself that he that. It just wasn’t safe for him to hang around with FEDRA crawling all over. Dusk was falling so she was probably headed home before curfew fell. 

Joel watched her wind down the streets, all the while sick to his stomach. He truly was a creep. He didn’t know why he was going after her. The last thing he wanted was to spook her and it wasn’t like he planned on introducing himself. There was a funny idea in his mind that she might turn around and see him and know, just by looking at his face, what he’d done. Maybe she’d scream at him and slap him in the face. Part of him wanted that. He deserved it. 

She was just helping her friend up the stairs to one of the brownstones when Joel connected with something. He’d been so wrapped up in watching the woman, he wasn’t looking at where he was going. It startled him out of his thoughts to be inches away from a FEDRA officer. Usually Joel kept a wide berth but he’d walked right into the back of his bulletproof vest. The officer turned and put his hands on his hips, narrowed his eyes. 

Joel gave an apologetic nod. 

“Move along,” the FEDRA officer commanded. 

Joel did, unsure he deserved to slip out of a close call like that. 

When he got home, he felt like shit. He pried up the floorboards and dug out the pictures. The face that looked out at him was the same one he’d seen in the square. He snapped his eyes shut and swore under his breath. 

He set the photos down at the kitchen table, then sat on the couch with his bottle. Joel sat there for a long time, watching the pictures like they might spring up and force themselves back into his hand. That night, he hardly slept. 

...

Joel knew better than to do business with someone as skittish as Max. This kid had already chewed his fingernails down to the quick and the way his eyes darted around would make anyone suspicious. But he wanted pills so damn bad, he’d give up more ration cards than they were worth. Joel insisted they meet off the street, in an alley buffeted by a fence and brick walls. 

“You’re a lifesaver for this,” Max said. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and it made even Joel nervous. 

“Mhm,” he grumbled. 

Max knew the drill. He was ready with the cards without being asked. 

Joel was about to reach for them when the worst thing that could happen did. 

“What’s going on here?” a gruff voice called down the alley. Fuck. A FEDRA officer in full uniform was marching their way, one hand on his weapon.

Leave it to Max to split. He made a break for it and blew past the officer leaving Joel to face questioning alone. If he’d been cool, Joel could’ve talked their way out of it but now there was no hope of leaving without trouble.

The officer radioed for someone else to go after Max, gave his position and direction, but he kept his eyes on Joel. He was shorter than Joel and under his helmet, he looked young. Probably born just a few years before the outbreak with no options but joining up. The patch on his chest identified him as DIXON.

“Hands on your head,” Dixon instructed when he was finished.

Joel obeyed, a deep frown pulling at his lips. Dixon scanned him and then reached for his radio again.

“I’ve got some ration cards in my pocket. They’re all yours,” Joel offered before he could make a report.

“You trying to bribe me?” the officer asked.

Joel shook his head. “Everybody’s in need these days. Just trying to help out.”

Dixon scoffed. “Trying to help yourself out of a tough spot.”

Joel clenched his jaw. This motherfucker was obviously one of those types that got off on throwing their weight around. Half of the FEDRA soldiers he’d encountered were happy to bend the rules for the right price. The other half only felt big when they reminded others how small they’d become.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Dixon said, sliding his weapon onto his back so his hands were free. The chainlink fence rattled as he pressed Joel against it. Joel kept his eyes forward as hands searched his hips and down his legs. Dixon went into his pocket and Joel heard the crinkle of a plastic bag. “Pills. No wonder.”

He continued his search as Joel cursed himself. Losing that merchandise meant a nice stack of ration cards was about to evaporate into thin air. Not to mention the fact he was now in deep shit with FEDRA.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel heard. The delight in the officer’s voice made him turn his head. Joel’s stomach fell into his feet when he saw what had been found. Dixon held a Polaroid in his hand.

Joel had been toting the pictures around for two weeks, hoping chance might cause him to bump into the woman again. Sometimes he wandered past the building she went into before curfew, hoping to catch her there again. He could have just destroyed them, lit the corner and let them go up in flames, but he wanted to give them back to her so she knew that they weren’t floating around out there. That scumbags like him weren’t jacking it to her picture. That pigs like Dixon weren’t salivating over them like he was right now. 

“This your girl?” he asked. He raised the visor on his helmet to get a better look. “Damn.”

Joel pressed his lips into a line, shame washing over him again. He wondered if he’d had the same dopey grin on his face when he’d first gazed over her body.

“That’s a nice piece of pussy.” 

Joel seethed and squeezed his hand into a fist in hopes that he could ball up all the swiftly building ire right there.

“Y’know,” Dixon began, finally glancing back up to Joel, “if I got a taste of that, I might be inclined to forget about all this. If she’s any good, maybe I’d even let you keep your pills.”

His fist flew before he even knew it. Joel pounced on him, pinning Dixon against the brick and punching him right in the nose. Dixon fought back, clawing and grunting, scratching at Joel’s face. Joel didn’t care. In fact, he welcomed the pain. He wasn’t defending her, the woman he didn’t know. He wasn’t a hero. Joel pummeled the man the way he’d wanted to beat himself. Pervert. Scum. Monster. Blood gushed from Dixon’s nose and teeth were battered loose and it wasn’t long before he stopped defending himself. Joel finally realized he’d knocked him out. He was holding the officer up with his own bodyweight and when he let go, Dixon crumpled.

Joel stood over him, shoulders heaving with his jagged breaths. Dixon gurgled, a mess of swollen crimson. Joel stooped down and picked up the picture with a bloody hand. He turned down the alley and ran like the cockroach he was.

...

Joel leaned in the shadow of a doorway, his eyes fixed across the street. He’d been laying low, staying as far off of FEDRA’s radar as he could, but he’d been restless. A week had passed since he’d beaten the piss out of one of their officers. His knuckles were still red and raw. 

The sun was setting. He’d been out there for nearly four hours now and he’d need to get going soon if he was going to be back before curfew. There as no way he’d risk being out after dark when things were so hot.

He perked up when a figure rounded the corner. They were rushing, clearly fighting the same clock. It was her. Joel could tell from the other end of the block. He’d been resolved to get her pictures back to her but suddenly he felt like turning tail and going home. The urge only confirmed his worst opinions about himself. 

Joel strode across the street as she approached. He placed himself at the foot of the stairs he knew she was headed towards. 

The woman looked at him with nervous eyes. It stung but he couldn’t blame her. Joel was broad and his face always fixed in a scowl. She should be scared. He’d been no friend to her. 

“Do you want something?” she asked, staying a cautious distance away. Her voice wasn’t what he’d imagined. 

Joel pulled the photos out and she took a step back. He moved towards her, holding them out so she could see that he didn’t have anything dangerous. His fist was still swollen and a smear of Dixon’s blood had stained the white frame of the Polaroid.

The woman’s eyes bounced back and forth between his hand and his face. Finally, seeing that he wasn’t going anywhere until she took what he offered, she carefully plucked the pictures up. 

Her eyes went wide and then narrow. She glowered at him. “Where did you get these?” she demanded.

Joel’s mouth was dry. The accusation in her stare cut him deeper than he’d expected. The scabs on his knuckles burned like he’d scraped them against sandpaper. He looked at her for a lengthy moment and then decided that he’d done enough. 

Joel left her there after a grunt.

He walked swiftly, wanting to put as much distance between them as he could. He didn’t feel any better. It felt like failure. He’d already forgotten what she looked like, serpentine and sensuous, replaced by her hurt and admonition. 

Joel had planned on apologizing, but the words hadn’t come. 

...

My love language is words of affirmation so I'd love any comments or rbs. Thanks for reading, you beautiful person.

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

#joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fic

[shinesurge]

your custom cassettes are really really cool! ive been thinking about making custom cassettes for a bit, would you be willing to share what kind of paper you used for the label stickers and j-cards? also where do you get blank cassettes from? ive been looking at cassettecomeback but i was wondering if there was a better option.

Thanks a lot! They're really fun to make hehe

So full disclosure: I run a merch shop for my webcomic and I make most of my stuff myself in my studio. I've been doing this for the better part of ten years and over that time I've accumulated quite a bit of specialized, expensive equipment like the photo printer and cutting machine I use to make my cassette ephemera. THAT SAID mixtapes don't necessarily need all that!! Unless you're running a bootleg business on etsy or somethin I don't think you and your friends gotta run out and spend a ton of money to make these (beyond tracking down a deck and a player, obviously).

Unfortunately most of these items are found on Amazon because I'm a professional artist trying to Live, but if that's something you'd rather avoid buying through I'm listing the brick and mortar places I can find them when I need to for whatever reason!

My j-cards are just the 8x10 glossy photo paper from Pen & Gear, it's usually less than ten bucks a pack at walmart lmao. I use it with an inkjet photo printer! There are plenty of laser printer options out there though, which is probably the type non-artists have access to. Honestly I think the look of black ink on colored copy paper is super cool for handmade tapes, especially between friends.

My sticker paper was a bitch to find and I'm not sure if it would be useful without my specific equipment, but it's this glossy adhesive photo paper from some rando company called LDProducts. Literally just called "Sticker Photo Paper" pf. It's more expensive but I get it in stacks of a hundred because I print tons of stickers for my shop. Again, glossy adhesive paper might not be useful without a big boy printer but MATTE sticker paper is everywhere, that's also pretty common to find at walmart or at the very least at an office supply store; you can print on it or even get out some markers (not sure i'd suggest anything besides ink tho, I'd be worried it could come off and damage the player). I design the labels in clip studio and then load them into cricut so it's super easy to get the right shape every time, but if you're Determined you could get out a measuring tape and an xacto knife and get similar results.

I've only found my tapes on amazon unfortunately, and it's been a while since I bought any because I sort of inherited a bunch of sealed ones when my dad died and i'm still going through them lol. Almost all my custom ones are 90 minute Sony High Fidelity, last I checked you could order them in packs of five or ten but I'm not sure what the prices are like rn. If you REALLY want to get fancy with colored shells/custom lengths i did find this cool site you can order from, Duplication.ca, but the shipping is kinda rough. One of these days I wanna make some cassettes for my webcomic and I'll drop some money on some pretty ones then, but for now the Sonys are treating me fine so I haven't dug too deep.

I hope something in here is useful! I'm always happy to share what I know but again, I'm very fortunate to have access to quite a bit of stuff most people don't and I try to be up front about it alskdjf. Cassettes are best when they're sorta janky and handmade tho, it's kind of the whole point, and if they're just for you or someone you care about then marking them with a sharpie and masking tape is just as cool in my opinion. probably cooler. everybody should put music on physical media and trade it i think.

#i'm glad you liked my stuff!! good luck!!

[juddygirl]

Baby just tease - maybe father's day after they all moved in together

She's clearly upset when Max picks her up from school that Friday evening. The teacher says that Bella kept talking about Dada but no one really understood. She apologizes when she understands it's means dad too.

She tried to add Dada on Max's father's Day card but made a little bit of a mess since she can write properly.

"I hate it!" She shouts throwing the paper somewhere in the restaurant.

He gets some paper scissors and glue from Sergio senior's office and tries to make a new one.

Her little heart mostly looks like butts, which Daniel will love. Max writes down what Bella wants to. It ends with I love you Dada.

Max wakes up on the following Sunday next to his daughter and his boyfriend already up and quietly watching something on TV.

Right after she kisses him good morning, Bella sprints out of the bedroom, telling them she'll be right back. She shouts at Max when he gets out of the bedroom to pee. He cannot see the surprise.

She comes back with two cards. One hand made, the other store bought and two gifts. He gets a handmade photo frame with a picture of Bella. Daniel gets a hand painted box.

Daniel got brunched delivered, they eat it on top two stacked moving boxes. Treat themselves to some ice cream later.

It's both weird and wonderful to spend the whole day together. No one has to go back to their own home at the end. It's their home now. It's their true father's Day gift to each other

#ask #anon #baby just tease me got no family plan #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #maxiel

[officialparentofadrien]

My parents don't think witchcraft is evil per sé but they don't really allow it either so today when my first tarot deck arrived, my heart stopped cuz my mom is always so nosey and she always asks what I bought whenever a parcel arrives 😭

I had to tell her it was a stack of photo cards and I just felt like I was hiding a stash of weed I'm dyingg

Here's to hoping that when my Oracle deck arrives, they wouldn't question it 💀

Update: My Oracle deck arrived today when they were out LMAOOOO

It's so beautiful I'm so obsessed with it 😍

#witchblr #closeted witch #im cryign #please send help #beginner witch #overenthusiastic

[changeling-crafts]

Tarot World building

Tarot was originally a game back in the 14th century when it showed up in Europe. In the 1750s people began using it for divination, which is what it's better known for today. In Fortunes Path, both uses are combined and the cards are used to answer many questions such as:

What quests are there to do? 

What is the reward? 

What are the local factions? 

Who leads them? 

What settlements are there and who lives there? 

Each spread has a tarot card associated with it; if you get stuck, you can draw a random card and do the corresponding spread to develop new ideas and get your game going again. With every new post I will include at least one new tarot spread that will flesh out your world in a new way. Each spread will have a suggestion of what tarot card might prompt that spread, however I encourage the player to customize this aspect to their game, changing which cards prompt which spreads and coming up with new spreads of your own to better suit your world. 

That all being said, tarot decks can certainly fetch a high price when bought new. Fret not, humble adventurer, as a great many alternatives exist! For the example game, I have chosen to make my own deck using index cards. Right now, all my cards have is the name of each card written at the bottom; as I read with them, I will add some artistic element to the cards that show up in each reading, letting my deck become more beautiful and fleshed out as my world does. I chose to write the card names in pencil so I might go back and rename them later if I want to. 

If that all seems like a bit too much right out the gate, consider the humble playing card deck, which come in all manner of art styles and generally cost less than tarot decks. Playing cards might also fit better with your game depending on the genre and tone. 

(this card chart is heavily inspired by this post from springhole.net. it's a great read, especially if you're new to reading tarot or oracle cards)

Even beyond the traditional cards, you could try a collection of business cards, postcards, your favorite battle deck, or a stack of aesthetic photos; as long as you can interpret meaning in the cards, they will work perfectly. The bonus of using a predesigned deck over one like mine is that the cards are already chock full of art to inspire your reading.

Once you have a deck picked out, it's time to actually start reading and fill out your world. If you're having trouble interpreting a spread you can: ask clarifying questions using more cards, a coin flip, or a pendulum to answer or even just re shuffle and start over.

To start off, here are all the spreads for the minor arcana 

A place can be…

Where somebody is from

Where something you need could be

The next place you encounter along the road

Where an important historical event took place

A person can be…

Somebody you met

Someone you need to find

A person who went missing recently

The person hiring you

An item can be…

A reward for a job well done

A tool you can borrow

A weapon used against you

Something you can buy

Flora could be…

An ingredient you need to find

A common plant everybody cultivates

Your best friend’s favorite flower

The worst tea you can find this side of the river

Creatures could be…

Companion animals 

Beasts of burden

Livestock for eating

Wild creatures to hunt

Beasts might…

Be the reason the livestock went missing 

Eat travelers right off the road

Be a wise and reclusive source of knowledge

Exist only in stories

While  reading, look for opportunities to connect the spread you're currently reading to spreads you've done in the past, perhaps that creature always lines it's den with a particular plant, and that creature appears on the the kings crest, maybe that fancy item was forged by the same king, and so on and so forth.

Next post will be about your player character!

#fortunes path #worldbuilding #solo ttrpg #indie ttrpg #tarot spread

[37q]

so yall know i gotta lor sis righ. well. fuck dude. those obligations from earlier. part rant part support seeking skip to the very end for that second part

context. 17 y/o not in school, homeless, lowkey estranged from her parents. father is unemployed and lying abt it, abusive and his ego is constantly reacting to his material precaritys impact on his manhood, sits at my old shop all day doing nothing. mom, actually employed, covering for dad, also used to work at my old shop before being fired for stealing a stack of cash, getting worse w her precarity and also sits at the shop a lot a lot. no idea where her lor bro sleeps. no idea how old he is too, could be 12 in an 8 year olds body for all i kno

so i pick her up at 1030, we go to the mall and check the ubreakifix type place and they dont work on iphone 8s. bet. we have a spare XR she bought off her big bro. missing sim tray, got a free replacement from the shop. go to the apple store, the XR is permalocked unless factory reset from the icloud acct tethered to the device (truly dystopian imo), schedule genius bar appt for tmrw at 11. take her back to her friends house, the one i hired a month before i left so she could have a comrade and a place to stay nearish work that isnt her moms (although they were kicked out of their motel right when i hired steven i think. so, unhappy coincidence?).

sis works then so i drop her off at work at 9 and take her phone w me. go home come back to the mall. genius at the bar says its busted, whatever. not like i been sayin that. its missing like the bottom 1/5 of the backing like straight up exposed circuitry and she leans it on its bottom edge on whatever flat surface she can find at her perpetually wet food service job. refurbished options more expensive than the cheap 'new' products, not saying much tho. deliver busted phone and info to her -- her mom and dad are there ofc -- go home. later pick her up that night (last night) and drive her to her gfs in the heights. oh also dropping steven and their mutual friend off at stevens on the way. whatever its like literally en route its actually kinda perfect every time.

apparently im picking her up this morning. Okay. oh yeah shes locked out of her paycard account. she locks the card when shes at 0 in case she gets an auto withdrawal thatll overdraft her. she got paid today so she was gonna unlock it but how did she access her acct previously? thumbprint. no password memory whatsoever. pretty fair, id say? she texted me asking for the last 4 of her SSN this morning. nobody picked up her call to the bank(?) until she called them in the car with me. the form required to change login credentials when u dont have account access required those digits and a form of photo id. no ability to access it from her ADP because the pw changed at some point but it still took her print.

reminder. shes homeless and out of school. she has a birth certificate but thats where my certainty of her documentation ends. ive run into this before where i wanted to start a real bank acct for her but they require legally viable photo id and even non driver state ids require 1. proof of permanent residence (X) and 2. proof of enrollment in school for minors (X) at the MVA.

so anyways weve kinda hit a wall with the limitations her unsupportive parents / guardians have provided! its taking up a large portion of my emotional, mental, physical, and temporal space in life right now so i wanted to make a post about it. my little bandaid desire is to at least set her up with a new phone which i estimate would be $200 minimum for actual 'verified third party vendors of used phones' but ugh i didnt budget for this.

oh the support seeking! if you know me and wanna ease the load on my sisters shoulders a but, id be grateful for some help raising funds for a new phone! ill include some $ links. if were unacquainted but youre reading this anyway and have a spare $5 wed love the support! thanks for reading :)

cashapp: $rmwperfect | venmo: @rmwperfect | paypal: @37q

#fuck it ill edit links in since its not letting me paste anything

[stormyoceans]

need puen reading shojo to make a comeback in our skyy 2 <3 imagine them having a shelf with photography books, talay's pantone cards, some romance novels and shojo manga <3 (that's not all of course). and i would like for it to be decorated with lights and photos from different years amd talay's sketches and puen's notes (maybe he'll even start to write poetry as years pass by...)

HAVING A VISCERAL EMOTIONAL REACTION TO THIS IF YOU HEAR TALES OF A WOMAN VANISHING INTO THE WOODS AND HAUNTING UNSUSPECTING PASSERSBY WITH THE SOUND OF HER WAILING PLEASE DON'T BE AFRAID IT'S JUST ME

it's just!!!! i can't really explain it, but there's nothing that reduces me to an incoherent sobbing mess quite like the thought of puen and talay building a life together and turning a house into a home, THEIR home, a place where they feel safe, comfortable and loved because it carries the physical evidence of both of them existing in the same space, at the same time, in the same universe. their favorite snacks stacked in the cupboard, their clothes getting mixed up in the wardrobe to the point they can no longer tell which ones belong to who, pictures of new memories they made together peaking out from every corner of the house, talay's guitar resting against the wall of their bedroom next to a pile of DVDs of puen's movies...... those are all proofs that they're alive and get to love each other every single day

SO GOD YES I WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE FOR THEM TO HAVE AN ENTIRE BOOKSHELF JUST LIKE YOU DESCRIBED IT with puen’s shoujo proudly on display for everyone to see because he doesn’t feel embarrassed about liking them anymore, maybe after talay bought the first one for him as a way to show puen that he no longer has to hide any part of himself (and i know talay would do RESEARCH about it, like at first he would try to find the same series tun had, but when it turns out that sadly it doesn't exist in their universe, he ends up browsing the internet for hours to find the perfect shoujo to give puen) [it's fruits basket btw. i know deep in my soul that puen would LOVE fruits basket]

you know what else i just know? that puen would write those kind of beautifully poignant poems full of domestic imagery to talk about loneliness and loss and love and life AND HONESTLY IM NOT MENTALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO EVEN THINK THAT ABOUT

#POET PUEN IS JUST. IT'S TOO MUCH FRIENDS IM AN OLD WOMAN MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS KIND OF EMOTION #IM ALREADY FRAGILE THINKING ABOUT DOMESTIC PUENTALAY #also how much money does gmmtv wants to give me a featurette where the entire vv crew + jimmysea just walk around puentalay's house #and explain every piece of decor they decided to put in it #i would genuinely pay for it #anyway. im SO SO SO SORRY about the incredibly late reply anon 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ #hope you're still around to see this and thank you so much for sending it in the first place because I LOVE YOUR VISION #vice versa #puentalay #m: ask

[elizabethplaid]

Wishlist - end of 2012, beginning of 2013

This wishlist collage was also featured in my crafting blog, back when I was still using livejournal. The post is (currently) still live, and I’ve got another copy of it on my dreamwidth account (also neglected). Might as well have another copy of it on tumblr, for when I compile stuff eventually.

December 2012 is around the time I started discussing using a thread rack to display spare doll heads. John bought a rack before I got around to buying mine, but he was nice enough to credit me with the idea.

Anyway, here’s wonderwall of text.

Top, left- Hot Toys Loki 12in figure Loki's been on my mind for quite awhile. Most of the accessories and costume pieces will be sold off, since I really just want the nude figure. Individual pieces often fetch high prices, so selling the extras is less hassle than trying to fight for the stuff I'm after. Second and bottom, left- 23cm Obitsu body and extra 27cm Obitsu hands The 23cm body will go to "When I Read, I Dream" Jo, who has been fighting with Adex over the 25cm body. Might be able to skip it if I can get the right combo of parts out of what I have on hand. As for the hands, I don't have enough hands and feet within my bag of Obitsu parts. Hands are, well... handy. Top, right- KidKraft Beachfront Mansion Of all the dollhouses I was looking at, this was the only one that has the bottom floor off the ground. All the rooms will be given paint/wallpaper, so they're set up for plain photo backgrounds. Since it won't be a "house" as much as a photo studio, I won't need the furniture that goes with it. Meh, I have enough doll furniture as it is. Even if I don't get this specific house, it's a nice example of what I'd like to build. Second, right- 60 spool thread rack After doing the math and my dad's shock at how detailed my plans were, I've realized it's easier just to buy this thing. Not sure if I've mentioned it before, but this will be for storing/displaying my spare heads. My current head storage case won't fit heads with long hair, and doesn't let me see what I have at a glance. With the small spaces, it's probably better for storing doll shoes or other miniatures. Bottom, right- 12-Case Photo Storage Carrier These little cases are to hold doll clothes, to help me see things better at a glance. The idea came from corsetkitten's blog post, which seem to be the same size. Each mini-container is a bit bigger than an index card (designed for storing 4in by 6in photos). This particular one from The Container Store is a set of 12 mini-cases that go inside one larger case. The mini-cases are also sold separately and in a 6-pack with an outer container. While these are in the order of "importance", they aren't in order of "what's likely to be purchased first". Most likely, I'd get Loki, the spool rack, the Obitsu items, the photo case, and then the dollhouse. With time and long talks with my counselor, I've been able to push away impulse "needs" and shine a light of practicality on the ideas. Oh yes, there are tons of little items I could say I want, but those things will be drops in the bucket compared to more important stuff. ========

As of October 2022 (nearly 10 years later), I have most of the items here. Loki was the first thing I got. To this date, he’s my most expensive doll ($220 + $50 body), but he’s my 2nd fav. (Jude is #1. Sorry bud.) No regrets at all. He’s the best-looking of all the Hot Toys Loki figures, too.

Dollhouse was more about inspiration, rather than purchasing that specific one anyway. Didn’t get the 23cm Obitsu body; just not a priority anymore. Did get the extra hands, and I love them.

Instead of photo boxes, I got larger document-sized boxes. They have clear covers and are stack-able. I’ve barely started to use them, so idk if they’ll work out. Even though I’m doing better this year, getting back into organizing and dolls is still tough.

#doll nerd #wishlist #clearing drafts #queued post is queued #long post

[chanmer]

@bangchanies tagged me in this about me game thank you ilyyyyyy 🥺

favorite time of year: WINTER ❄️ I love snow I love warm clothes and fuzzy socks and I just genuinely love the cold

comfort food: pasta literally any kind and Mexican food

do you collect anything?: unfortunately I collect kpop merch rip my earnings lmaoooo also rip my apartment I am out of shelf space I have stacks in front of my shelves

favorite drink: WATER. Ice water specifically. Sugar free Red Bull, coke and JUICE

current favorite song: charmer. Will I ever get over her? No.

favorite colors: 💖💜

last song: thunderous I had to watch my fav stage with cowboy lino 🤠

last series: web of make believe on Netflix it was super good and wild

last movie: do documentaries count? If so, girl in the picture which made me ugly hiccup cry. If not titanic

sweet, savory, spicy: is it cheating to say all? All.

craving: chips with hot nacho cheese

currently working on: saving money ndjsjdjsjjff I say as I bought photo cards yesterday. I left a really good paying job last September bc mental health but the pay cut was not cute and I gotta get my shit together

Can everyone do this I wanna know y’all. Lillie @belixed do this for meeeee. @loverlix @gaypeople (welcome back 🥹) 💖

[chibitantei]

@jesterofinaba​ sends:

They’d been a little makeshift family for almost a month, and already Naoto’s birthday was here. Adachi had virtually no experience buying someone else a gift, and very little experience celebrating someone’s birthday, but he’d done his best to put something together.

He’d already saved away the fact that she really enjoyed sashimi, and bought it for dinner that night, setting it on the table, as well as a cake he’d bought from the local Junes, and a tub of ice cream in the freezer. He’d wrapped a few small boxes as well, containing a cute little stuffed animal of a weasel, and another one of an orca that he’d found, a model kit, and a pretty decent stack of secondhand books he'd bought, tailored to her interests.

Adachi was nervous, but mostly about the last surprise, what he’d brought into the room after she'd opened her other presents. This present, a leather-bound book, he didn’t wrap, but instead lets her open.

It’s a photo album.

Inside are pictures of Naoto’s biological family, and some of them even include her, as a baby or as a toddler. Most of them, however, are pictures that include her parents, smiling, working on a case, holding their daughter and each other. Adachi gives an embarrassed smile and rubs the back of his neck.

“You know that work trip I took last weekend...?” Adachi starts, giving an embarrassed smile and rubbing the back of his neck. “It was still detective work, but I had gotten in touch with some of your other relatives, and they helped me put this together. We may be something like a family, but you deserve something substantial to help you remember your parents.

Maybe we can... even go visit them sometime soon, if you want.

Anyway. Happy birthday, Naoto. I hope I did alright for your first one with me.”

Noot Birth | Open

Birthdays had been quiet at the orphanage, just a simple wish from the caretakers and a cupcake. No cards, nothing that could be considered a present, but since pencils and erasers were stolen at least once a week, it was for the best. She expected her birthday to pass by quietly with Mr. Adachi, but instead of a cupcake, he went all out.

Sashimi, cake from Junes, ice cream. The sashimi was finished quick, but the cake and ice cream would remain in the refrigerator and freezer for a while. When she thought the food was enough, he just smiled and lead her to her room, where a bunch of wrapped presents were waiting for her.

It was enough for two or three birthdays, and she wondered if that was his plan. To make up for the birthdays where she didn’t have much. It sounded silly, but she had to remember that he was like that. He gave her ramen before taking her to the station, then decided to bring her to his apartment during a strike. He even gave her the bigger room in the apartment. He didn’t have much but he wanted to share it with her.

He did all of this because he wanted to be a family with her.

All of them were opened, and she loved every single gift. From the stuffed weasel and orca to the stack of books, everything was perfect and she didn’t know what could top it off until Mr. Adachi told her to wait in her room.

So that’s where she is, playing with the weasel and orca when he comes back, and immediately, her eyes drawn to the book as the two animals are set to the side. Once it’s in her hands, Naoto opens it and a whole world of new memories sits right in her lap.

A photo album with Mom, Dad and her.

She flips through the book, admiring the images. Some with her, some without, what’s present in every picture is how happy everyone was. She wants to go back and hold on to those days, but at the same time, she doesn’t want to lose Mr. Adachi because he’s done a lot for her already and she wants to become someone he can be proud of.

She looks up at his embarrassed smile and the way he rubs his neck, listening intently to every word.

He did this for her.

Once he’s done, Naoto realizes her cheeks feel hotter than before.

“You... didn’t have to do all of this for me, Mr. Adachi. I would have been fine with a cupcake.” She really, really would. “But I appreciate the dinner and the cake and the ice cream. I also like all the presents you given me, including the photo album.” She pauses for a moment, continues to flip through the pages until she finds a blank one.

There are more after it, enough for a new chapter.

“We can take photos together and put them in the photo album. I know I’ve said it before, but I really do want to be a family with you, Mr. Adachi! I think my parents would be happy to know that I’ve found someone who really loves me and they wouldn’t mind if we added our photos in here.”

A hand rubs the back of her neck, just like what Mr. Adachi had done earlier. It just feels... natural to do it.

“And thank you for the birthday celebration... I really enjoyed it and maybe next year we can... celebrate it again. It doesn’t have to be anything big, but it would be nice to spend it together. 

So, thank you again, Mr. Adachi!”

#Ask Status: Answered #jesterofinaba #v: No Other Place in This World That I'd Rather Be #Event: Naoto's Birthday #long post #(I'm love them your honor)

[sweetsouthernbelle97]

It all started in preschool, Dirk Jones sat behind me in math class and protected me from every other kid who tried to bully me. One time he knocked out a boys tooth for putting gum in my long brown curls. I laughed thinking back on the memories of our childhood together, he was my best friend, my partner in crime. We got into trouble every chance we got, from rolling people’s houses to stealing yard decorations during the holidays. The car door opening jerked me from my thoughts, “They didn’t have vanilla so I got you Moose Tracks cuz it’s your favorite. “ He handed me the waffle cone stacked high with scoops of ice-cream. I smiled brightly taking it from him as he settled into the driver’s seat.

We cruised down the curvy backroad leading out to the old barn where our friend was hosting a party for his girls birthday. I was in a skimpy dress, looking forward to the greedy stares from other guys and the drinks, which lowered my inhibitions, possibly making me ballsy enough to finally kiss Dirk. I blushed, glancing over at him, he wore a tight pair of deep blue denim Levi jeans and a very sexy red button down. I moaned internally, he was gorgeous and I had been in love with him since middle school.

The music was thumping and I had started my third cocktail. Several men had already propositioned me, a few grabbing my ass in the tight red dress, resulting in a few slaps to the face. The birthday girl and her man were making out at the head table and I danced casually along the edges, close to the bar and the door. I looked around, recognizing a few people from high school, some from college, and then my eyes landed on Dirk, leaned against the wall with a beer in his hand, hair styled back, eyes scanning the crowd. I smirked and swallowed my drink in a few gulps, it was time to shoot my shot.

I sauntered up, looping my arm through his, “What’d ya say we do a little dancing Dirk?” I asked, my lips pouty and plump with the red lipstick. He smirked at me, a glimmer of something new in his eyes, “Sure Mags, let’s dance.” He pulled me onto the dance floor, hand on my hip, the other holding my hand as we slow danced to the music. I moaned softly as his fingers flexed against me, imagining him doing other things with them. He snapped his fingers in front of my face, “Mags, you okay? You zoned out. Did someone spike your drink? I better take you home.” He started to tug me away from the floor. I pulled him back, a rare moment of strength, and as he came close I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him deeply on the lips.

I pulled back slowly, looking into his eyes, searching for a sign. He stared at me for a moment and I felt my heart break and I turned away. Before I could pull myself from his grip he scooped me up into his arms and carried me out the door to his truck. He settled me into the passenger seat and got in, cranking it and spinning the tires, throwing rocks and dirt as he roared away. I said nothing, small tears rolling down my cheeks as I realized I had ruined my friendship.

He parked the truck in front of his house and came around, lifting me out and carrying me inside. Neither of us spoke, my tears still falling, my heart breaking. He kicked open the bedroom door and sat me on the bed, and left the room. I began to sob and curled up, until he came back with a box. He sat me up, wiped my tears away gently and sat the box in my lap. He pulled up a chair and sighed, “Open the box Mags ….” He said softly, watching me. I sniffled and lifted the lid off the box, and gasped, the breath leaving my body. The box was full of photos of me, of little boxes of jewelry still sealed, pressed flowers, and valentines cards going back years. Fresh hot tears streamed down my face and I looked up at him, “What is all this?” my voice cracked. He wiped the tears, “I’ve been in love with you since kindergarten Mags. I made you Valentines every year and bought you little gift for you birthday and took pictures of you, and us.” He watched me, reaching out and stroking my hair.

He moved to the bed, easing me into his lap, holding me close, rocking me slowly. I rested my head against his chest, “I’ve been in love with you too Dirk, since you busted that boys tooth out for putting gum in my hair.” I looked into his eyes. He blinked, a single tear rolling down his cheek. I wiped it away and straddled his lap, kissing him softly. His arms wrapped around me, hands cupping my ass, “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of you straddling me, begging me to do horrible things.” He groaned in my ear, squeezing my ass. I giggled, “What kind of horrible things Dirk, please tell me.” I nibbled his jaw, unbuttoning his shirt, rocking my hips against him.

He gripped me tightly and moved one hand to my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck, leaning in and nibbling, leaving little hickies, “I’ll tell you princess, but once I’m done you’re going to let me feast on that pretty little pussy. I’ve only glimpsed it a few times but I can’t wait to study it like a famous painting. When I’m done feasting I’ll spank you, maybe give you one of the more taboo present I bought you years ago. Then once that pretty ass is crimson red I’ll put you on your hands and knees feed you my cock for a while and then fuck you hard enough to make up for the last 20 years watching you flaunt your body.” He tugged on my earlobe with his teeth as he finished speaking, a deep low moan leaving my lips as I felt my panties soak themselves.

I lay on my back as he slowly tugged my panties down my legs, my dress already discarded. He pushed my thighs apart, taking a deep hissing breath, “You are so beautiful Mags, a plump, cleanly shaved mound, swollen lips framing a deliciously wet slit and a tiny button of a clit begging to be sucked. Ohh, that hungry little slit is opening and closing, what a greedy little hole, begging to be filled. The smell is like honey and vanilla, let’s find out how you taste.” He leaned in and ran his tongue from my anus to my clit, scooping my cream into his mouth before sucking on my lips. I bucked my hips, his tongue swirling around my clit before he sucked it, nibbling. He pulled away, “You taste like vanilla princess, now lay over my lap so I can spank you for being a bad girl.” He sat and smirked when I obediently crawled across his lap. He rubbed my ass, squeezing it before slapping it, a stinging slap, not painful but teasing.

The slaps continued, and I squealed, squirming on his lap, feeling a hard bulge growing beneath me. He landed the last slap and sat me up, my ass over the bulge, and pinned me to his lap with his arms, grinding up and into my ass, the bulge grinding against my lips. I moaned and leaned back against him. He groaned, bucking his hips up, “Get on your hands and knees, open your mouth, tongue out.” He growled the words and stood, unzipping his jeans and dropping them and his boxers. I started to drool, the thick 8 inch monster dripping precum, he brought it to my lips and I eagerly swallowed it. He gasped in surprise as his balls smacked my chin, his dark brown eyes looking down as my blue eyes looked up at him. He gently gripped my head and began to thrust, growing rougher and faster until he was pounding my face. I sucked and licked eagerly, his finger curling around my throat, feeling his thick cock pressing into it.

He pulled away, saliva and precum dripping from his cock, “Time to absolutely wreck that gorgeous little cunt.” He kissed my lips softly and got behind me, holding my hips as he started to press into me. After a few inches he froze, “Mags … is that what I think it is?” He gently bumped the thin membrane barrier.

I looked back at him, blushing, “Yes Dirk … believe it or not I was saving it in the hope the you’d be the one.” I said softly. He breathed deeply and gently eased out, “Mags, are you sure about this? I mean taking you virginity is a big deal.” He stroked my hair, concern filling his eyes. I nodded, “I love you Dirk, I’ve been in love with you for the best part of 20 years. I’ve hated every girl that’s touched you and had dreams and fantasies about you taking me as your own. I want you to do this, I just hope you’ll stick around.” My voice was soft.

He kissed me deeply and pressed back inside, “Princess, the devil himself couldn’t take you away from me, especially after I break your hymen and fill you with cum,” he groaned, “God I’ll be the first and only man to cream your little pussy.” He pulled back, squeezing my hand before thrusting forward, breaking my hymen and bottoming out. I cried out, the pinch of pain quickly being squashed by waves of pleasure. He stopped, breathing roughly trying to give me time to adjust to his girth, “Fuck Mags …. I didn’t know a pussy could be so damn tight. You’re gonna make me cum long before I can show you exactly what you’re gorgeous body deserves.” He groaned, gritting his teeth, squeezing my hips. I moaned softly as my tight canal adjusted to the invader, “You’re huge Dirk, I love it. Please don’t stop … please, I’ve dreamed about this, about you taking my virginity and fucking me sore.” I begged, pressing back against him, desperate for him to move.

He pulled out, leaving me empty and tears welled in my eyes, thinking he lost interest because I craved him. “Mags, please roll over, I want to look you in the eyes if we’re going to do this. I want to see your face and be able to kiss you.” He spoke softly, pulling me to the edge of the bed, easing his cock into me again, stretching and filling. I sobbed in pleasure, he lifted me, holding me against his chest as he pumped gently in and out, “This time we’ll be gentle princess, so you can enjoy every second.” He kissed me, being tender and gentle. I clung to him desperately as he pumped into me. “I’m going to cum princess, are you ready?” He whispered in my ear. I nodded against his shoulder.

He gripped me tightly and thrust deep, short bursts until he sprayed my insides with cum, groaning in my ear. I cried out as the largest orgasm I’d ever experienced rocked my body. He eased back onto the bed, still inside me, holding me close and tight, pulling a blanket over us, “Thank you princess, thank you for letting me have that precious part of you.” He nuzzled my neck. I smiles sleepily, “It was always yours Dirk, even if you didn’t know it.” I started to doze off, but not before hearing him softly whisper, “I love you Mags, with all my heart and soul. I’ll never be able to let you go after tonight. You’re mine now, whether you know it or not, every beautiful inch of you belongs to me.” The words swirled around in my ears as I fell asleep, filled with joy.

When I woke up I was clean and in one of Dirks oversized t-shirts, and the smell of bacon and eggs drifting into the room. I slowly stretched, feeling sore in spots Id never felt before. Dirk walked in with a tray of breakfast for me, “Good morning beautiful, how did you sleep?” He asked setting the food on the bed and climbing in with me. I smiled softly, “I slept better than I ever have, I was sleeping next to the man I love.” My voice was soft as I raised my eyes to his. He kissed me, deeply, pressing me back into the bed, his weight settling comfortably on top of me, “You mean that Mags?” He asked between kisses. I stopped him mid kiss and held his face, “Dirk, cross my heart, I love you. You’re my man and when I heard what you said last night I knew, you’re mine and I’m yours.” I kissed him softly, nestling against his chest.

He groaned softly and I felt a growing bulge against my thigh, “You might have to wait on your breakfast princess, because I’d like to show you just how much I love every inch of your delicious body.” He set the breakfast tray on the dresser and pushed the shirt up, baring my body to his gaze. I giggled and squirmed as he worked from my ankles to my hips and up to my breasts, then back down to my pussy. The next several hours filled with the sounds of sex, the room saturated with the musky odors of sweat and bodily fluid.

Dirk pushed the double stroller with two wiggling twin boys and I waddled behind, carrying a set of twin girls. “Can we take a break baby my back is killing me.” I asked, the diamond ring and gold band on my hand glinting in the sun. He laughed, “Of course princess, we can stop for the day.” He helped me back to the truck putting the boys in their car seats.

We got home and put the boys to bed, I reclined in my easy chair and he settled in a chair beside me, “You know two years ago today I took your virginity on the bed in our room.” He nuzzled my neck as he spoke. I laughed, holding my very pregnant belly, “Yes dear, two years ago today you and I became more than best friends.” I said, kissing him softly.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Saturday, 29 July 2023:

Official Release Series Discs 22, 23+, 24 & 25 Neil Young (Reprise) (released Friday, 29 July, 2023)

The most recent grouping of Neil Young albums continuing his series of "Official Release Series" came out on Friday. I discuss these specific albums in other posts as I wait in anticipation of the vinyl release of this same box set. I've been excited for the vinyl pressing because each album is newly configured (as with Neil all things are complicated) but as for the CD release of this box, I've not been exactly anxious with anticipation.

Truth of the matter is, I'm not a fan of these sets. I dislike the packaging immensely: faux mini LPs I suppose you could call them. When Neil released his first four albums (which constituted Discs 1,2, 3 & 4) he released them singularly and in jewel cases. That's how I bought the first reissues in this series, ignoring the boxed version. I thought the boxes ugly and wasn't interested. However, I liked the idea of new reissues being newly remastered (or whatever Neil does when he reissues them) so I wanted them. However, when the second box came out, Neil, always consistently inconsistent, no longer offered the albums on CD as stand alone and most certainly not in jewel cases. I was stuck buying the second box but that was fine, that's the one I really wanted because it contained the heretofore unreleased Time Fades Away (it has since been released as a stand alone, in a chintzy wallet card). After that, I thought I would no longer buy these boxes.

Oh, but the life of a collector often hinges on consistency, and when it came out I suffered the Fear Of Missing Out and of course, bought it. It contains more albums of his that I wanted new copies of (American Stars n' Bars, Rust Never Sleeps). When the last volume came out I almost ignored it.

And here we are with Volume 5 and I can assure you this is my final purchase of this series. The next one will include the likes of Harvest Moon (not a favorite album by any means), MTV Unplugged (which I own on vinyl) and Sleeps With Angels (a true favorite, but I own it on vinyl as well). I don't need new versions of any of these albums. My original vinyl pressings (and original CDs) will suffice from this point onward.

Above you see the front and the back of the box. Below you can see all the photos of the spines that seemed important enough to photograph.

Below are all four of the boxes which I own stacked together. As was the case with that last installment, this box is a different size again, even in comparison to the first two (it's a touch larger). See below.

Here is a shot of all the boxes I own with their album spines showing. Look! This set is different from the previous, but like the two predecessors.

Lastly, here is the bottom of the box stacked against the other installments. I intentionally took this at an angle to show you that Neil has altered the bottom of the set. Not only is the NYA logo vanished, he puts the number of the edition in the opposite direction. Tiny things like that drive me crazy, but again, with Neil Young you will always consistently have inconsistencies.

There are no photos of the individual discs because I'm in no hurry to open this up. I haven't even opened the last box!

[jupitersscourge]

Kontemps S1E1: "Interview with a Purge Survivor"

[A seemingly unmodified Sapiens sits down in front of a tight-angle camera shot. This host is young, androgynous, and olive-skinned, briefly speaking to someone behind the camera before staring right into the viewers' eyes.]

Sulka: [shuffles a stack of cards] And now finally, we're here with one of the survivors of the Purges of the late 2400s. She goes by Magda now, and she's instructed us not to think of her as a victim - she feels it takes away from the fighting she had to do just to survive. Her story is so inspiring for Mods everywhere, and I think that even we Unmods can learn plenty from her story. About love, hate, perseverance - and plenty more. So please, welcome Magda. A hero in my eyes.

[The shot cuts to a camera pointing the opposite way, just as a heavily-modified cyborg, much of her artificial body transluscent, sits down. A bellows draws and exhales air on the left side of her chest, while a mechanically-actuated pump keeps up a constant cycle rate of blue fluid through the entirety of her body. Effective replacements for organs are purposely visible throughout the mechanical portion of her body, which visibly constitutes everything except her head - making her quite unusual for a cyborg. Topping a metal-and-plastic body is the head of a zebra, a face traced with wrinkles.]

Magda: Looking good for 134 years old, right? [she and Sulka laugh] Over a hundred years since this transformation occured.

Sulka: Can you tell us a little about what it was like for you back then? I know many of our viewers are from Earth. The narrative about the Kontemps has been shifted tremendously.

[Magda nods and flips through a small booklet she's brought with her, robotic fingers doing quick and precise work. A photograph comes out. It's her - younger, with a collection of friends in secondary school, and fully organic, but still clearly her. Most of her friends are other Mods - one of them is an Unmod.]

Magda: So, this is a photo of me in my last year of compulsory school. We called it Comps, I think kids still do. I grew up on Io, Arcology Kappa.

Sulka: One of the oldest still around.

Magda: Yes, yes. Everybody knows Tin Can Timmy. There were something like 750 students in my graduating class. About 700 of them were Mods, of whom maybe... a hundred survived the entire thing. Even fewer left today. And of this picture, only I and the girl to my right, Angeline, are still around. She is an Upload now - what they did to me, they also did to her. She just didn't want anything to do with her body.

Sulka: It's hard when they take so much of you.

Magda: I hold onto mine as a little defiance. They failed to assimilate me. I won't do it on my own. But I don't neg her for her choices.

[brief pause as Magda collects herself]

Magda: So we grew up in a changing world. Mods everywhere, especially Genetics, especially around Jupiter and Saturn, were waking up. That's one thing you have to understand. The Purge was a response to social upheaval. People were calling the Work Terms what they really were - slavery. Term Overseers were getting their heads bashed in with mining tools. A horrible time to have anxiety over the news.

Sulka: So every day, clips of small-scale rebellions are flooding in. Everybody's terrified. How does the Purge come to you?

Magda: Yeah, so when I was about 19 I joined an organization. The All-Moon Communist League. We mostly disseminated propaganda and agitated for civil rights - it was quite popular back in the day. We decided we wanted to turn things up a notch, especially as life got worse on the Moons. Everybody was itching for a fight. Personally, I bought a pistol for myself, but I must have fired... I don't know, less than 100 shots with it in practice. And never in anger.

Sulka: But there was an armed wing of the AMCL, right?

Magda: Yeah. We just called them the Reds. Most of my job was coordinating logistics and information for them. I was doing that by myself by the time I was 25. I had a stack of those cheap disposable pistols in my closet that came up to about my knee. Just give an armful to any Red that comes by, and they'd look after you. Food, obviously, but any contraband you wanted. I was drinking every night because of the stress, and you couldn't get anything but cheap brew legally. Helga down the street was distilling some mean grape vodka though... Mm. I almost miss it.

Sulka: Sounds idyllic. Reminds one of the Paris Commune, though.

Magda: We held out for longer against the outside forces, but, well, it's Earth. They have the dedication to hurl bodies at the problem - more than we had. If you weren't shot for rebellion, you were to be Integrated - your mind made part of their warfare network. Every logistics and tactics person they captured made them better at warfare. We knew that, so we tried to keep individual knowledge as local as possible. But if you were captured like me...

Sulka: ...it could all come crashing down.

Magda: So they pulled me into an autocar as I was going to the shop to hopefully buy some fruit. Almost none of the arcologies could grow mangoes back then. The ones everyone liked came from Thailand, but the conflict brought embargoes with it. You had to get them smuggled in and have something useful to trade. Money was just paper then. I had come into a small stash of cybernetic immunosuppressants. I was planning to sell just one or two. Enough to fill my pantry for a while. But they got to me before I even got there.

Sulka: Could you... talk about how that happened? If it's not too painful.

Magda: It's legitimately a black spot in my memory. I was shot in the back with a dart gun, and the drugs made everything a blur. I thought I was dead - I couldn't feel my breathing or my heartbeat. That experience scarred me. Even now, many nights, I dream of black-clad agents dragging my limp body into an autocar. [She hesitates, then reaches for a tissue to wipe her eye, having been mostly still and well-collected.] Most of my body was surgically removed as they tried to chop off bits until I assimilated, and when that didn't work, they stuck me in a sustainment vessel. I was what they called an Integration Failure. But they didn't want to just shoot me. I languished in that jar, in that room, barely conscious, for a decade while the war happened around me.

Sulka: A decade. Most of our news stopped reporting on it even though it was still going on.

Magda: There was nothing to report on for you. We were winning. Societies don't like to hear about how they're losing. Especially not for years. The Consortium was an infant when I came to again. The Jovian Union and Titanite Council both came later.

Sulka: [leaning forward] The Noble Consortium?

Magda: Right. It's a gas cartel, sure, but it was our gas cartel. Everything boils down to resources. If Earth lost its free access to hydrogen it couldn't prosecute the war. I learned about all this after I got out of the Panopticon.

Sulka: Do you want to talk about how it was to reintegrate?

Magda: The first thing I had to realize is that I still am. Having my mind fragmented and spread across the Net like that over and over, then isolated in a stupor when it didn't work. My only solace is I didn't perceive time passing.

Sulka: You just woke up later.

Magda: Without my body. That was the worst part. I was told I'd never be whole, but I don't know if that's true. My birth body would look and feel decrepit by 134. I'd probably have switched to my second at 100. Maybe earlier. But I've decided to go mechanical and keep my head. That's what I had left, so I added to it.

Sulka: You've made your body a work of art. The see-through parts were intentional?

Magda: Right. i wanted people to see my body working, pumping. To show that I'm still alive, I guess. That I'm not just an Upload. That I - [She chokes back tears, but fails, her body shuddering as she sobs.] I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought I could -

Sulka: [moving to comfort her] No, it's okay. We can have you back. You've told us a lot. We can talk about your time after the war next time.

Magda: Yeah. Yeah, of course. Thanks for having me.

#interview #worldbuilding #my writing #jupiter's scourge #sci fi

[louisepalanker]

The Premiere News & World Report: 

A Radio, Records and Publishing Time Capsule 

Travel back with me to a time before the internet. Before computers. Before spellcheck. Journey with me to a land called Hollywood where a scrappy team of talented misfits cranked out programming and materials which were distributed around the globe via the U.S. mail to local radio stations.

That was Premiere Radio Networks in the late eighties and the nineties. Somehow, in addition to countdown shows, talk shows, weekly parody songs, funny commercials, interactive characters, celebrity interviews and monologue jokes we also published a weekly newsletter which we called the Premiere News & World Report (before receiving a cease and desist from the U.S. News & World Report)

These hand crafted rags offer worthy historical record of 90s radio, music and pop culture. They also provide me with a sort of journal, documenting the adventures enjoyed and bonds treasured during our early days together at Premiere Radio.

Much of the content you’ll find in these newsletters is cringe inducing by today’s standards. Should we look back at what we wrote years ago in awe, shame or wonder? Exhibit a) I am currently staring at a headline which reads:

BATTERED LESBIANS ON STEROIDS: A LOVE STORY

This is now, of course, several layers of wrong, but it serves as a healthy example of either how far we’ve come or how little we knew about each other back then.

I am including this edition here for you today, also because it features our truly darling annual Christmas card contest winners. Fun and funny for the following reasons.

1. We were desperately naive as to the eventual importance of Ashley Judd.

2. There really was a guy who called himself “Gay Boy Ric” who advertised his phone number in Billboard Magazine. He changed his outgoing message every day so it was like a personal, little radio show and you could leave messages and then the next day he would give you a shout out. It was so good!

3. Michael Damian and his doggie. I mean, enough said.

OK, so we published these newsletters every week! I physically cut and pasted elements from my typewriter, pictures I snipped out of magazines and photos I took or in the case of this example, actual Christmas cards. I brought my ingredients down to a print shop in the lobby of the Motown building and walked into the back where they allowed me to use a layout table, a glue stick, scissors and rulers to construct our creation. This was then handed to the in-house team for printing.

Oh, also the “clip art” you see is generated by actual novelty stamps that I bought at an actual stamp store in Century City Plaza where you could buy stamps and ink pads!

We grabbed our stack of newsletters, printed out lables and held a good, old fashioned folding party every week in our Premiere conference room. The newsletters went out to all of our affiliate radio stations, and our contact list which included PR firms, record labels and celebrities we had interviewed.

Exhibit b) features an account of a day I spent in NYC at SNL, interviewing Dana Carvey, Jon Lovitz, Kevin Nealon, etc. I added them all to our mailing list. A few months later, I received exhibit c) a fax from legendary SNL writer Herb Sargent! It simply read:

"Hey, Can I get on your News & World Report mailing list?"

This fax hung proudly in my office in righteous defiance of Rob Schneider’s fax requesting removal from our list, sighting ecological concerns about wasted paper.

At Premiere we enjoyed relationships with lables, PR firms and radio stations and we really loved including folks in our newsletter by posing silly questions and having them respond. Exhibit d), is both an example of this practice while also condoning violence with the headline:

WHO YOU’D SLUG REVEALS YOUR PERSONALITY

These hundreds of newsletters were carefully curated by Helen Ledesma Bartolotti and I posted many of them to this Flickr album for you to peruse and enjoy.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/louisepalanker/albums/72157719283903510/with/51192751001/

Jam I must. Go read the rest of your newsfeed.

#radio #90s #90s radio #90s pop culture #newsletters #90s newsletters #90s music #Premiere Radio