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#i have no clue what's even in some of those bins and i know for a fact there's just random stuff shoved haphazardly in there.
cremebruleequeen · 1 year
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Hey, Stephen
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Summary: Robin finds a book in the lost and found.
Word count: 1.2k
warnings: nothing really? mild language, awkward pacing, semi-unresolved ending? brief background Robin x Vickie, if that needs to be a warning? reader is referred to with she/her pronouns
a/n: idk how I wrote almost 4k of fanfic and nothing for my thesis today, but here we are. please enjoy. constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated, unless you're a dick about it. fic is inspired by Hey Stephan by TS, just incase that wasn't obvious. I have no clue how the audio link is going to look cause I normally do those on mobile?
Part II up now!
“Steve!” Robin’s shout from the backroom roused Steve from his stupor at the counter. Weekday evenings were slow at family video, which left basically nothing for the two employees to do for the next few hours, unless you counted inventory or re-stocking shelves. And Steve would rather stare at the dirty counter and fiddle with the Rubik's cube he had found in the lost and found.
Plenty of treasures were found in the lost and found bin, including the object Robin was now waving in front of his face.
“Steve, you are never going to believe what I just found!” She was practically shaking with excitement as she clutched an object to her chest with both of her hands, a massive grin spreading across her freckled face.
“I’ll take that bet,” he sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. She placed the item on the counter and they both leaned over it. “Robs, it’s a book.” He stated, less that amused. Don’t get him wrong, Steve enjoyed reading the occasional novel as much as the next guy, but he didn’t understand why this particular book would call for such hyperactivity in his best friend.
“No, dingus, well- okay yes technically it is a book.” She explained, waving her hands around like Vanna White. “But it’s not just any book. It’s a diary!” She squealed, slapping the counter.
“Okay? And? It’s not like we’re gonna read it.” He paused, looking at her for a moment. “Oh, my god, you already read it. Robs, you can’t just read some random person’s diary! That’s like, a massive invasion of privacy!”
“Okay, maybe that’s right, however, if I didn’t read it, I wouldn’t have found out that whoever wrote in this didn’t just write normal stuff. Like, when I write in my diary, it’s all ‘dear diary, blah blah blah,’ but whoever wrote this is some artsy type, cause it’s all poems. Or maybe song lyrics, to a song or something.”
She flipped through the pages as she explained, showing him what she meant. Sure enough, all of the words were written in lines like a poem. She stopped for a second on one page, giving him the chance to read some of it. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, despite himself.
“And I see you’ve found the second special thing about this here little book.”
It was about him? Maybe?
“No, Robs, even if it is about me, which it’s definitely not, they spelled my name wrong. See,” he pointed to one of the first lines, which said ‘Hey, Stephen.’ “that could be anyone.”
“But this is clearly written by someone our age-ish, and who else do we know our age named Steve?”
“I don’t know, Robin, this feels wrong. We shouldn’t be snooping like this.”
“Steve, it’s been months since your last date. Someone in Hawkins has made you their muse! I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t help you find them!”
Steve sighed, running a calloused hand over his face. “Alright, fine. But if you do somehow find out who’s it is, you need to tell me before you do anything drastic. My definition of drastic, not yours.”
“Have you no faith in me? Don't answer that. Here’s what I’ve already figured out-“ Robin launched into a spiel about all the “evidence” she’d gathered.
The note book looked fairly new, and the sticker on the back was from a local bookstore. So, the secret admirer had to be from Hawkins.
The poems were good, and some of them had small letters next to them that might have been chords. So, the secret admirer had some sort of musical talent.
The number of hearts and style of the handwriting led Robin to believe the writer was female.
Some of the lines implied, if not outright stated, that the writer had met and talked to Steve, so it had to be someone he already knew.
This last piece of information made Steve’s stomach twist. There was only one person he knew who’d he’d be even remotely interested in dating, and there was no way that she liked him back. They discussed the mystery at great length until Robin had to leave early for her date with Vickie. The store was no less empty then an hour and a half ago, so Steve didn’t mind covering for her.
That left him alone until closing with the book taunting him. He couldn’t help it as he flipped through some of the pages. The spelling of the name was still nagging at him, telling him it was way too good to be true. But the lyrics were so flattering, he kinda wanted them to be about him.
I can’t help it if you look like an angel
Can’t help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain
So, come feel this magic I’ve been feeling since I met you,
Can’t help it if there’s no one else
He thought maybe if he read it over and over again he could figure out who it was, but it didn’t work. The number of times he read it did nothing to desensitize him to how sweet it was. There had been a persistent swarm of butterflies in his gut for hours, and they refused to take a break.
Finally, about ten minutes before closing, he put the book back in the lost and found bin. It wasn’t like he could take it home with him. That somehow felt like an even worse invasion of privacy than reading the entire diary enough times to practically memorize it.
He emptied a few boxes of returned movies, shut off the computers, and was in the back room shutting off the lights when he heard the bell above the door chime. Great.
Steve groaned internally before plastering the customer service smile back onto his face. The face that someone in Hawkins thought was nice enough to write songs about.
Steve exited the employees only room and felt his heart stop. There, standing right by the counter, was the person he’d tried not to think about all day. Y/N Y/L/N, the girl he’d spend most of junior year crushing on. The crush had been briefly tamped out when he started dating Nancy, but somehow during that time, you became friends. You had been there during their breakup to help him, and now fought every day with Robin for the title of ‘best friend.’
“Hey, Stevie!” His heart melted at the nickname. “I left a book here yesterday when we were hanging out, has anyone seen it?” You asked. His heart re-solidified and was now beating roughly four-thousand beats per minute.
“Um, yeah, Robin saw a notebook in the back room?” Steve couldn’t make eye contact as your face lit up.
“Oh, was it a dark red leather one? That’s mine! I’ve been looking for it all day!”
He could only nod dumbly before his body walked on auto-pilot to the employee room, retrieved the book from the lost and found bin, and placed it in your waiting hands.
“Thank you so much Stevie! You don’t even know how important this is!” Yes, he did. “See you tomorrow!” Before his brain could process what you said, you placed the hand not holding the book on his shoulder, stood on tip-toe, and kissed his cheek. Muttering some-sort of farewell under his breath, he stood in the middle of Family Video for what felt like an eternity, processing everything that had happened.
Holy shit.
Thank you so much for reading! Any likes, reblogs, comments (or a combination of the three!) mean so much and are greatly appreciated!
Find more on my masterlist!
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dysphoria-things · 1 month
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this is probably a weird question but since you've talked about dressing punk for cheap before: I live in Suburbia Hell (not by choice) and goodwill is the only thrift store I can get to since I can't drive, but it's a "boutique" goodwill (aka it *does not* have the bins where you pay for clothes by the pound! everything at this store is on a hanger & organized by color, and jeans are ~$10 while shirts are ~$8).
idk maybe my expectations are too high but I see people online saying "I got these pants for 20 cents" or "I literally dug this jacket out of the dumpster" and I feel bad about tearing holes in $10 jeans and calling it punk. I know goodwill is still a thrift store and I'm trying not to support fast fashion, but since everything at this store is in pretty good condition, I'm wondering how many donations they throw out instead of selling and how much of a difference I'm actually making by shopping there.
plus I want to make patches using stencils and I've seen people suggest cutting up XL jeans for patch fabric, but 1) I don't want to make life harder for plus-size people who already struggle to find clothes in their size and 2) again, $10 jeans :P
honestly, i don’t think that dressing cheep is entirely the point. i can get as many cheep clothes as i want, but if they wear down and become unwearable, was it worth it? i have a pair of blue jeans i bought for 25-30$ that i’ve had for two years, i have quality t shirts ive had for almost five, when i outgrow my clothes i cut them up and make them into something new. i got a pair of docs for my birthday- expensive ass boots- three years ago. i replaced their soles two months ago and i can probably wear them for a long time if i replace the laces before they snap.
so yeah, 10 dollar jeans are fucking fine. goodwill isnt great, but they are used clothing! they are nice quality! i got a ten dollar suit jacket there that was like 500$ on the tag. most of my flannels come from there, too, and my button ups.
goodwill is also not fast fashion, they’re just a chain thrift store. their shit is used and donated, unlike other stuff. a lot if it is nice and quality and will last you, even if some is shit, and people already gave up those clothes. that’s not the same as buying new shit made by exploited women in other countries every week, because what else are we going to do with those used clothes? throw them in the dumpster?
im not even opposed to brand shopping. my problem with hot topic and shein is that not only are they stupidly expensive, the fast fashion shit just means it falls apart and crumbles. i shopped at hot topic when i was first getting into punk but we were too poor to shop there all the time, so most of my stuff was still handmade. and the shirts and patches from there crumbled and only looked good in photos, but my eddie bour pants with random shit sewed on are still good after years of use and being way too small for me. so a part of it is finding good brands which clothes lasts.
also, remember: most people are not getting 20¢ jeans. i have no fucking clue where someone’s getting that. the cheepest jeans i’ve seen have been 10$ at goodwill and i think 5$ when they were on sale at my local thrift store. if someone says theyre getting 20¢ jeans or jeans out of a dumpster, likely they’re lying to seem “more authentic” with some bullshit elitist mindset. and if they genuinely have… share your secrets instead of bragging to tiktok.
get yourself 5 pairs of good jeans and one thrifted pair to cut up, and you’ll be set for years with those. i’m serious. if you get 30 cheep and thrifted jeans that you have to throw out in a month, that’s worse than 5 expensive pairs that last you a lifetime.
punks that engage in fast fashion because cheep = punk piss me off to no end. it’s just a holier than thou mentality
anyway, i’m currently working on a jean jacket i got from target and cutting up pants that are too small and a band t-shirt to make it a nice battle vest, and this thing will last me much longer than anything from shein and evens out the cost.
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ts-janus-rp-blog · 10 months
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Virgil ran across the street as the rain poured down from above him. He was soaking wet but he barely noticed as he had been out in the rain all day. He was in the forest only passing desolate roads, looking for a sanctuary that was rumored to be around somewhere though he didn’t know if he really believed that anymore…
It was starting to get dark and he began to wonder where he would sleep tonight. As he slowed down to look around the forest he heard the sound of someone approaching
(@virgil-the-hybrid )
Janus had no idea where he was going, he had no idea where to go to find this supposed sanctuary. All he vaguely knew was that it was somewhere hidden in the forest. Which...wasn't very helpful. He had been searching all day in the rain, praying and hoping that he would find some hidden clue as to where this blasted sanctuary was. While also making sure no humans find him. Which was...easier said then done in many ways.
Luckily there didn't appear to be any humans out here, but he could never be too sure. He was afraid of staying in one place for too long in case any humans were looking for him. He had to be on guard and high alert all day long in case he hears any humans hiding in the bushes trying to get a surprise attack on him... So to say that he was exhausted by the time the sun fell below the horizons...was an understatement.
Just as he was about to find some cave or hole to sleep in, however, he heard footsteps. Immediately he curled up into a ball and hid under a bush. Fuck, humans. They've found him. Dammit! Dammit! Wait... Hang on...
Janus sharp snake eyes peered through the leaves, and his eyes widened as he spotted...another hybrid! No way... No way...
Without even thinking he picked himself up from the bush and started following this hybrid. Sure, it could be a trap. Sure, it could be a human in a costume. But, dammit, he's willing to take his chances.
He kept following and following, until he spotted the hybrid stopping. Why was he stopping? There wasn't anything around here. Did he spotted something? He didn't know. What he did know was that he had to be careful, it still could be a trap, after all.
"H-Hello...?" Janus poked his head out from around a tree. "You're...really like me... Oh wow... I... Are you trying to find the sanctuary too? I... I don't know where it is... Have you found it yet?" Janus asked.
The mostly dark yellow snake hybrid only had on a rugged shirt and shorts on. It definitely looked like he had picked those clothes from a garbage bin. His long snake tail for legs was covered in mud and filth...and scars. Around his neck and wrists were metal chains that clanged together whenever he would so much as move an inch. In the rainy breeze it would clang together even more. His dark yellow hair was plastered onto his face, and he looked a little worse for wear.
@virgil-the-hybrid
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imaginmatrix · 5 months
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Prompt: Moonlight
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I have no clue where the short that this one word prompt inspired came from, but I hope you enjoy
Percy’s mother used to say there was magic in the light of the moon. She said the silver rays could carry any number of impossible things from the stars to the earth; strange beings and mysterious items and concepts like fate and destiny would ride those gossamer bands like a tidal wave to shift the mundane to wondrous.
And then, of course, Percy got older and learned that the moon merely reflected the light of the sun, and was little more than a barren rock doomed to encircle the earth however gravity dictated until the day an asteroid collided a bit too hard and freed it to the lonely emptiness of space. He wasn’t necessarily a practical guy who dismissed fairytales and children’s stories, but he was a cynic, and his mother’s stories lost much of their shine in the wake of losing her.
She used to joke she might choose to become the moon when she died, so she could watch Percy grow and live even after her story was over. But they both assumed they’d have more time before that happened.
These days, the moon was just a rock, the stars just burning balls of gas, and magic was a lie of his childhood.
“Those things kill, you know.”
Percy’s dark brows raised, his face turning to the blonde girl who criticized his life choices before even having the decency to introduce herself. The roof party behind them was abuzz with life; string lights gave a hazy glow to the young adults lounging on sofas and sipping bottles of some sort of craft beer that tasted like shit but all the hipsters pretended was a divine elixir of craftsmanship.
He was on the outskirts, leaning on the stone wall of the roof, puffing smoke from his cig into the dark and staring at city lights.
And now she was too.
He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and tugging the cigarette from between his lips, “Pretty sure that’s common knowledge at this point.”
“And yet here you are, turning your lungs to raisins anyway.”
Percy was both annoyed and intrigued, almost impressed at her audacity. He didn’t care much for being scolded; he was an adult. He could make whatever bad decisions he wanted.
But this girl was direct. Plenty of people hated cigarettes, but most would wrinkle their nose and move away, or cough dramatically to make a point without words, or mutter to their friends about the disgusting habit. Not the girl beside him. She walked right up and pointed out the obvious, said what most wouldn’t dare say to a stranger.
Percy could admire that.
“Well?” The girl asked expectantly, as if Percy was supposed to answer a question that was never actually voiced.
“Well what?” He stubbed out the cigarette, leaning away from the girl to toss what was left into the bin nearby.
“Why do you smoke.” She said, as if it were obvious.
Percy shrugged, “I don’t know.”
But he did know.
His mother never smoked a day in her life. Yet cancer made its home in her lungs anyway. So maybe it was to spite the universe for that, or maybe it was to dare it to take him out the same way. Maybe it was just self flagellation for being here when she wasn’t. There was nothing to blame himself for, nothing he could have done to stop her from getting sick, but some sort of guilt gnawed through his chest anyway.
So he dampened that guilt by putting chemicals in his body.
Or maybe he was just an idiot who smoked because he tried it once and got hooked, like every other person who relied on the stuff to get through the day.
“Well you should stop.”
Another incredulous laugh rasped from Percy’s throat, “Never heard that one before.” He finally turned to face the girl properly.
And then something that was neither smoke nor guilt filled his chest.
She was pretty, but Percy had seen pretty before. This was different. This was…
Intense.
There was something in her expression that felt a thousand years old; she was clearly around his age, but her gaze had seen the rise and fall of empires, revolutions, tragedies, and everything that filled the eons between.
But she was just a girl, and Percy was a bad poet, and he swallowed a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he found words to combat the way she seemed to see right through him.
“Do you usually berate people you’ve just met, or am I special?”
She looked thoughtful, “A bit of both.”
“Yeah?” Percy wished he wasn’t a smoker, just so it would be easier to catch his breath around this girl, “What makes me special, then?”
“You’re in my spot.” She turned back to the city, those eyes shifting from his face and her profile caught the light in a near halo. The sensation of her focus leaving him had Percy desperate to hold it again.
“So you live here?” He leaned beside her, back to the wall so he could better see the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips.
A nod, “It’s my roommate’s party.”
Now an answering brow raise, “I thought it was a housewarming thing?”
“It is.”
“So wouldn’t this technically be your party too?”
Another shrug, but the continued conversation saw that her head turned back to him and Percy felt himself drown in the impossible gravity of her attention once more. “I’m not really a party person.”
“Me neither.” At her pointed look that said ‘but you’re at this one?’ he clarified, “I was dragged along.”
This answer was satisfactory, “You’re Percy then.”
Hearing his name from the lips of a stranger, particularly this stranger, was startling. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Because you’re the only person here I don’t recognize, and Charles said you were coming.”
“Right.” A beat. “And you’re…?”
“Annabeth.”
It wasn’t a name Percy had ever heard before, but as soon as she said it, it became one he knew he’d never forget.
Annabeth’s gaze turned out and up again. A silence settled over them.
Percy was frantically searching for something to say, a question, a statement, anything to keep the conversation going, when Annabeth spoke again; “You can’t see the stars.”
It took a moment for his brain to catch up, “…What?”
“Light pollution.” Annabeth nodded to the city, “It hides the stars.”
Percy glanced up, the sky dark and empty while something old and primal tugged at his gut and whispered that it shouldn’t be. “You can see a fair amount in Montauk.”
“I’ve never been.”
“I’ll take you some time.” It slipped out before Percy could consider the fact that inviting a girl he just met to drive outside the city with him to look at stars was weird, but to his relief she smiled.
“I’d like that.” Annabeth fixed him with her gaze once more. And once more it was crushing, and Percy was close enough now to make out the color of her eyes.
Some people might have called them gray, but a word so colorless and boring couldn’t come close to what they were. Silver was the closest, Percy decided. Silver and seeing every little hope, fear, desire, and secret Percy had buried deep down, as if he was laid bare without clothes or even a physical form to hide in.
Percy cleared his throat, “At least you can still see the moon.”
Annabeth didn’t look back to the sky when she said “Not tonight. It’s a new moon.”
Could have fooled Percy, the silver glow of Annabeth’s irises a fine replacement. Even better, as she carried two moons in her eyes, rather than just the one that hung in the sky.
“Ah. Well. Tomorrow then.”
“Mmm.”
Silence again. God. The silence hurt— not a sharp pain, but a dull ache, like the moment between comfort and burning when one held their breath for too long.
And he’d known the girl for less than ten minutes.
But in that time, he had decided to quit smoking, take her to see the stars in Montauk, and let her occupy every corner of his mind for as long as she deigned to stay for.
The numbness that plagued every waking moment for the past 3 years ebbed.
“Do you—“
“I think—“
They spoke at the same time. Annabeth laughed breathlessly, complimenting Percy��s own nervous chuckle.
“You first.” Percy said.
“No, no, you go.”
“I insist.”
Annabeth scrunched up her nose, making freckles Percy hadn’t noticed sharpen. “I think,” she started again, “that I’d like to go inside.”
Percy’s heart sunk, “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s kind of cold.”
Annabeth didn’t move, instead staring at him in a way that had him squirming, thinking there was something he should be doing that he wasn’t.
“…Are we going in, then?”
Percy jolted at the realization that he was invited. “Y-yeah!” He shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing off the wall.
Annabeth rolled her eyes, tucking a curly lock behind her ear as they walked back to the exit. Percy wondered what it would be like to do that, to reach out and brush errant locks from her face.
They stopped at the door to the stairs, and for the first time since they’d met, Annabeth seemed hesitant.
“I don’t… do this often.”
Percy furrowed his brow, “Do what?”
“Invite guys I just met to my bedroom.”
Oh.
His brain short circuited— inside meant inside, bedroom meant bedroom, she’d said inside, she’d meant bedroom, and he…
Holy shit.
Percy licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and throat working to form a sound, any sound.
“R-right. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, me neither— I mean I have, but I don’t usually, it’s not like, a common thing, it’s not a normal weekend occurrence, I don’t go around picking up girls for one night stands and if I did I wouldn’t like, uh, leave it as a one night stand, I mean at least not these days—“ He bit his tongue to make himself shut up, because dear god that was way too much in response to a simple statement.
He’d made poor choices right after his mom died. Percy had never been one for casual: not casual sex, nor casual dating. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t generally feel attraction unless he knew someone first, gotten to know them, fall in love with them.
But after his only family had died, he grew desperate to feel anything. Even self-loathing.
This… wasn’t that.
Maybe it was the fact that this girl, Annabeth, had no qualms about shaming him for a bad habit. Maybe he was just cold. Maybe it was the loneliness of a party he couldn’t find the strength to be a part of, to try and put on a smile and make friends and drink shitty beer and pretend everything was fine.
Maybe it was the moonlight in Annabeth’s eyes.
Whatever the reason, Percy couldn’t help but want this. Not in the self-destructive way of his past that left him feeling cold and empty. It was something different, it was…
He wasn’t sure.
Annabeth was smiling though, thankfully amused by his rambling rather than weirded out, and she reached a hand to lace their fingers together. “I’ll show you my record collection.” Her eyes drifted up and down Percy’s body in the least subtle way possible. “You look like a guy who likes music.”
Percy’s chuckle was strained, but his shoulders relaxed, “I’ve been known to sometimes enjoy sounds, yeah.”
Annabeth’s laugh made his skin tingle.
Her hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly against his calloused one.
Her eyes shone like the moon his mother loved so much did; they reflected the light in a way that Percy swore defied physics, holding all the things his mother promised moonlight would. Adventure. Magic. Mystery.
A promise of something more.
And as Annabeth blushed and ducked her head when Percy held the door open for her
as she led him down the concrete stairwell to a new apartment and room with lights so warm and comforting, they put those on the roof to shame
as they sat on the floor and looked at records and picked out their favorite songs
as Moon River played on the turntable and Percy met those eyes that held not just the moon, but the stars and sun and planets and entire galaxies
as he reached for her, tucking those blonde curls behind her ear like he’d been itching to, watching her lashes flutter and her breath catch and her cheeks flush with color and her eyes drop to his lips and back up
as they both leaned in
Percy thought that maybe, just maybe
his mom was right about the moon.
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Lockwood and Co
Well, I watched the show because I'd enjoyed the books ages ago. For some reason the show made me want to write fiction which I haven't done for an age. Will I continue it? No clue. Maybe...? It's canon after The Empty Grave but I've tried to avoid major spoilers for anyone who has only seen the tv show and hasn't read the books. Anyway, here's the prologue in case anyone else enjoyed the silly little ghost-hunting show.
Lockwood stalked into the kitchen and turned on the gas under the kettle. As he reached for the Earl Grey his elbow nudged the charred skull that sat on the kitchen worktop and he smiled wryly at the incongruous domestic arrangements in place in Portland Row.  “Alas, poor Skull,” he murmured. “People always misquote that line you know, Skull.  ‘Alas poor Yorick, I knew him Horatio,’ not ‘I knew him well.’  Idiots.”
He dropped a teabag into a mug and leaned back against the counter, waiting for the whistle of the kettle.  It wasn’t worth making a pot; he was alone in the house.  Holly was at home, packing.  George was at the embassy poring over maps of the Paris Catacombs with the representative of the French Ministère des Evénements Paranormaux.  Lucy was with Barnes at the passport office in Petit France. If Barnes couldn’t pull some strings, that would be as close as she’d get to France.  Lockwood and Co. would have to go without her.  It didn’t bear thinking about.
“We’ve got a lot in common you know Skull,” he said as the kettle began to sing.  He knew he wouldn’t get a response.  The Skull had made the ultimate sacrifice for them, given up his life… afterlife… whatever the hell it had had, to save them at the showdown at Fittes House.  Well, to save Lucy really. He’d just been an unintended beneficiary of the Skull’s heroism.  He poured the boiling water into the mug and set the kettle down. He picked up the blackened bone, stared into its ruined sockets. “We were both prepared to die for her.  I think I’m a little bit jealous that you got to do it.”
Still holding the skull, Lockwood sat down at the table, waiting for his tea to brew.  Lucy would have been mashing the bag against the side of the mug with a teaspoon, or a fork, or whatever came to hand like an absolute savage.  He preferred to wait, to let the scent of bergamot pervade the warm kitchen on the steam rising from the mug. “Ever been to Paris, Skull?” he asked.  “My parents went there on honeymoon.  They had a guidebook. It must be in the library somewhere.  Art galleries and parks and cafes on the Rive Gauche.  I think they stayed in a grand hotel near the Luxembourg Gardens.”  He chuckled but there was no mirth in it. “That’s what she should have of course.  She should be going to Paris with someone who can give her all that, order escargot in garlic at a fancy restaurant just to see her face when she realises what it is, walk hand in hand with her through the Tuilleries, kiss her breath away in front of one of those huge water lily paintings that make you feel like you’re floating. All that romantic stuff.  Instead, she gets me, a rapier and a guaranteed brush with death. Even you’d do better than that wouldn’t you, Skull? Give her candles and rose petals on the carpet and a little chocolate in gold paper on her pillow.   I mean you couldn’t do much else I suppose, couldn’t follow through on any of it but then, I don’t do that either, do I?  Never even kissed her. I’m more of a ghost than you ever were, trapped behind silver glass, no idea how to get out.”
The skull said nothing.  Lockwood shook his head, appalled by his own mawkish foolishness.  He stood, snatched up his mug, grasped a corner of the scalding teabag and flicked it across the kitchen into the bin while heading out of the room. Behind him, on the thinking cloth, the skull flickered softly with a greenish flame.
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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years
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The Camping Trip
Summary: The boys insist on taking you all for a camping trip. Something you and their girls despise. Andy Barber x Black!Reader, Curtis Everett x WOC!OFC, Ari Levinson x WOC!OFC
Warnings: Sexy/Worried Andy/Ari/Curtis, Daddy Kink, Difficult Reader, Difficult OFCs, Camping, Nature, Smut (implied), Spanking (implied), Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: So I have no clue of this is the start of a new series or if the result of medication, lol. Hope you enjoy. Please send feedback. Written on my phone. All mistakes my own.
___
“The answer is no.” Andy’s face is one of pure exasperation as he follows you from room to room.
“But it’ll be fun! I promise and -“ Your man pleads.
“No.” District Attorney or not, this man was real close to getting poked in the eye. But knowing him, he’d probably think it was some kind of violent foreplay.
“Well, why the hell not?” He growls.
“Argh!” You give up to trying fold kitchen towels. “Because black people don’t camp, damn it!” You huff. Like, how did this man not know this?
“Oh, that’s ridiculous!” Andy throws his hands up. “I’m sure there a plenty of - of - of black people who enjoy the peace and calm of the wilderness.”
Your hands go to your hips. “Name three that you even know.”
Your Big Man just blinks down at you. So you blink up at him right back.
“I don’t do nature, Andrew. Or heat. Or humidity. Okay? My ancestors fought and died for my right to enjoy the benefits of air conditioning.” You turn your nose up at him before spinning on your heel and walking away.
“And if I were you, I’d finish folding those towels and the rest of that laundry if you want any of my sweet “good good” tonight!” You call over your shoulder.
Andy stares at your retreating form, a tick forming in his jaw.
Oh, his baby girl was going camping with him, whether she liked it or not. And she had better not try to withhold her “good good” from either. He growls to himself as he begins to fold towels.
“Tell me what she’s not gonna do.” He mumbles. “I run things around here. Not her fine ass. And another thing…”
On and on he goes as he moves on to the next bin of laundry.
___
Two Days Later…
His sweet Y/N had been giving the silent treatment for the better part of the day.
“Baby,” he goes to rest his large, calloused hand on the soft skin of her bare knee. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise you’re gonna have fun.”
Instead of responding, you let out a “humph” and continue staring out the window, still unhappy with the fact that your beloved Andy had manhandled you into the car in the first place.
Buttface.
“I promise you’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, it won’t just be us there. Ari and Story, plus Curtis and Ruby, are coming along too.”
“Oh, yippie.” You grumble.
“Hey,” that same hand squeezes your thigh. “Please promise Daddy that you’re going to keep an open mind about this, okay?”
His tone was a mix of both playfulness and authority.
“Yes, sir. I promise to keep an open mind in case I have to sacrifice you to a bear.”
“Huh?!”
“Wake me when we get to hell - I mean to the campsite.” And with that, you drift off to sleep.
Andy just shakes his head. God, his woman was ridiculous.
___
Andy gently nudges you awake when you finally arrive at the site. It appears the two of you are the last to get there.
Hopping out of the car, you wave at the guys before immediately striding over to Ruby and Story, who look just as happy as you are.
“Well hello, ladies. Welcome to the wonderful world of nature!” You spread your arms wide and do a little spin.
Yes, welcome to the wonderful world of poison ivy, snakes, pollen, bees, poisonous spiders, and asthma attacks.
“Fuck nature and all her deadly minions.” Ruby purses her lips and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “Curtis wouldn’t even let me bring my solar powered phone charger. So, I’m gonna die out here and nobody’s gonna know until they stumble upon a coyote dining on my corpse.”
“I get it girl.” You run a reassuring hand up and down her arm. “I know we’ve all seen this movie before.”
You pull some sunscreen out of your bag and begin to rub it into every inch of your exposed caramel-macchiato colored skin. And then you hand it off to the others so they can do the same.
“Yes, we have,” Story hisses as slaps at a random bug that lands on her neck before grabbing the sunblock. “And we don’t make it. Maybe this our men’s way of trying to kill us.”
You turn to glare at your three guys, who were currently in the process of of unloading the vehicles. “How about a little help, ladies?” Ari beckons towards your group.
“The first time I think I see, or even hear a serial killer, I’m talking Leather Face, Jason, Michael Myers - my ass is out. You had better run when I run.” You tell them as you all make your way over.
“Bet.”
“You know it.”
“Yes?” You all huff when you finally reach the boys.
“You know guys, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such pretty looking sour faces.” Curtis coos, prompting you three to glare at him.
He remains unfazed.
“Me, Andy, and Ari have got the heavier stuff under control. We need you pretty ladies to handle these smaller backpacks there. Oh, and for each of you to grab a cooler.”
Your shoulders sag as you go to grab you a bag. But before you do, you and your girls douse yourself with bug spray
You’d been out here for less than 45 minutes and you already had at least four mosquito bites.
All three men let out a sigh. “C’mon girls, we’ve got at least a good 2.5 mile hike ahead of us here, and we want to get there while we still have the sunlight in our favor.
___
One Hour Later…
“I am so close to divorcing Curtis Robert Everett.” An exhausted Ruby mumbles under breath. “Like, I am dreaming about filing the paperwork as soon as I get back.”
“Well, I’m moving out of Andy’s place as soon as we get back, so if you’re looking for a roommate…
“Count me in too.” Story mumbles.
“Glad we’re in agreements, ladies.” You tell them. “Hey boys, how much more time until we get there? We’ve been walking for ages!”
“Not long. But we would’ve been there already if certain members of the group hadn’t had to repeatedly stop for a break.” Ari growls as he readjustes the large pack on his back.
“Ungh! My arms are about to fall off.” Ruby whines as she struggles with her cooler, causing an annoyed Curtis to turn and snatch it from her.
“You know ladies, I think I speak for everyone here, when I say that we’re gonna need you all to develop a better attitude.” Andy calls back.
“I agree.” Ari chimes in.
“And I don’t know about y’all, but I’m gonna need to see soon.” Curtis grunts.
Other than letting out a collective snort, you, Ruby, and Story refuse to respond. Instead you continue to pout until you finally reach your destination. Once it’s confirmed that this patch of land was going to be your campsite, you immediately set down your things with a weary huff.
“Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus.” Out of breath, you look down at your grimy hands.
“Hey!” You lightly bounce over to Andy who’s busy clearing away the brush so he can begin the process of setting up your tent. “I need to wash my hands. Where can I do that?”
“Y/N, honey, we’re out in the woods, miles from civilization. I mean, there’s a river not to too far from here. So, I can you down there later after we’re all set up.” Your boyfriend goes back to work.
Your left eye begins to twitch as your small hands ball into fists. “I refuse to wash my hands in the same body of water where sea monsters poo.” You hiss.
Trying to avoid the tantrum that was surely about happen, he points over to your gray and green tent and tells you to bring it him, which you do.
You step back and watch him undue the straps, gives it a light shake, and bam! There was your pop-up tent. You look around to two other tents, one is black and red, while other is two different shades of blue.
“Alright,” Ari calls out. “Girls you get the sleeping bags inside while we secure the tents to the ground.
“Secure them to the ground?” Ruby asks.
“Unless you wanna blow away in the middle of the night.” Curtis shrugs. “I mean, I’ll chase after you, my little Rubikscube, but if that wind is strong enough, you might end up in Oz or some shit.” He waggles his brows at her.
Several strained sighs later, you all have the sleeping bags situated in each respective tent. Along with lanterns, flashlights, and a couple first aid kits.
You let the boys handle the tools, the ax, as well the few pans and utensils.
“Great job, everyone.” Ari praises. “Now ladies, you and I are going to head down to the river to fill up our water supply. Andy, Curtis - you good with handling the firewood?”
“Got it!”
“Umm, water supply?” Story whispers.
“Oh, apparently we have to boil our water with these tablets to help purify it. Unless you’d like to contract a parasite and die.” You flash her a humorless smile.
At this point you would kill for a bottle of Aquafina or Dasani to drop into your hands right now.
The creek looked alright. Smelled kinda fishy. But between the four of you, you’d managed to fill eight decently sized jugs before returning to your campsite, just as the other boys were finishing up their pile of firewood.
You and Ruby share a look. “Can we finally sit down now?”
The guys huddle up together, keeping their voices down. They break away after a few moments and scatter.
Andy goes to grab a big metal pot, while Curtis snags a sizable jug of river water. Meanwhile, Ari goes back to working on the fire.
Once the coals are burning and the flames are going, the men hang the pot over the fire and then fill it with water. Andy drops in a couple of purification tablets, and then they all step back to admire their handiwork.
“We’ll just give it maybe an hour or so to do it’s thing. I say we go ahead and hit the showers,"
Immediately, you girls balk and begin to trudge back to your respective tents, completely and totally upset.
“If you really think I’m about to bathe in that river with monsters floating around, all of ‘em looking for a little evening snack, you boys have lost your mind!” You tell them, feeling your voice rise several octaves in the process.
“Y/N is right! Didn’t y’all read that article about that alligator they found swimming around here not to long ago? Yeah they captured it and shipped it home. But what’s to say he didn’t come back…with friends?” Story crosses her arms and gives them a pointed glare.
You nod in support. As your men grumble and roll their eyes.
“Ima keep this real simple.” Ruby finally chimes in. I ain’t swimin’ with no snakes. I don’t trust ‘em. They’re too shifty. And most importantly, they bite.”
“Ladies.” Andy clasps his hands together and then rests them on his head. “There’s a public shower a little less than thirty minutes that way, okay?”
“Oh.” Is all you can mumble. “Well how were we supposed to know that? God!"
“So let’s grab our things and head over there before my goddamned ears start to bleed.” Curtis growls, clearly frustrated.
The girls race for their toiletry bags and towels while their very irritated men follow behind them to collect their own.
Bags in hand, you all begin making your way towards the showers. You, Ruby, and Story find yourselves practically skipping the whole way, which only further annoys your partners who are desperately trying to keep you in sight.
“Y/N, baby, this is the last time I’m going to tell you. Come back and hold my hand. Now.” Andy warns.
Not wanting piss off your Daddy in public, you let go of Ruby’s hand and take hold of his instead.
“Good idea, Andy.” Curtis agrees. “Ruby, Story. Come back to us please. It’s safer that way."
With twin sighs, they also do as their told.
Boy this whole camping experience sure had been major delight so far.
When you finally reach the showers, you dash in and pick a stall. Women were on the left side, while men were on the right.
“See you guys in twenty!” Story waves them off. The guys shake their heads and wander around to the other side of the facility.
You and the girls turn on the water to let it warm up and begin stripping out of your dirty clothes. You then wrap a towel around yourself and quickly fold your clothes before placing them in your bag.
Just as you girls are ready to step in, your three handsome, well-muscled partners come around the corner, each of them clad in just a towel.
“Can uh - can we help you?” A confused Ruby asks.
“Nope, we’re here to shower with our gorgeous girls. Helps conserve water and also lets us keep an eye out for creepy guys.” Curtis offers with a shrug.
“And if we say no?” You glare at them.
“Funny thing is, none of are asking, princess.”
“Now, in you go, my Sweet Story.” Ari twirls his finger and points toward the running shower.
“Argh!” She stomps inside and reaches out to hand him her towel.
Exasperated, you and Ruby follow suit.
“Andy, this shower isn’t big enough for the two of us.” You grumble. Instead of responding, he places a warm palm on your belly and presses you against his solid chest before quickly beginning to soap up your soft, nude body.
You bite back a moan as he tenderly caresses your heavy breasts before lovingly tending to your nipples. His hands stroke themselves down your sides. Andy brushes a few sudsy fingers across your navel before finally reaching your aching pussy.
Andy cups and massages your cunt before toying with your clit. He then turns you in his arms so that he can wash your back, as well as your round ass - which he slaps - making you moan. Your man soaps your thighs and then your calves before pushing you further under the spray so he can quickly take care of himself.
And even under the sound of the spray, you’re pretty you can make out another moan…or two. And they definitely weren’t your own.
___
Finished with your showers, everyone takes a moment to get dressed for the night. You can’t quite seem to make eye contact with either of your friends.
But Andy, Ari, and Curtis, they stride back to the campsite with their big chests puffed out and satisfied grins on their lips.
Bastards.
Once you return your site, Ari removes the purified water from the still glowing flames and sits on a protected surface. Curtis then drops two cans of hickory-smoked baked beans into another pot and hangs it up to cook.
And then while you wait, the four of you roast delicious beef brats. Andy leans over to open another cooler to pull out a few beers - Sam Adams for the guys and Leinenkugel Summer Shandies for the ladies.
“Oh, so we have to boil water to live, but you guys packed beer.” Ruby scoffs.
“Can’t forage for beer in the wild, Rubi-loo-hoo. Ex-marine here. Already checked.” Ari chuckles, as does everyone else.
When the beans and brats are done, Curtis passes around tin plates with two hot dog buns each. And then you all sit back and enjoy a simple meal, a warm fire, the beautiful night sky, and the pleasant company of a bunch of weirdos.
___
It’s after 1:30am when all decide to retire.
“Good night, everybody. I think even our pretty little naysayers had a good time.” You elbow Andy in the ribs.
“And remember, no going to the bathroom alone at night. Wake people. It’s important to go as a group.” Ari instructs.
“Got it!” Everyone else mumbles.
You climb into your tent with your boyfriend right behind you. Exhausted, you both make quick work of climbing into your sleeping bags. Fluffing your pillow, you scooch over to be closer to your fella.
“I love you, baby. Thanks for making sure no creepy guy tried to join me in the shower tonight. It was quite chivalrous of you.”
“You know how I feel about protecting my Princess.” He presses his warm lips to your own. “Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast, do a little kayaking, some fishing, and whatever else we feel like. So rest up, little one.”
Andy kisses your nose and drifts off, just like that.
Buttface.
___
Two Hours Later…
Your phone buzzes near your ear. Picking it up, you squint at the message:
RubyRoo: Story and I have to pee? You?
You look over at Andy who is fast asleep.
You: Uh, yeah. Be out in a sec.
Being as quiet as possible, you grab a flashlight and then unzip and then rezip the tent. You see your friends waiting for you in front of a nearby tree.
They wave their flashlights at you as you hurry over. You were convinced that between the three of you, you could remember where you were going. But just in case, you were carrying mace, Story had stolen a flare gun, Ruby was rocking a hunting knife. Better to be safe than sorry.
You weren’t exactly the Charlie’s Angels, but it would have to do. You begin to confidently make your way into the woods, staying along the designated path as you do.
You try your hardest not to flinch and jump at every weird sound or crunch of twig.
“We’ve been walking for quite a while, ladies. We should be there soon.” Story mumbles. “But, I was just thinking…should we have maybe woken up one of the boy before we left?
Shit.
“Probably, but it’s too late now for that now. Let’s just be quick and maybe we’ll get lucky.” Ruby winces.
You successfully make it to restroom facilities and quickly handle your business. Once finished, you half walk, half jog back to your campsite.
You make it back in about twenty minutes. Just in time to see your men, all fully dressed, gathered around the fading embers of the fire. They’re conversation becomes clearer the closer you get.
“Oh, shit we’re in trouble.” You mutter.
“Shhh…”
“I don’t give a shit if they did go to the bathroom, Andrew! My Story-girl loses her car in every parking lot like it’s her job. And please don’t get me started on Ruby’s sense of direction.” Okay, apparently Ari was in full rant mode.
“I know, I know. She’s hopeless without a GPS. Always has been. And Y/N…come on…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Andy growls. “She got stuck in the kiddie the corn maze the other month and l had to rescue her when she started crying. Can’t fucking believe that they didn’t wake even one of us up. I'm going to roast her little ass…”
“Story knows better.” Ari snarls. “And I’m going to remind her of that as soon as I get my hands on her.”
“See, I was hoping we’d be able enjoy this trip without having to do that. But a Daddy’s job is never done I guess.” Curtis growls. “Let’s go get them before I fall over from exhaustion.”
Faces beet red, knees slightly shaking, you three emerge from your safe place just beyond the tree line.
“Um, no need guys. As you can see, we made it there and back just fine.” You flash them what you hope is your sweetest, most confident smile.
“See what the power of teamwork can do?” Story wraps her arms around both of you.
“Yep! And although we should’ve woken one of you up, we had mace, a flare gun, and this here hunting knife to protect us. See?” Ruby shrugs. “So no need to worry.
“Unbelievable”
Rubeena Kathryn Everett,” Her husband snarls. “You give me that knife right now, you little brat.”
“Okay, okay.” She gingerly hands it over. “There ya go. Now how about we all go back to bed and agree to laugh at this silliness in the morning?"
“I agree!” You chime in. “If we’re planning on going kayaking tomorrow, then we need to have our wits about us.”
“Yep!” Story agrees.
“Story-girl, take yourself to our tent and roll up your sleeping bag. You’ll be sharing with me for the rest of tonight. And you best believe that you and I will be having a serious discussion tomorrow morning, regardless of who's around. Now go.” She purposely dodges him in an effort to protect her ass.
“Curtis, c’mon. It’s not that big a deal. There’s no reason to be this upset.” He strides towards her. “It’s like you wake up looking for a reason to be grumpy with me and ooh -!”
Ruby’s burly firefighter tosses her over his shoulder and begins to carry her off. “Shut the fuck up.” He barks. “Or I will fire up this beautiful bottom right here, right now, within earshot of everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now Andy,” You begin. “You know that we didn’t really break the rules. Can’t you do something here?” You grab his big, strong hand and give it a squeeze. “Please, Andy?”
He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he uses one hand to cup your chin, and then other to wrench your thick curls back, making you whimper.
“What’s name right now, little girl? Tell me the name of the man responsible for overseeing his baby’s punishment in the morning? Hm?”
Your mouth goes dry.
“Daddy. It’s my Daddy who punishes me when I’m bad.”
Aww fuck.
“Now, tomorrow morning, which is really just a few hours from now, we’re going to have a little breakfast. And then you and I are going into the woods and pick you out a switch.”
Aww. Double fuck.
"Now goodnight, baby. I think it’s time I got you tucked in again."
END
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dollarbin · 5 months
Text
Dollar Bin #19:
Tom Petty's You're Gonna Get It!
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Imagine a new Tom Petty record.
I don't mean some new archive set like the expanded/alternative versions of Wildflowers or She's the One. I mean a record that is entirely unheard of; one that no one even knew to long for.
I'm disappointed it hasn't happened yet. I hoped Petty's and, for that matter, Prince's, estates would provide a much needed balm to us all after each of their tragic passings by gifting us a miracle, a great white whale we did not even know was lurking beneath us all these years, on the order of Neil Young's Homegrown or Dylan's Complete Basement Tapes.
Sure, we got to hear Prince alone at the microphone, but I feel like he probably made recordings like that, effortlessly, once a week in 80's. And yes, there's a single, previously unknown, piece of pop greatness to be found on the posthumous Petty box set, 1982's Keep a Little Soul.
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But where's Petty's Black Eyed Dog? Where's his Hundred Highways? It's not enough for us to miss Tom; we want to hear his voice reach out and comfort us once again from his untimely grave.
I know exactly what I'm asking for here because I've already experienced it. That's right: at age 13 I was sure I'd discovered an entirely-lost-to-history Petty album.
Let's start at the beginning. My two buddies - both named Matt - and I reacted to Full Moon Fever by going Tom Petty crazy. Tom checked every box a few geeky, unpopular and yearning-for-the-ladies white kids needed checked: he wasn't already property of the cool kids, he was counter-cultural in obtuse, safely-white man ways, his songs were as often as funny as Weird Al's, he rocked, and his middle name was Earl.
So for Christmas / Hanukkah that year we embraced communism's concept of collective ownership in an effort to get our hands on the entire Petty catalog. As the beloved leader of our oligarchy over none, I directed Matt 1 to ask for Let Me Up and Damn the Torpedoes and Matt 2 to get the self-titled debut album and Hard Promises (which, based on its cover, looked like the lamest record), leaving me to squeeze my own stocking with confidence that Southern Accents and Long After Dark were in there on tape, waiting to change my life for the better.
What else, you ask, did we ask for that holiday? Blank tapes of course: it was our standing and too-obvious-to-speak-about agreement that by dinner time on the 25th everyone would have copied both their new albums twice and delivered the copies to one another by bike.
That's right folks: none of us asked for You're Gonna Get It! There was a simple reason: the record was utterly out of print, had never been released on CD and was nowhere to be found in any local Dollar Bin. To three 13 year olds in 1989 who were busy exploring music without knowledgeable parents or older siblings in an era long before the internet, it was as if Petty's sophomore album had never been made. We didn't ask for it because we didn't know it existed.
And so when we rolled up with my dad to the Fabulous Forum on March 1, 1990 for our first ever popular music concert the three of us believed we had the entire Petty catalog memorized.
Ah, what a glorious night....
After buying Petty shirts and promptly putting them on we took our seats and saw the cringy but sorta awesome opening act, Lenny Kravitz. Lenny tried to lead the entire indifferent audience in a sing along to a song no one had heard at that point, Let Love Rule. This was long, long before he got a marketing clue and traded in his second-fiddle-to-Liza-Bonnet role and became a peddler of planet destroying SUVs.
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The night also marked our first brush with rock and roll royalty as both Dylan and Bruce Springsteen joined Petty and the boys for the encore. And, although the internet tells me it's not possible because of the concept known as death, I feel like Roy Orbison appeared as well. I guess it must have been his ghost that appeared behind those famous shades...
But to us 13 year olds none of that compared to the women directly in front of us getting into an all out, beer flinging and fake nails in the eyeballs, brawl in the middle of Freefallin'. My father, lord of the bon mot, instantaneously summed up the crazy scene by yelling "they're slamming boys!" All hail my father.
Is it any wonder that I wound up with a lifelong love of music after such a night? And I haven't even told you the best part: Benmont Tench hitting the opening riff of Love is a Long Road in the full dark as the show dramatically opened is one of the top 10 moments of my entire life.
There was just one unsettling moment all night. Mid-show Petty played a song we didn't know, all about listening to your heart. That wasn't too upsetting; there were plenty of songs he played that we didn't know. We figured they were covers, or coming out of the next record, because no one else in the audience knew them either. But when Petty told us about a ladyfriend resisting some dude's money and his cocaine everyone else all around us sang along.
We were a smart group of kids but we didn't put two and two together that night: take the fact that we were the youngest people there by a decade, add in the fact that everyone else there new the song and you wind up with an obvious conclusion: we were missing a Petty record. And so I went home with a nagging worry: what explained that one song?
The answer came from Saint Cross's Quaintance Shop a month or three later. Picture a fading church thrift store 35 years ago. Wigs and berets on white, styrofoam heads, mismatched golf clubs, iron-on izod patches for dressing up second hand kids shirts filled the front room; even less desirable items could be found in the back. A rotation of women born in the 20s manned the counter, clucking about whatever whenever my busy mother stopped by to pick up the shop's meager taking in her role as vestry treasurer.
I was still too young to have an excuse not to join her on these errands, and thank god for that because I wandered into the back room, thumbed through their quarter bin - that's right, in 1990 there was no such thing as the dollar bin; rather every record cost a quarter - and had my universe rocked when I saw Tom Petty standing in blue light with Stan (check out his handmade, drawstring hot pants!), Mike (pensive as always, deferring to the Tom as the boss), Ron (looking like he already has one foot out the door and is working up to his managerial role at an eighties bikini shop) and Benmont (forever a teenager) on the cover of a previously unknown record. Had the sun exploded in the sky at that moment I would have shrugged: the Holy Grail was in my hands and a moment before I had not known there was a God.
"Mom, please can I buy this? I just found it and I really need it."
"Sure you can, honey. Where's your money?"
"I mean, mom can you buy it for me? I don't have a quarter. But I'll pay you back, I promise." (This wasn't a case of not having my wallet; I literally did not own a cent at that moment. Every cent of my weekly $2 allowance would instantly go towards tapes. I did not yet own a turntable of my own and the recently discovered player in my parents cabinet still had a needle that had needed replacing in '74. I was forever broke and I remember borrowing money to buy Sergeant Pepper for a quarter from a different thrift store soon after.)
My glorious mother sighed and made a look that said "children these days..." Then she produced the precious quarter and I took home the arc of the covenant.
My glory was strong but short lived. Yes, the Matts were both blown away to discover a hithertofore unknown Petty record. But the only working turntables we knew belonged to Matt 1's formidable aerospace stepfather, and only Brahms was allowed on that one, and Matt 2's parents, and listening to a record in their living room necessitated dealing with Mickey, a truly insane golden retriever who weighed way more than me and was an incessant licker of his own formidable balls.
So it wasn't until high school that I really got into the greatness of You're Gonna Get It!
First, let's pause to consider the greatness that is an album that ends in an explanation point. We've already discussed Jonathan Sings! at length in these pages but there are plenty of other amazing albums made by brilliant artists who are goofy enough to add a ! to the end of their album title. Consider Get Happy!! And Henry the Human Fly! And what about Help!? These Are All Great Records! For that matter, wouldn't If I Could Only Remember My Name and Wild Tales be even better if Crosby and Nash had affixed explanation points to their titles? Man, I wish it was called Blood on the Tracks!
(Dear Stephen Stills, I know you're reading this so please pay attention: yes, we see that you tried to jump on the explanation point bandwagon in '05 by putting out a record entitled Man Alive! Good try Stevieboy, but to this day no one has ever listened to that record, and no one ever will. And don't try reissuing your 70's back catalog as Stills 1! Stills 2! Stills! and Illegal Stills! It will not change anything; those records will still forever suck.)
By ninth grade I had a turntable of my own and my first real appreciation of Your Gonna Get It! was getting way into Magnolia. I ask you, what better song is there for a horny heterosexual male ninth grader? I guarantee you I'm not the only boy who spent a whole lot of time visualizing themselves as Petty's first person protagonist:
From a table across the room
She was signalling me with her eyes
I walked over to be introduced,
I said hello, she just smiled
And said I know a place not too far from here,
We could get away for while.
Yeah that's when she kissed me and told me her name
I never did tell her mine...
Magnolia...
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There's a lot to say about this track even after 24 years of blissful marriage. This song, and all of Your Gonna Get It!, features a complexly layered, full band vibe. Petty didn't just put everyone on the cover, he also gave them equal sonic billing; an approach he increasingly abandoned at the eighties increasingly set in and he got tempted by all the money and the cocaine. Hear the thick, bending bass stepping forward like a bold and reckless Romeo, driven by the tiptoeing lead piano riff. Petty's not the only one who gets lucky during this track. Everyone does.
Indeed, all of Side 1 is stone cold classic material, too rich and dense to have initially grabbed hold of me in eighth, then ninth, grade. The album opens with When the Time Comes. Tell me, please, why this elegant, powerful pop song is not more famous than everything on Wildflowers? When the Time Comes views every song on that overrated record with withering pity.
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Tench's organ swells, the bridge spans mammoth depths, the drums and guitar carry us relentlessly forward up to a hollered fade. And then it's suddenly over and before we know it we're already kneeling down before Petty's declarative, white man soul in the title track.
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Do you hear that guitar solo give way to the spaced out Dead vibes and then back into the chorus of chasing vocals? How the hell did this album ever get overlooked, forgotten and dropped out of print? Why are we ever listening to anything else in our lives?
On the back of my original 25 cent thrift shop copy of the LP there's the obligatory encouragement to reach out to the Official Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers Fan Club at 890 Tennessee Street in 'Frisco. I say that if we all send them self addressed stamped envelopes right now and demand a reissue of this record complete with bonus tracks then they'll do it and they'll also release, after all these years, Petty and Co's previously recorded, utterly forgotten and never before issued 77 lost album.
Come on people, lick those stamps. We're Gonna Get It!
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tonnerredebrest · 2 years
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The villain era seb... huh how about time travel to comfort younger seb
back to shorter things because I AM LOOSING MY MIND
(also, yes, I have read those time travelling seb/seb and simi fics. no, this is not gonna be that kind of fic.)
*****
Today marked the tenth anniversary of the famous “Multi-21”. Seb was lounging in his home, tending to his chickens, when he felt strange. It was as if he was pulled forward by a hook planted in his stomach. The German stumbled, and closed his eyes. 
He was waiting to hit the hard ground of his chicken cot, yet he landed on something, much softer. His knees touched the material first, then his whole body collapsed on it. Seb groaned, wondering what had happened. 
“WHAT THE FUCK!” A voice screamed, not far from him. 
Seb opened his eyes. He was in a hotel room and apparently sprawled on the bed. His head was pounding, a heavy headache in coming, and he felt like vomiting. He looked in the direction of the voice and was left speechless. 
He… was standing there. Well, it wasn’t him per se, no. It was his younger self, from 10 years ago, maybe? The other Sebastian looked shocked, putting his toothbrush up like a weapon. 
Seb couldn’t understand what was going on. Why was a younger version of himself standing there? Why was he in a hotel room? How did he even get there? Was he kidnapped?
All questions were left unanswered as the Seb in front of him talked again:
“Who the fuck are you? How did you get into my room?” He looked properly scared, almost on the verge of tears. 
“Ich bin Sebastian Vettel,” 2023 Seb answered in German, “and I got no clue how I got here.”
“That’s not possible, I’m Sebastian Vettel!”
“I know,” he groaned, slowly getting out of the bed. “None of it makes any sense.”
“I don’t believe you,” the younger Seb was still holding his toothbrush like a weapon. 
“What’s the date of today?” He had an inkling it wasn’t 2023 anymore. 
“24 March 2013?” Younger seb was even more confused. 
“Fuck. So ten years.”
“Ten years of what?”
Older Seb looked at his younger self in the eyes. The latter was confused and very tired from the race. Older Seb knew exactly how (he? they?) felt, he had been there after all. 
“Look, Seby,” younger Seb looked utterly confused. “What I’m about to tell you is true, 100% true, OK?” Older Seb took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I’m you, but the you that you will be in ten years. I’m from the future.”
 “I- What…” 
2023 Seb thought he had broke 2013 Seb. The latter had let his toothbrush fall, his eyes big, his mouth open wide. 
“You what? I can’t deal with this anymore. I’ll finish brushing my teeth, and you better be gone.”
Young Seb stormed towards the bathroom, getting his toothbrush from the ground. He indeed left older Seb in the room, who didn’t know what to do. It’s not like he could go anywhere else. He resorted himself to sitting on a chair, getting his shoes and jacket off. 
He had been in his garden, but he was happy he still had decently clean clothes. He didn’t want to get that hotel room dirty after all. Relaxing in his chair, he got some time to think. Apparently, he had somehow gone back into time, to where he was ten years ago. He had also met his younger self, who was to be distraught after such a race as the 2013 Malaysian Grand Prix. There wasn’t much he could do, as he had absolutely no idea how he got there, and even few about how to go back. 
The water in the beach room stopped running, and younger Seb came back. 
“Why are you still here?” He asked, his tone clearly indicating he was too exhausted to even be angry. 
“I’m really you, Sebastian” the older replied. “And I have nowhere else to go.”
It was the truth after all. He couldn’t exactly go outside, that would be too much trouble. 
“How can I know you’re not lying?” The younger asked, lying on the bed. 
“Well, I can tell you something you’ve never said to anyone, ever,” it had to be the best thing older Seb could think about. He really hoped that would work. 
“Go on,” the RBR driver sighed. 
“You’ve been madly in love with Kimi since 2009.”
The younger one immediately sat, his interest peaked. 
“How, how could you possibly know that?”
“It’s because I am you, Seb.”
“No, I still don’t believe you.”
“You realised that when he bend over at that badminton training session.”
“Ohhhhh fuck,” 2013 Seb took his hapless in his hands, “you’re really me, there’s no way…”
Older Seb got up from the chair, slowly coming towards his younger self. He gently put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to reassure him. 
“It's Ok, all ended up being very good between us and him.”
“How good?” Young Seb asked, hands slightly not covering his eyes anymore. 
He thought there must be some rules against saying the future to the people of the last. Yet, younger Seb had such a broken tone, that he could not help but indulge him a bit. 
“One day, you will call him husband,” he gently whispered, sitting near him. 
“For real?”
“For real.”
Older Seb gently smiled at 2013 Seb, who was losing his mind a bit. He seemed surprised, yes, but also so relieved and happy. 
“I didn’t expect that,” the younger one said, laying back in the bed again. 
“I didn’t expect it either,” the older one laughed a bit.
He was questioning himself whether he should lay on the bed too. It was kind of ridiculous as it was technically his bed too, and invading his own privacy was a strange concept to grasp. 
“Can I get in the bed too?” He finally asked, as being polite is very often better than being rude. 
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” the knackered driver said, slightly coming back from the near slumber he had fallen in. “You know where are the extra shirts and underwear, I guess you can wear them since you’re me.”
2023 Seb didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly changed, and went back to the bed. The Red Bull driver was fast asleep, tucked under the bed sheets. Seb mellowed at the sight, and got under the covers too. 
“Guten Nacht, Seby,” the older one said, closing his eyes too. 
“Nacht,” 2013 Seb mumbled. 
They weren’t touching, he was far too self-conscious for that. Yet, as the time passed, he could feel his younger self get closer and closer, up until the latter was nearly sprawling on him. He was positioned as if he were a little koala on his older self. It felt nice for the both of them, to have such contact. It had been years since old Seb last fell asleep without his husband. It had been years since Seb slept in the same bed as someone familiar to him. 
At some point in the night, old Seb woke up. In his ears, younger Seb was talking to him in his sleep. 
“Thank you for being here,” he murmured. “It feels nice to be with someone who gets me, truly gets me.”
Older Seb wanted to reply, but he felt like Younger Seb needed to vent a little. 
“After today, I was a kid scared of going back to the room alone, so I partied hard. Yet, I couldn’t find anyone. I was too focused on the race, how they wanted to make me obey stupid orders for their stupid strategy.”
2023 Seb said nothing, he just started to gently run his head in the very short hair he had back then. 
“ me too, little one, me too.”
They both fell asleep again, resting very well for the first time in a very long time. 
When Seb woke up, he was in his bed in Switzerland, and his house. His husband was hugging him too, even tho it was 9 o’clock and they needed to start their day. He took a moment to think before going to get his day started. It was a strange thing, what happened to him last night. It was maybe a dream. Who knows. Seb was just glad he managed to make his younger self happy, even tho it was just for one night. 
*****
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appoline-in-1789 · 8 months
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I also have an assumption of the coffee theory,but i don’t know if i read the characters right.
It’s also about the coffee the Metatron bought for Aziraphale. There’s clues why Aziraphale was threatened. If “ going back to heaven is coffee and remaining the present is death”, it is the Metatron that made Aziraphale or at least led him drink the coffee, which means he made Aziraphale choose “going back to heaven”.
And after Crowley said all those stuffs, Aziraphale obviously hesitated or even painful to leave. But soon he quickly picked himself up and put on a chill and fine face,which is really suspicious.Either he was threatened,or he’s just really going to heaven for Crowley.
But im just curious about one thing which is before taking the lift, A saw Crowley and pretended not to care. I don’t take the theory that he’s not loving Crowley back, so A purposely made Crowley mad/sad there must be a reason. Either he knew something big is happening and want to keep Crowley safe and protect him . Or he knew the door of Heaven has never been open to Crowley.
One more question. In episode one,when A checked Gabriel’s box there’s nothing inside. But in the final episode there’s obviously some paperwork inside. I mean they could put some useless files in it as a trash bin or something,but what if there’s something to do with the plot?( thought probably not)
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benz-503-wordsaday · 1 year
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November 14th, 2022, Ben Explains PCA to Snoop
Alright buddy, let me take a crack at this.  First thing to know is that PCA is a general technique, a series of computations, that can be applied to datum meaningful (or not) arranged in a matrix, that has been utilized by neuroscientists as a tool for quantifying structure in large datasets.  It’s a series of computations adapted for a particular purpose.  It falls into the category of dimensionality reduction as it rearranges high dimensional datasets and organizes them according to some property of the data so that it takes fewer dimensions to capture or represent that property.   For PCA, principal component analysis, that property is variance, well, covariance, and the rationale is that covariance is a structure of the data that is phenomenologically relevant, it corresponds to a functional aspect of the data that can be interpreted to better understand the underlying phenomena that generated the data.   Whoops, sorry puppy, I haven’t even mentioned what precisely the data is in this case.  The data is electrophysiology signals measured in the brains of mice, changes in voltage captured, that are then computed and labelled as spikes which are then clustered to identify neurons that produced them.  There is a lot of math and technology in-between the measurements and the data that’s inputed into the PCA, so for the sake of brevity lets just focus on the matrices that we will use.  The standard, as far as I know, is a M x N matriculates with M neurons and N observations and the observations are spiking behavior, firing rates - lets not worry at the moment exactly how those are computed, but trust the math and the legions of very smart people who have dedicated quite a lot of effort at figuring these things out - in time, and because spikes happen very fast we look at time in very small quantities so we have many, many, many observations even in a signal second, in my implementation one second is N observations (2 ms time bins) and due to the impressive efforts of my colleagues the M is 1020 neurons (gathered across 36 recording sessions in two animals).  The sessions are hours and hours long, but that’s a staggering amount of data to contemplate, so instead, we can utilize the fact that our subject’s behavior and environment are tightly controlled by a trial structure of a task that’s been design to highlight and isolate specific features of the neurons we are interested in measuring.   Imagine we go to the beach, do you want to sniff every piece of sand or only the pieces of sand with interesting smells that give clues to food or dogs or something that matters to you.  
Ok, well, where were we?  A data matrix that is our input data.  Remember when I said that for PCA we are interested in covariance?  What does that mean in this instance?  Well, remember we have the firing rate of neurons all aligned relative to a certain task?  That firing rate will vary across time for each neuron, maybe it will be very high at the beginning and very low at the end or maybe it is flat the whole time, each neuron will have its own profile and, thankfully, this property can be computed.  It is just a number that is a property of the numbers we are analyzing.  There is another very useful number and that is covariance, and that's a measure of how two different changing things, in this case neurons, vary in relation to each other.  This is a property of the numbers from two neurons.  For every possible pair of neurons we can compute this number and we can take all of those values and put them in a big covariance matrix.   Because these numbers are so important, let us take some time to really understand what they represent.   We’ll start with variance, but actually to do that we have to start with expectation, another number that is a property of a group of numbers, which we call the distribution.  The distribution is all of the values a variable can take on and the expectation is the average value it takes on, the sum of all possible values divided by their probability of occurring.  Sometimes we know the probability and sometimes we have to figure it out, our measurements give us samples and they also give us ways to measure how likely or how lucky our sample is given the true distribution of a variable (remember, this is science! We are measuring from reality).   The variance is a measure of how spread out the expected values or a variable is, the difference between a possible value and the average of all possible values multiplied by the probability of that value.   The covariance of two variables is the joint expectation, the expectation of the product of the two variables (we multiple the values of one with the other which gives another distribution with its own expectation) minus the product of the expectation of each variable by itself.   To make things easier we normalize that number and pay attention to a correlation value between -1 and 1, which summarizes a probabilistic relationship between the two variables or the relationship between the variance of each.   Now here is the big meaningful insightful idea about these values, if two neurons, or many neurons, are highly correlated, then it is reasonable to assume that structure is meaningful (and the tighter we control our experimental design the more reasonable these assumptions can become).  So, essentially, we just want to look at the data in terms of it’s variability.   PCA is really useful for that.    Turns out that we can find a vector, or a line, that explains the absolute most variance in the data, and then we can find another orthogonal line (this line is completely linearly independent of the other line in our high dimension space) that explains the second most variance and we can do this for the number of dimensions of our original data and in fact we can even relatively easily compute the amount of variance in the data captured by that line and further more we can use these lines as the axis of another space and look at our original data projected onto them.  This means that we can visualize an important property of our data in 3D instead of trying to imagine it in N dimensions.   There’s a lot more to the input and output of PCA, but let’s take a breather and try to wrap out heads around what’s really going on.  
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pico-digital-studios · 2 months
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Into, Across and Beyond! Cast: Barry the Quokka
Origin: The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog
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"Nobody should have to die unfairly, right? I mean, you guys have got every right to intervene if it means lives are saved."
Barry is a young genderless quokka who made their debut in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog (as a self-insert for the player), and is your simple everyday kid looking for lines of work to keep active.
During the visual novel released on April Fool's Day, Barry had signed up for a job as a worker on the Mirage Express. Their first day happened to be on the same day as their Amy Rose's birthday, AND the train conductor's last day on the job, so they were tasked with helping ensure everyone was all comfortable with the big trip.
As it happened, the theme for the birthday was a "murder mystery", where one person had to pretend to play dead, and everyone else had to go around figuring out who the "murderer" was. As it happened, this universe (Dimension CLUE-2023) was a sort of fusion universe, in that various OCs were also a part of things and enjoying their own time on the express.
Suddenly, the train sped up, knocking Barry, Tails and Amy into the storage cart, where they found Sonic lying on the floor. Amy immediately took this to assume that it was him being the "victim" for the game, but something about this concerned Barry. Something was clearly amiss.
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So, for that time, Barry and Tails, the latter appointed as the detective for the job, got started with investigating the case. They did their best to ask high and low for clues as to what was going on, with fellow passengers offering tips where possible alongside any service they could provide to the crew.
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Tails got to learn quite a bit about Barry during their time spent together; they were actually quite nervous due to it being their first day, and weren't used to getting compliments at all, which got Tails concerned that Barry might have self-esteem issues. He also learned that they have a thing for endless runner games, and when thinking about stuff, Barry visualises one with Sonic involved to get their brain in gear.
Despite how anxious they are, Barry also has a bit of mischievous side to them, willing to tell lies to get snacks from the Express, teasing Espio by baiting him into thinking they failed his quiz, or playfully scaring Tails from a wardrobe. They have a very strong belief that things are always hidden in the bins, which happens to be an extension of their belief in the importance of being dedicated and persistent.
After enough scouring and getting alibis, they finally figured out who the culprit was; Espio. He was actually ordered by someone to knock Sonic out cold with a tranquilliser dart, having only cheated on those orders. Sonic himself is back on his feet soon enough with a shocking revelation; the train is a Badnik! No, really.
The Mirage Express was a custom-engineered Badnik made by Eggman, which had its own life and was so saddened by the Conductor's upcoming retirement that it locked everyone in the train for delivery to the doctor, in the hopes that it and the Conductor would never have to grow apart.
Sonic, however, had a plan, getting himself, Tails and Amy out to face down the Express and knock it offline before it could reach its destination, while Barry worked with the Conductor to stop the train at its destination while reassuring it that he genuinely enjoyed their time together.
Once they got off safely, the Conductor was reunited with his wife and was really glad to see her again, whilst Sonic managed to get the birthday cake ready for Amy's true celebrations. As for Barry, they sincerely enjoyed the time they spent with Sonic and his friends, wanting to get to know them better now.
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So after they resigned from their work, Barry was able to win millions in a lottery, using the funds to donate to charities and open their own local supermarket to support others. They even got to spend some time with the Conductor, his wife and kids during their vacation at Spagonia, and idolised Gadget as he told the kid about his endeavours in helping Sonic during the big war against Eggman.
During one point, Barry discovered some of Tails's research related to the wider multiverse, which could potentially mean more adventures to go on. It was during this investigation that they met Tekno for the first time, who had heard about their ongoing career and was proud of them for it.
Barry, having not met Tekno before, was pretty interested in what career she had, which gave her the chance to show them about the Quill Society and its mass acceptance for anyone from different backgrounds. They were so interested that they enrolled as a member of the crew, eager to lend a helping hand where needed with their new friends.
They were quick to make friends with OMT!Tails when they crossed paths in Many More Heroes, and even personally assisted in the investigation into what LM!Sonic was doing, leading him to realise that not all Sonics had an heroic flair about them. Even though this hit them quite hard, they still stayed strong, actively encouraging OMT!Tails to blow the news to EV!Sonic.
While they didn't participate in the big chase, they still contributed a lot by helping reveal this harrowing truth, and were commemorated for their efforts and their well-practiced detective work. They even actively rooted for OMT!Tails when he disembarked with SS!Amy to fight Crimtake and ruin the planned "canon event".
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pokemon-teacology · 7 months
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On my way home, I wanted to share some theories I have on shiny Pokémon and why they exist
Some of my most recent catches, a Morelul I named pumpkin and a Combee called acacia, both shiny and caught wild, started me thinking more on shiny Pokémon and their roles in their respective species.
I used to take this lil backwoods walk after school that wasn't well walked at all, and I passed by a shit ton of morelul on the way. They camouflage pretty well but if you know what they look like they're easy to spot. Which got me thinking.
Morelul rely on camouflage to survive predators in areas where there isn't enough space for one to evolve into a shiinotic to protect the gathering. Usually if it's a big enough territory, one or two of the Morelul will train to evolve into shiinotic, so that they're bigger and scarier to predators, and have access to a wider array of moves to defend themselves. If they don't have the space in the territory to do this, however, camouflage will have to do.
See, If there's a ton of of mushrooms with bright colours that glow, predator Pokémon don't trust it, since those types of mushrooms are poisonous. But if one of the mushrooms is out of place, glowing the wrong colour or even unable to glow at all, it'd clue in the predator Pokémon that it's not real mushrooms there, but Pokémon, meaning okay to eat. This becomes a danger to the gathering, so when a shiny Pokémon occurs in their midst, they banish it from the gathering. The shiny Morelul would be left to fend for themselves.
So it makes sense that eventually I came across pumpkin, granted it was several years into taking the same route over and over again and seeing the same gathering of Morelul over and over again. They're not very long-lived Pokémon, really. Mushrooms live for a while but Pokémon, especially very small ones, have a fairly short lifespan.
Acacia was interesting, too. He's my most recent catch. I've been working at a little cafe over the summer which is in a combeekeeping society charity thing, so they have some hives a small walk away from the cafe.
Now, something you might not know that I've only learned since working there is that shiny Combee produce weird honey. Their darker colour means that the honey theyre made of and produce is also darker, and it has a reddish hue, much like the Pokémon themselves. It tastes stronger, has more of that distinct Honey taste, but it's also a lot lower in protein for some reason, and a lot thicker.
Not a lot of papers on pollinator Pokémon go into Combees specifically, but as far as I can tell, Combees hate thick honey. It's harder to digest, is more prone to temperature changes, and to them, it just tastes weird. An experiment on wild hives in Paldea a good few years back showed that, even if the honey was only coloured artificially, the Combees actively avoided it.
Combees don't like red honey.
So, when one of the hive is producing a red honey, it's realistic to assume that they'd be tossed out for the betterment of the hive.
I got to observe this first-hand about three weeks back. It was super rainy, the end of my shift, so I got to do my favourite job of the shift, which is to bring the compostable good waste over to the garden of the cafe and chuck it in the compost bin. I like watching the Pokémon start at it. It's usually bug types, sometimes grass, and once I saw an araquanid on a rainy day like this one.
But this day I saw a Combee. Not weird, considering they fly about tins. We see a ton of beedrill, too. They're not as aggressive as they come across on cartoons and in shows, they're sweethearts, really.
But under heavy rainfall isn't a place that Combees like to be. And he looked upset. I went back inside, got him some sugar water, and he all but flung himself into my arms.
He got a bit sick afterwards, but a quick trip to the pokecenter fixed him right up, and he's doing well hanging out with me :)
Plus the darker and stronger honey is great for me bc I don't care about the nutrients I just prefer the taste of darker honey. It's not even that much thicker, I put it in tea, so it thins out real quick for me. And now I have a new buddy :D
But yeah, shiny Pokémon are weird. I'm almost home. I have some more thoughts about shinies and my theories on them, so I'll write a little smth once I grab my takeaway and get settled in for the night.
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issdisgrace · 1 year
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could you do bruce wayne having a boyfriend or husband and they go to a gala and ppl get all touchy so when they leave we get sub bruce
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A GALA CUT SHORT
WARNINGS: Smut, sir kink, some other shit I'm too tired to list
A/N: I feel like the second one fits with this as well. I hope you guys like it either way.
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It had been one of those galas that me and my husband unfortunately had to make an appearance at. The other people in attendance faker than a boob job in a back alley and the hosts of the gala even faker. If showing up weren’t to keep a good appearance, then you wouldn’t have been there. The whole thing was made much worse by the fact there was a crowd of 20 women clearly trying to get themselves in Bruce's pants. If only they knew he was just a needy sub that needed someone to have control over him. Hell, the clothes he was in were picked out, bought, and put on him by me. If that wasn’t control, then I don’t know what it is then. It was about halfway through the gala when I finally noticed some of the bimbos leaving to finding an easier man to seduce. With the crowed lightning, I managed to pull Bruce away and into a bathroom. Locking the bathroom door behind us, I turn to the curious Bruce.
“God, I hate how those bimbos laugh at everything you say and, ugh, don’t get me started on how they grab and pull at you. Are they so stupid that they don’t know you're married or what?”
“I have no clue, sir.”
“Oh, I love when you call me that.” I say as trap Bruce against the wall of the bathroom.
“Sir, I have a question.”
“Go on Bruce.”
“Are you jealous that I get attention when at the events we attend?”
“Yes, I do because those sluts think they can get into your pants when we both know that I’m the only one allowed in them.” I grab Bruce’s wrist in my one hand a pin them above his head and as I use my other hand to grab his hard on threw his pant. When I squeeze his dick, he lets out a gorgeous moan. 
“Oh, naughty Bruce.”
“Please, sir.”
“Please, sir. What?”
“Please, sir, fuck me.”
“Oh, Bruce, are you that needy?”
“Yes.”
“As much as I love you, I will not fuck you in this bathroom. However, I’ll be waiting in the limo. I expect you to say your goodbyes and meet me there so we can go home to get to the real fun.”
Not waiting for his response, I make my way to the bathroom door to the limo, knowing he’ll come scurrying out, say his goodbye, and leave. 
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When we get home, I send Bruce up to our room before me with specific instructions. I make a small snack and get a glass of water for Bruce after our session. After I’m done, I make my way up to our room to find that Bruce had done exactly what. He’s on the bed, gagged, blindfolded, and cock ring on. I set down the plate and glass on the bedside table before stripping myself. I pull out our toy bin and got a vibrator and whip out. Getting on the bed, I feel up Bruce and I grin as he shivers under my touch. 
“You’re such a bad boy, Brucie. I’ll have to do something to punish you for being so bad.” I grab the whip and I began whipping his cock. Bruce’s moans muffled by the gag. 
“God, you’re a slut and what makes it worse is that you have one of the smallest cocks I have ever seen.” I laugh as I watch Bruce wriggle in his spot at my words. I stop my whippings and take the vibrator and turn it on high and place in against the tip of his cock and almost immediately he cums. I turn off the vibrator and throw it to the side. I roughly turn Bruce around and shove him down against the bed. I take out the plug that i had placed inside of him earlier that night and shove my cock harshly into him. I began to brutalise his hole, making it stretch and weep. Bruce wriggles under me and tries to get away, but I pull him back in and continue my assault on his hole. Bruce’s hole tightens around me and I feel him spasm around my cock. This sets me off and I cum filling his now gaping hole. As I come down from my high, I pull out of Bruce. I get off of him and roll him over. I gently take the blindfold off and the gag out of his mouth.
“You ok Brucie.”
“Fuck, yes. That was amazing.”
“Hmm, glad you enjoyed it as much as I did.” I reach over and grab the snack and the glass of water and give it to Bruce. He takes a bite out of the sandwich before taking a sip of water. 
“You eat up and then we’ll take a bath.”
“Ok, sir.”
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animeraider · 1 year
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Well, for those of you who follow everything that has happened in the process of turning twitter into... well I have no idea what really, I need to point out something that everyone is overlooking. It's not about Musk's astonishingly thin skin, or the banning of parody, or the gross mismanagement of the labor force, or the blackmailing everyone over their check marks, or whatever has happened since I started typing. A lot of people have migrated to Mastadon, and a lot have moved to Counter.Social (I opened an account on each and am considering options).
Remember how Musk financed all of this? A lot of the money that was used to buy twitter isn't Musk's money, but the money of various investors and banks. The largest investor is Prince Alwaleed bin Talal of Saudi Arabia. Let's do a little math:
The purchase price for twitter wasn't $44 Billion. He actually committed $33.5 Billion. He already had a 9.6% stake in the company and that made up the difference. Of that $33.5 Billion $13 Billion is debt financing, so actually Musk only went $20 Billion out of pocket. The rest is owned by other people, the greatest share holder being Prince Alwaleed bin Talal.
Now for those of you paying attention Musk has no real clue how to run twitter. By the time he gets bored with all of this twitter will probably only be worth about $5 Billion. I don't actually care about that. These sites come and go. Remember MySpace? Hell, I had a MySpace page. The problem is that no matter how much twitter eventually winds up being worth, Elon Musk is still going to owe Prince Alwaleed bin Talal of Saudia Arabia about $2 Billion. Probably a lot more - who knows what interest rate he's getting charged.
Now there are a lot of banks in the debt financing. Larry Ellison, the founder of Oracle is also a large investor - about half what the Prince put in. A lot of people are going to need to be paid off, and that's Elon's problem.
I think that our problem is that Prince Alwaleed bin Talal of Saudi Arabia isn't going to take a payout. I think he's going to take twitter.
Now Prince Alwaleed bin Talal is a complicated person to analyze. He has been both in favor of the Ruling Saudis and in the outs. During one time while under arrest he held secret negotiations and essentially bribed his way out of house arrest and all charges against him by donating $6 Billion to the Saudi Government. He is the 7th richest person in the world. He is the largest shareholder in News Corps (i.e. Fox News), Saks 5th Avenue, Chase Manhattan, Citigroup, Four Seasons Hotel Group, Planet Hollywood, Daewoo, and he holds large minority interests in everything from Ford Motor Company to Coca-Cola to Euro Disney. 
But he's been investing in Tech in one form or another since the 1990's. He has held either minority or controlling stakes in AOL, Netscape, Motorola, and MCI. For a while he was the largest stakeholder in Apple, but he sold that off in 2005. His investment strategy shows incredible patience, but his tech interest also shows a keen interest in infrastructure - and that's the point of all of this.
Twitter has massive infrastructure. They've been building data centers all over the world to handle their traffic and customer load, as well as their advertising structure. We're talking buildings where the interiors are measured in the hundreds of thousands of square yards full of computer servers and tracking all of their users, advertisers, and all the metrics involved. I have seen one of the buildings with my own eyes, and it's impressive. It's some of the largest internet infrastructure anywhere in the world - larger than what is put together by Amazon, Microsoft, Oracle, Apple or any of the other big players.
And it appears that Elon Musk has no idea what to do with it all. He may not even know it all exists, beyond the fact that it's the backbone that lets twitter function on a day to day basis. But imagine what a Saudi Prince, part of the Royal family even if not close to the throne, could do with that.
Prince Alwaleed bin Talal is seen by us in the west as something of a reformer, although he tows the line when it comes to issues like Israel and Palestine. He is one of the richest members of the family but despite his views he managed to survive the purge of 2017 that ended with him paying that $6 Billion I mentioned before. He is a box of contradictions, but he's also a proven survivor and his interest in tech goes back decades. This is a man with a plan, and the patience to wait years to execute it.
Which brings me to a troubling question: When he eventually takes twitter, which might take some time but seems likely to happen, what is he going to do with it? What is he doing NOW with the access he has NOW?
I honestly don't know, but we'd best prepare for it and be ready to ask when the time comes. What would a Saudi Prince do with the already-built infrastructure of what is currently the largest social media company in the world?
What could he do?
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Friday, 28 October 2022: 
Typical Music Tim Burgess (Bella Union) (released 23 September 2022)
There is a thread on the Hoffman boards where the discussion concerns how many times do you play a new album that you don’t seem to like.  One of the members actually claims that he gives it one spin.  He believes that an album is understandable on the first play.  He then says he can prove this because he has several albums that he played when they came out and thought they were terrible and filed them.  Years later he digs them out, plays them once and immoderately says, ‘yep, it still is terrible. My judgment call was correct.’  To amplify his idiocy he claims he has never been wrong yet.  Once he declares an album to be horrible, nothing will change his mind.  It is this close mindedness that astonishes me.  Perhaps I’m the close minded one but I refuse to believe anyone can hear an album one time and determine its effectiveness, its greatness or its deep impairments. 
Since The Beatles are the favorite topic on the Hoffman boards, let’s take their most difficult song, Revolution 9.  I’ve no clue what this man thinks of this song and I don’t care, he has little to offer me in terms of what he thinks is good or bad.  The first time I heard Revolution 9 I had no idea what I was hearing.  By the 50th time I heard it I knew it’s rhythms, I could detect a form to it and I heard patterns and repetitive musical motifs (even if they were atypical music).  Those discoveries came with repetitive listens and over time I came to enjoy it when I heard it.  Maybe it isn’t my favorite Beatle tune, but that is irrelevant.  I came to accept it and understand it and therefore I no longer had a reason to discount it or skip it when I played the parent album.  Had I been using the man in question’s judgments, I would have let my first impression rule my mind for the rest of the album’s encounters with me.  I never would have played Side 4 of the album it was on or I would have skipped it thereby diminishing the artist’s intended complete statement. 
When I encounter an album I dislike I tend to spend more time listening to it trying to understand what it is I dislike about it.  I play it until it becomes second nature to me and more often than not I find I don’t necessarily despise it, but I understand what my problems are with that album.  I want to know that because that gives me a finer appreciation of an artist, their overall musical vision and I’m able to speak of all of their work including that which I don’t like.  Just dismissing an album after one play is foolish and reductive, an easy out. 
I have a bad habit of playing an album once and saying to myself (and sometimes announcing my ignorance publicly by telling my brother) ““I hate this!” That phrase should be universally stricken from a music fan’s criticism of any music after only one listen.  Music, despite what Mr One Play Lasts My Lifetime believes, is complex and to grasp everything about it on the first play is downright difficult if not impossible.  Imagine having the capability to fully grasp Trout Mask Replica on the very first listen.  I’ve no doubt some people were (and are) able to do that but my head certainly couldn’t.  But to write it off makes little sense to me.  I paid for the damn thing and I’ll be damned if I’m going to file it after one play.  I have done that, a lifetime ago when I was more proud of my close mindedness.  I thought it was brash and bold to denounce something after one play.  Today, I’m not the guy I was way back in the ‘80s when I thrived on that nonsense.  Case in point my enjoyment of the band The Swimming Pool Q’s who I despised in the 1980s.  My contempt for them was based on a handful of plays of their second album.  I’d guess I never played their eponymously titled album more than three times and I chucked that band in the trash bin.  I bought their entire catalog this year knowing full well of the risk and I walked away with a finer appreciation of them today than I ever would have believed I would have in the 80s. 
The first time I played Typical Music (I bought the 2 CD version on the day it came out and I posted the contents on 27 September right here) I disliked it immensely.  I couldn’t hear a single solitary melody and it sounded like a mess.  Granted, part of that is down to my deplorable hearing loss that sprung up two years ago.  But that is beside the point at this juncture.  I read the credits of the album and discovered that Thighpaulsandra plays a variety of synths and mellotrons as do other musicians.  At first I thought what the heck is Thighpaulsandra (of Julian Cope fame) doing with Tim Burgess?  But mostly I thought why doesn’t this sound just like I Love The New Sky, Burgess’ last album that I fell in love with after just a couple of listens.  So, I pulled that album out and played it.  Guess what.  It sounds pretty close to this album and Thighpaulsandra is all over that album too as are synths and mellotrons.  So, that was my first lesson in Typical Music.  I had to stop bitching that this new album was a synth album (it isn’t but music fans when they hate something can be intentionally reductive). 
My next task was to force myself to play Typical Music every day for one week.  This is a double album, a long double album that runs 80 minutes in length.  And playing an 80 minute album each day is a task that I didn’t really want to do.  But in doing it, I suddenly started hearing things I didn’t hear on first play.  I could discern melodies, I got familiar with choruses and certain stanzas on certain songs.  When that happens I tend to grab the album to see what the song is that I’m suddenly becoming familiar with.  By the end of seven plays, I suddenly had some things I was really enjoying.  Suddenly I was finding songs I wanted to hear again.  I’m not talking the easy to understand things like Time That We Call Time (which Pearl Charles sings on of all people) but more complicated songs like The Centre of Me (Is A Symphony of You) and L.O.S.T. Lost/ Will You Take A Look At My Hand Please and Kinetic Connection and Slacker (Than I’ve Ever Been).  And with more listens those songs I call complicated are no longer complicated at all.  I'm still trying to figure out Flamingo and Revenge Through Art which means more reasons to spin this album!
Then I wanted to read the lyrics to see what the devil he is saying at the beginning of Curiosity.  Is it a patch of nonsense words or is he actually saying something.  I wanted to know because I cannot tell you how many days I’ve woke up with that song in my head and I don’t know what is being said.  Well, to read the lyrics on the CD version is impossible for guys my age who need new glasses and eye surgery.  They are minuscule and Burgess’ handwriting is sloppy and difficult to decipher.  Should I buy the vinyl version just to be able to read song lyrics?  Well, I do tend to admire double albums and true double albums are a blast to have on vinyl (in my viewpoint) and it was becoming apparent that I was really finding this album to be quite a jewel, so here it is on vinyl.  I realize that is quite a long build up to explain why I have now bought a second copy of this album.  But there is it. 
I’m not going to photograph everything about this album.  It looks the same as the CD version with the exception of the obi on the album and the record labels.  That’s what you will see.  Above you see the album cover and the back of the album.  Since Burgess is a modern man, he has an album cover with no writing or information who this album is by.  He trusts you will know he is Tim Burgess (the hair gives his identity away) on the cover but his record label slaps an obi on it to identify this.  It is a double album and a huge cost to the record label (I assume doubles cost more to produce than singe albums) and they want to sell it so they ensure his name is found on the obi. 
Below you see a close up of the front of the obi but only the front side with all the writing.  The back of it looks like the sticker on the front of the CD version (as you see in the photo above at top). 
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Since this double album is on colored vinyl I will give you shots of that as well.  Below is the first album which is on red vinyl.  The second photo is my (patent pending) Sunshot Shot. 
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The second album is on blue vinyl as you can see in the two photos below. 
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The final four shots are individual shots of all four of the record labels. 
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babyboibucky · 3 years
Text
Salt, Sugar and Viruses
Pairing: Office!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You’ve been secretly making coffee for Bucky at the office.
Word Count: 1,962
Warnings: Two idiots just doing idiot things
A/N: This was done in a haste so I kinda hate it lol but I can’t get this story out of my head and thanks to @bitchassbucky for pushing me to write a full fic of this 🥰 luv u 🥺
MAIN MASTERLIST
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"You have a crush on Barnes' grumpy ass?!" Sam choked out.
You angrily hushed him and frantically looked around the pantry to make sure that your secret was still safe. Fortunately, only you, Sam and Nat were inside having your respective afternoon breaks.
"What? He's nice. And cute." you told Sam as you stirred your coffee, smiling to yourself at the thought of your office crush, Bucky.
"How'd you even meet him, he works all the way at the IT department." Sam asked.
Nat snorted recalling the encounters she witnessed for the past few months. Some of which were unintentional but most of them? You had carefully planned out just so you could come up with an excuse to request for Bucky's assistance.
"She might have gotten viruses in her computer once...or twice. Or thrice." Nat teased.
The first time you met Bucky was when most of your files suddenly got corrupted. It was hella embarrassing because you didn't know shit about how computers worked and well, you've been illegally downloading torrents since the office's internet connection was a gift from the internet gods. Without a doubt, your computer was a nest for viruses.
Bucky showed up in your floor that morning and you almost sunk into your seat from shame. You'd heard the IT Department complain about everybody else in the office messing up their computer systems. When you turned around, Bucky greeted you with a charming smile and soft hello. You could still remember how he felt when he stayed behind you as you sat on your chair, bending over to take your mouse in his hand.
God, he smelled so good you almost turned your head to nuzzle your face into his neck.
He was very soft-spoken you realized; Bucky was kind enough to walk you through the process and to be honest, you couldn't recall a damn thing he said. Something about firewalls? And shields? Whatever, you didn't really listen. You just stared at Bucky as he explained everything, solving your problem in less than fifteen minutes.
Since then, your crush for Bucky grew bigger. You'd entered the elevator together a couple of times, shared small conversations that made your heart flutter. When those little moments didn't seem enough, you started your devious plan to fuck up your computer a bit. By the third time Bucky fixed your computer, he was already comfortable enough to tease you for being a "virus magnet".
"Hello? Young lady, come back to earth." Sam snapped his finger right in front of your face, interrupting your thoughts.
You clicked your tongue at him and swatted his hand away. "If you ever tell this to anyone, Wilson. You are dead." you warned, poinitng a finger at him.
Sam rolled his eyes, "It's so unfair how he's kind to you. Last time I requested for his assistance he got all smug and grumpy at me." he complained.
Nat shook her head in amusment, "That's because you've been downloading porn. You know the IT department can access our browser histories, right?"
You choked on your coffe, "WHAT?!"
Nat narrowed her eyes at you, "You been up to no good for you to react like that?"
You faceplamed, "I've been stalking his Facebook account."
Sam chortled, "What are you, in high school? Jesus, calm down. You're gonna be fine. Why don't you just tell him you like him?"
You made a face, "I'm not Nat to have the guts to do that."
Nat hummed, bringing her mug to the sink to wash it. "Why don't you start by making him coffee?"
"I don't know how he likes his coffee."
You received a pointed look from both your friends. You groaned in defeat, "Okay, fine. I know how Bucky likes his coffee."
Nat smirked, "Stalker."
-
Bucky always arrived in the office half an hour before nine in the morning. This gives him time to settle into his cubicle, buy a sandwich at the stall downstairs and to make himself a cup of coffee. It was his daily routine and upon going back to his desk after buying his breakfast sandwich, Bucky was surprised to see a cup of newly brewed coffee on his desk.
He looked around but there were no signs of anyone. There wasn't even a note of some sort. Carefully, he brought the cup to his face and inhaled its scent. Shrugging, he took a tiny sip.
-
"How's the little secret admirer doing?" Nat asked, grabbing a chair and sitting down beside you.
You deadpanned, "I've been leaving him his coffee for an entire week now and nothing's happened yet."
Nat frowned, "Are you kidding me? Why would you expect for something to happen when you haven't been leaving any clues?" she said.
"I'm shy, okay?! Maybe I should hide somewhere, check for his reaction. See whether I have a chance." you shrugged.
It was stupid of you to leave the coffee on Bucky's desk. You never stayed to wait for him. You just left it there without a note or anything that would even give him a clue about you and your little crush on him. You knew the reason why, of course. You were afraid of rejection. Sometimes, you'd feel like you have a chance with him since he was always so kind and warm to you. Not to mention, everyone in the office knows him to be grumpy but around you, he was totally the opposite of that.
But then again, maybe he was just nice to you because you were nice to him too.
-
One morning after leaving Bucky his coffee, you finally decided to leave him a note. You ran back to your cubicle to get a post-it and a pen. Before you could even walk around your desk, you spotted Bucky headed over to the pantry, the cup of coffee in his hand.
"Fuck, okay. Maybe I should just directly ask him out?" you thought to yourself.
You quickly followed Bucky into the pantry and almost whined when you saw that Sam was inside as well. You widened your eyes at him, signalling for him to leave but Sam was preoccupied on observing Bucky who seemed to be in a bad mood.
"Rough morning?" Sam just had to ask as you awkwardly stood by the doorway, finding the right timing to butt in.
Bucky's forehead creased as he let out a huff, "Rough weeks, actually." he answered.
You opened your mouth to say something comforting, wanting to lift Bucky's spirits up but he turned around and glanced at you and then back to Sam.
"Does anyone hate me in this office?" Bucky asked.
You and Sam exchanged looks, both of utter confusion before shaking your heads in unison. "Why'd you ask?" Sam asked.
Bucky lifted the cup of coffee that you made, "Someone's been making me coffee." he stated.
You cleared your throat, "...is it bad?" you asked.
Bucky made a face, "Terrible actually."
Ouch.
"I mean, the first time I saw it I was actually flattered. And then I took a sip and it's just...salty." Bucky said, pouring the coffee into the sink before throwing it into the bin.
Sam's head snapped towards your direction, his face almost red from biting back a laugh. Your face heated up at the realization that you've been putting salt into Bucky's coffee instead of sugar. All this time. You wanted to disappear right then and there. And Sam had to be the one to witness your huge failure.
"I thought it was a mistake since the next day, there was another coffee on my desk. I tried it out and it's still salty. It lasted a week, you guys. And I was dumb enough to keep on tasting it in hopes that it might have been a genuine mistake. But now I'm starting to think that someone hates me that much to fuck my coffee up." Bucky explained, face scrunched up into a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
Sam failed to stifle his laughter and exploded, "Funniest shit I've ever heard." he told Bucky before standing up and making his way to the door where you stood.
Your face was red and if the salt and sugar mishap was already humiliating enough, Sam decided to make things even worse for you.
"You really need to check the labels before pouring shit into his coffee." and with that, Sam gave your shoulder a squeeze before leaving the pantry.
Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. When you opened them, Bucky was staring at you with an expression you couldn't paint.
"Did you...were you the one leaving me coffee?" he asked.
You secretly pinched yourself in the arm to check whether you were just dreaming. Fuck, you hoped you were having a nightmare but the pain that you felt made it clear that you totally fucked up.
You nodded in embarrassment.
"You hate me that much?" Bucky asked in disbelief, as if he was offended that out of all people, it had to be you.
You quickly shook your head, "No, God no! I just...it's because I..." you stammered, trying to find the courage to spit out the words you've been dying to tell Bucky.
Bucky tilted his head, "Because you...?" he urged.
Your hands balled into fists as you let out another deep breath. Bucky probably hates you right now, but whatever. This was your only chance and to hell, you were going to confess.
"Because I like you?"
You didn't think that Bucky's confused look could even turn more...well, confused. But he was looking at you incredulously as though you've grown a second head, or a third head.
"You like me so you decided to put salt in my coffee?" he asked again.
You honestly didn't know who sounded even more stupid now, you or Bucky. Because if he still didn't understand what was going on, he was dense as fuck.
"No!" you explained. "I wanted to make you a decent cup of coffee but I guess I was too careless and didn't realize that I've been putting in salt instead of sugar." you said.
Bucky didn't say anything after that. He just stared at you, but he didn't seem confused anymore. If any, he looked like he was processing the entire situation.
"You like me." he stated again.
Will your embarrassment ever end?!
"Yes, Bucky. And I messed up my chance and you know what? I'm just going to show myself out and leave you alone." you told him and forced a fake grin before attempting to walk out.
A hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back into the pantry. This time, Bucky was the one who looked embarrassed.
"I might have...done something pretty stupid too." he said, avoiding your gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck.
You eyed him suspiciously, "What do you mean?"
"I uhh...I did something to your computer...the day before you requested for my assistance for the first time." Bucky admitted shyly.
It was your turn to get muddled at Bucky's confession. "But why?" you asked.
Bucky offered a shy smile, "Because I've been seeing you around the building and thought you were cute."
And then everything clicked. It was a light bulb moment for the both of you.
"Oh. Ohhh okay. I see." you said before suddenly breaking into laughter.
Bucky joined you and scratched his head, "I guess we're both idiots." he said, placing his hands inside his pockets as he stared at you.
"This went...way more interesting than I thought." you said with a nod.
There was a pause before you decided to speak up, "So, do you want coffee?"
Bucky beamed at you as he nodded, "As long as you'll use sugar this time."
-
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