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rhoorl · 4 months

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A Bear of a Night | Pickled Peña Writing Challenge

Summary: Javi returns home from ringing in the New Year and finds a surprise. He’s getting too old for this shit. (AO3 Link)

Rating: M

Word Count: 920

Warnings: This is honestly a pretty tame story, just some swearing and allusions to smut. Hopefully a bit funny too.

A/N: Happy 2024! I decided to take part in the Pickled Peña writing challenge. What is this? Well, it’s a way to show off the different ways writers can tackle the same character/prompt - we all have our own style and perspectives! Javi is one of my favorites to read and I never thought I would actually write for him. But, here we are. Check out @pickled-pena or search the tags to see who else is participating and what they’ve come up with. If this sounds like fun and something you want to try, feel free to post your own fic throughout the month of January!

Javier parked the car and rested his head against the headrest as his eyes cast down to the clock in his truck.

1:45 a.m.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He was late and knew he was about to get the silent treatment.

Javier wasn't one for big celebrations with lots of people, always choosing to duck out of any department party as early as possible. But when several colleagues decided to spend New Year's Eve out at a bar, he thought why not? It was an early jump on his resolution for the upcoming year. It was simple really. He just wanted to try. To try and open up more. To try and let someone in. To try and be present.

And tonight, he actually found himself having some fun. The latest newbies to the department reminded him of when he first started decades ago. Young, idealistic, and ready to do some good. He tried to not let his jaded side influence them too much, but his colleagues found it amusing to mess with him nonetheless.

But the “old man” still had it and managed to pull the glances of several women at the bar, including the bartender who had practically eye fucked him all night as she poured him drinks (which she didn’t charge him for). That's part of the reason why he lost track of time. She decided to spend her break with him in a bathroom. He rang in the new year partaking in one of his favorite activities – buried deep inside a woman, making her scream his name.

Back in his car, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and sighed. He knew he was about to be read the riot act. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, already knowing he was primed for a terrible hangover come the morning, or at least later that morning.

He trudged up his driveway and unlocked the door. The TV was still on, but faint. Tossing his keys onto his entryway table, he stilled, waiting. He didn't hear anything, so he kicked off his boots and continued padding down the hallway.

“B?” He called out, walking into the living room. “Hmm, where'd you go,” he muttered to himself.

He continued through the house towards the kitchen when he felt it. His socks wet as he saw the pool at his feet.

“Goddammit,” he gritted his teeth. “Fuck, really?!”

And that's when he heard the jingle and padding of feet coming down the hall.

“Seriously?” Javier caught the eyes of his English bulldog, Bear, who walked in and sulked in the corner with an even more grumpy look than normal.

Javier adopted Bear when he was just a puppy thanks to the incessant encouragement of Steve. His former partner could hear how lonely Javier was over the phone, so he suggested a dog could help keep him company. Little did both of them know, Javier would end up with a dog who was basically him with four legs. Bear was a bit of a curmudgeon but once you cracked him, he was very affectionate and loyal.

Although initially resistant, dog ownership came naturally to Javier. Growing up on a farm, he knew how to care for animals and he had a soft spot for them. Bear forced Javier to focus and take care of something. And although he hated to admit it to Steve, he rather liked having someone to come home to. When Bear heard the jingling of Javier’s keys, he would make his way up the hallway to greet Javier before turning around and heading to his bed at the foot of the couch.

But tonight, Bear was mad. Javier stayed out later than planned so he decided to show his discontent on the linoleum floor in the kitchen.

Javier sighed as he took off his socks and walked to the sink to grab some paper towels and some odor eliminator spray. He returned and got on his hands and knees to start cleaning up. As he sprayed the floor he looked up and saw Bear, sitting on his back paws.

“Don't look at me like that. You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time when I asked if you wanted to go out, huh? Oh, I remember. Gnawing on a bone, couldn't be bothered.”

Bear sighed and rested his front paws on the floor, giving Javier a look.

“The puppy dog eyes? Really Bear? Por favor.” Javier rolled his eyes with a huff as he finished cleaning up.

He groaned as he braced himself to get up off the ground. The beginning of a pounding headache was starting to take root.

Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, and it honestly made his stomach turn a bit, he pulled out a jar of pickles from the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Old Forester Statesman Bourbon from the counter along with two shot glasses.

“I’m already going to have a hangover, what’s one more,” Javier said to himself as he poured the bourbon and drained the shot, a slight hiss as he felt the warmth in his throat. “Here’s nothing,” he shuddered as he took down the pickle juice with a grimace. As he put the shot glass he looked down at his feet to see Bear plop down and rest his head on Javier's feet.

He chuckled, the smallest smirk coming across his face. “Happy New Year to you too bud. Let's get to bed.”

A/N: There's my silly little entry in the challenge. Take a look at @pickled-pena or the tags to see other entries. I hope we get to do this again sometime, this was actually a lot of fun to do something totally different and outside of my comfort zone.

#pickled-peña #pickled-pena #pickledpeña writing challenge #javier peña fic #pickledpeña #community over competition

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violetlypurple · 1 year

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Musings on Sharlayan Fashion(?)

A series of observations on Sharlayan dress and colour.

I find the variations of the Shire sets worn by Sharlayan scholars and researchers presented in Old Sharlayan and Labyrinthos to be fascinating, so I thought I'd put together my thoughts and findings! This will be an image heavy post to contain all of the screenshot references so I will place the majority of it below a cut. We're in for a ride.

My general point here is that the colour theming of Sharlayan outfits are a uniform which denotes one's specialty or field of study. What follows are what I would consider to be confirmed lines of work/study. Let's start off with likely the most familiar colour variant, which I will call:

Aetherite Nerds - Cactuar Green

We're familiar with these vibrant green specialists for their assistance reaching Thavnair via their experimental unattuned aetherite in the Confluence, but there are a couple more hanging out in the Archon's Den area.

Up next, another familiar sight from the Studium:

The Faculty (Materials Nerds) - Canary Yellow

You may have noticed these banana friends at the scrip exchange, but their primary interests seem to be with the procurement of specialized materials and supporting the material needs of the Studium at large as displayed with Qih's introduction to Studium DoH/DoL quests and Edithe's efforts to to inform us on hunt targets as a Gleaner ourselves.

Our next subjects are likely one of the most numerous:

Customs and Public Transit - Ice Blue

Once you've noticed them, you'll see these ones everywhere. Every lift in Labyrinthos is staffed with these blue garbed officials.

Materia Nerds - Rolanberry Red

Pretty self explanatory, but at least one more with this colour can be seen as part of the random wandering NPCs in the Agora and speaks directly of Master Mutamix.

Rostra Guards - Ochu Green

Somewhat unique in the way that these two openly carry swords, they guard the entrance to the Rostra and thereby the Forum. Important job! Probably!

From here we venture into speculation, but let's start with what I think is most likely.

Preceptors - White

The white garb is fairly common, but my observations lend it to no particular study. With a stretch, we could make an assumption that because the Shire Preceptor's Coat is a healing item that is connotes some relation to healing or a medical field and reinforce this with the observation that Y'shtola's Modish attire bears clear influences from it via the style of cut and red accents. However, I believe that it's prevalence hints more to the name itself - Preceptor, defined as a teacher or instructor. Plenty of those in Sharlayan to be sure!

Logistics? - Black

These are the only two I've found with distinctly black garb, and assume they have some association with the logistics support structure around the Gleaners given their dialogue with regards to specimens and cargo.

Curmudgeons - Anamnesis Variant Teal Collar

Both of these lads are ill tempered and both wear the variant of the Shire set unique to Anamnesis. Maybe they caught some grumpy old man energy from there by fashion osmosis?

Exceptions and Unknowns

While we know from her quest that our most glorious sole Xaela representative of Sharlayan, Boragchin, is in charge of some carnivorous animals in Labyrinthos with her unique Void Blue (I think), there are several other colours that give no clear indication as to their field.

It is quite likely that I may have missed some that would clarify these chromatic aberrations or that we will see and know more in the future, but I hope this was insightful and/or helpful for your own scholar's wardrobe!

#ffxiv lore #ffxiv sharlayan #old sharlayan #sharlayan #sharlayan lore

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siremasterlawrence · 10 months

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Green With Envy

Star city is a gritty paradigm of off the chart evil doers including bit not limited to me the big hunch a nerd who has a criminal empire ready to set foot in to this city and take a hold over it.

Unfortunately, that dastardly addicted good guy is always intervening with that brooding face and emerald costume that resembles Robin of all things it’s embarrassing to see it on display.

Tonight is the night the world will see me at my glory if we can avoid the goody two shoes archer who’s quiver aims far to fast accurately for my taste maybe I should teach him a lesson or two.

Tye trap is set all he had do is take the bait and I bet he will. Across town Oliver Queens is bombarded with news blast on his cell Phone news alerts and says good bye to Felicity.

His expression quickly returns to that old grumpy curmudgeon face as he suit up for battle and races to the scene when I await him high above in the main office the stage is set.

Oliver motorcycle races in parking in the l middle of the room he hops off failing to notice the facility gate drop hitting the floor and he jumps hoping he can find away out of here soon.

The room fades in to darkness leaving all to his imagination a single candle is lit with a line finger blowing it out his teeth white as ever can be seen.

The man takes a seat to Oliver discontent and disbelief at the sheer ridiculousness of it all and follows suit flipping his hair back the pressure is on.

“What are you doing in my city? Why are you here?”

“Questions and Questions “

“Is this a joke to you ?”

“No! Sorry you are”

“What a awful costume ”

“Am I supposed throw up in submission?”

“Asshole”

“Relax…relax”

“Let me show you”

“You see this is the map of your city “

“So?”

“You are going to help me conquer”

“As if”

“You resistance while admirable”

“Is futile?”

“Correct”

“Then I’ll go down fighting “

“Ugh! Geez”

“Fine let’s play a game a big one”

Oliver spits at me flinching when I punch him hard then pick up my remote clicking it the cover flips up revealing Barry Allan Aka The Flash asleep and locked in a meta human dampener.

“Barry? Barry?”

“He can’t hear you “

“Bastard! What did you do?”

“I merely beat him at his own game”

“What do you want?”

“I want your surrender just like his.”

“Fuck you !”

“Its easy really”

“Don’t you want to join your friend “

“Barry has already lost “

“He can’t be saved “

“Oh really ?”

“Initiate mind wipe and reprogramming “

“Bart begins “

“Bart?”

“Acronym for Breaking…Arresting…Reserved Transformation.”

“Anyway genius! Catch this “

“It’s bomb! Stop please”

“Too late “

“Don’t you worry take a deep breath”

“Nnnoooo…no”

“All you had to do was here my pitch”

“But not “

“Instead…here are”

“How do you feel?”

“Empty and open”

“Get lost”

“Aaaaahhhhhh”

“Fuck”

“Who am I?”

“Your name is Oliver Queen”

“You are a playboy Billionaire “

“You are also The Green Arrow”

“My Vigilante “

“You are a criminal Master mine under me”

“Stop struggling let your mind adjust “

“The memories shuffled and replaced”

“Hey bro”

“Green Arrow at your service “

The end

#green arrow #oliver queen #hypnosis #gay mind control #ownership #reprogramming #mob

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hb-writes · 6 months

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Holiday Spirit

Summary: When the Winchesters decide to take a few days off hunting around Halloween, Nora gets in the spirit of the holiday and decides to do a little decorating.

Prompt: "If I go outside and find my car covered in stringed lights I'm smacking you."

Characters: Dean Winchester & Nora Winchester

Warnings: just the smacking referenced in the prompt.

Nora stilled her fingers, the piece of candy she held in her hands half-way unwrapped as she studied her brother as he finally stirred. He looked grumpy as hell, as if Dean was already dressed in his Halloween costume—a miserable old curmudgeon.

A curmudgeon who was already complaining even though he had yet to open his eyes.

“What’s all that noise?”

Nora bit her tongue to keep from asking him ‘what noise?’ considering that the last fifteen minutes was the quietest she had been all morning. She’d even managed to stop the microwave before it started beeping after rewarming her coffee.

Decorating had been much louder, but all of her flitting about the motel room and the microwaving hadn’t woken her brother. She had checked each time, wincing and tip-toeing to his bedside after every slightly too loud noise she made.

He had slept like the dead through all of it, something she supposed he deserved seeing as they’d been driving for so long and he had refused to share the burden with his siblings, insisting they both rest. But go figure, Dean would wake up at the sound of junk food—Nora’s brothers both seemed to have a hypersonic radar for that…for vastly different reasons, of course, but they both seemed to always know when Nora had something delicious and terrible for you in her grasp.

Dean sat up suddenly when Nora didn’t answer, but before his glare could land on her face, he caught sight of all of the decorations—the fake cobwebs and glow-in-the-dark skeletons, the miniature ghosts and bats dangling from the ceiling…as if they didn’t get enough of that crap outside of the motel rooms they so frequently called home.

“Where did all this crap come from?” Dean was still taking it all in.

“Dollar store,” Nora answered quietly, suddenly a bit sheepish as she confirmed that it was indeed a bunch of crap she had strung up around their barely 2-star motel room.

“Here, have some breakfast,” she said as she tossed the half-opened candy to him.

Dean finished unwrapping and popped it into his mouth without complaint, just as Nora hoped he would.

“And before you start lecturing, Sammy took me—” Nora reached for a second paper coffee cup, holding it out— “and we got you coffee. You might want to reheat it.”

Dean pulled himself out of the bed, the movements slow, as if he was still sore. As if he still needed another sixteen hours of sleep. Good thing they were planning on hanging out for a few days, assuming another job didn’t present itself, at least.

Nora hoped one wouldn’t. Her brothers were exhausted. She was exhausted. She just wanted to exist for a few days. It would’ve been nice to just exist for a few days somewhere a little nicer, a little more comfortable—at Uncle Bobby’s, maybe—but she wasn’t going to be picky. Relaxing was relaxing even if the motel room was shitty. At least the town had a nice little coffee house.

Dean pulled the coffee from Nora’s hand as he passed her, standing at the counter a few steps behind her, his back to her for a few moments as he fussed with the ancient microwave.

He’d let the microwave beep, zoning out long enough that he didn’t catch it before the time ran out, the incessant alarm so loud in the little motel room that Nora cringed. Dean took a sip of the hot liquid, sighing a bit as the flavor hit his tongue. It was re-warmed via microwave, a method of preparation that probably impacted the quality and taste of the coffee, but Dean could tell it was a decent brew. It wasn’t any of that gas station crap they were used to.

He took another sip before setting the cup on the counter and turning to his sister. Without a word, Dean snatched the candy bag from her lap, his hand digging through to find his favorite.

Nora bit down her complaint as his fingers retrieved the last four chocolates—they were her favorite, too. He set them down on the counter beside his coffee cup before tossing the bag back on the table. A bag full of second-best options that she didn’t particularly like. Still, she didn’t complain. The last hunt had been rough and Nora was trying to keep things light. Fun. Fighting over chocolate bars before he’d even finished a cup of coffee wasn’t fun.

“So…do you like the decorations?” she asked.

Dean’s eyes slid down to her as he opened his third piece of chocolate, an eyebrow raised.

Nora slid her foot from the chair where she had propped it up and pressed it into Dean’s thigh. He shifted his balance to accommodate the shove.

“Aw, c’mon, Dean. You said we were staying a few days, so I figured we might as well get into the holiday spirit.”

“Holiday spirit?” Dean asked, fingering the line of multicolored string lights she’d put up along the kitchen. “I think you’ve got the wrong holiday, bucko.”

Nora rolled her eyes and in rebuttal, she reached for the two pieces of candy Dean had yet to devour. She figured if he was awake enough to make fun, he was awake enough for her to take back some of the candy. Dean’s hand slammed down over hers before she could pull them into her grasp. He raised an eyebrow and she sighed, a show of defeat that had him releasing his grip on her.

Nora set her feet back up on the chair beside her, folding her arms across her chest. It had been hard enough convincing Sam to even buy the candy and she’d barely get any of the good ones now that Dean was hogging them. She should’ve known better and hid a few away for herself.

“Quit your pouting,” Dean said as he tossed one of the remaining candies on the table in front of her.

Dean couldn’t help but smile as Nora’s face lit up a bit and she quickly opened the candy, setting it in her mouth. He teased and he played the grump, but Dean was glad that his sister still got excited about stuff like this—stuff like Halloween decorations and candy and the fact that this rat hole of a motel somehow had extra channels so she could watch all those silly Halloween movies she’d watched as a kid. He was glad that Sam and Nora had been so enthusiastic about sitting down to watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown the night before. He was glad that the two of them had the capacity to be nostalgic for childhood even when he didn’t.

Dean strung his finger along the slowly flashing lights affixed to the counter once again. “Since when are Christmas lights Halloween decorations?”

“They’re string lights, Dean. Not Christmas lights. Indoor-outdoor. Multi-holiday use. They’re very versatile. And I like them,” she said as she took a sip of coffee to wash down the chocolate.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, if I go outside and find my car covered in stringed lights I'm smacking you."

Nora gasped, choking on the coffee as it went down wrong. She forced herself to laugh at the end of her coughing, as if Dean’s words were funny to her, as if it was nothing more than a joke.

Nora knew the words weren’t an idle threat though. Dean wouldn’t hesitate to hurt anyone who hurt his Baby. Not that she had really hurt his baby… The hand prints smeared across the windows were nothing more than fake blood. And the pumpkin-shaped antenna ball was easy enough to remove…

But Dean was staring at her, waiting for something. Waiting for confirmation.

Nora snorted. “I didn’t put any stupid stringed lights on your car, Dean. I’m not an idiot. How would I even plug them in?”

It wasn’t technically a lie, and Dean seemed content with her answer as he brought the coffee cup to his lips again, but Nora wondered how long it would be before he went to check. Nora had been adamantly against going for a run with Sam, but just now she wished she had agreed to go, if only to avoid being the only one here when Dean saw the car.

“We’ll, now that you’re up, I’m going to take a shower,” Nora said as she stood from the table, trying not to move too quickly, trying to take her time with gathering her things before heading for the bathroom.

As Nora closed the bathroom door, she heard her brother take up her spot at the table, his hand once again fishing in the bag of candy.

Her spot at the table where one could see out the window perfectly, the Impala perfectly visible between the threadbare curtains…

She had just started the water when Dean roared her name.

Actually roared. Nora cringed at the sound, but stepped into the warming water anyway. The flimsy door and fact that she was showering would at least offer her some protection. Dean wouldn’t come in, no matter how angry he was. No matter how much he wanted to throttle her.

Nora could stay there until the water ran cold, until Sam returned.

That, she decided, was the best course of action. To stay here until Sam got back. Until he could remind Dean that even though she could be a pain in the ass, he loved his sister.

That was the hope, at least.

Supernatural (Bye, Bye, Apple Pie) Masterlist

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #nora winchester #halloween 2023 prompts

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voidendron · 9 months

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interview questions: 2, 5, 17, 18 for terrin or jen

how 'bout both? :D thank you! 💚💜

[roleplay interview ask game]

2. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

"...You're not expectin' a sales pitch on why I'm a great leader or whatever, right?" She laughs, crossing her arms as she leans back comfortably in her seat. "Uhhh.... What is there to tell? I accidentally became Commander, I'm Mando, got a bit of a temper and like fire. I was a bounty hunter feels like a lifetime ago, sick of all the faction and Force nonsense. That good enough?"

5. Do you have any role models? Tell us a little bit about them.

A wide grin stretches her face. "Well, Dad of course gotta be one of 'em. Maybe not the best role model, all things considered, but he loved me and wanted me to be ready for the galaxy around me, and I looked up to 'im.

"But, uh... For the most part, most of the people who shaped my view on things, I learned what not to do from 'em. Dunno, guess I was just bad at pickin' who I hung around as a kid."

17. Have you ever been in love?

"Of course! Look, I could be cheesy and say Torian's the only love I've ever known, bla-bla-bla, but I've loved people before. Sure, not many, but a few! Had this huge crush on a partner I had for my first hunt without Dad - about broke my nose walkin' into a doorframe when he kissed me." She laughed at her own misfortune, rubbing the back of her neck.

"But most of 'em were just flings; teenage boyfriends, a girlfriend here and there. None of 'em lasted long, even if I thought I was 'so so in love' at that point. Not 'til Tori." Her grin turns gentler. "When we started dating, I just...knew this one would be different. I knew he was the one."

18. Have you ever been kissed?

"Oh, totally - that's not even counting Tori. I've even kissed one or two of my bounties - I ever tell ya about my first solo one? Force, she's when I realized 'Oh. Well girls are hot, too, I guess....'"

2. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

With two fingers, he plucks the toothpick from his mouth and leans forward with a crooked grin. "You're tellin' me you haven't heard of the Voidhound? Well, feast your eyes on the greatest smuggler to ever live~! I can get through a blockade without a scratch, drop off a weapon shipment, kill a Hutt, an' still be home in time for dinner."

5. Do you have any role models? Tell us a little bit about them.

"Ma and Dad raised me like they'd been raised - and I guess I'm raisin' my own that way, too. So... Them?" He scratched behind an ear with a painted claw, glowering when the action pulled some hair loose from his ponytail. "Smugglers, livin' among the stars, never stayin' one place for too long, big ol' bleeding hearts - wonder where I get all that from, ha!"

"Uh... Don't tell him I said this, but I guess the Old Man, too. He pretty much helped raise me, y'know? Grumpy, sure, sure, but gives good advice and has lived way longer than any bounty hunter ever should. And he's great with the kids, Jeva loves him. Might be an old curmudgeon, but hey." He grins a grin full of sharp teeth. "We'll give the guy a pass - he's dealt with me all my life, after all."

17. Have you ever been in love?

"Y'know somethin' funny? All the folks I've f-- uh, spent the night with, I'd never really felt any deep attachment to 'em. Beryl's maybe the closest, but even her... Eh. Could never see her as more of a 'friend with benefits' type of deal. Never really thought I'd be one to settle down with one partner."

He looks away, a dreamy look falling over him. "'Til I met Kitty. Maybe it's 'cause he was on the crew, maybe it was his kiddos, that we had time to be friends and get to know each other first, I dunno. But one day I just...looked 'im in the eyes as he berated me for bein' an idiot and gettin' myself hurt bad enough he had to stitch me up, and I just couldn't look away." He leans forward, putting an elbow on his knee and propping his chin firmly over his knuckles. "And now I couldn't imagine life without 'im or the kids."

18. Have you ever been kissed?

He bites down firmly on the toothpick, offering a simple wink. It seems he figures that's suffice an answer...

#swtor #bounty hunter #smuggler #chiss #cathar #voids ocs #tales from the void #oc: ar'eonis'terrinxx #oc: jen sept #terrin x torian #answered ask #ic ask game #anonymous #long post

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quickspinner · 2 years

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Clamping my teeth around a Fandom Old Curmudgeon rant 😂 I swear people need to a) mind their own business about what people like b) recognize if you choose to write something against the grain you're going to have a smaller audience and you shouldn't be pouty and passive aggressive about it. Now go to your separate rooms and enjoy things your own way.

Oops it kinda slipped out a little didn't it.

It's yucky outside and I'm grumpy, send adorable pet pics before I really go off the deep end 😂

#quickrants #i need a blanket fort stat

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tcmartinwrites · 10 months

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beginnings

I want to start at the root of things, which for me often means a poem.

I first read "the killing of the trees" in the fall of 2020. I had just started my MFA program (not in poetry but in nonfiction, my primary genre) when a classmate introduced me to the work of a poet I did not then know.

Lucille Clifton was her name. And imagine my surprise at discovering that she had lived and worked and taught in my home state of Maryland for years – had in fact been our state's poet laureate for a spell (1979-1985). Maryland is not what I would call a literary state. California has Joan Didion, Florida has Karen Russell, Ohio has Toni Morrison, New York has Baldwin and Wharton and Fitzgerald and too many others to count.

And Maryland has – well, just a few names. Edgar Allan Poe, Rachel Carson, Ta-Nehisi Coates. I had read their work (Poe's and Coates's, that is; I still need to acquaint myself with Carson) and enjoyed it, but I never felt "Maryland"-ness in it, if that makes sense. Poe's work was too antique and fantastical, and Coates's was rooted in Baltimore, which Maryland treats more like a tumor than the vital organ it actually is.

After learning of Clifton's poetry, I devoured every volume I could find, including quilting, the collection in which "the killing of the trees" appears. This was when I realized Clifton's unique connection to Southern Maryland, the part of the state where I'm from, a place I had never seen depicted in literature of any sort. Finding her poem felt like catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Who is that? Oh, I realized. It's me. Us.

Anyway, the poem is a knife-sharp dissection of one of our region's main industries: subdivision-building. Not exactly a Romantic subject, but one in which Clifton nevertheless finds meaning. The poem reminds me of my own childhood growing up in Hughesville on a road named after my father's family, a road that used to belong to the farm that my great-great-grandfather had purchased sometime in the early 20th century. Its original shape contained hundreds of acres on either side of the road. But over time it had been chopped up into housing plots for family members, which later sold to people of no relation to us. Still, several of us live on the road: 5 or 6 holdout households on the southern side, all sharing power tools and sugar and muscle as needed.

One winter break home from college, I noticed the tree line in our backyard had suddenly thinned. Through the bare branches I could make out the frames of future homes. Big homes, two or three times the size of ours, in a freshly paved cul-de-sac. The sense was that the subdivisions had circled us. We had always known they were out there: metastasizing, unseen. Now, though, we felt surrounded. Trapped.

It was a feeling shared by many old guard Southern Marylanders, people whose families had lived here for multiple generations. The place was becoming too crowded, too busy, too dense. Logic dictated that this was a good thing: more people arriving meant our home was an attractive place to live, with good jobs and good schools to draw in talented workers. But for long-time locals who were dealing with more traffic, bigger class sizes, and constant construction, the compliment fell flat amidst disruption.

I share this grumpiness, but I also remain skeptical of its origins. Many of the newcomers to our area were Black, Latino, and Asian; many (most) of the curmudgeons like myself were white. I find Clifton’s poem useful for examining where my grievances with our region’s growth begin. Like the speaker in Clifton’s poem, I cringe to watch more woodland forest be cleared for another cookie-cutter development. And yet, the speaker and I can both see our own role in that destructive pattern. Just because we came here earlier doesn’t make us any less complicit. Long-time Southern Marylanders can feel the urge to proclaim: We were here first. But were we?

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the killing of the trees by lucille clifton the third went down with a sound almost like flaking, a soft swish as the left leaves fluttered themselves and died. three of them, four, then five stiffening in the snow as if this hill were Wounded Knee as if the slim feathered branches were bonnets of war as if the pale man seated high in the bulldozer nest his blonde mustache ice-matted was Pahuska come again but stronger now, his long hair wild and unrelenting. remember the photograph, the old warrior, his stiffened arm raised as if in blessing, his frozen eyes open, his bark skin brown and not so much wrinkled as circled with age, and the snow everywhere still falling, covering his one good leg. remember his name was Spotted Tail or Hump or Red Cloud or Geronimo or none of these or all of these. he was a chief. he was a tree falling the way a chief falls, straight, eyes open, arms reaching for his mother ground. so i have come to live among the men who kill the trees, a subdivision, new, in southern Maryland. I have brought my witness eye with me and my two wild hands, the left one sister to the fists, pushing the bulldozer against the old oak, the angry right, brown and hard and spotted as bark. we come in peace, but this morning ponies circle what is left of life and whales and continents and children and ozone and trees huddle in a camp weeping outside my window and i can see it all with that one good eye.

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further reading:

A great essay by Emily Jorgenson about Lucille Clifton's feminist ecopoetics: https://scalar.usc.edu/works/engl205-07h-fall-2017/panel-2-person-2

A video of Lucille Clifton reading "the killing of the trees" at the College of Southern Maryland in 1990: https://youtu.be/Vba8o-7xhU0

#poetry #lucille clifton #clifton #poem #literature #writing #maryland #southern maryland #somd #poets #modern poetry

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nickgerlich · 1 year

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Young Guns

I suppose it is just intrinsically human to consider your generational cohort the best that ever was, and to be dismissive of all those coming along after you. Oddly, we become more accepting of the ones before us, if only because we have started to grow old ourselves, able to see a little more clearly.

And so we mock the music our successors find appealing, knowing full well that our parents (I am speaking of mine right now) hated rock-n-roll with a fervor. We mock their clothing, their hair styles, their desire to DoorDash everything, and the amount of time they spend on their phones doing everything else.

Of course, my people are called “Boomer" with ridicule and scorn, not a whole lot different from the hatred we lobbed at our parents. It’s normal, remember, even though that alone does not make it right.  

With COVID slipping ever farther into the rear view (aside from a nagging number of cases still being reported), shoppers have returned to BAM stores. Well, except for Millennials, who reported in a recent survey that nearly three-quarters plan to maintain or increase their online shopping in the years ahead.  

That’s probably not too much of a problem for mainstream retailers in the short-run, but as Millennials assume the roles that Gen-Xers and Boomers are in today, it could spell long-term problems. That’s another way of saying once the crusty old curmudgeons are gone, it could be tough sledding for BAM retailers.

I get all the intergenerational complaining, too, but I am blessed to be surrounded by young adults all the time in my profession. Not everyone can say that. I embrace the changes around me, but others less fortunate than me may not be so quick to hitch their wagons to the engine we call Change.

I prefer to go with the 1980-1996 time frame for Millennial membership, although there is not 100% agreement on this. It was only about a decade ago that the cut point was moved from 1998 back to 1996, which left my oldest daughter sorely disappointed. She is now a Gen-Z, although she lives and shops like a Millennial. Those on the cusp, either beginning or end, may exhibit traits of the other generation nearby.

The jury is out yet on Gen-Z, many of whom have not yet become shoppers in the adult sense of the word. If I had to bet, they will leave their Millennial brothers and sisters in the dust and do even more shopping online. Remember, these are the true digital natives, humans whom have known only one way of life thus far. They could have easily been born with a smartphone or computer mouse in their hand.

Given that the oldest Millennial—using the generally agreed-upon definition—is turning 43 this year, it means that this group is at or near their peak consumption years. Once you hit 60 and/or have an empty nest, consumption starts to decline, from the houses we buy, to the things we put in it. And if Millennials are inclined to continue shopping online without a thought, it means that retailers need to start planning for the declining emphasis on their actual shops.

I foresee, as we have discussed previously, more empty malls, and quite possibly standalone and strip mall shops as well. Vast ghost towns of commercial structures may blight our city streets.

It is a fool’s errand for any generation to expect subsequent ones to act just like them. You will fail, no matter how much you gripe about the ways they have chosen to define their generation. In other words, give it up. My generation has had its time in the sun. In fact, I’m pretty sure that we Boomers have enjoyed being the darlings of society ever since we were born.

After all, we broke all previous—and future—records for percentage growth rate. But that does not mean we are the kings and queens of our culture. We may be in the lofty position of owning much of our nation’s wealth right now, but that too will pass when we bequeath it to our heirs.

It just means there might be a lot of grumpy old men and women in the foreseeable future, bitching about how so many things have changed in their lives, and that things just aren’t the way they used to be. Get off their lawns, and turn down your music. Getting old sucks for sure, but your turn (I’m talking to my students now) will come and then you’ll be able to complain about all the younguns coming along.

Sure as the setting sun. 

Dr “Talkin’ About My Generation“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #online #shopping #e-commerce #Millennials

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thepilgrimbetweenworlds · 1 year

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Antiverse Revised Character Profile: Dark Matter

Going to make this quick since I have work. I'm trying to pick up the pace before my procrastination funk kicks in again. So, here's the first revised profile for the Antitrix aliens, starting with...

(EDIT: Added a power I think would be very fitting for Dark Matter).

Dark Matter

Donor Name: Asystolus

Age: 95 (Chronologically) 53 (Biologically)

Species: Galvan

Birthplace: Galvan Prime (Antiverse)

Hair: None

Eyes: Red

Height: 7ft 2in

Weight: 192 lbs.

Powers/Abilities:

-Surgical expertise: Asystolus was one hell of a surgeon, and now that knowledge is put to good use. As Dark Matter, Kevin can recall an immense number of unorthodox techniques in case he ever needs to fix himself up.

-Anatomical knowledge: When he wasn’t healing people, Asystolus was cutting them open. And as a point of shame, he learned to do it well. Dark Matter can ravage his opponents thanks to an innate sense of their anatomical weak spots.

-Extreme flexibility: If you thought Dark Matter looked creepy before, he’s about to go full Voldo on your ass. His body has been surgically altered with artificial cartilage and ligaments, allowing him to bend and twist like a ragdoll, at the cost of easily taxing himself into exhaustion.

-Vampiric Hematophagy: Don't ask where all the red stuff came from. Dark Matter can consume blood for a temporary energy boost. A series of sensory organs along his neck and nose allow Dark Matter to detect the scent of blood from nearly a mile away.

Physical Description: Unlike his frog like counterpart Grey Matter, Dark Matter’s appearance invokes predatory birds. The two dull protrusions on his head can be likened to the feathered points of a Great horned owl, and alterations to his neck allow him to turn it 180 degrees. He sports a heavy brow and heavily wrinkly face, which add to this curmudgeon's elderly attitude. His arms and legs are disproportionately long compared to his somewhat compact torso, all of which are covered in a series of surgical scars. His musculature is lean and somewhat sinewy, and his dark grey skin is tinted by slight purple-ish veins. Each of his four fingered hands are tipped with retractable scalpels. The Antitrix symbol is located on his spine.

Backstory: Asystolus was once a highly respected surgeon, but such achievements are not to be admired in the Antiverse. As a student on Galvan Prime, Asystolus learned his craft by experimenting on live subjects, many of whom were tortured during these barbaric “lessons.” He excelled in his studies and became exceptionally skilled in the field of surgical alteration, with many less-than-reputable-beings coming to Galvan Prime just to acquire his services. But as the years passed, the old Galvan grew desensitized, then regretful of the exploitative nature of his work. After numerous attempts to bring more humane methods to Galvan Prime failed, Asystolus was branded a traitor and exiled. He was content to live his life as a traveling surgeon until Vilgax heard of his exceptional skills…

Personality: Asystolus is at times quite the grumpy curmudgeon, even after being reformed. He is a firm pessimist and is quickly annoyed by people thanks to his solitary nature. He is quite snarky and sarcastic for his age, owed in part to a lingering sense of guilt and self-loathing. He feels remorseful for the fact that he used his talents in service to himself, often at the expense of other beings.

Influence on Kevin: Asystolus’s grumpy personality makes Kevin irritable and sarcastic when he transforms into Dark Matter.

Trivia:

-His neck and upper chest are quite sensitive, and he’ll often massage those areas as a form of self-therapy.

#ask blog #roleplay #Dark Matter #antiverse au #character profile

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obstinaterixatrix · 2 years

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so many advice posts on here are like ‘people LOVE this kind of engagement ALWAYS feel free to do this’ whether it’s interactions on tumblr or fanfic comments or whatever. you people should not be making advice posts. if you cannot see how many people around you are grumpy curmudgeons who in fact aren’t happy to experience every scrap of interaction. “tumblr is different in that old posts get more circulation” true “and people love when you comment on or engage with old posts!” have you talked to any other person. on here. people tend to react with mostly indifference to positivity on old post reblogs (unless it’s a popular post) and if they take issue with it they can delete the post or turn off notifs. unless a post is specifically asking for someone’s input OR unless you’re friends with someone OR unless your contribution is like the greatest funniest bestest response ever, so so SO many people hate some rando adding to their post. and I’m specifically talking about additions to posts rather than tags or replies that tends to be a lot more variable. “my experience is different” shut up this isn’t about you “I agree” yeah I know you rb’d it and I’m right “I disagree and have and extensive response” if it isn’t worth reading fuck off “I agree and have an extensive response” if you’re annoying about it fuck off. stop telling people that everyone loves engagement if people start being sociable at me WITHOUT the prerequisite 3 weeks of slowly building familiarity I’m blocking them. approach me like you would a feral cat.

#my ramblings #see I do the reasonable thing #and usually try to scope out how people react to and interact with others #well usually #and I still fall flat on my face

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ofvaporex · 1 year

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Honestly I do like to think of Ratchet, early in the war, as being sarcastic and sort of funny. Dry humor, off quips... anything to lighten the mood of a medbay with two dozen injured Autobots scared witless because they've never experienced anything like this.

Hell, so few of them have at all.

But there's only so much that humor can do. Only so much existential dread and terror that it can keep out of your mind. And over time, he just kind of... stopped joking.

Sure, everyone knew that if Ratchet was chiding you, giving you shit, you were totally fine. Your injuries weren't severe. But everyone also knew that a dead quiet, focused Ratchet meant that you were really in trouble.

Hold your breath until the master finishes working.

And I think that's why so many people think he's humorless unless they've known him a very long time. They see him as this grumpy old curmudgeon when he has this witty, dry sense of humor.

It's just sort of hard to dig that out of four million years of death.

#⚕️ ╰ hcs • the army hates to see a man grin ╯

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ask-artsy-oncie · 2 years

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Anyways I was just ruminating on how strange (and like, there’s not really a mystery to it, the executive decisions of CN at the time are pretty infamous to US animation fans) the vibe on CN was between 2009 and 2011 was. Like there just really was a period where fans noticed that CN was blatantly trying to shift itself from “old” to “new” and their method of dividing the two was so stark that even less “online” viewers were privy to it. Like the channel itself had a soft reboot of sorts following the embarrassment and backlash of them trying to force live-action programming blocks, and that meant leaving a lot of things behind in a very weird state.

Shows like Chowder and Flapjack and whatever Total Drama series they were on at the time were very quickly finished up and then declared part of “old” CN and abandoned by the network to make room for the “new”. Even though these shows were still, by a lot of people’s standards, pretty young and new, themselves. And while I don’t think they were necessarily cut short, it says a lot that they almost all ended around the same time, around late 2010. And because of CN’s really obvious push to label them as “old” when they were barely a few years old at this point put them in such a strange limbo of relevance. They weren’t old enough to be nostalgic at the time, really only being popular among actual kids and older animation fans who were still keeping up with CN, but they also weren’t considered “new” enough by the channel to appear alongside shows like Adventure Time, Regular Show, Gumball, all these representative cartoons of the “new” CN.

Even FusionFall got a kind of reboot while it clumsily tried to marry the “old” and “new” CNs together, the vibe was so WEIRD.

And I think it’s part of why I became such a grumpy old curmudgeon about cartoons when I was just a teenager at the time. And why a lot of others were so pessimistic and overly critical of anything coming out at this time. The industry was trying to force a change that felt like a slap in the face to those who had stuck around. It’s almost kind of funny to go back and see people so upset about the whole ordeal when things have arguably gotten so much worse for cartoons in the west. Not that cartoons have become “bad” or anything, but that the general television industry has kind of just become a complete and absolute hellscape.

I didn’t grow up with video game consoles, so I wasn’t around (and also too young at the time it was happening) to get these kinds of feelings about the industry abandoning 2D for 3D, and the anxiety and uncertainty of the future of game design as the technology changed, but when I heard about other people recounting their feelings about this at the time, I felt such a nagging sense of familiarity to the whole thing and wasn’t sure why, and it’s wild to think now that I had forgotten such a big moment in western TV animation.

#stupid shit #rumination

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vreugd-madelon · 1 year

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A Man called Ove Review

A Man called Ove by Fredrik Backman is a 377 page Adulr Contemporary novel set in Sweden. I read this as a 9 hour audiobook.

A grumpy yet loveable man finds his solitary world turned on its head when a boisterous young family moves in next door. Meet Ove. He's a curmudgeon, the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People call him the bitter neighbor from hell, but must Ove be bitter just because he doesn't walk around with a smile plastered to his face all the time? Behind the cranky exterior there is a story and a sadness. So when one November morning a chatty young couple with two chatty young daughters move in next door and accidentally flatten Ove's mailbox, it is the lead-in to a comical and heartwarming tale of unkempt cats, unexpected friendship, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. All of which will change one cranky old man and a local residents' association to their very foundations.

Trigger Warning: Suicide.

I rate this book 4.5/5 stars.

I really like the writing style as it’s very straight forward and the narrator who tells the story. The story is really compelling, and it’s really a man vs. world story which I really enjoy. The book shows his current life and through flashbacks which are really well placed within the story. I do really like Ove as a character as well, the grumpy old man. I understand why he’s thinking of ending his own life as I see myself in him at certain moments. It’s the fact that I’ve recently been in therapy for my own trauma that this hasn’t been as triggering for me. But I did break down in tears when the epilogue hit. It’s a very bittersweet ending, and the few jokes that were made, made me laugh as well.

Favourite quote:

“Love is a strange thing, it takes you by surprise.”

I totally recommend this book to anyone.

Do you have any questions? Or maybe some recommendations? Send me an ask here on Tumblr or tweet me. If you wish to support me, you can buy me a coffee! Or even buy my debut fantasy novel, The Mending Road.

#a man called ove #fredrik backman #contemporary #sweden #book #review #book review #book reviews

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